“Then maybe it’s for the best,” she said. “Got some good dick out of it, so that’s all that matters.”
The best dick in the fucking world. Whenever I slept with someone new, it would be a massive disappointment. In size, performance, passion, everything. It was hard to imagine ever wanting to take my clothes off with someone else. “Yeah.”
Her eyes moved past me, and a smile broke out on her face, like she recognized someone who entered the bar.
God, it better not be Timothée.
“Hey, babe.” She stood up to greet him.
Ugh, no.
His arm circled her lower back, and he pulled her in for a kiss.
What the fuck happened to girls’ night?
Timothée looked at me when he finished their kiss. And he stared and stared ... right in front of her. “Hey, Aurelia.”
“Hey, Timothée.” He had these lidless eyes that never seemed to close. Like a lifeless doll that you had to shove in a toy box because it was too creepy to leave out.
“This is my friend, Pierre.”
I turned to see the other guy who came to the table. He had dirty-blond hair, green eyes, and was slender in the arms. He extended his hand to shake mine. “Lovely to meet you,” he said with a French accent.
“Uh, hi.” Did that skank set me up on a double date? I looked at her across the table.
She mouthed, “Just go with it.”
We all took a seat, and the guys ordered their drinks.
I glared at Cindy so fucking hard. “What the fucking hell?” I mouthed.
“Just trying to help,” she mouthed back.
I stopped mouthing and just spoke aloud. “You’re unbelievable.”
Both men turned to look at me.
Like I gave a shit.
Pierre made conversation the entire night, and to his credit, he was really patient with my attitude. Frankly, I was fucking rude, but he didn’t seem to be bothered by it, like he’d already been told that could happen.
I felt guilty as fuck. I felt like I’d betrayed Constantine, when I didn’t consent to this. I felt like I’d betrayed him, when he’d blocked my number and said he wanted nothing to do with me. This was a taste of life without him, of mediocrity, and I cursed myself for ever wishing he’d been normal.
I loved that Constantine wasn’t normal.
It was the worst pain ever, to wish more than anything in the world to go back in time and have a do-over. To swallow the words before they had the chance to leave my mouth and pierce our relationship like bullets.
Maybe if I’d had the opportunity to actually apologize, I would have been able to change his mind. But he wouldn’t even give me that. I didn’t know where he lived, didn’t know how to track him down. When I searched his name online, he wasn’t present anywhere, not on social media, no hits at all. Like he’d been completely wiped from the internet.
My only option was to call his family’s restaurant in Taormina ... and ask his mom to relay a message to him. He’d get so angry that I’d crossed the line that he’d probably confront me, and then I would have my chance.
But what would I accomplish when he was out-of-his-mind pissed off?
Nothing. I’d accomplish nothing.
“We’re gonna take off,” Cindy said. “Timothée has to stop by and feed his cat.”
What kind of man had a cat?
