"Other guys?"
"Huh?"
"You do anything weird with other guys?"
"Nothing too weird."
"What's too weird?" I ask.
"Well… There was a guy who wanted me to call him daddy."
"You lecture him about fidelity?"
Her eyes go to the water. "I never told you that."
"You did, just not in those words."
She pushes herself out of the pool. "He's always screwing around on my mom. A new woman every few months. Just because… I don't know. I don't think he loves the other women. I think he just wants a new place to put his dick."
"He's an asshole."
"Yeah, but she stays. I don't want to be like that. I don't want to be stupid."
"Is she happy?"
"How could she be?"
It's a good question. One I can't answer. I only know I want to comfort her. Wipe the frustration from her eyes.
It's not like me.
It's out of the question.
"Is that why you don't do relationships anymore?" I ask.
She nods. "Probably why I never trusted John."
"Or maybe he wasn't the guy."
"Maybe."
"Bash… fuck, I wish you knew him better. When he was in love, the whole world knew. He was effervescent."
Her eyes meet mine.
"You're not open that way."
"You either."
"I like that about you." Fuck, what am I saying? I'm too stuck on I like you. I like her.
It's not just a desire to fuck her.
It's not just a need to make sense of something.
It's more.
"Do you remember that party before the accident? He popped a bottle of champagne. Went around telling everyone he was celebrating new love."
"I do." Her voice is quiet. "He was vibrant."
"He was proud he loved someone. Proud of her. Proud of himself. Proud of the concept of love. He couldn't keep it to himself."
"Why would he?"
"She was married."
"Oh."
"Yeah." I meet her at the edge of the pool. "He didn't care that she was married. Not really. Not the way you would."
"Is my stare that judgmental?"
"You're hiding it well."
She swallows hard.
"He said she was miserable. Hated her husband. Maybe it was true. Maybe it was bullshit. I don't know. But I knew Bash, and he loved her with his whole heart. He needed to share it. He couldn't stop himself."
"Beautiful adultery. Sorry. I shouldn't—"
"It was fucked up. His death doesn't change that."
"But he—"
"You don't have to approve. I didn't."
"Really?"
"Yeah. He went on about how her husband was an asshole and she deserved better and she was going to leave him. I told him that's what people say, but he didn't listen. He believed her. He didn't care what happened next week or next month. He loved her and he wanted whatever he could have, even if it was an affair, even if it was stolen moments and afternoons in hotel rooms."
"It sounds romantic, that way."
"I don't expect you to excuse him."
She watches her feet as she kicks the water. "He was so in love. You're right. I saw it on him. I just… you didn't make excuses for him? With her husband?"
"I don't even know her name."
She nods. "I'm sorry. Really, Liam. I'm sorry you lost him."
"Sorry you lost the chance to tell him off?"
"No… maybe." She forces a smile. "It would have been normal in its own way."
It would. "I miss fighting with him."
"You do?"
"Yeah. I miss everything." I need to get the fuck out of here. Or think about something else.
"I really killed the mood, huh?"
"The mood's been dead."
She smiles. "You hide it well."
"I do my best."
She motions to the bar. "You want to go?"
"We have another hour here."
She studies me for a long time. "I think you do love."
"I do?"
"Your brothers. It's not the same, I know, but you're close. Closer than I am with my sister."
"Adam and Simon don't tell me shit."
"Maybe. But they love you. And they trust you. And they give you attitude because they worry."
"They don't trust me. They're always whispering shit." Shit about Bash, but I can't go back to that subject. I'm about to burst already. "They keep secrets."
"Have you asked for answers?"
"No." I take a deep breath. "I don't know if I want them. Sometimes, the truth fucking hurts and I… I've had enough truth for a while."
"Sometimes, you need to hurt."
"I knew you were into that."
Again, she notices me shifting the subject. Notices me jumping to sex.
This time, she stays there, in this awkward transition.
Not jumping with me.
Not calling me on my bullshit.
Just here.
It fills the air.
I can't deal with my shit.
I can't talk about death.
I can't talk about sex.
Even the berry martinis are loaded.
She doesn't break the silence with words. Instead, she dives into the pool.
She looks good under water. Too good.
The sight is too familiar. Takes me back to swim meets—the rare co-ed ones—and summers at the house.
Talking women into diving into our pool.
Skinny dipping late at night.
Fucking in the solarium.
Most swims didn't end that way. But some did.
I enjoy sex. Especially good sex. But I'm not the player people think I am. When I invite a woman to the pool, I want to swim, laugh, have fun.