Chapter 16
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
LINC
“For fuck’s sake,” Myles mutters as his ball stops short of the green. “This is stupid. Why didn’t you arrange for strippers instead?”
I shake my head, because Myles will bitch about anything. I don’t know how his wife puts up with him. Ava’s a damn angel.
I flew into Vegas last night after a week in Paris, and I’m in the worst kind of mood. Part of it is jet-lag, but a lot of it is because I’m an asshole.
I haven’t called Carmichael. I wanted to, but I didn’t. And I know that makes me the worst kind of douche, but I have no idea what to say to her.
Liam and Brooks are already at the club house, no doubt trying out all the finest whiskeys behind the bar. Eli and Holden are ahead of us, the two of them talking about the next green I think.
And Myles is pouting like a baby at his club.
“I don’t know why you’re grumbling,” I tell him. “I’m the one who just crossed two continents and then came straight here to watch you miss every hole on the course.”
“One continent. You crossed one,” Myles corrects.
“Europe and North America. I make it two.” I hit my ball easily into the hole and Myles groans.
We’ve all been playing golf since we were kids. It’s our dad’s favorite sport, and the one thing he knew how to do when it was his custody time. Golf, dinner, then back to our respective moms. All those Saturdays made us experts.
Or some of us, at least.
“So how was Paris?” Myles asks when he finally pots his ball.
“Busy. Tiring. I feel like I’m in a plane more than I’m on the ground.” And I didn’t sleep a fucking wink. Which isn’t like me.
Maybe I shouldn’t have gone to Paris. I know Tessa was pissed that I left her alone at the last minute. But if Roman tells me to jump, I fucking leap. So I flew to Paris, schmoozed some journalists and our client, then flew straight here to Vegas for Holden’s bachelor party. We’re playing golf today and tonight more of his friends arrive for a private dinner in the casino followed by a private gambling room.
No strippers at all. Because I’m a good brother.
“I forgot you were in the Bahamas before Paris. How did it go?” Myles picks his ball up and dusts it off.
“Good.” My reply is short. Because I don’t want to talk about the Bahamas.
“What were you there for again?”
Okay, so we’re talking about the Bahamas. Great. “A presentation,” I say. “Gold Leisure.”
“James Gold?” Myles asks.
“Yep. He wanted us to go to Exuma to experience the place for real.”
“It’s a hard life,” Myles says dryly. “Wait, who’s us? Did Roman go? ”
I wince at the thought of it. “No, a colleague.”
And now I’m thinking about Tessa again. Not Carmichael. I’ve started to divide them in my mind. Tessa is Bahamas. All floaty dresses and sun-kissed skin. Carmichael is the haughty co-worker who hates my guts in New York.
“I slept with her,” I tell Myles. He stops walking and turns to look at me.
“What?”
“My co-worker. We had sex.”
Myles eyes scan my face. “And why are you telling me this?”
Because I need to talk to somebody. Somebody who’ll actually listen. Maybe even understand.
And yeah, Myles and I haven’t always seen eye-to-eye but he’s my oldest brother. He’s fucking wise beyond his years. He loves me, I know that.
And I love him.
“Because I messed everything up,” I say. “I left her a week ago in Exuma and I haven’t called her.”
“Why haven’t you?”
“Because I’m an asshole.
“Of course you are,” Myles says smoothly. He’s cheered up immensely now that the focus is on me and my fuck ups and not his terrible golf technique. “Get in the golf cart, you can tell me all about it.”
So I do. Sitting next to my brother while he peels a banana and eats it in the slowest, most excruciating way, I tell him all about Tessa, including that she’s a divorced mom, and our week together leading up to the way we ended in bed.
“And that’s it?” he asks, swallowing down a mouthful of banana.
“Yeah, that’s it.”
He puts the peel into the little plastic baggy they’ve put in the cart to serve as a trash can. “I still don’t get why you’re telling me it. You had sex with your colleague. Okay, that’s a bit stupid since you have to work together. But she sounds like she’s got her head screwed on. She won’t say anything if you don’t.”
I frown. “But…”
“Not that I want to talk about it, but you have sex with a lot of women, don’t you?”
My face wrinkles even more. “Not that many…”
He lifts a brow. I shrug. “Average,” I say. “Maybe slightly above.”
“Do you know what average is?” he asks.
“No, do you?”
