“You took the guy’s girlfriend out for a sandwich. Because that’s what you do, take strange women out for sandwiches.”
“I wanted to cheer her up.”
“Uh huh,” he said again. He was such an asshole. “You trying to sleep with her?”
“No.”
“Not even a little?”
“I took a woman out for a sandwich without trying to fuck her, Andrew. Not even a little.”
“So you’re going to try to fuck her next time, then.”
I shook my head. “Dude, she doesn’t even like me. There isn’t going to be a next time.”
He looked skeptical. “What does this girlfriend look like?”
I shrugged. “She’s a redhead. She looked like a redhead.” My brother was steepling his fingers together like a comic book villain and peering at me like he could read my mind, so I said, “Forget it, dickbag. She works in a bank. She’s too decent for me. I just felt bad because he fucked her over, that’s all.”
Andrew was obviously of my gene pool, because he said, “So go put dog shit on his porch or a laxative in his morning latte. Gina, too. They both deserve it.Thentry to sleep with the redhead. That’s what I would do.”
“You’re a real role model, you know that?”
Andrew nodded solemnly. “I’ve taught you everything I know, little brother.”
“Mom and Dad would be so proud.”
We both laughed, because the idea of our parents being proud of either of us was ridiculous. Our parents had checked out after Andrew’s accident—it was, apparently, too much for them to handle. There were never two more useless people than John and Rita Mason. The only thing our parents were good for was money, and plenty of it. We’d come into our trust funds at twenty-one, and they’d thrown even more money at Andrew after his accident, because he made them uncomfortable. Me, they just hated.
So my brother had a scheduled caretaker, cleaners, groceries delivered, a home that was fitted for a wheelchair—everything except two parents who gave a shit.
“You need anything before I go?” I asked him.
He stopped laughing and scratched his nose. “The cleaning crew comes today, but the groceries don’t come until tomorrow, and I’m low on a few things.”
So I took care of it. This was what we did, Andrew and me. I helped him out with the stuff he couldn’t do, or couldn’t do easily. He hated it, and sometimes he argued with me, but in the end he always gave in, because he knew I’d do it anyway. He knew I wouldn’t quit.
Aside from taking care of Andrew, I wasn’t good for much. I’d dropped out of my first year of college after Andrew’s accident. I didn’t work, because I needed to help him, and who the hell wanted to work anyway? I sure as fuck hadn’t settled down. The first years after the accident had been so hard, and such a blur, that I’d kind of lost track of things. Now I was twenty-six, and instead of looking around and wondering what the hell I was going to do, I avoided the topic by doing what I’d been doing pretty much nonstop for five years: partying.
It wasn’t that I had a lot of friends. Friends are people who know you, who really give a shit about you. No, I didn’t have friends—but I had acquaintances. I was rich, I was good-looking, and I was always looking for a good time, so the good times tended to find me. I’d started by blowing off steam a few times after the accident and the end of my college career, and somehow I’d never stopped. It was a rare night that I didn’t get at least one invite. And I usually agreed.
It wasn’t the alcohol that drew me—I could take it or leave it. It wasn’t the women either, though I usually had one hanging around. No, it was the distraction that I was addicted to. Disappearing into a crowd, letting it take over, becoming someone else—or no one at all—for a few hours, until I fell into my bed with exhaustion—thatwas what I wanted.
By the time I finished getting Andrew’s groceries, I had two different party invites in my texts. I accepted both of them.
I wasn’t going to think about Gina, or redheads in overalls. At least for a little while.
I went home to grab some sleep before the long night began.
SIX
Evie
I waited two days before I showed up at the boxing gym.
I liked to think I was playing it cool, but I admit it—I had to work up my nerve. The place was in one of the crappier parts of town, tucked in the corner next to a strip mall, and I knew it would be full of sweaty, threatening men. I’d never boxed before; I’d never hit anything, ever. So not only would I look like fresh meat, I’d also look like the rank beginner I was.
But I went. I had to work all day at the bank with Josh, and the experience made me feel restless and mad. Nick was right; I wanted to hit something. It might be therapeutic. So I brought my gym clothes with me to the bank. Then, feeling weirdly like a criminal, I changed into workout clothes after work and snuck out to go to the boxing gym before anyone could see.