Текст книги "Suite 269"

Автор книги: Christine Zolendz

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

5

Jameson

“It’s a fallacy that men can’t focus on two things at once. Example: Boobs.” @Kavon #BOOBS

I'd been staring up at the squiggly lines on the wall since I sat my sorry ass against the snack machine. My head was a mess. Christ. My whole life was a mess.

Sophia slept with the Mailroom Guy. What in the actual fuck? I mean first off, he was a punk ass kid. He couldn't have been more that twenty-two. Second, he was the mailroom guy. What in the actual fuck? You put us in a line up and ask a bunch of woman walking down the street which of us they'd want more. You can bet I'd be the one they'd choose every time.

Every time but where Sophia was concerned.

The mailroom guy?

I busted open another bag of chips and peeked inside. Wonderful. I bought a bag of air with one mouthful of chips inside. What I needed was a damn sandwich, or a steak. Gulping at my water, my gaze moved restlessly around the narrow hallway. The need to crawl out of my own skin was infuriating. I was Jameson Holt, damn it. People wanted to be me, not the other way around. Squeezing my eyes shut, I crushed the bag of chips in my hand.

Hearing a shuffle along the rug, I looked up.

Hello.

Cascades of wavy, ink black hair, plump, rosy lips, and stunning blue eyes. And she was wearing...Jesus...what was she wearing? A hooker on the business level of a hotel? That’s not stereotypical at all. I wondered which of the losers I worked with had to pay to play, and how much, because that was the best-looking prostitute I'd ever seen. I'd only seen the crackhead kind on the corner of 42nd in New York, black-toothed and track-marked.

Wait a second.

She looked very familiar.

Was that…

Was that Lexa Novak?

Christ, she's perfect.

Her eyes widened and she froze halfway down the hallway. This was not the same woman I'd seen with her hair pinned back and her man repellerware on. This woman was stunning. I didn't know where to look first; those eyes were striking with her dark hair framing her face, her smooth skin and long legs. A pair of little boy shorts outlining curves I could sink my teeth into. And her tits—I could go on for days about her tits.

Clearing her throat, cheeks flushed bright red that spread down the center of her body; she mumbled something that I couldn't quite make out. She looked like she was about to run.

But damn, I wanted her to stay.

"Sit," I said, and offered her something from my stockpile of junk food.

"What are you doing out here at three in the morning?" she asked. There was a soft throatiness to her voice and I wondered how I'd never noticed it before. How in hell had I never noticed her before?

I shoved a handful of chips into my mouth as an answer. She smiled. Beautiful. What the hell was she thinking walking around dressed like that? Damn, I could just imagine what Evan would have done if he'd seen her like that.

"You were in a relationship with Sophia, weren't you?" she asked slowly.

I choked on the chips. I mean, truly choked, almost needing the Heimlich maneuver kind of choking on chips. Eyes watering, heart pounding, throat burning—the works.

"Oh, God," she dropped her face in her hands and peeked at me through her fingers. I was choking and dying; she was blushing five shades of peek-a-boo. "I'm right, aren't I? You and Sophia? I'm sorry, Mr. Holt, I have no filter. I vomit words…it's like a disease."

I gulped at my water, trying to quench the burn in my throat, and then looked at her. She shook her head and bit down on her lip. "Crap, I'm so sorry," she whispered.

I chuckled. "It's quite all right, Ms. Novak. That's more of an apology than I got from Sophia." I threw her over a bag of M&Ms and shrugged. "Nobody knew. Well, Evan did, but that's because he's a stupid nosy prick and figured it out. It's just been a few months."

She nodded her head thoughtfully and I stared at her—and I mean really stared at her. No makeup, not even some of that lip crap or that black junk that makes eyelashes long and gunky. There was a small cluster of freckles across her cheeks that strangely matched the natural hue of her lips. And she wasn't skinny, although she was by no means fat; she was just curvy and soft all over, like a classic Marilyn Monroe. Not a single stitch of the plastic surgery I was accustomed to with Sophia with her fake tits that don't bounce and her quarterly lipo and cellulite removal.

She grabbed one of the cans of soda, popped it open with a loud hiss, and held it up. A sad smile flitted across her lips and she clinked her drink to mine. "Well, we sure know how to pick 'em, don't we? I should've known after the first night I stayed over at his house it was all bad."

I couldn't help but smile and ask, "How so?"

"His mommy woke me up when she went to get his laundry out of his room."

