Текст книги "Only Tonight"
Автор книги: Elizabeth Miller
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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 9 страниц)
He grabs a clean towel from a drawer, knotting it around my hand. “Can you walk?” I snap my eyes open, immediately regretting it when Colin’s beautiful face zooms into focus and then out.
“Yes, I think so. I don’t like blood.”
“I can see that. You look like you don’t have any left in your body, you’re so pale.” Wrapping his arm around my waist, he holds most of my bodyweight as the lightheadedness worsens. For a moment I take refuge in his heat, leaning into his chest and imagining for just a second he feels the same magnetic pull I feel to him. His arm and hand burn at the site where they connect with my body; it’s as if he wields a concupiscent sword piercing not just my flesh, but my heart as well. Colin leads me into his spacious office, filled with angular modern furniture.
“Sit. Give me a minute to get the emergency kit.” His voice is tense as he guides my frame onto a surprisingly comfortable couch. I close my eyes and lean my head back against the cushion, wincing at the slightest movement of my hand against the towel.
Just as I relax, a prickling feeling, a flutter of knowledge, prompts me to open my eyes. When I do, Colin is staring from the doorway, watching me. A silent moment passes, my gaze held captive by his. I search for something witty to say, anything to break the tension, but he does it by walking to my side. Sliding down to sit next to me, he places the first-aid kit on the coffee table.
“Give me your hand,” he says softly.
It’s better if I don’t watch. There are only two viable outcomes to that visual: passing out or vomiting. I’m not sure which would be more embarrassing. A shiver spreads down my spine from the gentle caress of his fingers when he unwraps the towel, and assesses the wound.
“Charlie,” his tone forces my eyes to his, “you have a long, deep cut along your palm. You should go to the hospital for stitches.”
“No, no hospitals.” For many long ago reasons, the clinical antiseptic halls of a hospital nauseate me. “Please,” I beg him, “can’t you help me?”
He sighs as he leans down to look closely at my palm. “I’ll need to clean out the laceration to ensure it’s free of debris and to stave off infection. It will hurt.” His tenor gentles as he prepares me for the inevitable pain.
"I trust you.” His deep blue stare latches onto mine. “Please.”
Shaking his head, he silently admonishes my decision while searching for the materials needed in the first-aid kit. “Close your eyes,” he commands, leaving little room for argument.
“Yes, sir,” I tease, adding a mocking salute while leaning back against the couch. He can be so bossy sometimes. I watch out of my peripheral vision as his head dips down in front of me, studying the wound and dabbing it with the towel. Reaching for a small bottle, his shoulder blocks my view.
“Holy shit,” I hiss, trying to tear away from his grip. He clenches my wrist, pulling it so I can’t escape as the disinfectant burns into the gash. I groan as the sting subsides, rolling my head to catch his guarded gaze.
“I’m going to do it one more time.” His voice is pinched, as if he’s enduring the pain with me. He douses the wound with more torturous liquid and I mewl, but hold back the real expletive I would like to hurl at him. Squeezing my eyes shut, I count to ten. I only open them when the heat of his breath soothes the sting; he’s bent close, blowing tenderly.
“Better?” he whispers.
“Yes,” I breathe out.
Lifting my head from the back of the couch, he’s closer than I anticipate, our lips a whisper away. Neither of us moves, his gaze straying to my mouth as our breath mingles together sweetly. It’s an excruciating invitation to unite yet he doesn’t move.
His nearness, and the uncharacteristic desire raging through me for this man is paralyzing. I want him to kiss me. Badly. My heart thrums so fast it's become a hummingbird’s wing, the beats indecipherable. His hot breath warms my lips, heating my body in more ways than one and causes my stomach to flutter, the muscles constricting in an unfamiliar, yet delicious way.
Colin’s eyes flash to mine and back to my mouth, his tongue stroking his bottom lip, and it’s nearly my undoing. I stop breathing, waiting for him to move, almost begging him to. I’m drawn to this man: this powerful, strong, elusive man, and I want him to kiss me. Closing his eyes, he moves ever so slightly toward my mouth, inhaling deeply, breathing into me not once but twice. Two long, deep, intimate breaths.
