“He sucks,” I answered bluntly.
“Ah. Yes, we should definitely get a drink some time soon.”
Since that time was not the present, I decided to head to the party that evening with Whitney. Why the fuck not? I could do other things, like get in touch with Liam and call him out on his shit. But that would require extending myself again, reaching out for him, trying to catch hold of him as he obviously ran away from me. Fuck that.
I’d show him I wasn’t someone he could play games with. I wasn’t going to sit around at home pining over him. I was going to head out to a sparkling black tie gala with the rich and famous. So what that I’d rather be in the cab of his truck with him making out? He didn’t know that, and what he didn’t know made me stronger.
Of course as soon as I stood, decked out head to toe in a black silk gown—because, yes Whitney, I had attended a black tie party or two while I’d lived in New York and I did have something to wear—my phone dinged with a text.
* * *
Liam: What are you up to tonight?
* * *
Anger ripped through me. I chucked my phone into my clutch and zipped it up without responding. Screw him. Maybe I’d been a puppet on his string when I was 18, waiting around and revolving my life around him. But I was 25 now and I wanted to be treated well, damn it. I’d put a whole hell of a lot of trust in him yesterday. I’d made myself so vulnerable, placing so much literally and figuratively in his hands. And what had he done in the ensuing 24 hours? Completely disappeared. That was not cool.
Whitney stopped by in a car outside my new apartment. She didn’t get out to come see inside. Instead, she peered up from the limo with a look of apprehension on her flawlessly made-up face.
“That’s your new place?” She sounded as if she’d just seen an army of cockroaches scuttle across the kitchen floor.
“Yup.” I settled in next to her, giving her thigh a tap. “You up for drinking tonight?”
“Yes!” She switched course instantly to party girl, pressing a button to reveal the fully stocked interior bar. We didn’t even have to wait to get to the party.
When we arrived, things already were in full swing at one of the other exclusive clubs on the island. Everyone wore black, white or metallic gowns and the men looked debonair in tuxes. Theo was right by the entrance as we walked in. He grabbed two bubbly glasses of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray and handed them to us. I drank and talked and even danced a little, if bobbing up and down to lite pop tunes counted as that. And what was even better, I managed to not even check my phone for a whole two hours.
Finally, in the bathroom, standing at the sink with a bunch of other women powdering their noses, I checked. Liam had texted me again.
* * *
Liam: Are you home?
* * *
I was feeling a bit tipsy and cocky, too. I kept it brief.
* * *
Sophie: No
* * *
He wrote back immediately.
* * *
Liam: Where are you?
* * *
Sophie: Out at a party
* * *
Liam: With who?
* * *
Sophie: Why do you care?
* * *
Liam: Are you with Theo?
* * *
Sophie: Yes
* * *
Liam: Are you going to let him touch you?
* * *
I contemplated throwing the phone across the bathroom or flushing it down the toilet. Infuriating man. Instead, I wrote back.
* * *
Sophie: If you don’t want to, why do you care who does?
* * *
Then I turned my phone off. I was done with this cat and mouse game. I didn’t want to play anymore. Either he was in or he was out. I wasn’t going to let him yank me around until he made up his mind.
12
Liam
While Sophie was out who knew where with Theo, I forced myself to go out, too. A couple of friends were having parties. During the summer that was always the case and it was easy enough to make the rounds. The problem for me lately wasn’t lack of opportunity. It was lack of interest. It took motivation to head out and make casual conversation, at least pretending to listen and engage with women I already knew would never mean much to me at all.
I guess I wasn’t being fair. Any one of them might turn out to be the actual love of my life. But I wasn’t feeling it, and that was something I’d learned couldn’t be changed.
Disinterest wasn’t my usual problem. Typically, I enjoyed skimming along the surface, keeping things light. People thought of me as an all-around good guy, the kind of buddy you wanted as your wing man, if not the life of the party at least an asset. It felt good to be well-liked, and the female attention never got old.
Every now and then, of course, I’d indulge in the kind of dark, sexual play I truly craved. But that was never with people I knew. During my monthly weekends in Boston, I’d head down into the dungeons of a private club, sometimes to watch, sometimes to engage. I’d never had a long-term sub or servant. I’d never felt pulled strongly enough to another woman to try to pursue that. A long-term relationship would get complicated and I liked my simple life.
So far, it had been enough. Now, in the span of two weeks, Sophie Douglas had fucked everything up. What used to satisfy me like a hearty meal now seemed like thin, pathetic gruel.
“So you’re a firefighter?” A pretty young thing wearing a bikini top flirted her ass off with me out on my friend’s deck.
“That’s right.” I flashed her my hero’s grin, annoyed with myself even as I kept playing the game. How had it all gotten so old so fast?
“Ooh, you’re so big and strong. I bet you could just pick me up and carry me wherever you wanted.”
Subtlety was not this woman’s middle name. Usually that was a selling point for me. Not tonight, though.
“Hey, man.” I greeted a guy I’d met a few times through another friend. I couldn’t remember his name, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was he’d be happy to meet this bikini-clad flirt. She’d likely be happy to meet him, and off I’d be able to go. The match-up went as easily as expected, and I said my good-byes to the host.
“Flying solo tonight?” he
asked, noting the lack of a woman by my side.
I shrugged. “Guess so.”
“All right. But don’t go all Zen monk on me, man. I’m still pissed at you for not throwing your party on the Fourth.”
“Naw, nothing’s changed,” I assured him. Driving home I thought about what a lie that was. That had to be one of those statements that instantly meant the opposite. The minute you found yourself insisting that “nothing had changed,” it meant things had changed dramatically and irrevocably.
I probably should have made myself stay at the party. Now that I was alone at night driving in my truck, I wanted to stop by Sophie’s apartment. Maybe not knock, but I could drive by and see if she was there or if she was still out with that dipshit.
I forced myself to head straight home. Stalking was not a hobby I wanted to start picking up. Plus, even I had to admit, I’d basically encouraged her to go out with some other guy tonight. After our intense time together, I’d pretty much bailed on her. If I’d called, stopped by, sent her flowers, something or anything other than lame, jealous texts 24 hours after the fact, she might be with me and in my arms at that moment.
Nothing sucked more than recognizing you were creating your own problems. Back at my cottage, I popped a beer and headed out to the deck. The ocean raged below, pounding onto the rocks. Bathed in outdoor lights, I could see the surf crashing against the cragged black surfaces, surging then retreating. Through it all, barnacles clung to the surface, resisting, refusing to move regardless of the brutality of their surroundings.