It felt like it was the first time I laughed in days. She even laughed, but it never reached her eyes. God, it must be awful for her to be going through this right before her wedding.

"How are you holding up?" I asked, watching her separate the colored chocolates in her hand then pop one color in her mouth at a time. First, all the browns, then yellows, followed by reds, oranges, greens, and the blues were saved for last.

"Good, question. I'll let you know when I find an answer, because I have no idea how I'm not sobbing uncontrollably since it happened," she said, her voice soft and low. Her eyes gazed at her fingers, folding and bending what was left of the snack bag.

"What happens now? What are you going to do?"

She absently scraped her teeth against her lips and looked down the hall. "I want to cancel everything. Just go somewhere and hide for a little while so I don't have to hear everybody talk about it. I'm probably going to lose all my deposits and everything." She turned her head toward me and sighed. "I can't even begin to think about what our families will have to say about everything."

A strange heaviness ached in my chest for her.

"How about you?" she asked, sipping her soda.

"I'm pissed, but not as upset as I should be. I guess that shows you how I really felt about her. Kind of eye opening. I'm more sorry that you got hurt than anything. I'm sorry you had to go through the pain for all her bullshit."

She pulled her knees to just under her chin and wrapped her arms around them. "He blamed it all on me."

"She blamed me too."

A faint smile tugged at her lips. "I'm sorry, but I don't get how she'd go from you to him."

"Yeah, well, at first she pretended she was doing it for the magazine. She said Trager was the mailroom guy and knew how to get in contact with that infamous blogger Alex Kavon, which was a lie and I told her that. Finally, she just let me have it. She said I was emotionally unavailable and selfish. And to kick me while I was down, she said I wasn't good in bed. Which is another lie, by the way."

Thankfully, she laughed, because it sure wasn't like me to tell a beautiful woman that another woman had any complaints about me. It was all lies anyway. Sophia was trying to get me jealous. She wanted me to put up some sort of a fight for her, ask her to be my girlfriend exclusively, like we were all still in middle school. "Wasn't good in bed? Well what the hell was she doing with Trager then?" Her laughter softened.

"He must've been doing something."

"I wonder what because I haven't had an orgasm, unless it was a do-it-yourself kind, in over six months. What? Now all of the sudden he magically learns how to use his dick correctly?"

"Wow. Seriously?"

"Sorry," she said, putting her hands over her face, and then bashfully glancing up at me. "Definitely no brain-to-mouth filter. Runs in the family."

"So he was a three pump wonder and she the Queen of the Nags," I laughed, trying to make her feel better. It was refreshing talking to a woman who was down to earth and said things she thought, no games.

"Well he's an ass and she's his trash." The corner of her mouth rose into a grin and I couldn't understand why, but I wanted her to keep the smile—maybe because it was so beautiful.

"Stupid slut."

"Asshead."

"Monkey humper."

"I'm surprised he didn't fall in and have to be surgically removed." I let out a dark laugh.

"He probably just stuck his penis in her mouth to make her shut up," she giggled, eyes gleaming.

"Their private parts are more like public parts." There is something to be said about getting back in touch with your adolescent mentality; it's liberating.

Somewhere down the hall, a door slammed shut, pulling us back to reality. Big blue eyes darted nervously around the hallway, and she quickly climbed to her feet. "Well, Mr. Holt. I think I should get back to my room before I embarrass myself any further in my lack of ensemble. Thank you," she smiled, cheeks rendering her shame a deep red, "for sharing the snacks."

I stood up, strangely possessed, not wanting anyone else to see her either. A paradox of emotions filtered in. I wanted her legs around me, to feel her soft skin under my lips, yet I needed her covered. My movements were jerky, but I tugged off my shirt and wrapped it around her shoulders. She smelled fresh like wildflowers and not any of that expensive perfume that Sophia wore. When my fingers slipped against her skin her eyes widened and shyly met mine. It took everything in me to not lean in and capture her lips with mine.

"Sorry about the outfit, Mr. Holt," she breathed.

"Please, call me James. And honestly, that was one of the best parts."

"Night, James," she whispered.

"Night, Lexa."

I watched her walk away, fighting the urge to run up behind her and slam her into the wall with my dick. What was wrong with me?

She worked for me.

I'm a professional.

A businessman. Not a horny teenager.

I guessed that deep down I just felt bad for the girl. She got a peek at someone sleeping with the guy she thought she was going to marry. How screwed up was that? I don't know what I'd do if I loved someone and caught them messing around.