“Colin.” Even to my own ears I hear the desire hanging in the word, yet I’m surprisingly not embarrassed.
“Charlie.” My name is a whisper on his lips, so close I can feel the sweet rush of breath when he speaks, “I can’t.”
What? I don’t understand. He drags his gaze away from me, his hands grabbing the butterfly bandages he laid out prior to cleaning the cut. And just like that the moment is over, my lips cold with the undeniable air of rejection. With deft fingers he closes the gash, setting four bandages along the jagged line in perfect congruity. He finishes by wrapping a white sterile bandage around the palm of my hand, keeping it firm but not too tight.
“You shouldn’t get your hand wet for a few days; let the wound begin to heal before you do. Re-bandage it tomorrow and look for signs of infection. If it’s inflamed, swollen or deep red, you need to go to the hospital.” I hear him, but I can’t answer. I’ve been repeating his decree over and over again, searching for the meaning: Charlie, I can’t.
“Charlie?” His voice is firm, compelling my eyes to seek out his.
“Why can’t you?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
He hangs his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, Charlie. I don’t have a girlfriend.” Taking a deep breath, he looks to me with fierce eyes. “I have a difficult past. You deserve more than I can give you.”
“Shouldn’t I decide what I deserve? What I want?” I think he’s stopped breathing, and I wait for him to say something, the silence uncomfortable the longer it continues.
“I can’t,” he whispers finally.
I flush with anger: anger at myself for pursuing him when I know it’s a bad idea. And irrational anger with him for his ability to disregard the very clear invitation I just laid none too delicately at his feet—or more accurately, at his mouth. Is it possible I’m completely imagining the intense electricity that’s all-consuming when we’re together? Yet after a moment’s thought I know he couldn’t be more right. Colin isn’t the only one with a past that will prevent any sort of future.
A knock on the door breaks the unbearable tension as Evan pops in. “Rick Scott is waiting on line one.” He turns to me. “You okay, Charlie?” His smile is keen until he focuses on my face and then he glances at Colin.
“I’m fine,” I say scrambling to stand, flinching not-so-subtly when I use my injured hand to help myself up. I have a sudden need to flee, and escape Colin’s presence. With a last glance in his direction I stare into his eyes. They’ve darkened to mask any emotions present, a perfect poker face.
“I’ll leave you to your business.” My voice is more curt than intended. I soften it, warming to the sentiment. “Thank you for taking care of me. It was much nicer than a hospital visit.”
The only acknowledgement to my statement is his brusque nod, effectively dismissing me from his presence. Turning, I practically lunge for the door, knowing I’m not wanted. Colin McKenna doesn’t want me, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.
FOUR
“I CAN’T BELIEVE I let you talk me into this,” I say, turning in front of the mirror in a dress Molly lent to me for the occasion. “This dress isn’t appropriate for the bedroom, let alone a cocktail reception for a presidential candidate. It’s indecent.”
It’s true. This plunging, black satin number leaves little room for my breasts and not much more anywhere else. I should have left my hair down for modesty, but it’s piled on top of my head in a loose knot.
Turning the corner, Molly gets her first look at me. “Shit. Tim will be panting when he sees you.”
“Then get me something else to wear. That’s the last thing I want to happen,” I say while rolling my eyes.
I’ve enjoyed my time at campaign headquarters. Sally and Molly are fun, and after working independently for such a long time it’s nice to have the camaraderie of a team. Tim, on the other hand, has presented a challenge. His invitation on my first day has transpired into an insistent appeal to dine with him at lunch daily, and sometimes a dinner invite, asking me out incessantly. He’s nice; Molly thinks he’s cute, but absolutely not for me.
Everyone who works at Colin’s headquarters, along with three hundred other people, are attending a cocktail reception in his honor tonight; my multiple excuses as to why I couldn’t attend were derailed each time by Molly. She’s persistent, I’ll give her that, and here I am, getting ready at her apartment for the reception.
