“Nothing tonight, or really anything much these days. This is for you.” It’s something I’ve talked about with my therapist, Dr. Davis. How I used to avoid alcohol, partly because of Mom and my anxiety that her cancer would come back or she’d need me, and I’d be unable to help, and partly because of how I enjoyed being present.
We discussed how having a sober lifestyle could be a good choice for me, since a majority of my current goals are centered around making the most of the time I have left with Avery.
“I’m pretty sure I asked Warren to get this for me?” Still, she grabs the can and cracks it open.
“Who?” I feign ignorance causing her to glare.
“We were talking.”
“He was flirting with you.”
“Maybe I liked that he was,” she challenges, standing taller and taking a step toward me so we’re nearly toe to toe. The air between us vibrates. “And it’s not your business who I flirt with, is it? I thought there weren’t any strings attached to our little arrangement and all you cared about was that I got what I wanted. What if I want to kiss someone new? Would you help me?”
She’s fucking right. I told her I was just here to support her. I hate feeling like a liar, but it’s not like I anticipated watching her get up close and personal with someone else. I should have guessed, seeing her with Jamie…shit Jamie.
The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. “The last person you kissed was Jamie, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, and I hate it.”
“You don’t need someone else for that. I’m right here.” I intend for the words to come out light-hearted, but they sound rough and husky. Needy. So fucking needy for any attention she’ll give me.
“You’re assuming I want to kiss you.” Her eyes flick to my lips for a fraction of a second, and I know she does.
“Did you forget how much you used to enjoy it?” I step closer and her breath hitches. We’re far enough from the scattered groups that no one can hear us, but I tilt my body so no one can see when my fingers brush against her throat. “Or am I misremembering the sounds you used to make when I put my mouth here?”
Her nostrils flare on a sharp inhale taking a step back, putting a foot of space between us. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She walks around me, maintaining a wide berth.
“Liar.”
Her footsteps halt and I wait for her returning shot, but she just keeps going, right back to Warren. My stomach plummets. I wish I could blame the alcohol, but I haven’t had any. I’m sick at the thought of them together.
I can’t keep watching this. Not when I’m already toeing the line of screwing up the peace between Avery and I.
Emory and his friends are almost at the parking lot when I catch up with them.
Emory, as it turns out, knows everyone, but I’m not in the mood to socialize. No matter what I try, my thoughts go back to Avery and Warren.
If the next few months are going to work, I need to find a way to care less, because fixating on how his hands might be all over her at this very moment is killing me. And if I want to stay true to my word and help her, the best thing to do is nothing.
“My ex is always at these things. He’s like this huge secret fan of yours, though. Not just the new stuff. The one time I went to his house, and he introduced me to his family as a friend, I found all of these rolled up Fool’s Gambit posters in his closet,” a woman named Charlotte says. She’s been sitting next to me on a set of lounge chairs by the fireplace, a distance from the rest of the party, for the last half hour. The upside of listening to her relationship with problems is that I haven’t needed to come up with anything to talk about.
“Oh, that’s cool.”
She leans over, placing her hand on my thigh. “Are you here with anyone?”
“Physically? No. Mentally? Pretty damn preoccupied.”
“Shame. Like the ultimate ‘fuck you’ would be to make out with you. It would really ruin his playlists.” Using one of her perfectly manicured nails, she traces a line up my thigh.
I jerk away as I stand. “What if I get you a drink instead, and we really make a show of me handing it off to you? How about that.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I’ll be just a moment,” I say. I maneuver around the lounge chairs and into the heart of the party.
As Emory promised, it’s a spectacle. Servers are painted to look like marble statues, standing still as possible with their trays. Acrobats do tricks on top of columns draped in grapevines.
Some guests seem to have come with the theme in mind, clad in draped white dresses and linen. I guess they don’t give a fuck about what you’re supposed to wear after Labor Day.
