I had a loft apartment in downtown Millwood. It had been some kind of industrial building once upon a time, but it had been made over into artsy lofts that were right downtown and overly expensive. My neighbors were mostly lawyers and such.
I wasn’t a lawyer. I wasn’t anything. In fact, I was one hundred percent unemployed. And the loft was all mine, because of my trust fund. Sounds great, and it was, but my family was ten kinds of fucked up, plus my girlfriend had just banged a bank guy. Money buys a lot of things, but not everything.
It wasn’t my usual thing, to follow my girlfriend around, hoping to catch her cheating. I wasn’t a suspicious guy by nature, and as far as I’m concerned, when we’re not together and we’re not fucking, what a woman does with her time is her business. Just like what I do with my time is mine.
But I would have had to be a blind man not to see that Gina was screwing someone. Calling off dates, lying about where she was going, having her friends lie for her—she may as well have worn a neon sign. It’s one thing to get dumped—you won’t let us get serious, you’re too closed off, you have no feelings, I’ve heard them all—and another to be cheated on behind your back. First it made me suspicious, and then it made me mad. And I got even madder when I saw the guy she’d cheated with.
Seriously? That guy? With his carefully crafted stubble and his tighty whities? Maybe I’m not much of a boyfriend, but I have to be better than that guy. I don’t call much and I don’t tell the women I date anything important about myself, but at least I’m not high on myself and I know how to fuck.
Again, I saw the hurt cross Evie’s face, clear as day. Like someone had punched her in the stomach. Bank Boy had done that—hurt her like that. And again, lying on my couch and staring at the ceiling, that still bothered me.
Shit.
I drifted off on the sofa, my mind wandering to pleasant daydreams of Evie’s soft cherry lips on my dick, which was half-hard in my sweatpants because I’m an asshole. I woke up three hours later with a kink in my neck and Scout buried firmly in my armpit, curled tight into a ball and sound asleep. And damn it, I was still thinking about Evie Bates.
This wasn’t over yet. I had a feeling.
But first, I had to go visiting.
Four
Evie
Josh called in sick to work the next day. I wanted to think it was because he was sorry, but deep down I knew it was because his face was probably bruised to a pulp, and he didn’t want to show up. Well, that was too bad. Unless he wanted to take the whole week off, he was going to have to show up sometime.
But I had today free of him. I had Nick Mason to thank for that.
Hey, where’s Josh? people said to me in the hallway at the bank branch I worked at in downtown Millwood. The central branch of this particular bank, in fact. The most important branch. The branch where the best people worked, because here they could get promoted.
These were nice people, well-dressed and pleasant, and they could recommend me when the next promotion came up. So I couldn’t just tell everyone to please, please fuck off.
Sick, huh? You see him? He okay?
I’d always liked it before, that everyone knew Josh was my boyfriend. It was a badge. A New Evie badge. Now it was like water torture, gritting my teeth and smiling at people, shrugging, shakin
g my head. I don’t know. I’m sure he’s fine. By lunchtime I felt like an overinflated balloon that might pop if you poked it.
I sat in my little bank teller cubicle and took customers one by one, while my stomach churned and I wondered what was wrong with me that Josh would cheat. Did I not pay attention to him? Did I do something wrong? Was a too boring, too fat? Then I hated myself for thinking like that. It was like someone had set a toxic thought chain off inside my head that wouldn’t stop.
But I didn’t make a fuss. I kept calm. I needed this job. I’d made a mess of high school and dropped out of college, and now, at twenty-five, I needed to do something with my life. Something that involved pencil skirts and low heels and regular paychecks. Something I could get promoted at. Something that made sense.
Josh had been part of that. I’d wanted—needed—someone stable, acceptable. Except either he’d been a very good liar, or I hadn’t seen what I didn’t want to see.
Okay, so my relationship had turned into a dumpster fire, but I would deal. Dumpster fires could be contained. I still needed the rest of my life to work.
By the end of the day, my jaw hurt like I’d had it in a vise, and the back of my neck was so tense it felt like glass. I had a throbbing headache and my feet hurt—but I’d made it. I was powering down the computer in my cubicle when one of my coworkers, Dar, came over, pulling on her coat. “Hey,” she said. “A bunch of us are going for a drink. Want to come?”
I pretended to think it over, though today of all days I’d rather put my eye out. “I don’t think so,” I said. “I’m tired.” Translation: I wanted to go home, put on my baggy pajamas, and curl up in bed, listening to my roommate Heather blare the Pet Shop Boys in her room. Heather’s musical taste was stuck in the eighties, but except for the REO Speedwagon, I didn’t really mind.
“Come on,” Dar said, zipping her coat. “It’ll be fun. Call up Josh. I bet he’s not even sick. He’ll probably come.”
My headache throbbed harder. I picked up my own coat from the coat rack. “The thing is, Dar, Josh and I broke up.”
Her nicely plucked eyebrows rose up to her hairline, but that was all. She blinked once. “Oh.”
“Yeah, I’m really sorry, I—” I stopped and stared at her. “You’re not shocked.”
“Sure I am,” she said, stepping forward and squeezing my shoulder. “I’m sorry, hon. Let’s go drink.”