“Yeah, right. Anna, how bad is he lying?” she asks me as she looks back at me over her shoulder. “Because I know my brother. He goes through girls like a hand of cards in a poker game. No pun intended.” Betty giggles.
“I'm telling you, I haven't brought home anyone.” Dash kicks her bags with his feet deeper inside the apartment. “Besides, that bed is still mine for now. Doctor says you still need to elevate your leg. The couch will work best for that.”
“I don't like saying this, but you're right. I'll crash here until you leave for Peru on Sunday.”
“You're leaving Sunday?” My gaze freezes on him. His lids are soft, almost apologetic as he nods. I'm in shock. “Sunday?”
“Yeah, bought my tickets yesterday.”
“Dash also told me he got you a new job. I heard what happened at Giovanni's. What a dick, huh?”
“Yeah, he was a perv.”
“Well, it's good that you can take over for Dash. Jed is a pretty laid-back guy.” Betty flips around quickly on the couch and grips the back. “Hey, maybe Dash can set you two up on a date or something. I think he's single. Right, Dash? Jed's single, isn't he?”
“No, it won't work. Jed doesn't date anyone who works for him.” He cuts in quickly, slapping the idea down instantly. I can hear the jealousy in his voice and see it in his eyes.
“Maybe he'll make an exception,” I say, taunting him.
It's childish, I know. I just can't help it. If he cares so much about who I date, then why leave at all? Why not stay, and see where this goes?
Because Betty is back, you dip-shit. You really think this would have gone anywhere? He would have dropped you the second she came home anyway. Look at what he's doing. It's been his plan all along.
“He won't,” he barks through grit teeth. “Jed doesn't mix business with pleasure.”
“I might be able to change his mind.”
Betty looks at us for a second in silence. Her eyes trying to read the situation. “God, it's like you took my place, Anna. See, Dash, I told you it'd be like I was here.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” He gives me a side-eyed glance.
“I'm starving. Anyone else hungry?” Betty asks, changing the subject. I'm thankful she's oblivious to the tension between Dash and me. It's already awkward enough, that would just make it a hundred times worse if she could feel it too.
“I can eat.” Dash walks to the fridge, grabs the milk, and chugs it.
“What are you, twelve? Get a damn glass, Dash. My god, I know you were raised with more decency than that.”
“Maybe. And maybe I just don't give a shit.” He wipes his mouth, putting the jug back. “So, are we going to go eat or what?”
Betty rolls her eyes, using her crutch to push herself up off the couch. “Let's go. My stomach is eating itself. The hospital food was awful. I don't care what they say, it's no Rochambeau.”
“What's Rochambeau?” I ask.
“It's the best damn French food in town. I've been craving it for weeks, and someone—” Her eyes jump to Dash, tone lowering, “wouldn’t bring me any.”
“I’m sorry, Bet, but I was pretty busy around here with work and taking your friend around town like you asked.”
My eyes land on his and we stare at each other. There's anger in his eyes, and I can feel the anger in mine firing back. I don't know why he's angry. He's the one leaving. He's the one following his dream to travel. This is his choice, not mine.
I haven't done anything to him. Other than give myself to him. He took my virginity, and now he's running away.
It's easy to look at other girls who think they're in love and give themselves to a man who's unworthy of taking it. I'm not in love, am I?
No. But it doesn't make this any easier. I want to shut it off, but I can't. And the more I think about it, the angrier I get.
“Excuses, excuses. Let's just go.” She hobbles to the door and looks back at us, breaking the spell.
I blink a couple times and look around the room for my purse. Dash glances up at the ceiling, then starts for the front door, opening it for his sister. He looks back at me, his lids turning to slits as he frowns.
I follow them to the elevator, and we ride it down. Dash calls a cab and we wait out front until it pulls up. Betty gets in first, Dash squeezes in beside her, resting her crutch across his lap.
“You can ride upfront,” he says flatly.
“I planned on it.”
The tension between us is building. Growing like fungus in a damp forest. It's heavy and thick and I can't get rid of it. There's so much I want to say to him, but I don't think he cares to listen. I mean, who am I to tell him not to go? Who am I to push my feelings on him?