“Look at these!” I say poking at my ample cleavage. “They’ll enter the party ten minutes before I do.” Cringing, I pull at the plunging neckline to draw the fabric over my breasts to no avail.
“You look fantastic, Charlie. Stop adjusting. It’s supposed to look like that.”
Turning from the mirror I accept my fate. I’m going, I’m going in this dress, and I’ll just have to figure out a way to get comfortable with it.
Colin has been in and out of the office for the last three weeks. Evan wasn’t lying when he said there was a change in plans from the original itinerary Colin reviewed with me when I agreed to work with him. I’ve been here for these past few weeks, learning more about him, his campaign and the people who work for him.
He's remained aloof, even tense with me since he cared for my injury. It’s almost a relief when he and Evan are traveling; thankfully they take Ms. Bitchy with them most of the time, which is a nice reprieve from her hostility.
Dragging me from my thoughts, Molly pipes in, “I'll never get another opportunity to attend an event like this. Never in my lifetime, Charlie.” She pleads again, desperately. “You have to go with me. I need your support.”
“I doubt that, Molly. You could have fun anywhere, with anyone.” I grab my clutch purse before slipping into the stiletto heels, also on loan. Her wardrobe looks more like a Nordstrom rack than a closet; I don’t think she’s ever worn a T-shirt in her life. Silk, satin and sexy are the details she looks for in clothing.
“Okay, I’m ready. Let’s get this over with.”
She catcall whistles at my final product. “You clean up nice, Charlie Carter. You’re going to steal all of the men away from me tonight, and I was hoping to meet my future husband.”
“I’ll be sure to kick some back to you when I’m through with them,” I tease, knowing very well she’ll have men groveling at her feet the minute we walk in. Molly is beautiful and has a personality that matches.
When we pull up in front of the venue, I’m surprised at the location. It’s not far from campaign headquarters in an industrial district of the city. The building looks like a warehouse, yet it’s been revitalized with large floor-to-ceiling windows. Inside, bright lights hold the night at bay and allow arriving guests a peek at the party before walking in. Metal and wood combine in the interior to create a distinct and surprisingly comfortable atmosphere.
As soon as we enter our coats are whisked away, replaced by champagne flutes. We’re directed into a large room with exposed beams and white walls holding old, blackened machine parts. The eclectic mix of materials creates an interesting and somehow modern décor. Lights, which burned a bright welcome in the lobby, are dimmed in the open party space.
"This was a factory at one time. The parts on the walls were taken from the old machinery and repurposed as artwork by the owner,” Molly answers my unasked question. “Senator McKenna is passionate about reusing materials and recycling, but I’m sure you already knew that.” She glances at me out of the corner of her eye. She's suspected something since Colin’s reaction to my hand injury a few weeks ago, and it’s taken the same amount of time to convince her nothing is going on between us. I thought I had talked some sense into her, but maybe I was wrong.
“Yes, I did. But only because I read about it in the reports at the office.”
“Mmhmm, sure.”
“Let it go, Molly. There's absolutely nothing between Colin and me,” I say for the one-millionth time, my heart constricting as I do. Damn heart. I need a new one; this one is defective. It keeps breaking into pieces each time I see him or hear his voice. I’m still reeling from the imprudent feelings my traitorous body insists upon. I can’t seem to forget his piercing eyes, and the butterflies merrily dancing in my stomach each time he’s near.
Molly insisted on our tardy arrival and now I can see it was a good idea. The room is overflowing with bodies, making our entrance unnoticed by most.
Colin is nowhere in sight. I hope to enjoy the night without the tension that encroaches when the two of us are in a room together.
Finishing off my first glass of champagne, I look around for a refill.
“Someone’s out to have a good time,” Evan says, eyeing my glass while reaching over to a tray upheld by a stunning blond for the refill I was hoping for. Winking at her, he cheerfully grabs a flute and swaps it out for my empty one. “Ladies, you look stunning.” His eyes roam over Molly’s assets and back to my eyes; for some reason I don’t garner the same casual perusal he bestowed upon my friend.
