He over-tipped her, felt like she deserved it, though he hoped she wasn’t a prophet, and she had someone of her own to hug.
It’d been a long time now since he hugged anyone, since he’d wanted to. He’d be asleep five minutes after he hit the bed.
An hour later, he turned the TV on.
There’s a state that comes after sleep deprived and before insomnia that was more like reluctance with a hint of desperation. Fuck Dillon, fuck the cabbie, all he could think about was Cinta. And he hadn’t done that outside dreams for six months.
The dreams were bad enough. Nonsense, not even memorable like the fantasies he’d once built about her out of leather and soft, warm flesh. They gave him the equivalent of a hangover the next day. He’d walk around like he was missing something but didn’t know what or where to look. He made mistakes when he was like that, woke grumpy and stayed that way for days, made the staff anxious about talking to him. Flipped himself out about turning into a better dressed version of Nolan.
He grabbed a tablet and opened the browser. Then shut it again. The TV was showing footage of tornado damage. If he googled her he’d know what she decided was more important to her than him. Knowing would only make it harder to forget. He’d deliberately not emailed, phoned, texted or looked her up, because the less he knew the easier it would be to move on. He’d had one frank and awkward discussion with Jay in which he’d said they’d split and it was for the best, and in the way the two of them avoided talking about Cinta, it’d never been mentioned again.
He’d moved on. So why was he sitting in the dark with his index fingers poised to type her name in the browser he’d opened again? He shut it and threw the tablet down to the other end of the bed.
He could be sharing this bed with someone and then he might sleep. He was overstressed and undersexed and it was morning and he was wide awake. Flick, flick, flick, he changed the channel till he stopped on footage of police tape, ambulances. Flick, football, flick, a man weeping, flick, car racing. He shut the TV off.
He had to shut it all off or he’d lose his mind.
He could be a tech star, a rich fuck, a Silicon Valley resident. He could breathe the same air as other geeks who’d changed the world, but he didn’t have anyone in his life he wanted to hug. He’d soon be able to buy all the fucking hugs he wanted and any other service above and below board on offer, but he couldn’t see her face, hear her voice or sleep next to her.
He got up and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. The sun was up. Would she be sleeping now? Could she sleep without him six months on and not be exhausted? Was she alone? Was she as lonely as he was?
He wasn’t getting over this. The longer he went without her the more it ate him.
He had to get it together. He’d crash now and go out later, do what he needed to do to bring a woman home for the night, what he needed to do to clear his head and keep his focus. He should’ve done it months ago.
He’d let the memory of Cinta hold him captive again and there was no point to that.
41: Status
“You cooked this, from scratch, by yourself.” Jay put his hand to his throat. “I think I’m in shock.”
Jacinta squinted at him. He wasn’t dressed yet, but he could clearly dish out sarcasm without pants. “No, your kitchen is such a marvel of engineering and science that BLT in front of you cooked itself.”
He laughed and resettled his dressing gown around his hairy legs. “Mace taught you.”
She nodded and turned to make coffee. Jay looked like he needed it. He got back home earlier this morning, and though he flew first class he was shattered. His schedule had been such a nightmare she could count the times she’d seen him in the last half year on one hand. And he’d always been a lousy correspondent. Warm in person, but brisk and impersonal in writing, so they’d never had much of an online connection. He was only home for a couple of days, so she’d jumped at the chance to see him this morning. She’d missed him and there was a lot to catch up on.
When he was sipping his latte he said, “He did it
. Can’t say I’m surprised.”
She stalled, cup to mouth. Who was the he in that sentence?
“Canny bastard. Always was.”
Ah, he meant Malcolm, newly appointed Chairman of NTC Industries, one of the boards he’d been on. Aggressive bastards did have a way of coming out on top time and time again.
“Any contact?”
Another ambiguity. She frowned.
“Cin, I mean with Malcolm. I’ll talk about Mace if you want me to, but you have to ask.”
“No contact. I suspect we’re both happier that way.”
Jay harrumphed. And he could mean anything by that too. She should’ve headed him off by being more specific. “With either of them.”
“Tom?”