“We’re getting off the subject,” he says huffily. If there’s one thing my brother loves, it’s a problem to solve. He lives for it. “So you had sex while traveling with a co-worker. It happens all the time all over the world. Just chalk it up to experience and move on. Maybe send her some flowers or something.”
“I haven’t slept all week,” I tell him and he winces.
“Shit.”
“I think I like her.”
He actually fucking winces.
I frown. “Is that a bad thing?” I ask him. “Me liking somebody? Shouldn’t it be a good thing? Shouldn’t you be happy for me right now?”
“You’re the one boo-hooing because you fucked everything up royally,” Myles points out. “And I’m mostly reacting like this because I think you might have chosen the wrong person.”
“What do you mean?” I frown. “Why’s she the wrong person? What do you have against her?” The need to defend Carmichael rises up inside me. “She’s fucking perfect. Beautiful, funny, clever as hell. And she’s renovating a wreck of a home all on her own.”
Myles starts the cart up, an electric whir rising through the air. “I mean you picked the wrong person because she sounds too good for you. Plus there’s the big thing.”
“What big thing?” My blood begins to heat up. Myles is supposed to be on my fucking side, not telling me I’m not good enough for her.
I mean I’m not, but still. That’s for me to say, not him.
“You just told me she’s a single mom. You’ve never dated a single mom. Not ever.”
There’s a silence. Because he’s right. I never have. It’s not a choice I made. It’s just that all the women I’ve been with previously have been single and probably younger than Tessa.
“You can’t fuck around with them,” Myles says. “Because if you walk away, you don’t just hurt them, you hurt their kids.”
“I’m not planning on hurting anybody,” I say. “I’ve spoken to Zoe. She’s a nice kid. I’ve got her tickets to see the Linebackers.”
Myles taps his fingers against the wheel, looking ahead at the path as we drive. Holden and Eli are at the next green, and we slow down to join them. But neither of us gets out of the cart.
“Nobody thinks they’re going to hurt anybody at the beginning of a relationship,” Myles says patiently. “You think your mom thought dad would hurt her?”
“No.” My chest tightens.
“My mom didn’t either. And yet he hurt them both. And can I point out something else?”
“If you have to.” I’m starting to feel sick and I have a feeling whatever Myles has to add is going to make it worse.
“I’m just trying to be the voice of reason here. You walked out with a hasty goodbye. And you’ve not spoken to her since. That’s not how you treat somebody you care about. And it’s definitely not how you treat a single mom.”
Yeah, I feel worse. About a hundred times worse. “Can we just head back to the clubhouse?” I ask him. “I need a drink. Now.”
TESSA
I’m sanding the living room walls when there’s a knock at the door. Zoe’s at her friend’s house. It’s Maisie’s birthday and they decided to have a last minute sleepover, even though Zoe spent most of the last week telling me how much she missed me.
I still remember what it was like to be a kid and being excluded from parties. So I agreed that she could go as long as we have lunch out together tomorrow.
The knock comes again. I put the sander down and run my hands through my hair to put it in some kind of order. I jump over the hole in the floor that the electrician insists has to stay open for the next couple of weeks while they finish rewiring and make my way to the front door.
Angela’s standing on the stoop and as soon as she catches sight of me she starts to laugh. “Loving the dusty hair,” she says. “Did you get it done in the Bahamas?”
I look at the hand I just used to push my hair back, and sure enough it’s covered in drywall dust. Ugh. “Come in,” I tell her. “But look where you’re going.”
“I know the holes in your floor like the back of my hand,” she tells me. She’s carrying a brown bag that smells suspiciously like my favorite takeout, along with a bottle of sparkling wine from a California vineyard that we both love.
“Zoe called me,” she says, following me inside and closing the door behind her. “She told me she’s stood you up on a Saturday night and begged me to come over to entertain you. ”
“You didn’t have to do that.” Though my stomach is glad she did. We walk into the kitchen and I grab some plates and glasses from the formica cupboards. She pulls out silverware from one of the boxes and starts to set the tiny kitchen table.
“Yes I did,” she says, opening up the wine. “A chance to talk to you all alone without little ears listening? Who would turn that down?”
“Zoe’s ears are big,” I say and Angela grins.
“I know. That’s why I can’t ask you about sex with your co-worker while she’s around. When did she get to be so perceptive?”
“I don’t know.” Angela’s brought my favorite Thai food from the restaurant two blocks down. I open the lid and groan when the aroma wafts up. I swear my stomach does a little happy dance.