Evan looks dapper in a tailored dark-gray suit, a lavender shirt and tie the only hint at his cheeky personality. Molly's staring at him appreciatively, and for the first time I realize she has a crush; her eyes are bright and eager in her own examination of him. How could I have missed this?
“Enjoying the night so far?”
“We just walked in, actually,” Molly answers.
“Well the party just started then.” He winks again and I roll my eyes at his cheesy line.
A leggy brunette easily distracts his gaze. “Excuse me, ladies.”
“He’s just sex on legs,” Molly verbalizes exactly what I was thinking.
“So, you’re hoping to have a go at him?” My eyebrow lifts while I wait for her reply.
“It’s that obvious?”
“Not normally, but tonight you were practically undressing him with your eyes,” I can’t help but giggle at her horrified expression. “Have you ever . . .”
“Hell no, Charlie. I’ll stick to the dream of having him in my bed. I’m not setting myself up for the heartache sure to come along with a hook-up.”
I understand completely. “Who’s throwing this party for Colin?”
“Raquel Meyers.”
“Who is she?” I probe; it’s unusual for Molly not to offer up the information voluntarily.
She shrugs, trying to maintain a nonchalant attitude. “Some super-rich socialite who likes to spend her daddy’s money. Her family made a fortune in public storage and she’s made a career out of spending it.”
“It doesn’t sound as if you like her very much.”
“I don’t know her; I only know of her, and what I’ve heard is similar to all the other rich bitches who believe they’re better than everyone else.”
“And how does she know Colin?” She pauses and looks at me oddly. “What?”
“They were together for a while.”
“Oh.” She doesn’t go into more detail and I don’t ask, pretending to people-watch, but in reality I’m trying to work through the sudden onslaught of jealousy I so don’t want to feel.
After a moment, curiosity wins out. “So, are they back together?”
“Not that I know of. I heard Raquel wasn’t pleased when he broke it off with her last year and she’s been trying to get him back ever since, hence the over-the-top party to celebrate his candidacy.”
“Sounds a lot like Ella.”
“Maybe once you have him you can’t get him out of your system. Like an addiction.”
Hmm, sounds about right. I haven’t had him, but I can’t get him out of my system and that’s a problem.
“How about we head to the bar and get something a little stronger than this shit?” Molly tips her head back to finish her drink.
“Agree. Then let’s go find you a husband.” I can’t help but laugh at her enthusiastic expression.
~
There isn’t enough alcohol in the world to prepare me for this, Colin and Raquel Meyers. Her arm is draped across his back guiding him through the room, close to where Molly is bantering with a group of men. She’s an expert at flirtation and the four men surrounding her are lapping up every sound of her voice, every coy tilt of her head and every sexy flip of her hair. All of the traits I’m seriously lacking, and each of them I wish to possess right now.
Colin is stunning in a black suit, the lines hugging his tight, muscled frame, the white crisp of his shirt highlighted by a slim, simple black tie held in place by a silver tie-clip. He is devastatingly handsome, as each woman staring at him could testify to, including myself. Damn it. I wish wholeheartedly he didn’t have an effect on me, but he does. The rapid beat of my heart and hitch in my breath the moment I see him is a testament to that fact. Damn him, and damn my traitorous heart.
It takes a monumental effort on my part to drag my eyes away. I side step behind one of the large men in our quartet to hide, but it’s only a moment before I’m peeking out from behind him to watch Colin and his date. Raquel is beautiful—striking, actually. Tall and slim—as in, supermodel skinny—her red silk dress falls delicately around her hips, the neckline dipping sharply. Her dark hair is sleek and straight, shining past her shoulders. With eyes as dark as her hair she exudes sensuality, and an unparalleled provocative elegance wraps around her like a snake. Oozing confidence, she laughs elegantly. Raquel Meyers is perfect.