I made my way back to my room, kind of sick to my stomach from all that junk food, tossed myself on the king sized bed, and passed out instantly.

When the alarm went off, I slammed it shut and banged out a text to my father that I'd be around later, and promptly passed right back out.

Awake by noon, I showered, shit, shaved, and made my way into Convention Room 2 for a rousing conference about facing today's operational and strategic challenges in the magazine publishing business. The heads of Rollingstone and Cosmopolitan were up on the panel alongside InTrend, having a heated interactive discussion with the audience.

I scanned the audience slowly, surveying the crowded room. In a sea of impeccably dressed men and women, only two stood out. One, of course, was Sophia with her bleached blonde hair and bright red business suit, shirt unbuttoned down to show the swell of her tits. And two, was Lexa, who sat perfectly poised, listening to every word that was said at the podium. I couldn't help but watch her. She wore a plain, jet-black business suit that hid every inch of that insane body from last night, like it was tailored specifically to make her look like a man. All that gorgeous, sexy hair I'd witnessed the night before was pulled back tightly into a librarian-like bun. No make up. No jewelry adorned her body. Yet, she wore a pair of deep wine colored heels that were the sexiest things I'd ever seen. A smile slowly spread across my face. I felt it all the way in the tip of my cock as I imagined her long legs wrapped around me still wearing those shoes.

Insane thoughts.

I needed them out of my head.

No matter how angry she felt now, that girl, the one with the beautiful blue eyes, was going to get married in a few days. I couldn't try to twist myself in her sheets for a few days; it wasn't a good idea.

My eyes flitted back to Sophia and I eased myself back and leaned against the wall. She was sitting next to Trager, who was jotting down notes as the panel of guests spoke. Her hand slid up his thigh, massaging, kneading. What the hell was really going on there? Sophia wouldn't spread her knees to an average little mailroom guy. Sophia was all about money, and sleeping her way up the ladder to wherever she dreamed it could take her. That guy had something she wanted.

"Jameson," my father greeted as he leaned on the wall next to me. "Excellent turn out, don't you agree?"

I nodded, keeping my eyes on the audience.

"I had a meeting with the heads of all the other magazines this morning. Everyone is complaining about sales. And everyone has the idea that this Kavon character can boost their ratings with a column."

"So what's your plan?" I asked.

His lips pursed and one gray eyebrow arched up to his hairline. "Don't know, son. But it's bad. You've seen it. I've let over a hundred people go in this last year alone. Now the press is asking us about bankruptcy rumors. This publication should be put to rest. I just don't want to let it go yet."

"You think some sort of bi-monthly column by Kavon would help?"

"James, his blog rivals The Huffington Post. He has over ten million followers on Twitter alone."

"How do you suggest we go about finding him? Email, Facebook, and Twitter haven’t seemed to work," I asked.

"Sophia says she's been in contact with him."

"The only person Sophia has been in contact with is Trager the Mailroom Guy," I laughed.

"Maybe he's Kavon."

"Yeah, okay, Pop," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Maybe the fiancé would know something."

"I could ask her." Hell, I could do a lot of things to her.

He pulled himself off the wall and moved in front of me. "Ask her. She's a good kid, smart, sweet. If she knows anything it would help. And by all means, don't trust that Sophia, son. She's a walking disease." He cleared his throat and continued, "Don't let Miss Novak fly back commercially, especially not with Trager. I'll have her on the jet with you. It'll give you time alone. Find out what Trager knows."

Just as he turned to walk away, I noticed Lexa's bright blue eyes staring in my direction, a shy smile falling over her lips. I wanted to turn my head and not look at her, but I couldn't. Images of her long legs, the dark waves of hair spilling over her shoulders, and the soft curves of her breasts clouded my mind. I was mesmerized.

I was also screwed.

A two-hour flight alone with her sounded dangerous.

Because I wanted to sink myself inside her more than I wanted to find the elusive blogger that could save the old man's magazine.

6

Lexa

“Told my girlfriend I wanted to try anal. She told me she's been having sex with an asshole for years.” @Kavon #IDon’tGetIt

"He did what?" Mandy's voiced screamed through my cell phone. "Lex, are you sure? You saw actual penetration?" There were sounds of paper crinkling and shuffling in the background. "Honey, you were really wasted, maybe you just imagined it."

