33
BRAD STUDIES THEbacks of his hands, then sweeps his hair out of his eyes. His strong jaw clenches and unclenches.
“Guess I need to go see about that,” he says, now staring at the floor.
Jamie’s smirking, clearly enjoying every second of Brad’s punishment.
“Mama’s boy. Always have been, always will be,” Jamie says.
Brad punches him in the shoulder on his way down the hall.
The gilded clock on the wall says it’s midnight.
Fuck.
After draining the rest of my martini, I grope in my bag for my keys. They feel heavy in my hand, like a weight. I’m drunk. I’ve got to get out of here before I make anything worse. What am I still doing here?
“You look very pretty in that dress,” Jamie remarks, his voice floating from across the room. He comes over and sits next to me on the sofa. His leg brushes mine and I can feel the heat from his body radiating through his jeans. He places a hand on my bare knee. My whole leg tingles as I stare down at his hand, perfectly manicured and sprinkled with freckles. After a moment of sitting like this, deciding if I want to lean over and kiss him, I stand.
“I’ve gotta go. And I’ve gotta say bye to Margot first.” I turn away from him and creak down the hall.
I pass by the guest bathroom and pause at the master bedroom. The door is almost completely shut, but a beam of dim light slashes across the wooden floorboards.
From inside the room, their voices are muffled as if they’re pitched along the far wall; I can picture Margot standing in there, arms crossed against her chest, staring out the window at the lake.
I strain to listen but I can only hear the shards of their argument, a few well-slung words.
“Youtoldme you were going—” Margot says, her voice heated and volatile.
Brad cuts her off. “I amtrying. You don’t get it. You don’t understand—”
“The fuck I don’t!” she says, and her voice is now aimed toward the door, so I slink back down the hall into the bathroom.
I flip the switch, and the vanity lights lining the mirror momentarily blind me. I blink hard, sit on the toilet, and pee for what seems like days. I wash my hands and splash water in my face, which is beaded with sweat. I stare at my reflection. I look soused. From inside my bag, my phone dings. A text, from Graham.
Heading to bed now. Feel free to wake me up when you get home, which I’m hoping will be soon. xxx
Good. He’s not mad, at least not yet, but it’s twelve fifteen and he’s clearly waiting up for me. He’s the best; he doesn’t deserve this.
I need to go. I just played freaking spin the bottle with a pair of eighteen-year-olds; this is not who I am. I need to gonow, I try to convince myself.
But when I open the door, Jamie is on the other side of it, his arm resting on the doorframe, a sly grin slung across his face. I move to step around him but he doesn’t budge. Instead, he leans in and kisses me. Takes me by the shoulders and steers me down the hall. Past the master, past another series of rooms, all the way to the back of the house.
We step into what looks like Margot’s son’s room. Dark blues and whites. Asmall lamp glows from the nightstand, and next to it rests the bottle of vodka and two shot glasses.
“I brought gifts,” he says, guiding me over to the side of the bed.
He sits but I remain standing until he reaches for my hand, pulls me down next to him.
“Do you have a curfew or something?” he says, his whole face crinkling with a smile.
“No, but Idohave a husband and young son who are at home waiting for me,” I answer weakly.
He pours us two shots. I sip at mine while he slams his.
“Ummm, it’s a shot. The idea is to drink the whole thing.”
“But I’m already drunk. And this isn’t a good idea, I need to be—”