An illogical surge of jealousy rips through my abdomen at the sight of them together, piercing in its sudden onslaught, to the point where I draw in a quick breath. I know it’s ridiculous, yet it’s real and unwanted. There's no comparison between Raquel and myself; I’m simple and uncomplicated, far from the stunning creation gracing his arm.
Thankfully Molly hasn’t seen Colin and isn’t aware of the change in my demeanor, or what I’m sure was not a casual perusal of Raquel. Determined not to torture myself, I nod to Molly that I’m heading to the bar, when in actuality I’m planning to seek refuge as far away from them as possible.
With one last glance at Colin I slip into the crowd, swallowed by the monotony of three hundred people. An urgent need to escape clamps down and I need space, I need to be anywhere but here.
During my flight I bump into Evan, knocking him hard enough that he lunges forward.
“I’m so sorry, Evan.” I stumble, clutching his arm to ensure we’re both steady.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes, absolutely, I’m just headed outside to clear my head from the champagne.”
“Do you need me to hold your hair for you?”
I can’t help but laugh. “No thanks. I can manage.”
“Okay, let me know if you need anything. I’m happy to assist.”
I choose not to go outside into the cold February air, instead heading to the far side of the building, opposite to the party, where a long hallway opens into another much smaller room showcasing the remaining machinery parts on the walls. There are black-and-white photographs of the factory during its prime, along with the people who worked here. It’s a beautiful art gallery of true history and it’s calming: exactly what I need. My stride has slowed as I take in the many worn faces standing alongside the actual machines they worked at for decades, the pictures suspended on floating white walls scattered perfectly throughout the space.
Without the swarm of people, the air chills my bare arms, and I rub my hands over them for warmth. Molly’s dress leaves little coverage and I long for the jacket she also lent me.
The only indication I’m not alone is the acute and intense surge of electricity that reverberates through me. I tense; there's only one person who has ever driven this reaction from my body and I was hoping to avoid him all night. The warmth of his suit coat drapes over my shoulders and heat radiates from the soft material, warming me all over.
“In the early 1900s these buildings were built to make equipment farmers used throughout the entire country. We’re standing in what used to be the main offices; behind us is a portion of the manufacturing plant.”
Colin isn’t touching me, but he’s standing close enough that his breath moves through the loose curls framing my face. His proximity causes my heart to stop; literally, it stumbles and begins to beat again with a loud, thunderous thump. I try to steady my breathing, the volatile pulse of it a sure give-away of the effect he has on me.
“Most of the out buildings were demolished in the eighties to allow room for new growth, but many of the materials used in the factory hang on the walls around us in honor of the men and women who worked here over the course of a century.”
“You’re a history buff?” I ask, relieved my voice holds a tenor of calm I don’t necessarily feel.
The subtle shrug of his shoulders moves the outline of his shadow, which is molded into mine from the casting light behind us. In shadow we are united perfectly, an enticing allusion, and I have to look away. But the real thing is just as tempting. Why does he have to be so damn beautiful?
“History is important; it’s what led us to the present and will see us through to the future. I’ve studied the past, believing it will guide me to the right decisions.” After a short pause he shifts toward me. “I endeavor to know everything about the subject at hand. It’s important for me to understand every nuance to ensure an appropriate outcome.”
Our eyes lock as the electricity thrums, confirmation I didn’t imagine the strange current between us.
“How’s your hand?”
I had almost forgotten; it happened so long ago. Lifting it palm up, I show him the puckered pink wound. “It’s fine. You did a great job with the butterfly bandages.”
I’m shocked when he runs a finger along the scar, warming the skin below it. “I’m sorry you were hurt.” He looks deep into my eyes and I don’t know if he’s referring to the injury or his dismissal.
“You don’t need to apologize. I’m used to it anyway.”
“You’re used to it?” His brow furrows as he asks the question.
I shrug and laugh at his expression. “I’ve grown to expect the unusual. I run into things, trip, drop stuff on my toes, embarrass myself somehow . . . typically, the events don’t involve blood.”
We stare at each other for a moment, neither of us willing to break the deepening silence, the air brilliant and lively between us. Thoughts of him with another woman demand attention and I’m instantly frustrated.
