35. Chapter 35
35
Hope Is A Dangerous Thing
I am halfway to fucking pissed. I swear I only had a few pints, but one morphed into two, which somehow transformed into six.
It has been a stressful few weeks, and besides all the crap with my dad happening, a certain coworker of mine has infiltrated my mind and won’t fucking leave.
I’m starting to think sex with no strings isn't going to be possible soon, but I think that’s only something I’ve thought about.
Ella showed up at my apartment the other day begging for sex, but I declined and took care of her for the night. Then, when we woke up the next morning, our limbs tangled around one another, I took care of her then too.
She’s fucking my head up, and the only way I know how to get rid of her is to drink until the only thing I can see is darkness or the world spinning. At this point, I’ll take either.
It’s not that I have feelings for her—we both agreed this was a means to an end, and it will be.
It’s going to be really fucking hard to watch her date and know she’s fucking other people. I’ll still be around since we still work together, and the fact that she’s best friends with my sister. I’ll have to hear from Alissa how happy she is when she finds someone who’s perfect for her.
It pisses me the fuck off that it won’t be me.
Thus, the reason I agreed to Brody’s proposal for a drink. He’s not nearly at the same level as me, but he’s getting there. Brad is here though, and he’s as trashed as I am.
“So, is Leo Zimmerman going to try and pick up a lady tonight, or is he too busy drinking his feelings away?” Brody asks, his arm slung around my shoulder.
“No women for me tonight, lad.”
“And why is that? Every person in here keeps staring at you. There’s not enough for the rest of us.” Brad tries to smack my arm, but he misses and almost spills his beer. “Shit.”
“I’m seeing someone, but it’s just physical.”
It’s just sex but for some reason, it feels like more. Something happened recently that caused the switch for me, but as hard as I try, I don’t think I’m capable of casual anymore.
Ella coming over to my place—her coming to me —when she had a rough day made me think I’m capable of more than one night for her. That maybe I could be the person she runs to when things start to feel like too much.
But hope is a dangerous thing—especially when it comes to us. We may have reconciled in the past few weeks, but that doesn't mean anything. We still argue and bicker. We still play games with one another, and I like that. I like what our relationship has come to.
I want more, but I know I can’t have it. We only have one more slip-up for our fucking pact, and I’m willing to never fuck Ella again if it means she keeps running toward me instead of away for once.
“Just sex, huh? Is that a personal preference, or can most girls not handle more than one night with you?” Brody laughs as he sips his beer, and I take a long swig to try and combat what his stupid statement made me feel.
“It was a mutual agreement, mate. No strings attached.”
“And you like her?” Brad asks me.
I shake my head. “She’s a fucking firecracker, but all it will ever be is sex.” No matter how fucking confused I am about it right now.
“A firecracker, huh?”
“Yup,” I say, finishing my pint. I think that was my seventh? I honestly haven't a single fucking clue. All I know is that I haven't pictured my firecracker in my mind since I finished it. The beer is starting to settle, and all I can feel is the hum of the music in my bones, and I love it.
God, she’s so pretty though. I hate that I like how she points her finger in my face all the time. I hate that her hair wraps perfectly around my fist. I hate it all so much, and it’s all I can think about.
She is all I can think about.
I guess that beer didn't really help.
“Well, maybe after you’re done with her, I can take a stab. I could use an arrangement like yours, but mine would be never-ending.”
“Over my dead body, Brad. Plus, Ella would never go near your dick with a six meter pole.”
“Ella?” Brody asks me, his arm retreating from my side.
“What?” I ask him.
“You’re fucking Ella? Ella Williams? The bitch from our office?”
Did that really come out of my mouth? “No, no, I’m not. And don’t call her that.” I try to play it off, but the two of them have weird looks on their faces.
“Wait a minute, it all makes sense now,” Brody says, putting his glass down. “You guys were always staying late at the office, the bickering; it was all a ruse because you’re fucking her.”
“Are you guys in a relationship or something?” Brad asks me.
“No. Ella and I aren’t anything as far as you two are concerned. Forget you even heard anything, because there’s nothing going on with us,” I say in an effort to change the subject. Maybe if I say it one more time, they’ll believe me.
“Whatever you say, dude. I hope the sex was good. She seems like she would be a good fuck.”
Not wanting to punch this fucker in the mouth after the bomb I just dropped, I fake a phone call and get the hell out of here.
I go to call a car but decide to walk instead, the weight of what I said sobering me up so fucking quickly.
I don’t think they would say anything, and I feel like I covered my tracks well, right? God, I can’t even remember exactly what I told them. All I know is that I hope those two were fucked up enough to forget any trace of the conversations we had. I sure as hell want to go back in time and stop myself from blurting that out—especially in front of those pricks.
Brody is technically above me and Ella at work, and that worries me. I don’t think he’d do anything, but now he has something to hold over our heads. I wouldn't put it past him to use that piece of information to get something he wants or needs in the future.
I’m such a fucking idiot.
This could be a disaster if it comes back to bite us, and it will be all my fault. Not only did I proposition her in the first place, but I was the one who outed it to the people we work with. And Ella would be pissed at me if this got out.
It is partially her fault, though. If I could get her out of my mind, then this might not have happened. If she wasn't attached to me like a fucking tick, maybe I could move on, fuck someone else, and call it a fucking day.
But I can’t. Even after this is over, I don’t know if I’ll be able to.
Would she stand by me after all this shit? Would she believe me if I told her what I did tonight? Would she fix it? Knowing her, she would. She’s good at that, fixing everyone else’s problems for them, but I never wanted her to fix mine.
Though this is our problem, not just hers.
I should just tell her. I should go to her place and tell her what happened.
But then I could lose her . I could lose the one shred of Ella I have still—our sex pact. She would break it off, I’m sure of it, and then she’d probably punch me in the face for what I did—for how careless I was with my fucking mouth.
This is my mistake, and I have to be the one to fix it, no matter what it costs me.