Chapter Eight
America
Everett beams from ear to ear once we’re in the car. He pulls into traffic and rests his hand on my knee. “That went well.”
“Did it?” I fight the urge to squirm in my seat. Gray’s mess is still making my thighs tacky. My panties are ruined. If anything, tonight has been a total trainwreck. It couldn’t have gone worse.
“I’m ninety-five percent sure I’m going to sign with your friend,” he says.
He’s not my friend. He’s some asshole that I used to know. I let out a labored breath. Oh how I wish that were true. But the fact that my head is still back at the restaurant with Gray tells me it’s not. “And the other five percent?”
“Three percent wants to let my current agent come back with a better deal. They won’t, but I want to give them the chance to. The last two percent likes to be wined and wooed by the people who’d like their commission to come from my salary.”
We fall into silence as he drives us back to my flat. He tries to inch his hand up my thigh again.
I lean forward and adjust the thermostat then cross my legs.
“You’re not okay,” he says. “What is it?”
“I’m fine.”
“Is it because I called you my girlfriend? I kind of sprung that on you, huh?”
“Considering the conversation we had before we left my flat… yes. I thought we were on the same page about moving slowly and having fun.” My phone starts to ring, and I fetch it from my clutch. Of course Indy is calling me while I’m in a free fall over Gray. And Everett is trying to label us.
“Are you going to answer that?” Everett asks.
If I answer it, and she mentions Gray, I’ll have to tell her that I saw him at dinner. And she still mentions him a lot. Because she worries about how he is doing while she’s so happy. EJ refuses to tell her anything more than Gray is alive.
I wish she didn’t feel guilty for being happy. I wish I didn’t feel guilty for my indiscretions. But here we are. If I answer this call and she mentions Gray, and I tell her that I saw him at dinner, she’ll want to know how he is. And I’m not sure I can answer that question in my current state without my voice giving me away.
Indy will know something is up. Everett will know something is very wrong, and then I’ll have to come clean about what really happened while he sat patiently waiting at the table for Gray and I to stop fucking in the bathroom.
He’ll change his mind about letting Gray represent him, and it will be all my fault when he misses out on the sponsorships and opportunities he really wants. As ill as I am over my behavior, Gray and I are nothing. It won’t happen again. So maybe I don’t need to tell Everett and ruin something that could be great for him. “I’ll call her back.”
The call shuts off and a notification comes through to let me know I missed it. It’s followed by a message from Gray.
Gray: What’s your address? We need to talk when he leaves.
No, thank you. I have nothing to say to him. Nothing I want from him. I drop my phone back in my clutch and stare out the window at the lights of the other cars and the fine drizzle that has started. It suits my mood entirely too well.
“Want to get some dessert?” Everett asks. “If we buy strawberries and whipped cream, and I eat them off you, I don’t think my nutritionist will kill me for going a little off plan.”
“I don’t really feel like dessert,” I say. “I don’t think that fish was good, after all.”
Liar. I close my eyes. The breath that I draw in tastes sour and dirty. Did Indy feel like this when she realized she and Theo were into each other? Or is it because I’m the slut Gray and I whispered about while he fucked me?
Why didn’t I hate that in the heat of the moment when it fills me with so much shame now? I’m an idiot, that’s why.
Gray was clear that anything between us is a mistake. He was transparent that he isn’t over Indy. Still, I went there in Positano. And again, tonight.
“Okay, we’ll watch a movie or something,” he says.
“Actually, I think I’m going to have an early night. If that’s all right,” I say when he turns into the street my flat is on. “I have to work in the morning.”
He pulls the car over and turns off the engine. He looks like he wants to say something for a long pregnant pause, before he climbs out of the car and jogs around to open my door so that he can escort me to my stoop.
Hands in his pockets, he waits for me to unlock the door. “I’m sorry I moved too fast. I don’t know what I was thinking telling him you were my girlfriend when you made it clear you’re not ready for that.”
“Everett.” I don’t want to hurt him.
“But I did mean it. I want you to be my girlfriend. I want other guys to know that you’re with me,” he says. “Because I really like you.”
“I know. And I like you too. But I can’t—"
“We’ll take it slow. As slow as you want.” He pecks me on the cheek. “I know you’re wary after what happened with your professor. But I promise, you don’t need to be. Just say you’ll let me call you my girlfriend.”
“Everett, that’s not—”
“Don’t say anything now. Give it a couple days.” He jogs toward his car. “We’ll talk later.”
I should end it. I should tell him that I’m incapable of the kind of relationship he wants from me. I’m a screw up. In love with someone who will never love me. A complete twat.
The moment I close the door the wall I’ve put up between me and the rest of the world all night starts to crumble.
My emotions are a tidal wave and that along with the overwhelm of so many sounds and sights and smells brings me to tears.
I put my phone on silent and head up to take a shower, where I wash away the remnants of Gray’s cum from my thighs with my forehead pressed to the cool tiles while I rock side to side. It is exhausting sometimes trying to be the person people expect that I’ll be. To keep my idiosyncrasies under control and use the right words with people. To not flap my hands like a bird trying to take flight. Or wiggle and hum while I eat. Or offend them with my questions. Or come across rude. Or say the wrong thing or be too blunt. I’m too awkward. And too me not to mask around people. It’s so damn exhausting trying to be human.
Eventually I crawl out of the shower a more numb, almost comatose version of myself. I go through my haircare routine and wrap it up, then dress in my pajamas.
I still have that salted caramel and pretzel ice cream stashed in the freezer. My mouth waters as I prowl out to the kitchen.
