Chapter 10 #2
He studies me for a long moment, his expression softening. “That’s the thing with cheating, dude. Sometimes, it doesn’t feel like a line until you’ve crossed it. And you”—he points at me—“you’re still too much in defensive mode to make amends.”
I nod. I’ve been rehearsing what I’d say to Robyn since the minute I walked out. A hundred versions of the same apology. But none of them sound right, because none of them undo what she saw.
“God, I miss her,” I mutter. “The way she busts my balls about needing to be Mr. Clean. The smell of her shampoo on my pillow. Even her clothes on the floor. I’d fucking leave them on the floor if it meant she was coming back.”
Andrzej exhales through his nose, muttering something that sounds like cholera something under his breath before patting my shoulder. “You’re a sad bastard, Nate.”
The bartender drops two more glasses. The vodka doesn’t go down smooth anymore—it sloshes, hot and mean. Andrzej handles his fine, but I’m past starting to feel it. The floor hums under my shoes.
The door swings open, and a gust of cold air whirls in with the rain. I barely glance up until Andrzej swears under his breath.
“Kurwa ma?,” he curses under his breath.
I follow his gaze.
Tessa stands in the doorway, scanning the bar until she spots me. Her face lights up a bit too brightly for my comfort.
He turns to me, eyes narrowing. “You invited her?”
“What? No.” I blink, trying to focus. The vodka’s rushed to my head and now the lines around his features are fuzzy. “Of course not.”
He doesn’t buy it. Tessa’s already halfway across the bar, her heels sticking slightly on the warped boards. Her sharp citrus perfume doesn’t mix well with my drunkenness.
“Hey,” she says, her tone casual, too casual. “Figured someone’d be here tonight.”
Andrzej leans in, smirking. “Are you stalking me now, Tess?”
She bristles, tossing hair over her shoulder. “You wish.”
He cackles. “No, I really don’t. I was just telling Nate here. He was trying to set me up with you. Hard pass on my end.”
Tessa’s eyebrows shoot up. “You’d do that, Nate? Set me up with someone else?”
I rub my temples, the burn of vodka crawling through my chest. “Why wouldn’t I? It’d help you—uh, I mean, help me get Robyn back.” I sway slightly on my stool, glass trembling in my hand.
“Ugh, Nate.” Tessa shakes her head, tilting it, a scolding look in her dark-green gaze. “She tossed out a two-year relationship over a joke. She’s the bad guy. Not you.”
I snort, almost spilling my drink. “Bad guy? Robyn’s no bad guy.” I wave vaguely toward the ceiling, lost for a moment. “She’s—”
Andrzej leans back, cutting me off. “Tessa, you’re going to leave if you’re going to trash talk my friend.”
“Stop …” I try to think of coherent words. Some feel out of reach inside my head. “I can’t deal with the bickering—can we just leave it?”
Tessa gets herself two shots, and soon, I hear my laughter even though I don’t feel like laughing.
We clink our glasses together before I knock back another shot, the burn spreading through me, and Tessa snorts at some nonsense I’ve said.
Andrzej leans against the bar, arms crossed, cataloging every gesture and stumble.
Tessa raises her third shot to me being single. I groan and whisper, “I don’t want to be single, I want to be with Robyn.”
She swings her arm over my shoulder and tells me that’s future Nate’s problem. The warmth of the vodka and the laughter make me lightheaded, and Tessa moves a little closer, her hand brushing my neck.
From the corner of my eye, a blurry Andrzej shifts toward me. I don’t need him though. Everything’s distant and muffled by invisible water, but I know I don’t want her hands on me. I shove her away, just enough so she doesn’t touch me.
“Stay the fuck away from me, Tessa.” My voice is louder than I expect, sharp and unsteady.
She freezes. Her hand lingers in the air a moment, then drops. Her mouth opens, but Andrzej cuts in, his voice landing like a whip.
“That’s it, Nate. We’re leaving.”
“What?” I blink at him, trying to focus. The vodka fog thickens, my vision swimming.
“That’s quite enough for tonight. Now.” He mutters another Polish curse under his breath, punctuating the decision.
Andrzej tells the bartender to close my tab, then grabs me by the waist and Tessa by the elbow and pushes us toward the door. My legs wobble, barely keeping pace. Tessa pouts like a child, trying to maneuver around him.