I serve out our dinner, then carry the plates over to where Angela is sitting, already sipping at her wine. “Don’t drink too much,” I warn her. “After this you’re going to help me with the sanding. I want to finish it tonight.”
Angela forks up some noodles and puts them into her mouth. “Dear God, I’d marry the chef if I could eat this every day.”
“He’s about eighty,” I remind her.
“That’s why there’s Viagra,” she says. Then she catches my eye. “Speaking of which…”
She knows all about my days with Linc, because she was the first person I called when I got back.
“He hasn’t called,” I say softly. And the truth is, I’m still not sure how to feel about that. I really thought he’d at least check in with me after I arrived back home. Even a ‘Hi, how are you? Thanks for the great sex but it’s not going to happen again’ would have been better than radio silence.
“That rat bastard.” She takes a sip of wine. “It doesn’t get any better than this, does it? Let’s just give up on guys and eat and drink ourselves to oblivion. ”
“Sounds good to me.” Except it doesn’t. I hate to say it, but as much as I love eating and drinking, having sex with Linc was no comparison.
It was out of this world. I take a sip of the wine and remind myself that he’s not the only man who can give good orgasms. There are plenty of men out there.
“Maybe he’s just really busy,” she says hopefully. “You did say he had to fly to Paris then Vegas, right?”
“Mmhm.”
“And you said he was nice.” She’s talking with her mouthful now. Not that I blame her. This food is too good not to eat.
“He is. Or was. I don’t know.” Nice. Sexy. All consuming. “But I guess it was like a vacation fling.”
“Seriously?” She frowns.
“Yes.” I’ve been thinking about this a lot. We had a good time. We didn’t make each other any promises. And yeah, him ghosting me is a little dickish, but I haven’t messaged him either since his reply.
And right now I think that’s for the best. I don’t need drama in my life. I’ve had enough to last me until I retire. I just want fun and happiness. I’m not going to let his lack of communication get me down.
“But the sex…” She pouts, looking completely disappointed.
“Was great. But that’s it. He’s not interested, and I’m glad about that. There’s no way he could fit in here.” I gesture at the kitchen, the broken cupboards, the old fashioned stove. He must be used to everything shiny and new.
Including his partners.
“Seriously,” I tell her. “I’m good.” Or I will be.
“What about making that dating profile?” she asks me, hope tinging her voice.
“When the renovations are finished,” I tell her. “I promise.” Ange is right. I don’t want to be alone forever .
“Ugh. This is so disappointing.” She grabs her phone and starts typing.
“What have I told you about phones at the table?” I tease. “I don’t let Zoe do it.”
“I’m just checking his Insta to see if he’s posted.” She pauses. “Damn, he’s on private.” She peers over the top of her phone. “Are you friends on there?”
“No.” I hadn’t thought about it. I’d barely used my phone when we were in Exuma, apart from calls the office and Zoe. And before then I wouldn’t have touched any friend request he sent with a ten foot pole.
“Wait. I’ll see if he’s tagged by somebody who isn’t private.” Her eyes light up. “Yes! Yesterday. Let me look.”
And I watch as the smile slowly falls from her face.
“What is it?” I ask her.
“It doesn’t matter.” She goes to put her phone back in her purse.
“Of course it matters,” I say. “What did you just see?” I reach for her phone and she hesitates.
“Okay but don’t get mad,” she says, handing her phone over. The screen has already locked but I know her passcode the same way she knows mine. I tap it in and the screen lights up with her Instagram account.
Linc’s name is in the search bar. And below that are three possible Linc Salingers, followed by a grid of photographs. I press on the first one, and there he is. Looking devastatingly handsome in a tuxedo. Wherever he is, it’s at night and his skin is lamplit and golden. There’s a half smile on his face, but I’m not looking at that.
I’m looking at the woman he’s standing with. His arm is around her and she’s nestling into him, her face against his shoulder. My eyes go to the caption. It’s in French and I have to press the translate button.
Lincoln Salinger and Celine Duchamps attend the gala of the year. Don’t they make a cute couple? The date on it is from last week.
I hand her the phone back, forcing a smile onto my face. “There you go,” I tell her. “It was just a fling.”
“You’re much prettier than her,” Ange grumbles and I shake my head. “And younger,” she adds.
“And we’re both older than him,” I say pointedly, taking a large mouthful of wine. “Now can we change the subject, please?”