Princely Passions - Page 153
“Annnddddd…” more hits with the pillow – damn, she’s strong – “why is Jason talking about marrying someone when he’s already married? Did he think no one would notice he’s a goddamn bigamist?”
“I—”
Whack
“don’t think—”
Whack
“that he thinks—”
Whack
“that they’ll get married.”
Whack
Finally, she stops hitting me long enough to spit out, “So he’s just playing with her, like a cat with a mouse?”
“It’s just what he does,” I say with a helpless shrug. “Although, he doesn’t normally talk about marriage with the girl. Usually, he just fucks ‘em and leaves ‘em. It’s what he does at every rodeo. I think he’s broken more hearts than Tim McGraw.”
Unfortunately, Carla isn’t hitting me anymore, because she’s busy getting dressed. Regretfully, I watch her shove her feet into her shoes and wiggle her way into her skirt. At least I get to see the jiggling, right?
“You motherfucking goddamn assholes,” she grinds out, “both of you. You didn’t think to say anything? You didn’t think to try to save Becca’s heart from heartbreak?”
Honestly, I hadn’t realized that Jason had taken it this far with her, but I keep my trap shut. Carla doesn’t seem like she’s in a listening mood.
“Enjoy Texas,” she says sarcastically. “Maybe in those parts, cheating on your wife is perfectly normal. The next time I hear someone from a fucking flyover state start talking about ‘family values,’ I’m going to tell them to piss off. Oh, and Chase? You can piss off, too.”
She slams the hotel door behind her, the sound reverberating through my heart.
Fuuuuccckkkk
76
Carla
Becca and I sit at a table at the Papillon, as far away from the live opera as we can get. Becca may love opera, but to me, it just sounds like someone trying to give a cat a bath. Don’t tell Becca that, of course. I like to pretend with the best of them. I even have a “favorite” opera, if anyone asks – Carmen. Never mind that I’ve never been able to get through a single showing of it without falling asleep. The important part is, I can name an opera.
I swirl the Long Island Iced Tea in my hand, trying to block out the caterwauling, as I listen to Becca prattle on.
“I’m not upset with Jason, you know,” she says. “It was fun to play house for a couple of days with a handsome cowboy,
but really, his dick was too small for me anyway. I could never be happy with it long-term. I think I was just fooling myself because it was a distraction from regular life, you know? He came over yesterday to get his stuff; tonight is the last show and then they’re heading back home.”
Her words tear at my heart. Chase is leaving? There’s been a part of me that was okay with not being in the same room as him – not happy, but okay – because I knew he was in the same city.
But Becca is right; the show does end tonight, and why would he stay after the show ends? There’s no point in that. It’s not like he loves New York City like I do. It’s not like he’s going to move here, just so he can breathe the same air I do.
It’s not like I want him to do that.
Right?
I realize that there are tears dripping down my face. I’m so embarrassed. I dash at my face with the back of my hands. Without a word, Becca picks up a cocktail napkin and offers it to me. I dab at my face, trying not to smear my makeup everywhere, but let’s be honest – I’ve never been a pretty crier.
“Honey, you haven’t said much about Chase to me, but I do know that you’ve been damn miserable these last two weeks,” she says, stroking her hand through my hair consolingly. “If he is what makes you happy, you have to go after him.”
The opera music – if you can call it music – reaches a crescendo, making it hard to talk. I wait for it to die down before saying, “But he’s a cowboy. What does a cowboy and a city girl have in common?”
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