“Come on, Andrzej,” she whines. “You want to go, go—I can take Nate home.”
Andrzej steps closer into her, towering firm and signaling he won’t allow that.
Outside, rain slicks the pavement, chill slicing through my thin jacket. Andrzej flags a cab, tilts his head toward the car, and nudges Tessa into the backseat, then taps the cab, and it drives away.
“That’s how you do it, Nate,” he mutters. “Learn the fucking lesson.”
I stagger at the curb, gripping a lamppost for balance. The cold steel bar I’m hugging makes me think of Robyn. She’s sexier, my girl, more lush.
“Tessa’s right about something,” I murmur. “Robyn threw me away like nothing. She’s home today. I have to go to her right now. I gotta tell her how fucking unfair that—”
He exhales, one of those long, controlled sighs. “Dude. Nothing good happens after three in the morning. Let’s get you to bed.”
I laugh, a low, unsteady sound. “This is the best idea ever. I gotta give her a piece of my mind.”
He groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You can’t handle vodka for shit. You’re a joke of a man.”
“We have to go now, Andrzej, I have to tell her.”
“No fucking way. You’re staying put, sleeping it off.” He holds me in place, pulling out his phone, tons of black cars on the screen of whatever he’s trying to do. “Let’s take you home.”
I break free from his hold when someone asks him for a light, and manage to flag down a cab and slide in. Just before it drives off, after I’ve given the address, the door opens and Andrzej jumps in.
“Fine, fine,” he says. “Let’s go, but for the record, this is going to ruin everything even more.” He mutters, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
That’s how you know Andrzej is beyond pissed off. English curse words with an accent. I could run to her apartment barefoot and scream every word until she understands what she’s done to us.
Droplets fall from my sopping jacket onto the carpeted floor.
The hallway won’t stay still. It’s too narrow, or maybe I’m too wide.
The carpet swishes under my shoes, and through the haze, I feel myself sinking with every step.
Not even a fucking metaphor. I’m not sure how I got up here.
One second, I’m getting in a cab, and the next, I’m standing outside Robyn’s apartment door, hand on the frame because I might slip away if I let go.
The number on her door wobbles when I squint at it. I look for the key, but none of them work. Can’t even fit them in the hole.
“Nate, need some hair on that hole to figure it out?” Andrzej’s voice cuts through. No, I don’t fucking need hair on the door.
I frown, trying again until the edge of the metal bites my palm. I really look at the keys now.
“What the fuck …” I mumble. “Did she—” The realization hits me like a drink going down wrong. She took my keys to her place.
My chest burns. “That’s so fucking cold, sweets.” A laugh bursts out of me, short and ugly. “You threw our whole relationship away, and you took my fucking key,” I say to the door, because that’s all I’ve got to talk to.
I smack the wood, not hard enough to hurt, but to feel something solid under my palm. I do it again until it sounds like knocking.
“Andrrrzejj …” I glance over my shoulder. He’s a blurry shadow leaning against the wall, shaking his head. “You see this? She locked me out of—”
The lock clicks and the door opens.
Light spills into the hall, too sharp, too bright, and there she is.
My Robyn’s a sight. Hair mussed, skin flushed, eyes heavy with sleep.
Her T-shirt’s twisted at one shoulder, slipping a little.
I want to lick the dip above her collarbone so much I salivate.
My head’s swimming, and I can’t quite focus on where the light ends and she starts.
Something pounds inside my chest. I woke her up.
She needs more sleep than she gets. I’m the idiot standing here, swaying in her doorway, waking up my girl because it sounded like a good idea.
Then I spot the figure next to her. Julian Keller.
His hair’s tousled up top, and if his shorts rode any lower, I’d be staring at his dick.
He’s barefoot, rubbing a hand over his face, only half awake.
A red shirt clings to his chest, a flash of ink curving along his ribs and disappearing under the hem of his cropped tee.
Fuck me, if that isn’t the outline of a nipple ring under the fabric.
When does this dude have the time to work out?
Is that a twelve-pack? I remember Robyn saying she doesn’t look at him.
Hell, I can’t help but look at the guy. Somehow, though, they’re in front of me, looking comfortable—secretive, complicit.
And suddenly, I’m not comfortable with this friendship. Not at all.