Chapter Fifteen
Grace
Ifind a seat in the corner of the bar, quiet at this time of day.
The barman nods to me as he wipes down the counter with a rag that looks like it’s seen better days. Sunlight shafts in through the windows, distorted by the colorful glazed glass.
I feel like I’m inside a fricking snow globe as I carry my Coke to the booth and drop down, searching the bar for any sign of Markus Kirby.
I know from the photo attached to his email signature that he’s a tall man with pale eyes and light-colored hair. But I haven’t been able to find him online, not that that’s necessarily strange.
He’s probably just a ground troop, making contacts for the real players at the fitness company.
I lean back, sucking in deep breaths to try and calm myself.
I just can’t believe this twisted turn of events.
I remember my horoscope from this morning, but I feel too tense to take out my phone and read it again. Plus, it’s too late, anyway.
Rashness is a cause of great suffering. Think before you act…
I shake my head, letting the rest of the horoscope slide away from me like a bad dream. I guess it’s a sign of how uber-fricked I am that I don’t even want to read my horoscope right now.
Because I was definitely rash with the Gemma situation, but it was just so difficult, thinking about Harry and Gemma –Gem,he called her – and their little Harry Junior.
As I let my eyes roam over the sticky-looking bar, everything layered in a thin shield of dust, I can’t help but wonder just what the heck is wrong with me.
Iknewsomething was up with Gemma, and yet I screwed him anyway.
And I want to do it again.
That’s the really crazy part.
But it’s not just the sex, as mind-blowing and intimate as that is.
It’s the way we can just sink into the well-worn grooves of our relationship, reaching a level of comfort I could only fantasize about with other men.
For a while there, I let myself start thinking in terms ofHarry and Grace, as if I didn’t know it was doomed from the beginning.
My plan backfired, big time.
I was supposed to break his heart, but the smirking prick broke mine.
No, that’s not right. He didn’t break my heart.
I’m not a little girl. I don’t give a damn.
I realize I’m gripping the edge of the table so hard my Coke splashes around in the glass and the glass itself jostles up and down on the table, making a glass-wood vibrating noise.
I force myself to let it go and rest my head against the soft cushioning of the booth walls, closing my eyes and inhaling slowly, in measured breaths.
But my turncoat mind chooses now to toss up the most potent memory of all.
Imprinted on the insides of my eyelids, I see the sun break apart and reach tenderly through the bleachers like a glowing hand, a thread of light falling across Harry’s face as a smile lights it up.
He was lying on his back, his hand idly moving through my hair.
“Do you want children?” he asked.