"Mandy," I hissed into the phone, covering the mouthpiece with my hand to whisper into it. "She was humping up and down on him like he was a Pogo stick. There was no mistake. Annnnd it was up her bottom." I shifted my eyes to the small window as heavy rain splashed against it. The grey light of the sky seeped in, matching my mood.

Silence.

More silence.

A stutter.

"I...I just don't know what to say. I can't believe it. And why did you wait until now to call me? You've been in Chicago for three days. Her bottom? I...I just...I just don't know what to say," she offered.

Some more silence ensued, because I seriously didn't know what to say either.

A loud gasp, then, "We're supposed to go to your last fitting tomorrow night! You're supposed to be getting married in," she counted the numbers under her breath, "sixteen days! I am going to castrate that little bastard. What is he saying? What are you going to do?"

I sighed heavily into the phone. "He was in my room trying to talk things through with me all day. He says he's sorry and it was just cold feet. I don't know what to do. My head is spinning. I just want to go home. Spending the day with a man who ripped your heart out makes you a nervous, paranoid wreck. Mr. Holt put me on his private jet instead of letting me take my flight back with Kevin."

"Really?"

"Yeah, well poor little betrayed bride and all. It's humiliating. Everybody knows what happened, and I don't even know how they all found out."

"Oh, my God. I would die. You don't need to work in that place, you know."

"I know," I huffed.

"When are you leaving?" she asked.

"I'm waiting for whoever else is taking the flight with me and leaving right after. I'm actually on the plane now," I said.

"You're on a private jet, right now?"

"Yep," I answered.

A loud thump caused me to glance up and a wet, blond mess of hair stepped into the aisle, attached to a blinding smile. James. Oh God.

Water streamed down his face. The rain had plastered his hair to his cheeks and forehead, and oh, Lord, his wet shirt stuck to the contours of his body. "Listen, I have to go. Mr. Holt just boarded the plane."

"Aw. Remington Holt is such a nice man," she cooed.

"It's not Remington, it's James," I whispered as he watched me, raindrops falling from his lashes.

"Jameson Holt is on a private airplane with you?" she gasped.

Peeling his bag off his shoulder, he tossed it on a seat and rummaged through it. Yanking out a dry shirt, he reached behind his head and pulled off the one he was wearing. He had a long, tightly muscled torso attached to a pair of insane shoulders and arms that made me clench my eyes shut. I was instantly having sex with him in my mind.

"It's getting very hot in here," I mumbled into the phone and lowered myself further into my seat.

"Listen to me very carefully, Lexa. Think revenge and getting even. You better be thinking about joining the mile high club with that fine looking man, because if you don't..."

"Goodbye, Mandy, I'll call when I get home," I said robotically. Mile high club my ass. Snapping off my phone, I stood up immediately and slammed my head into the overhead compartment, like the dork I was born to be. "Son-of—!"

Then he was towering over me, his fingertips lightly grazing my elbow. "Are you all right?"

Only one thought ran through my head.

He's got no shirt on.

He's got no shirt on.

This was worse than the stripper.

His touch was hot. Like I wanted to sit on his fingers and let him play me like a harp hot. The thought made my cheeks burn. Great, I must have looked like a freaking clown. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a klutz." My eyes darted around the small plane nervously then landed back on his gaze. Okay, first they took a detour up his body, lingered on his pecks, hesitated at his lips, and then stopped at his eyes. "I'm sorry; I didn't think you would be flying back to New York with me." I tried to relax my shoulders and let out a deep breath, business as usual. "So, who else will be boarding?"

"Just us," he said no louder than a whisper. "Please. Sit." He pulled the dry shirt over his head and I tried desperately to remember how to breathe correctly. I was failing epically.

Clumsily, I staggered back into the seat as he eyed me suspiciously. Great.

"Are you a nervous flyer?" he asked with a small hint of a smile.

"You could definitely say that," I said, pausing in the middle for one of my crazy nervous giggles, complete with a horrifying snort at the end. "I'm sorry; I've been quite a mess for the past few days." But I wasn't truly sorry—I was angry—so freaking angry that everyone knew about what happened and looked at me with deep, pity-filled expressions. I just needed a day by myself, without having Kevin messing with my head or being surrounded by people from work, to make a decision on what I needed to do. The first impulsive decision was to walk away and not look back, no forgiving and forgetting, but I owed the last two years of my life a little more time to think it through.

He regarded me in complete silence for a moment. I fidgeted nervously next to him, my face heating to an unfavorable temperature. Suddenly, I couldn't even look him in the eye.

"Then how about we drink this entire flight away?" he asked.

