FOUR
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TONI
I don’t care how in love Rodney and Leif are, no separation lasting the length of Leif’s trip to the bathroom can possibly require a reunion with this much tongue.
Heaving a sigh, I rest my chin on an upturned hand and watch them make out. If they’re going to do it right in front of me, I may as well enjoy it. After watching Ned make love to his microphone for two hours straight, I would dearly love a convenient someone to pour my resultant lust into. Sadly, my cocktail and I are alone. Sometimes life sucks balls. It doesn’t suck my balls, of course. No, life seems particularly intent on making sure the suckage is contained to everyone else’s balls.
At least the concert was stellar. Ned truly is a rock god of the first order, with a charisma that kept me dancing for the entire show. The couple of times other guys tried to join me I brushed them off, my interest fixed solely on the deity illuminated in stage lights above me. It wasn’t just his obvious good looks holding me captive or the way he filled out those leather pants. It was the growl in his voice and the lamentation of his lyrics. The way his hair got messier with every tug and how he didn’t appear to notice or care.
Watching him was almost enough to make me regret resisting the urge to continue our initial flirtation when he texted me earlier this week. Tempted though I'd been, Ned had struck me as the kind of man who would only be compatible with me up until we hit the bedroom door. After that, it would be nothing but power struggles and frustration. My lonely heart can’t tolerate the disappointment.
Another sigh escapes me as I pick up my highball glass and take a generous sip from my bendy straw. The ice-cold liquid makes my teeth ache and I grimace.
Rodney chooses that moment to tear himself from Leif’s mouth, catching my pained expression. “Sorry,” he says, a love-drunk grin plastered on his face. “Didn’t mean to get carried away there.”
I wave a dismissive hand. “By all means, enjoy yourselves. That is the point of the evening.”
“Oh, we have enjoyed,” Rodney says, his eyes sparkling. “Those Fifth Circle boys are hot.” He shifts on the short bench seat, his arm rubbing against Leif’s side and his hand… well, I can’t see it beneath the table of our tiny booth, but I suspect it’s encroaching on forbidden territory.
Leif jerks, his nostrils flaring before he clears his throat and takes a hearty swallow of his beer.
“How’s your drink?” Rodney asks me, pretending for all the world like he’s not full-on groping his fiancé right in front of me.
My lips draw up into a tight smile as I do the same. “Heavenly.”
Leif eyes my glass with amused condescension. “What is that thing, anyway?”
“It’s called aSex on the Beach, and it’s delicious.” A liberal coating of sweetness disguises the acid in my tone. I’m used to being questioned about my drink choices, as if ordering anything other than beer, spirits or wine in a pub is somehow shocking. Just because most people reserve cocktails for holiday resorts and exotic locations doesn’t mean I have to. I’m not most people. Why shouldn’t I have the most interesting drink in the room?
On the plus side, I’ve struck up many fascinating conversations with people who have approached me wanting to know what my glass contained. Granted, those conversations have mainly been with women. Men often seem reluctant to ask such questions, even when their eyes betray their interest. Then there are men like Leif, who frown at me sideways as if I should hand in my man card and be done with it.
“You should try one sometime,” I say, plucking the cherry from the side of the tall glass. “It could add some sweetness to your sass.” I pluck the small fruit off its stem with my teeth and bite down.
Leif makes a vague noise of displeasure before turning to Rodney. “We should head off soon.” His hand slides up to stroke the back of Rodney’s neck and my friend’s eyelids flutter closed at the touch. “It’s getting late. I have to work tomorrow, and we still need to drop Toni home.”
Rodney straightens, shaking his head. “We haven’t met Ned yet.”
“The concert ended more than an hour ago, baby. I don’t think it’s going to happen.”
Swinging his gaze back to me, Rodney sighs. “Maybe you should send him one more text.”
“Do I look like some desperate groupie?” I ask, pulling out my phone. “Two is my limit.” I wouldn’t even have sent those if Rodney hadn’t been hanging over my shoulder both times.
I never expected Ned to reply, of course. That’s why, as soon as my friends were occupied at the bar, I sent extra texts to three different friends. All I need is for one of them to reply. When we hear the chime of an incoming text, I can pretend it’s from Ned saying he can’t meet up, and then we can go home. In a few weeks, I’ll inform Rodney that Ned and I have had our fill of each other and gone our separate ways. That will be the end of this little charade.
Unfortunately, my phone remains stubbornly silent. What the hell is up with that? I always respond to texts within an appropriate amount of time. When you pay attention to people, they’re supposed to pay attention back. That’s how social transactions work.
Huffing a breath, I lower my phone. “I warned you he’d be busy after the concert,” I tell Rodney. “For all we know, he hasn’t had a chance to check his phone.”
“That must be it.” Leif’s tone is flat with disbelief. “Because if he saw a text from you, he would definitely respond. Right?” Rodney glares at him and he shrugs. “What? Toni said they were dating.”
“He said it’s complicated,” Rodney argues, before turning back to me with concern. “Toni, sweetie, I wonder if maybe you’re more invested in this thing with Ned than he is. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
My jaw drops as I look back and forth between them.
They don’t believe me. Neither of them do. Leif thinks I’m lying—which granted, I am, but he has no way of knowing for sure. Meanwhile, Rodney’s decided I’m delusional. I’m not sure which is worse.
