“So why didn’t you?” I hated myself a little for caring about the reason and hated him even more for making me believe things like love and happily ever after were real, even though I knew better.
“You don’t date men with powerful careers. Hell, you don’t even tell them what you actually do. I was afraid if I came clean about my work, you’d run.”
“That’s not a reason to lie.” His words hit too close to home, and I had less than no desire to face what he was saying.
“You’re right. It wasn’t.”
He had to stop agreeing with me and admitting to his mistakes. It made holding onto my rage and everything else that much harder.
“It doesn’t matter. Really, I should have expected it—just one more lie between lovers.”
Anger flared in his eyes, and I had a feeling he was done blaming himself. Suited me. It made walking away that much easier.
“You were okay with things when you thought I was just a bartender, and you held the power. I didn’t threaten you. I was someone disposable. Someone you could toss aside when we were over. You didn’t have to face the possibility that we could be something more to each other. You walked away from a chance to build something together. Something that was ours.” He held himself straight, the force of his whole body adding credence to what I’m sure he thought was the truth. “Tell me I’m wrong, cher. We both know I’m not.”
“No, you’re wrong. About part of it, anyway. You were never disposable.” Grief hitme in a way that threatened to knock me flat. I braced as if the threat were physical and not just a shattered heart. “You were spectacular, but we are over. You got that part right.”
I turned to leave without bothering to look back.
He didn’t try to stop me.
“WHAT IN THE WORLD HAVE you been doing in here?” Elena moved around my house, putting things away. She knew where everything belonged, maybe better than I did.
What I’d been doing was an embarrassingly deep stalkerish dive into Ford Landry’s social media accounts. Twitter, Instagram, Facebook. I’d been through all of them, scrolling back through years of posts, trying to convince myself that he wasn’t the man I thought he was.
All the accounts were curated. His Facebook one was the most branded and had the least personal information. It was mostly cocktail recipes, photos of his bars, and the occasional event or gala, interestingly never with the same woman at his side. The photos were rich, beautiful, sensual things but they could have been posted by anyone. I’m sure he had a service that handled it for him.
There was overlap with his Twitter and Instagram accounts, but in addition to the branded photos, there were glimpses into Ford’s life and his home, things he must have posted himself. I devoured those, searching the account for anything that would show me he was a workaholic, lying asshole. Anything to support my choice to walk away from him.
I hadn’t found anything. Instead, I found pictures of him goofing off in a kitchen he clearly cooked in, pictures of books he was reading, his feet hanging out of a hammock in his backyard. There were images of him at restaurant openings, but also in quiet cabins in the woods and secluded beaches. If I had to distill it down to one thought, it was balance.Ford was intensely sensual—I already knew that part—but he was also balanced. And I was a fucking idiot.
“Hey.” Alex put her hand on my arm, pulling my attention back to the present.
I’d managed to put my friends off for two days before they demanded entry into my home. They were all here now. Meredith with a box I really hoped held cupcakes, Kindra and Alex looking concerned, and Elena looking disappointed at the mess I’d allowed to creep into her creation. I didn’t think I was ready for any of them, but if I had to choose, I’d go for Meredith’s bakery box.
“So Friday night was pretty intense.” Alex watched me as if she wasn’t sure of my reaction, which was probably fair, considering.
I’d answered her text after the gala so she’d know I was okay, but I’d put off explaining anything about Ford. I imagined he and Erik had filled her in after I left, which reminded me. I finally had a legitimate reason to be pissed at Erik.
“That’s one word for it.” Not the word I’d have chosen, but my brain was too crispy from Halo Top and screen time to come up with anything better.
“Why don’t you tell us what happened, honey?” Kindra sat next to me on the sofa.
Rather than banishing memories of Ford and me on the sofa, I’d decided to wallow in them. Pretty sure Kindra had an opinion on the nest I’d created for myself but the therapist in her kept her from commenting. Instead, she smoothed out the blanket covering me and waited for me to speak. I knew from experience; she’d wait as long as it took.
“I’ve been seeing someone. It was supposed to just be sex. It turned into something more.” That much at least was true. “When I realized we were getting too emotionally involved, I left before anyone got hurt.” That part was a big fat lie. I’d hurt both of us. “He and Erik cooked up some scheme for him to be my date to the gala.” Alex opened her mouth but didn’t object. “I thought he was a bartender. He’s not.”
“That’s an understatement.” Elena looked up from the coffeemaker.
Coffee and cupcakes almost made talking worth it. Maybe.
“How could you have been dating Ford Landry—theFord Landry—and not realize it?” Elena shook her head and I felt the disapproval all the way from the kitchen. “Serious question. It’s not like he’s hiding. He’s a public figure. He probably has fifty thousand or so Twitter followers.”
“Sixty-five thousand. I looked.” May as well come completely clean. “We didn’t exchange last names—my idea. We were just supposed to be an extended one-nightstand.”
“How long did you date?” Meredith opened the box of cupcakes—yay!—and set them on the table in front of me.
“About a month.” The collective gasp from my friends made it clear how pathetic my normal dating life had become.
