“Good. Thanks, everyone.”
The crew members stood and began to disperse.
When he stood up, Lacey called him over. “Michael, do you have a minute?”
Here we go again. A dull pain flared at his temple. Stress headache. He’d been having them ever since the incident at the daycare last year. Lacey’s antics only made them worse.
Nick leaned over. “She’s totally going to ask you for a strip tease.”
“Funny, little brother. Just remember, I know about all the skeletons in your closet too.” When Michael winced, both of his brothers looked at him with concern.
Eli pulled him aside. “You got another headache?”
“I’m okay.”
“You need to go back to that doctor.”
“Eli, I’m fine.”
Nick joined in the clamor. “Why are you so stubborn?”
“Oh, because that’s not a trait we all share?”
“Seriously, dude,” said Nick. “It can’t be good to bottle all that shit up. You don’t want to drop dead of an aneurysm.”
“Thank you for the comprehensive diagnosis, Doctor Zorn.”
“Nick’s right, in spite of his tragic bedside manner.” Eli leveled a look at their younger brother. “You need to talk to someone about what happened. You sure as hell don’t talk to us.”
“I did talk to someone. It didn’t help. Besides, there’s nothing more to talk about. Don’t you guys have something to do, you know, other than nattering in my ear?”
Once Eli and Nick finally left the room, Michael reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out a bottle of Tylenol. What if there was something wrong with him? What if his aches and pains were indicative of something other than plain old stress?
No. He was letting his brothers and their dumbass opinions get under his skin. So he got headaches here and there. Lots of people did. It didn’t mean he was on his last legs. He popped a couple of pills and chased them down with a swig of coffee.
When everyone else had exited, Lacey glided over to where Michael was standing, her stiletto heels making no sound on the carpeted floor. She nodded at the Tylenol bottle in his hand. “You’ve been popping a lot of those lately.”
“Not you too. I have a headache, that’s all.”
“What happened to us, Michael?”
“Exactly what should have happened. We broke up.”
“We didn’t have to.”
“Lacey, how many times do we need to discuss this? You slept with Alistair. That’s sort of a deal breaker.”
She claimed she still held a candle for him. She’d been telling him so at least once a week for the past month. And at least once a week, he told her he’d have nothing to do with her. If she thought he was such a catch, she shouldn’t have jumped into bed with her ex.
It wasn’t often he allowed himself to dwell on the scene the night he caught them, on the sight of their tangled legs and sweat-moistened skin. And when he did now, he barely even felt the acid sizzle in his gut as it had in the moment. Once the initial indignation had worn off, Michael had realized he was only pissed because it seemed like the appropriate reaction at finding another man’s hairy ass in his bed.
He didn’t really blame Lacey although he questioned why she felt a need to go behind his back. He’d known deep down they weren’t right for each other. She might like to put up a fuss, but she knew it too. They’d grown tired of each other so quickly he hadn’t even felt it coming on. Admittedly, the sex had been outrageous at first, but they’d been incompatible in every other way. After a while, even the high-octane acrobatics between the sheets had bored him. Clearly, they’d bored her as well.
“I realize I made mistakes, but even before my ex dragged his carcass back on the scene, you and I had stopped sleeping together.”
He wouldn’t argue there. At the end of the day, their priorities were too different. Lacey loved gourmet restaurants, films with subtitles, and boutique shopping. He was pretty sure the sales clerks in every one of those hoity toity Yorkville stores had her credit card number memorized. She just liked…stuff, and lots of it.
Michael wasn’t opposed to stuff. He had stuff. But if someone told him he’d have to live without designer labels for the rest of his life, he wouldn’t shriek and collapse on the floor. On the other hand, if anyone tried to take away his favorite pair of Timberland work boots, there would be hell to pay.
