Her brows furrowed. “What—what do you mean?”
“You basically invited me to fuck you when we talked on Saturday…What changed in five days?”
She gasped at his language. Although she didn’t mind cursing, Neil had never cursed in front of her, so it sounded extra angry coming from his mouth.
“Oh, wait,” he said, nodding as he sat back in the chair. “It’s been more than five days, hasn’t it? In fact…oh, my God, I’m the biggest moron who ever lived,” he muttered. He looked up at her, his eyes hurt and angry as he put the pieces together. “You already knew him. You finally said yes to going out with me because of him, didn’t you?”
“Neil…” she started.
He sighed. “I couldn’t figure it out. I thought…maybe she’s sick of fucking random guys she meets in clubs. Maybe she wants something real; that’s why she finally said yes.”
Libitz winced. She honestly had no idea he’d known about her pre-Neil extracurricular activities, and it cast their time together in a new light to know that he did.
“No, honey,” he said, as though reading her mind. “I didn’t want to be a notch on your belt. I liked you. I saw something in you. I was willing to overlook your history.”
“My…history?” she asked, sitting up in her chair, a defensiveness she hadn’t anticipated somehow making her spine straighter.
“It never mattered to me!” he shouted. “I liked you for you!”
“I know that,” she said softly.
“I thought there was more to you, but clearly, I was wrong.” He paused, and his eyes narrowed. “Did you fuck him?”
“Neil!”
“Did you fuck the other guy?”
She stared at him in silence, unwilling to answer his vulgar question or be slut-shamed any further. Her heart ached for his hurt feelings, because they must be terribly raw for him to lash out at her like this, but Libitz Feingold knew who she was, and she refused to let anyone belittle her. For any reason.
“I’m very sorry about it,” she said, standing up. “But you’re being insulting. I need to ask you to leave.”
Neil lowered his head, scrubbing his hands through his reddish-blond hair.
“I’m sorry, Lib,” he said, looking up at her. His face was shattered and his voice broke on her name. “I had no right to—I just didn’t see this coming.”
“I know,” she said, emotion making her voice shaky too. She’d hurt him, and it occurred to her that maybe she’d ruined him a little for the next girl. It would take him longer to trust, and that was her fault. She had surprised him and hurt him, and she felt awful about it. “You are great, Neil.”
He looked up, his eyes bitter. “But not great enough.”
She clenched her jaw because her own eyes were starting to burn.
He stood up and held out his hand, which Libitz took and shook.
“Neil—”
“Good luck, Lib. I hope it works out with…whoever he is.”
And for just a moment, holding Neil’s hand, she had an urge to tell him to stay. She was choosing Catholic, barely reformed manwhore Jean-Christian Rousseau over kind, solid, steady Neil?
Bad choice, screamed logic.
The only choice, whispered her heart.
“Thank you,” she said, dropping his hand and giving him a slight smile. “Good luck to you too.”
He nodded sadly, turned around, and left her office, closing the door behind him.
For a moment, she stared at the door before she realized that she was crying, tears spilling from her eyes in rivulets as she relived his ugly words. So she rested her head on her desk and cried—for Neil and for her, for the model in the painting and all those who shared her fate. The world had so much ugliness in it, and she’d just added to it.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
Once she was all cried out, she wiped her eyes and took a deep breath, reviewing their short, painful conversation in her head.