12. Brent
Brent
If Posey wasn’t beside me through the cocktail hour and while dinner progressed, I may have done something stupid.
Valentina’s hands and lips were all over Stephen each time I happened to glance in her direction.
The emotion welling up in me isn’t jealousy; it’s anger.
So many people at the wedding understand who she was to me just last week.
For her to behave like this with Trevor’s asshole cousin is a kick in the teeth.
Given our pattern, my anger would have led me to get her alone, and she’d have broken my will with her lips or her hands or some other body part she offered up.
Somewhere on this property, I would have fucked her, or she’d have had my dick in her mouth or grasped in her hand.
There isn’t a doubt it would have gone exactly as my roommate Jaxon said.
We’re not good for each other, but I’ve been incapable of saying no in the past.
Posey runs her hand along my thigh and leans close. “You doing okay? She’s putting on quite a show.”
“Fine, yeah.” I take a large sip of the wine in my glass. Trevor and Imani made their own, and I’ve either become a lightweight or the alcohol content in this is higher than normal. Drunk decision-making will get me into trouble too.
All the groomsmen and their dates are at one table, and the bridesmaids and their dates are at another.
Unlike some weddings, the head dinner table is made up of family—siblings, parents, grandparents.
The caterers are circulating, gathering up the last of the dessert plates, and all the speeches are done.
“If that changes, let me know. I’m very good at revenge PDA.” She gives me a sly smile before taking a sip from her glass.
“So humble too.”
“Humble is overrated. Know your strengths and play to them. No shame in that.” She turns in her chair and throws her arm over the back. “Of all the people to play the humble card, I didn’t have you pegged for that.”
“You don’t think I’m humble?”
“Do you think you’re humble?”
“You say play to your strengths. I say play to your audience. People don’t like cocky, even if you are.”
“People don’t like cocky?” Her brow furrows, and she feigns confusion. “What kind of world do you live in?”
“One where your brand of cockiness is cute, and mine is less so.”
“You can rub your cock-iness all over me whenever you want.”
I sputter on my sip of wine. She seems to enjoy catching me mid-drink. On impulse, I give her a quick kiss.
Posey glances in Val’s direction, but I didn’t do that for Val’s benefit. There’s something about Posey that hits me differently than any other girl ever has. Her company is truly enjoyable, and while she might experience that with every person in this room, I don’t.
One of the catering employees appears at our table to invite us to get a drink from the bar while they set up the dance floor.
“Bathroom,” I say to Posey as we rise.
“I’ll meet you at the bar,” she says, and she waves to Natalie before heading to her and Sebastian, who are gathering their things from a table near the back of the room.
My wine-addled brain takes a moment to remember where the bathrooms are. When I come out, Val is standing against the opposite wall with her arms crossed.
“We need to talk,” she says.
“No,” I say. “No, we do not.”
“Brent, we were together for more than a year. You owe me a little more explanation than what you gave me outside the athletics complex.”
Do I? It’s hard to believe she enjoyed the pattern we developed. The break up—hot sex—make up can’t be her version of a good relationship.
“Five minutes,” I agree.
She grabs my arm and hauls me out another door to a part of the terrace that’s empty.
The laughter and joy from the wedding floats out open doors and windows, but it’s windy out here, and Val’s hair gets caught by the wind.
She grabs the bulk of her black hair in her fist and gives me the wounded puppy expression I’ve only seen a handful of times.
That’s not going to win me over. I won’t let it.
“We can make this work,” Val says. “I’ll stop posting so much, and I won’t ask you to be part of stupid products and sponsorships. Only ones that genuinely fit you.” Her wounded expression morphs into a glare for a beat before she seems to remember she’s not supposed to be pissed at me right now.
The quick flash of emotion almost makes me chuckle. She’ll say anything to get me to agree to whatever plans she’s probably already made in the background. This is what happened last time. She agreed to cut back, and she did, but only until the next big offer came knocking.
Jealousy hasn’t worked the way she expected, so now she’s turned to bargaining. The order of her manipulation is slightly different, and she’s going to be shocked when the outcome is too. We’re not getting back together.
“This isn’t a healthy relationship,” I say.
“Fuck healthy. We’re young. Who cares? We get what we need from each other.”
“Do we?” I got a lot of sex in all sorts of forms, but I can’t remember the last conversation we had that didn’t revolve around orgasms and algorithms.
“You don’t want a real girlfriend.” She huffs out a breath.
“Come on, Brent. You’re too busy. I ask for some photos and a bit of your time.
I don’t distract you from your goal. Do you really think someone like Posey Jensen is going to be a good fit for you?
She won’t be okay with being ignored. Brushed aside.
Dropped at the last minute for a swim meet, an extra practice, a meeting with your coach, an amazing interview opportunity.
The excuses for breaking a date with me have been endless. ”
Hearing her list all my boyfriend shortfalls isn’t aiding her argument. “Why do you want to be with me if I’m such a shitty boyfriend?”
