“I’ve been with men and women,” I explain. “She changed when she found that out. Then she cheated instead of having the courage to break it off fast.”
“Brutal.”
“Just saying, I understand how shitty it feels, even if you know you dodged a bullet. Sorry you’re going through it.”
“Thanks.” He nods, looking me up and down. “You do theater? I thought you must be a corporate exec when you said you were in the film industry.”
Yep, I do theater.
And very popular TV.
And probably filming a major motion picture soon, but I don’t want to tell you that.
“I used to do theater,” I tell him. “My character in that play was a gay soldier in the Roman Empire.”
That play was just business. There were zero feelings present when I kissed my male costar.
But I’m not going to mention Daniel. I’m not telling a stranger about how the only other man I’ve been with was my best friend in the world, who used to secretly pull me close in locker rooms, backstage at plays, and anytime he drank enough to ask me to sleep over.
I’m not ashamed of what I used to do with him. Not even a little. I justcan’ttalk about Daniel right now, and no one asked to hear a sob story about my dead old friend, anyway.
“What happened with your girlfriend?” I ask him,bringing the conversation back to his own life. “Did you get in a fight downstairs or something?”
He finally splits his gaze from me.
He looks back out toward the city, shaking his head slowly, and I watch the way the neon light shines on different areas of his black curls.
“Ex-girlfriend, now. And can it be called a ‘fight’ if it’s me confirming she’s cheating from an Instagram picture?”
“I suppose not.”
“She chose a guy who always smells like a vape shop when I pass him at parties, and probably has a mediocre cock.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’ll live.”
“Still doesn’t mean you deserved that.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “I might have deserved it. You know those threads online where people ask if they’re the asshole? I think I was the asshole. I didn’tcheaton her, but I was difficult. I want things I can’t have.”
“How so?”
He shrugs. “It’s just who I am.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
He suddenly makes eye contact, the spotlight of his attention directed right at me again.
“You barely know me. How do you know I’m not difficult? You’ve been out here acting like you’re about to charge me an hourly rate for therapy when you don’t even know my name. I drink too much. I live at parties. I’ve never done coke, like she was so obsessed with, but I’ve certainly done plenty of other things in the past. I’m just…not good.Know what I mean?”
He searches my face, his lashes flicking up and down.
I let his words hang in the air for a moment, because he’s wound up like a tight spring.
“Okay,” I finally tell him, calmly. “You’re difficult. Happy now?”
He nods. “Thanks.”
