42. Chapter Forty-Two
Every part of me wants to turn and run. But where do I go? What do I do? I could call a rideshare and go to Mila’s. Or Tomas’s. I have options. But I also have no right to be mad about this. Nothing happened. It was only a woman sitting on his desk.
A woman he fucked.
But I have no right to be mad about that.
Cole and I aren’t anything.
We’re just fucking.
“You’re early,” Cole says. I hear in his voice that he’s worried. He knows I’m going to be pissed. Why does it feel like he’s hiding something? If he knew I was going to be pissed, why do it? What the hell is going on here? I hate feeling so confused. Hate that my head and my body can’t be on the same page ever.
“Figured I’d wait for you inside, but apparently that was a bad idea.”
He frowns and gets up from his desk. “I don’t know what you think you saw—”
“Didn’t see anything.” I shrug. It’s a lie, and I feel stupid for saying it. His door was mostly closed, so obviously I didn’t see anything. Nothing outside of her sitting on his desk. So maybe it isn’t a lie? I don’t know right now.
“She’s just a client.”
“One who comes by your office seemingly every day? One you’ve fucked. Must be nice to have people like that pay you.”
His eyes widen.
Go, Bryson.
That was good. I’m proud of myself for that one.
“I told you that was a one-time thing.” He steps toward me, but I step back until I’m at the chair and sit.
“Doesn’t matter, Cole. I mean, it’s not like you’re my boyfriend or anything,” I say as nonchalantly as I can. I hold his gaze and swear I see a flicker of hurt pass his eyes.
But it’s the truth. He isn’t my boyfriend. He isn’t anything to me other than the guy I’m fucking. And my best friend’s father, of course.
“Right,” he says carefully, looking back into his office. “I have a few things to finish up.”
I gesture to the room. “Go ahead then.”
He holds my gaze for a moment longer, runs his hand through his hair and turns.
“I do have a question though.” He pauses and turns back around to face me. “Did you fuck her in there?”
He narrows his eyes and shakes his head, but the truth is written all over his face.
Yes.
He did fuck her in there. And she keeps coming back for more, like a lost puppy looking for scraps.
I haven’t known Cole to lie to me about anything. But I haven’t known Cole in this situation before. Before this year, Cole and I had a very different dynamic. He was a parent-figure. Someone I always trusted. And I’ve never, not once, questioned the things he said to me. Not until now. I’ve never known Cole to be a liar, but that was then. That was five years ago. Now? Cole could be a liar. Just because he didn’t lie to me when I was a kid doesn’t mean he wouldn’t lie to me now. Different dynamics are like different people. Some people lie in their marriages but are the most truthful people at work. Some are the opposite. They’re cut-throat at work but soft as bunny fur at home. Everyone plays a part. Everyone has masks to wear. And Cole very much could be a player, and I’d have no idea because I haven’t been looking at him like that. I’ve been looking at him as the Cole I know. The man who has always been there for me, always helped me, always supported me. Not a potential boyfriend. Because I knew that would never be. And maybe that’s the whole point. Maybe he’s manipulating me into feeling that way because he can.
Or maybe it”s obligation and pity.
He says he likes taking care of me, but I doubt that’s the truth. He knows how shitty my father was to me. This is pity. Or worse.
Fuck. This could be so much worse.
My stomach drops.
What if this is revenge for what my father did to him?
My stomach turns, and I think I’m going to throw up.
The possibilities are endless and I’m ashamed I never considered any of this before. How did I so blindly believe every word that fell from this man’s lips?
Because you’re a fool, Bryson. A no good fucking fool.
I glance at the door, planning my escape. If I leave, he’ll know something is up and come after me. I glance at his car keys in my hand and carefully place them on top of the stack of magazines.
If I get up slowly, I can sneak out without him knowing. I doubt it since it’s so quiet here, but it’s worth a try. I can’t stay here. When his phone rings, I breathe a sigh of relief and thank whoever the hell is looking out for me right now. I don’t hesitate. He starts talking, and I’m out of my seat and out the door. I hurry down the hall and take the stairs instead of the elevator. I move around the back of the building to take the road back there instead of the one in front. Speed-walking down the road has me tired way too fast, which I’m slightly embarrassed over. I slow to a casual walk and focus on breathing.
The trouble breathing could be due to a panic attack on the horizon. I’m due for one.
After I’ve been walking for about ten minutes, I laugh at myself.
Why did I think he would follow me? Why do I think he cares enough to come after me?
He’s not my boyfriend. I’m nothing to him but a pity case. He’s always felt bad for me, felt the need to take care of me, and this is no different. I thought it was, but it’s obvious now that it isn’t. It’s as clear as the sky today! Which is bright and blue and cloud-free.
Once I’m about a mile away, my phone rings. It’s Cole. I hit the button to silence it. He calls again, so I do the same. I shove it in my pocket and ignore the constant buzzing of text messages coming in.
I find myself sitting in a bar. I watch the TV which is showing highlights of whatever games were on yesterday while I drink beer. My phone is still buzzing in my pocket. I pull it out and drop it to the tabletop.
According to the paperwork, I should receive my first check next week. Meaning next week I’ll have enough money for a down payment for an apartment. I want to look for an apartment, but I know I’ll be distracted by the text messages that are still popping up. So I ignore my phone and keep drinking. Eventually they stop and I’m able to clear out the notifications, proud of how easy it is to not look at them and browse sites for apartments.
“Did you want a menu?” the bartender asks when she hands me my third beer.
“Uh, sure.”
She places one down in front of me and I take a break from my phone to look it over. I order chicken tenders and fries like a child. I get another drink too, then go back to browsing apartments while I wait for the food. There are a few I like, but not enough to put in an application for. I don’t want to take the first thing I see because I’m desperate. I’d hate to be stuck in a place I can’t stand. The last thing I want is to be uncomfortable in my own home. I’ve had enough of that over the years.