Chapter Twenty-Two
I was three drinks in by the time Kai appeared at the patio doors, and pouring my fourth. Set the bottle down, then realized it was almost empty anyway and so brimmed the glass with the dregs. I snagged another from the rack as I walked over to let him in.
“Evening, neighbor,” he said, softly.
The look on his face was uncomplicated and unguarded, and I made the effort to smile back at him.
The wine made it easier to ignore the knowledge that we’d had our goodbye moment, or at least all the moment the situation was allowed.
That to try to eke out something extra would be as greedy as it was foolhardy.
He nodded back, at the pool. “Coming in?”
I shook my head. “Not right now,” I demurred, pulling out the corkscrew. “But you go ahead.”
He shrugged, the gesture half-hidden by him tugging off his shirt. I took advantage of the opportunity to check out his chest, never less than impressive, and then watched as he pushed down his shorts, too.
“Busy night?” He looked, pointedly, at the wine glass.
I felt a twist of annoyance in my stomach. “One of those days.”
“Aren’t they all,” he countered, archly. As I turned to the bottle he walked out to the pool and slipped into the water.
Kai swam for maybe thirty minutes. Long, languid strokes taking him back and forth across the pool with a crisp economy of movement that was mesmerizing.
I sat on a chair on the deck, glass cradled in both hands, the bottle by my feet.
I’d worked my way though maybe half of it by the time he pulled himself out.
“Seriously, you should come in,” he told me, shaking droplets of water from his hair.
I jerked back, not wanting to get chlorine in the wine.
“You can’t just sit there drinking all night.”
I rolled my eyes. “Thanks for the advice.”
Kai sighed. “That’s what, the second glass? The third? It’s not good for you, Tate.”
His count was off, by about a bottle, but I wasn’t going to correct him. “I didn’t realize you were checking up on me, doctor.”
He sighed again; looked away into the night. “I don’t need to be a doctor to see that there’s something going on.”
I took a gulp from the glass, then slowly, pointedly topped it up. “What’s going on,” I told him, flatly, “is that I’m a grown-up, who’s allowed to have a fucking drink once in a while.”
Kai sat down on the other deck chair, opposite me. “You say ‘once in a while’ like this is a rare occasion.”
I could feel the frustration bubbling in me, the fizz of light-headedness only magnified by the alcohol. His earnest concern sounded like a criticism.
“Maybe you should mind your own business,” I countered, voice cold.
He stared at me for a moment, the silence heavy between us.
Some part of my brain was screaming that I was screwing up, that I was taking all this out on the wrong person, but the rest of me - the part that had been looking for a fight all day, heck maybe since the break-up itself - was in no mood to listen.
“You’re an asshole when you’re drunk,” Kai said, eventually. There was just as much disappointment in his tone as there was anger.
I grit my teeth. “And you’re a supercilious dick when you’re sober, so maybe you should just go, eh? Wouldn’t want to outstay your welcome.”
I regretted it as soon as the words were out of my mouth.
Kai looked at me, silent again, for a minute. Then he stood up, his expression sad.
“I wouldn’t want to do that, Tate, no. Thanks for letting me use your pool.”
I should’ve said something as he walked into the house to pick up his clothes.
Should’ve said something as he pulled his shirt on over wet skin, and then walked back out onto the deck.
Should’ve said something when he paused, and looked at me, but I was too far gone in my anger, and my bitterness, and my self-loathing to meet his gaze.
Only heard his sigh, as he walked back through the side gate and was gone.
I cursed myself, under my breath. Stupid, stupid, stupid.