I took it to the terrace and planted myself in a chaise chair. "To hell with it. I'm done."
Max showed up a minute later with two glasses. He took the bottle that I'd been drinking directly from. "I don't want to drink your backwash." He poured us each a glass and then set the bottle on the other side of him, out of my reach.
I downed my drink, which turned out to be scotch, and held the glass out for him to refill.
He eyed me for a moment but then refilled my glass. "Heartbreak’s a bitch, eh?"
"What would you know about it?" I snapped.
He shrugged. “I know what I see in you." He was quiet for a moment. "Maybe she just needs time."
I glanced at him with ayou're an idiotexpression but didn't comment.
I turned my attention out to the ocean. I had a really great house here, but as I sat and stewed, my anger and my agitation only rose.
I downed my drink, setting the glass down on the table between the two chaise lounges. "I've got to get out of here." But where the hell would I go? I suppose I could go home, but that didn't hold any appeal. I turned to look at Max. "Let's go to Vegas. We can start getting the lay of the land."
He arched a brow. "That's not in the plans for at least a year."
"So? We move up the date. Maybe we’ll just go gambling, get drunk, and get laid." I rose from the chaise, striding back into my house to my room to pack.
"I'm not so sure that's a good idea," Max said, leaning against the door jamb of my bedroom.
I began tossing clothing items into a bag. "Are you coming or not?"
He shrugged and left my room. By the time I was packed and calling to arrange a charter plane to Las Vegas, Max had joined me in the living room carrying his bag. "I'm only going to try to keep you out of trouble."
I glared at him. "Don't get in my way, Max."
His expression was filled with pity, and I wanted to punch him. Instead, I grabbed my bag and headed out the door.
"Why don't you let me drive?"
"I'm not drunk."
"No, but you’re pissed."
Reluctantly, I handed the keys over to him and then climbed into the front seat. Thankfully, Max was quiet the first fifteen minutes of the trip.
But then he said, "Maybe we could try that trading places thing. I could go see her pretending to be you."
I looked at him like he’d lost his mind. "What good would that do?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. I probably couldn't change your mind, but maybe I could get a better sense of what she needed in order to give you another chance."
I shook my head. “I know what she needs. She needs to trust me. And she needs to love me. Neither of those things are ever going to happen again."
He let the conversation about Kate drop. Instead, he talked about his thoughts on the club we should build in Las Vegas. I didn't really listen to him because my mind was mired in regret at what had happened five years ago and anger that Kate wouldn't give me a chance.
When we arrived at the private charter section of the airport, we boarded the plane and then were off to Las Vegas. When we landed, a car was waiting to take us to the hotel where I'd already booked a two-room suite for Max and me.
Once in our room, I took a shower and then put on a pair of dark slacks and a crisp charcoal-colored shirt. I looked at myself in the mirror, but I had to turn away because I couldn't face the man who was about to go out and find a woman to fuck.
I was sure there wasn't enough booze in the world to dull the pain or erase the memory of Kate. The next best option was to drown myself in the body of another woman. I was fucking pathetic.
When I came out of my room, Max was standing at the window with a drink in one hand and his phone in the other. He'd showered and changed as well, putting out a pair of dark slacks, but in his case, a white shirt.
I suppose it was a metaphor. I wore black because my life had turned dark and bleak. Max wore white because he was always the eternal optimist.