I smile. Hm. I’m wrong.
“If you can swing it, call me back and we’ll go from there. Let me know by tomorrow morning, man. Before ten.”
This shithead probably doesn’t get up before ten, ever.
“Will do. Thanks for askin’, brah. ‘Preciate it.”
“Gonna be a sweet game, Raymond.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah, man.”
“See what I can do. My girl’s got me committed to doin’ this thing with her and… you know how it is. Gotta keep ‘em happy. I’ll see what I can swing.”
“Right. Ciao,” I say and hang up.
I make another drink, drink it back fast, and chew the ice cubes, feeling sourness at the fact that she’s likely home from work, in that apartment, with that fucker.
He didn’t ask me outright what the buy-in was. This makes me think he isn’t gonna try to come. I suspect he’ll lie awake all night trying to think of a way to get to that game. Gamblers at his level in this city have hard-ons to get invited to one of my private tables.
If he won, it’d clear up his debt with Henny. Guys like that always think they’ll win. They think they’re one bet away from their luck changing. And on the rare occasion it does, they usually don’t know when to stop.
If he doesn’t bite, I’ll just have to tempt him a second time. I live in a world of temptations – temptations that don’t appeal to me because I see what they do to weaker men.
I know how guys like Raymond Iadanza think and I know I can easily use his demons to take him down enough that it’ll give that poor girl a chance to get him gone from her life.
5
Violet
I get home from work late and Ray is nowhere to be seen. I breathe a sigh of relief once I know I’m home alone.
This is what I want. To be alone. Solitude. Freedom from him. Freedom from the bile that rises in my throat at the sound of his keys jingling at the door, at the sound of his jeans and belt hitting the floor beside the bed at night. I want to be free of that so badly, I can almost taste it.
Yeah, I wanna taste it on my tongue but to do that, I need to find a way to make it reality, and I feel cowardly that I haven’t found a way yet.
This is part of the problem – even when alone, I’m judging myself for all the things I’m not doing.
I warm up some homemade soup I defrosted and toast a bagel to have with it since that leftover stew is gone, the dishes in the sink. My stew wasn’t good enough for him when Killian was here, but it suited him just fine today. I roll my eyes at that.
I take a hot bath, and then I climb into bed with the remote control. After a few hours of mindless television, I flick the lamp off.
And then I stare up into the darkness and a reel of Killian Coulter plays in my mind. It starts with the night I first saw him three years ago, and this time it’s just him I see, not him with Ray.
And then I feel what I felt last night… his embrace. I can even smell his scent. I picture his smile. I see myself and him looking at me with that smile as he serves me dinner at the table. I remember the feel of his hand at the small of my back, feeling like a hot brand on my skin even hours after I got to work. The way he looked at Ray when Ray was being – well – Ray.
I bite my thumb, thinking about how exciting it is to be smitten with someone. Those early days of dating… how beautiful it is to feel butterflies and excitement over getting to see somebody you can’t stop thinking about. Those first kisses … how they make your lips tingle for hours afterwards. How hearing their voice on the phone feels toasty inside. How good eye contact feels.
I imagine his mouth on me. His hands on me. My hand slips under the blanket and moves down until I find my way under my nightie and slide my right hand into my panties. Just as my middle and ring fingers connect with my swelling clit, I hear the door. Ray is back.
I yank my hand out and flip over onto my side, closing my eyes and biting my cheek.
Who am I kidding with these ridiculous fantasies?
If I dig my way out of this situation I’ll need a long time before I start dating again. Killian Coulter is out of my league, too. I have a lot of work to do to get my sense of self back before I can even think about dating anybody. A rich guy who dates models is nowhere near within reach for me. And really, I just want to be alone. I just want to stop being shouted at. I just want to stop feeling like I do.