Chapter 7
SEVEN
When my phone rattles in the cup holder of the treadmill I’m on, I don’t reach for it. Don’t even look at it. I just bump the incline up from a seven to a twelve and keep running.
It’s been a shitty week. Fuck, if I’m being honest, it’s been a shitty month, and it just keeps getting shittier by the day.
The gym is the only place I’m able to clear my head.
Stop thinking about shit and let it all go.
I’m almost finished anyway. I’ve already done legs and back. The treadmill is just a finisher.
Thirty minutes and five miles later, I hit the stop button, letting myself slow to a jog before finally stepping off my hamster wheel.
Giving the machine a quick wipe down, I give the woman, two treadmills over, a flat smile while I snatch my phone from the cup holder.
She’s been looking at me since she came in.
Watching me like she’s hoping I’ll approach her and try to chat her up.
She’s cute—a curvy brunette with big brown eyes and a nice ass.
Her name is Becca. We’ve hooked up a few times since I moved into the building, six months ago.
If I was in a better mood, I’d probably take her up on it. It’s Friday night and I don’t have fuckall planned besides heading back up to my apartment and watching the Yankees’ game over leftover takeout. Distraction by Becca is definitely better than cold pizza and baseball.
Grabbing a towel from the stack on my way out, I ignore the pouty looks Becca’s giving me while I hit the call button on the elevator. As soon as the doors slide open, I step inside and hit the button for my floor before tapping the screen on my phone.
It's a text.
From Paige.
Hesitating, but only for a second, I open the text thread between us.
Paige: Do you own a suit?
Weird question.
Me: Since when are you interested in me with my clothes on?
Paige: Haha—very funny. Do you?
Me: I own a few—why?
Paige: Because I need you to put one on and meet me. My date backed out last minute.
Me: You got stood up for a date so your first thought was to hit me up? Seriously?
Paige: Who else would I ask? You’re the most stable relationship I have.
Paige and I have been off and on for years now—ever since I tended bar for her cousin’s bachelorette weekend—but we’ve been off for a few months now.
That’s how it is between us. She’ll text or call me out of the blue and we end up screwing around for a month or two before she gets bored or finds someone better to do.
Then she drops off the map until she gets bored or horny enough to start the whole process over again.
The last time we broke things off, it’d been me who did the breaking and since then, I’ve been determined to keep things broken.
Me: That’s sad.
Paige: Please. Like you’re any better?
Shit.
She’s got me there.
Sighing, I tap out a text.
Me: And where would I be wearing this suit to?
You fucking idiot.
The elevator bobs to a stop and the doors open on my floor.
Stepping out into the hallway, I walk down the corridor to my apartment.
Letting myself in, I head straight to the kitchen, tossing my phone on the counter before retrieving a glass from the cabinet.
Filling it with cold water from the tap, I drain it before going in for a refill, trying to talk myself off the ledge I’ve suddenly been led to.
It doesn’t matter where because you’re not doing it.
You’re not.
You’re staying home.
Alone.
And if you can’t handle alone, you can always knock on Distraction by Becca’s door. She’s always down to fuck and she doesn’t come with baggage.
By the time I’m done, Paige has texted back twice.
Paige: Millie and Allister’s rehearsal dinner.
Paige: I know how you feel about her but I don’t have anyone else to ask.
Reading her text, I feel my gut instantly clench.
No.
Tell her no.
Forcing myself to relax, I do the only thing I can do.
I lie.
Me: Can’t. Sorry. I’m busy.
Paige: Please, Mercer. Don’t make me sit through an entire dinner with my family alone. I’ll literally die of boredom.
Me: I was planning on picking up a shift at Level.
I haven’t worked there full time for about a year now but I still pick up the occasional shift when I’m bored or like tonight—need a distraction. Being Paige’s plus one at Princess Millie’s rehearsal dinner isn’t exactly what I’d call a distraction.
Paige: We can sneak off. I’ll give you a blowjob in the bathroom.
Don’t do it, you fuckwit. Just tell her no and block her this time so she’ll get the picture. You’ve been bullshit free for months now. Saying yes to her will just dump you right back into the fucked-up cycle.
Me: You’re a hopeless romantic, Paige.
Paige: We don’t do romance, Mercer. We have fun and we fuck. Are you in or out?
Out.
Tell her you’re out.
All the way out.
Me: Where?
Paige: Davino’s. Eight o’clock.
Of course it’s Davino’s. Where else would New York royalty host a rehearsal dinner for their beloved bride-to-be? I check the time. It’s almost seven. Davino’s is three subway stops away. I could shower, shave, and still make it with time to spare and she knows it.
Me: I’ll be there.
Fuck.