Switching on the light, I find Dove sitting on the cold tiles, her back against the washing machine. Her mascara is smudged, the skin around her left eye is puffed up and shiny.
“What the hell?”
“It’s nothing.” She winces.
“It’s not nothing. Did Nathan do this?” Because I will call the cops on the asshole. “I swear to God—”
“You can’t tell anyone.” She grabs my wrist. Her gaze bores into mine. “No one.”
“You can’t let him keep treating you like—”
“You promised me.” Her grip is too tight. “You said you wouldn’t say anything. You wouldn’t do anything to make him mad. Let me handle him.”
I nod. I made that promise when I didn’t realize how bad it was. And I only keep it because she gets this wildly terrified look in her eye when I threaten to help. Like my helping will make the situation worse, and that’s the last thing I want for my friend.
She lets go of my wrist. “Thank you.”
“I don’t understand why you protect him.”
“I’m not protecting him.” She sighs. “It’s my problem. Not yours. I’m doing what I have to.”
“To make your album. I know, but this isn’t okay. You need to get out of your contract with him. There must be other managers that are as good as he is. If not better. You need a good lawyer. I could call EJ. The laws might be different but—”
“You can’t tell him about this.” She gets this look of terror that makes me pause. “Promise me you won’t tell him about this.”
“But—”
“He was a vacation fling. That’s all. If I’d wanted him in my day-to-day life, don’t you think I would have kept in contact?”
“Fine.” Something definitely happened on that Positano trip that she hasn’t told me about, but what? I grab some ice from the freezer and wrap it in a tea towel. “Here. Put this on it.”
“Thanks.” She takes the makeshift cold pack and presses it gently to her eye.
I grab the tub of ice cream and a couple of spoons from the cutlery drawer, before taking a seat on the floor next to her. “You want?”
“Yeah.” She digs a spoonful out and eats it like an icy treat on a stick.
I eat the ice cream in its intended way. One mouthful at a time. “He’s a bastard. A right bell end.”
“Look at you using that term correctly.” She rests her head against the stainless steel appliance. “I hope your night was better than mine.”
“Mmm.” I take my time on a mouthful of ice cream. “The important meeting Everett had was with Gray.”
“Wait.” The eye that isn’t covered by the makeshift cold pack narrows on me. “Your Gray?”
“He’s a sports rep,” I say. “And he’s not my Gray.”
“Uh-oh?”
“Big time.” I groan, putting the ice cream down. “We got into an argument. In the bathroom. We fucked while Everett waited for me to come back.”
“Oh shit.”
“He called me his girlfriend.”
“Gray did?”
“Everett.”
“Oh shit. This is better than the daytime soaps.”
“It’s not.” I bury my head in my hands and massage my temples. “He wouldn’t let me end it tonight, because he thinks that’s why I’ve been weird all evening. Because he’s moving too fast.”
We grow quiet. Lost in our own problems and in each other’s. She really needs to kick Nathan to the curb.
Dove faces me. “So you’re going to call it quits with Everett?”
“I’m not sure. I like him. But after tonight…”
“You could tell him that you want to keep your options open. Especially if you’re going to date Gray too. At least that way you’re giving him the choice. He might even be okay with it in the short term. If his socials are anything to go by. He seems pretty liberal when it comes to dating,”
“You stalked him?” Why am I surprised by this?
“That’s why you have friends. If you’d told me about the professor earlier, I would have stalked him too.”
Perhaps if I had I would have avoided that whole mess. “Everett seems really serious about us getting serious.”
“All you can do is tell him that you want to date—"
“I’m not going to date Gray.” My phone vibrates as if to remind me that it’s better that Gray doesn’t want me. What would Indy think of me? EJ already made it clear to Gray that it would be a terrible idea.
I pick up my phone, and I swear the universe is laughing at me because Gray’s name is attached to more than one notification on my screen.
Gray: Missed call.
Gray: Call me.
Gray: We need to talk, Rica.
Gray: Is he still there?
Gray: I don’t know how to do this. But you need to know I never meant to hurt you.
But he did in Positano. And then he did again tonight. Keeping my distance, at least until I work out how to stop wanting him, is the only way to go. So I swipe away my notifications and put my phone down.
“I don’t really know Gray, but maybe don’t break up with Everett if you have any doubts about doing so. You’ve been happier these last few weeks. I think he might be good for you,” Dove says. “Perhaps tell him that you have a situation, and that you need to keep things casual with him, until you can work through whatever this is with Gray.”
“I don’t need to work anything out with Gray.” I stand and put the ice cream away. Wash the spoons in the sink, before placing them in the strainer. “I don’t want to talk to him. Or see him. And I do like Everett.”
“So…?” She climbs to her feet with slow, cautious movements. Like her eye might not be the only injury she’s sporting tonight.
“I’ll think about it,” I say. “If you’ll think about telling Nathan to shove off.”
“I think about it every damn day,” she says, still pressing the tea towel full of ice against her eye. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“I’ll be at work.” I shut off the light as I follow her out of the kitchen. “I’ve got an all day shift. But I can bring home a curry and a bottle of gin. We can watch a movie and have a few drinks.”
“Ooh. Getting plastered sounds like a lovely idea.” Dove disappears into her bedroom. “I’m in. As long as we can swear off men, dicks, and men who are dicks.”
My phone vibrates with another message. Why can’t Gray understand that I don’t want to talk to him? “Because that worked out so well for us last time.”
“Well, you know what they say,” Dove says. She shares a grim look with her bruised face in her floor length mirror. “If at first you don’t succeed, try and try again.”
Except trying not to be in love with Gray has never worked for me either. Avoiding him is my only option. “I think it’s for the best, really.”