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Sell my ass… I stare at him for a second before I start to laugh. “Is that it?” I swallow the food in my mouth, mainly so I don’t choke to death when I scoff at him. “Is that your lame attempt at an apology?”
Conner laughs, reaching out to swipe a fry from my basket. “You’ve gotta cut me slack here, Legs,” he says, chomping the fry in half. “I don’t have much practice at it.”
I nod my head in agreement. “It’s because you’re a self-centered ego maniac, isn’t it?”
He presses a hand to his chest like I offended him. “I was going to say it’s because I’m never wrong…” he cocks his head at me and shrugs. “But, yeah—that too.”
We’re both quiet for a moment. While I polish off my burger, Conner studies the painting behind me. The embarrassed flush is still there but beneath the embarrassment is something else. Something that looks a lot like envy.
“He loves you, you know.” He says it quietly, like he’s telling me a secret. Something he doesn’t really want to say out loud. I probably shouldn’t laugh but I do. Hard enough to bring tears to my eyes.
“He loves fucking me,” I tell him, wiping at my eyes. “There’s a difference, Conner.” I sit back, pushing the basket of cold fries in his direction. “You, of all people, should know that.”
“Are you serious?” He hisses at me before rubbing a rough hand over his jaw. “You asked for this, Cari.” He stands up, knuckles thumping on the table between us. “You made it happen—on a bet.” He lets out a rough laugh at the look on my face. “Yeah, I know about that.”
I’m going to kill Tess.
“So, what?” I say, giving him quite possibly the lamest excuse in the history of excuses.
He gives me a look that says I can’t possibly be as stupid as I sound. “Sooo, can you honestly say you’re surprised or angry over the way this shit is shaking out?”
“Yes.” I blurt it out, surprised that it’s true.
He waves his hand around the room. “You strut around here for six fucking months, throwing your tits and ass in his face at every available opportunity and then when he finally breaks and takes what you’re offering, you get your feelings hurt.” He’s glaring at me the way he glares at Declan over Tess. Like I’m something Patrick needs to be protected from, not the other way around. “What did you expect?” He laughs again. “And why do you even care?” he barks at me, picking up the basket, purposely looking at the painting over my shoulder. “It’s just about the sex, right? Seeing how far you could push him until he broke. You could never get serious about a guy like Patrick. He’s not rich and slick enough for you.”
That’s what I told Tess. That’s what I told myself. It’s not supposed to matter. I don’t know what I expected but it wasn’t this. I didn’t expect it to matter. The stack of paintings in my room call me a liar. The one behind me argues the opposite. I clench my teeth against the stabbing in my chest. “I’m more than a pair of tits and ass.”
“I know that. He knows that—” He stabs his finger at the canvas behind me. “Matter of fact, I think you’re the only person around here who doesn’t know it.”
It’s like he slapped me. Inside I’m reeling. I can’t catch my breath. But that’s what it’s usually like when someone hits you with the truth, right? “Are you finished?” I say through gritted teeth, refusing to cry in front of him.
“Yeah.” He runs a frustrated hand over his head before dropping it to his side. “I’m finished.” Conner walks past me out the door and down the stairs. As soon as he’s gone I put my earbuds back in and go back to my room.
Forty-five
Patrick
I wake up torain. The steady beat of it pounding against my bedroom window, insistent. Demanding. So loud I can feel it vibrating against my eardrums. I lay here, listening to it for a while, waiting for what I know is coming.
Fifteen minutes later, Declan texts me.
Declan: Job site is washed out. I’ll let the
crew know we’re taking the day.
I stare at my phone for a few seconds before responding. Things are back to normal between him and me. After the show Cari and I put on for everyone yesterday afternoon I think he actually feels sorry for me. Which makes me feel like a giant pussy. Irritated, I punch my finger against screen, sending him my abbreviated answer.
Me: Thx
I drop my phone and stare at the crack in my ceiling. My new favorite thing to do. A week ago, I would’ve been thrilled to have a Monday called on account of rain. A whole day to myself. A whole day to work on my own building designs. Designs I’ll probably never get to see built but I draw them anyway, just so I can dream. A week ago, a rainy day would’ve been perfect. Today—right now—it feels like the walls are closing in on me.
There isn’t a room in this place where I haven’t touched Cari—or touched myself while thinking about touching her. Like clockwork, my dick twitches just thinking about it. If I have to stay in this apartment all goddamned day, I’ll either wind up jerking off until my brains leak out my ears or hanging myself in the fucking shower.
Getting out of bed, I pull on the first shirt I find. It’s the shirt I wore Saturday night and it smells horrible but I don’t give a shit. Next, I pull on a pair of socks that, God help me, smell even worse than the shirt, before leaving my room.
The rain is louder in the living room, it lashes against the skylights in the ceiling, drowning out the sound of everything else. I sit down to pull on my shoes but the minute my ass hits the couch, my gaze lifts to the spot on the wall where the mirror is. Or was. She took it down sometime yesterday and replaced it with a paintings that isn’t like any of her painting that I’ve ever seen.
She painted us. That way she sees us. The way she thinks I see her and I can’t look at it for more than a few seconds before I have to look away.