"I've been trying to drink the entire week away, hasn't worked yet."

"Maybe it's because you haven't gotten drunk with me," his voice rasped.

"God, you make that sound like a dangerous thing," I laughed, relaxing a bit.

He walked across the plane to a small minibar and opened a cabinet. "Hey, don't look at me like that, I promise I won't bite... Unless you want me to."

"Worst line ever," I blurted. Damn it, why can't I ever keep my mouth shut.

Holding up four different bottles of alcohol, he waved them in the air. I pointed to the Jack Daniels. "That's the worst line ever?" he asked as he twisted the caps off the bottles and tossed them into a hidden receptacle in the countertop.

He handed me the whiskey. I'm going to need about a dozen more of these little things.

"One of them, definitely. It would be better if you went with something along the lines of: Your father must be a terrorist because you're da bomb." I sipped (okay, chugged) the cute little whiskey bottle, savoring the burn as it slid down. I could see a stack of them in front of me in the near future. I'm psychic like that.

The corners of his mouth pulled up in an enormous smile. "I always go with: Hey, baby, are those space pants you got on? Because your ass is out of this world."

"Ha, that's funny. You could always use: You're so hot, even my zipper is falling for you."

"You are good," he laughed. "Promise me you'll be my wing woman the next time I want to go out. Usually, I use my old standard when I see a woman I want from across the bar," he said, curling his finger and giving me that come hither gesture. "And when she comes over I whisper in her ear..." and he leaned his head next to mine, breath hot in my ear. "I just wanted to see if I could make you come with my finger."

All joking aside, that one would've gotten me home with him. Good thing we weren't in a bar, because my vagina was quite interested in finding out what magical abilities his fingers were capable of. "That one's not so bad, actually."

He tilted his head and smiled. He twisted off another two caps to another two whiskeys. "So, what's the story with Kevin? How did you guys meet? What was his spectacular line?"

"Really? Did you have to bring his stupid cheating name up? I had a good few minutes not thinking about him," I laughed then gave a long sigh. "We uh, met at a party, through mutual friends… there was no special line. He kind of just planted himself in my life. What about you and Sophia? Was she your girlfriend?"

"No. We just..."

I looked away embarrassed. He didn't act like the situation bothered him too much, but a guy's ego is a fragile thing, you never know how much truth they're telling you. "Gotcha."

"Excuse me," a gentleman dressed like a pilot greeted us as he moved into the front of the cabin. "Mr. Holt, as soon as we get clearance for the runway we'll be taking off."

James smiled and nodded, sitting down next to me. He raised a half-empty bottle of whiskey in the air and winked. "Thank you, Marco. We'll be back here discussing the mysteries of life with my old friend Mr. Jack Daniels if you need us."

Leaning back into the seat, shoulders relaxed, I laughed.

"Enjoy, sir. Just make sure all cellular devices are shut down before departure," he said before leaving.

Next to me, James pulled out his cellphone and I followed along, searching for how to put mine into airplane mode when another text from Kevin popped onto the screen. Why couldn’t he just leave me alone to think?

"Hey, you okay? Do I have to kick that phone's ass?" James asked.

My eyes shot up to his, wondering what he was talking about.

His hand reached out and a long, thick finger poked at my phone. A smile tugged at his lips. "You just looked like the phone was doing something offensive to you, like you were angry with it."

"Just another I love you and miss you from Kevin," I replied, shutting my phone off and chucking it into my bag.

James looked away, hesitated, and then looked back, shaking his head.

Whatever that meant.

"How you feeling with all this?" he asked.

Polishing off the rest of my drink, I offered a tight smile. "I'm just so humiliated. All the rumors going around make me want to crawl in a hole and die. I mean, there's one rumor that I had a threesome with them."

He flinched. "Where'd you hear that?" he asked.

"Evan," I snapped.

"Yeah, well he probably started the rumor," he said, stretching out his legs and getting more comfortable. "So what did happen? If you don't mind me asking."

"I was at my bachelorette party. We were supposed to spend the night at the Marriot, but we were so drunk we forgot to tell that to the limo driver, and I ended up stumbling drunk into my living room and there they were."

"That's horrible," he said with a genuine look of shock across his face.

"I'm going to have to disinfect my entire living room. It probably still lingers with sex stank. And let me tell you—it was disgusting, like pure ass sweat. Seriously, I reeled back in sheer terror from the smell alone." Yeah. I was pretty buzzed right there.