Val holds up a finger. “You’re good in bed.” She bites her lip. “You’re good for my brand.”
“Which is?”
“Doting girlfriend.”
“Your brand is being my girlfriend? That’s not sustainable. People really buy that shit?”
“I can sell anything I want to my followers. I bet your little wedding date thought we were the perfect couple. Was she shocked we’d broken up?”
“Whatever Posey thought doesn’t matter. You and I know the truth. We’re not well-suited to each other. Great sex doesn’t make for a good relationship.”
Maybe I don’t have time for the right relationship, but I should probably stop making time for the wrong ones too.
Romantic relationships like the one I have with Val are the only type I’ve ever experienced—convenient, easy to pick up and discard.
Someone who wants a partner who cares about their satisfaction in bed, and other than orgasms, they don’t expect much else.
“Why would you want to give up great sex when so little is asked of you in return?” Val closes the distance between us.
“The little you ask, is a little too much.” If I wanted to be an Instagram model, I could get a hell of a lot more from it than just great sex.
“I said I’d cut back.” She rises on her toes, and her lips graze my ear while her fingers work my zipper.
My body didn’t get the hell no memo, and it’s responding to her like it always does. Her long nails skim over my length, and she lets out a throaty moan.
“You’re already hard for me.” Her breasts are against my chest. “I’ll get us a hotel room, and you can fuck me any way you want.”
“You came with someone else.” I manage to keep my voice firm, but she’s got the other firm part of me in her hand. With a superhuman effort, I step back from her, and I zip up my pants. “No.”
“You want me. Take what I’m offering.”
“No.” I roll my shoulders. While my body might be responding to her proximity and the familiarity of what she promises, the logical parts of me don’t want to go down this path again. It’s madness to keep repeating this pattern and never learning.
“If you don’t want me, I know someone else who does,” she says.
“I hope he enjoys getting naked and having his photo taken. Maybe you can become his doting girlfriend.” I run a frustrated hand through my hair.
“I won’t ever ask for more of your time than you’re prepared to give.
” Val grabs her wind-swept hair into her hand again.
“Once you’ve had time to think about this, you’ll know I’m right.
Sure, maybe we’re not a forever couple, but we’re good for now.
We are. We get what we want and what we need from each other. Don’t be a fool.”
I’m tempted to tell her that maybe I’ve decided I want something deeper than our shallow relationship, but I don’t even believe myself.
Spending time with Posey has been nice this weekend, but I’m on vacation.
My limits and time commitments change as soon as we’re back on campus. Swimming has to come first.
“Enjoy your weekend, Val.”
“Fuck you, Brent. I’ll come see you this week, and we’ll work this out. Once you’re back at home, you’ll realize I’m right.”
I wave to her over my head as I make my way along the terrace. Ahead, leaning against the moon gate, is a figure in teal. Posey. Jesus, I hope she didn’t see or hear any of that.
When I get to her, she passes me a drink. Her rum swizzle is cradled in her other hand.
“What are you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be inside in the center of the action?” I ask.
“Even extreme extroverts sometimes need a five-minute recharge. Plus, being out here reminds me a bit of home. The smell of the ocean, the lights glinting off the water, the breeze whipping through my hair.”
I lean against the other side of the stone arch and stare out at the ocean with her. “You want me to leave you alone with your thoughts?”
“Not really.” She glances over her shoulder toward where the music drifts out.
“Why’d you come to America for college if you miss home so much?” I ask.
“The only college on Bellerive is a trades school. If I wanted to be a carpenter, a plumber, an electrician, or a host of other practical professions, I could have stayed. But I wanted to be an interior designer.”
“Making the world prettier.”
“One color palette at a time.” The wind catches a few tendrils of her hair, and she lets them fly, untouched. “They’ll be starting the first dances soon.”
There’s something about being close to Posey in front of all those people that feels too much like a performance when I’d prefer it to be real. She’s probably right about the timing, since the music gets louder as the next slow song starts.
I tip up the rest of my drink and set the cup on the ground. With a flourish, I hold out my hand. “All your favorite things are out here. Dance with me.”
“Seems a bit too romantic.” She takes a sip of her drink and eyes me.
“I promise to talk about my ex-girlfriend the entire time we dance.”
“You’ve got yourself a deal.” She drains the rest of her rum swizzle and grasps my hand.
When she enters my embrace, I rest my other hand against the warm, bare skin of her back.
Despite my vow to talk about Val, I let silence stretch between us.
I’m enjoying the feel of her pressed against me while the wind and the waves serenade us at the same level as the music being carried toward us.
In six years, I’ll have either broken Phelps’s records, or I’ll have sacrificed everything trying.
When that’s over, I want to remember this moment, how it felt to have a woman like Posey in my arms. She’s making me realize that beyond the medals and swimming glory, eventually I want to chase a real relationship, one that makes everything in me solid and happy instead of angry and volatile.
This weekend is a vacation, though. It’s not real life, and in my real life, there’s no room for a woman like her. Not yet. But it’s fun to play pretend.