Laughter bellowed throughout the entire cabin of the airplane.

James Holt was laughing. Which just allowed my buzzed brain to think it was a good idea to continue.

"And dear God, the sight alone made me vomit up at least five rounds of drinks and that night's appetizer. Every light in my apartment was on. They drank a bottle of my wine, and they ate my Godiva chocolate. What kind of woman steals another woman's chocolate? And the Pogo stick sex, eww. Now, I have no problem with sexual experimentation and stuff, but what I have a problem with is stupidity. Am I talking too much?"

"No, keep going. You're amazingly funny when you're drunk," he chuckled.

"Thank you. I'm actually funny all the time, especially when I'm drunk, but I'm not quite drunk yet, but keep 'em coming, good sir. Anyway, back to stupidity. If you are stupid enough to believe that I wouldn't see that someone ate my beloved chocolate, that that wasn't going to eventually come to light, you are quite stupid. I'm not offended by the sex they had and the stank they let off. I'm offended by the theft of my fothermucking chocolate."

"Really?" he asked, leaning in closer.

"No, this hurts like hell," I said, rubbing at my chest.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Not your fault. But I just don't get it. Here's you and then there's Kevin. Does she have poor taste in men, or is she just a serial cocksucker? I mean he was the peanut butter and jelly sandwich with the shitty crust still on. Comfort food. Just a damn sandwich. You, you are the fillet mignon."

"I'm flattered, thank you." He laughed.

"With like those delicious baked red potatoes on the side," I continued.

"Do I come with vegetables?" he asked.

I nodded. "Dessert too."

James offered more alcohol. I graciously accepted.

"What did he say when he saw you?"

"He said it was all a mistake. Told me it was cold feet. That he was scared; wanted to have a last hurrah to see if I was the one. I don't want to forgive and forget. I want to hate him. The only word I kept thinking of was why. Why? In big bold letters. WHY? Why, why, why? I remember screaming it over and over at them. It was so humiliating. I needed a specific thing to blame, you know? The one reason that he thought it was okay to do what he did to me."

"Did he give you specific reasons besides cold feet?" he asked.

"A whole stupid list of them. And you want to know the best part?" I said, grabbing his arm. Those arms were no joke. It was like clutching steel. "The best part was that she stood there and listened. Drinking my favorite wine. Nibbling on my chocolate. Wearing my robe."

"Are you shitting me?" he asked.

"I shit you not," I answered.

"You're handling all of it well, I think."

"I disagree. I've been drunk ever since. The first day was the worst. Tears. Sobs. The whys. Oh, my gosh, the whys are the worst. They keep repeating in my head." I leaned in really close and looked him dead in the eye. "What the hell was so special about her that she was better than me?"

"I can't think of one thing," he whispered. "I can't, Lex, truly. She is a selfish person. I'll give you an example, okay? She was a vegetarian, so narcissistically she believed that everyone around her should be a vegetarian too. So when she'd go out and eat with people she'd ask them how their cow carcasses tasted, or if they knew eating pork was the closest thing to eating small, dead children."

I scrunched up my nose and laughed.

"I love eating meat and she always tried to ruin it. I'd get a rare steak, chew it slowly in front of her, and moo. People like her make you revert back to your worst adolescent behavior. Please say you eat meat."

"I eat meat," I stated seriously.

"Ever have filet mignon?"

That was a loaded question, so I offered a loaded answer, "I've had steak that said it was filet mignon, but turned out to be regular rump roast."

His eyes were tearing with his laughter. "What'd you do?"

"Spit that crap out into a napkin and skipped out on the bill."

"Okay, okay. So what was so special about Trager? What did you love about him enough to want to marry him, and what did you hate about him?"

“I hated that I could really never talk to him. You know what he said?”

“Tell me,” he prompted.

“He kept saying that I was too timid sexually. Which wasn’t true. Okay, well maybe a little. I mean, there were so many things I wanted to do, you know?” I drank another bottle and wiped the back of my hand across my lips. “I was always too scared to tell Kevin the things I wanted. I tried, but he was so condescending. He had this horrifying vaginal imagery of what the person you’re supposed to marry should act like.”

“Did you just say horrifying vaginal imagery?”

“Yes. Horrifying vaginal imagery. Like he was scared of it.”

“You really have no filter, do you?” he laughed.

“Nope. Sorry. Want me to stop? Get out? The look on your face is kind of making me want to jump out of this speeding bullet right about now anyway.”