Crossing my arms under my breasts, I square my shoulders and ease toward his tall frame. “Where’s Raquel?”
His eyes darken and flash over my chest as he weighs his answer. “She’s just a friend, Charlie.”
“You don’t owe me an explanation.”
“Somehow I think I do.”
“I get it, Colin. Your words were crystal clear. You can’t with me, but you can with the right someone: someone like Raquel. She’s bewitching. I applaud you on your taste.” My voice drips with insolence. I have no idea where this rancid anger is coming from, but it feels good. Letting my emotions surface is invigorating and new; normally I would never challenge someone in this way. I’m shocked I’m doing so with him.
“Don’t put words in my mouth. That’s not what I said.” With narrowing eyes and a clenching jaw, his expression belies the calm tone. His temper is flaring and I like it. It’s . . . hot.
“Then tell me what you really mean. If you don’t give me the true story I’ll make it up on my own, and right now it’s ending with you and Raquel Meyers.”
“I can guarantee you my story is not ending with Raquel. I have something else in mind for my happy ending,” he taunts as he takes the last step closer so there's an inch between us. I have to tilt my head back for our eyes to remain locked, my thoughts scattering. I swallow reflexively, his words settling deep into my belly as I wait for him to continue. I’m speechless.
“You don’t know me. You have no idea how complicated I am, how complicated my life is,” he breathes into me, holding me firmly with his eyes while our bodies remain a hairsbreadth apart. “For some reason I can’t stay away from you. I’ve tried, Charlie. I have, but each time I see you I’m drawn back in even though I know I should stay away. You deserve more than me.”
His head dips close and my heart stalls again, knees weakening. Without thought I lift my hands, wrapping them into his hair to hold myself up. I pull against him, drawing him closer still, and the connection feels . . . right, like my hands were meant to live there in the soft waves, tugging and pulling gently. A low rumble sounds deep in his chest in response to my wanton fingers. Eyes closed, he lowers his lips to hover directly over mine. He breathes deeply, slowly and methodically, taking my breath into him as if I’m the last whisper of oxygen to fill his lungs.
“I can breathe when I’m with you, Charlie. My lungs haven’t felt this full in so long.” Moving a fraction, his lips brush against my cheek and my heart gallops. I can’t think; the only thing running through my head is please, please kiss me, Colin.
“Charlie,” he whispers my name as his nose runs along the line of my jaw, rubbing delicately against my skin. His hands, which have remained by his side, move to hold my head tenderly, clasping at the top of my neck. His fingers are splayed into my hair to hold me steady, but even without them I wouldn’t move, I couldn’t move, paralyzed by riotous and unfamiliar desire. He begins a slow, deliberate path, tracing his lips and nose along every inch of my face, breathing in every minute detail as his thumbs draw a delicate line along my lips.
“Colin, please.” To my horror I’ve whispered it out loud, and although it was barely spoken the words seem to echo throughout the room.
For the briefest moment he presses his lips against my forehead, holding me tighter than he ever has before.
“I’m sorry.” He says, pulling away. My hands fall indelicately to my sides, empty and wanting. “My focus has to remain on the campaign. This . . . us . . . can’t happen.”
I’m shocked. Once again, in the matter of a second, he’s transitioned from hot and welcoming to cold and detached, spiking my anger. “You need to figure your shit out Mr. President. Don’t toy with me,” I say, full of sarcasm. “Go play with Raquel if that’s how you operate, but not with me. I don’t do drama, and frankly that’s all this has been.”
“I shouldn’t have come in here, I know that. I was telling you the truth when I said I’m drawn to you on a level I don’t understand.” His eyes confirm his sincerity. “I’m not trying to hurt you, Charlie. I can’t stay away from you and I don’t understand that. I’ve not encountered feelings like this before.”
I pause, knowing his thoughts are exactly my own. I can’t stay away from him; I know I should, but for some unfathomable reason I can’t.
“Well, you seem to be doing a good job of reeling me in and casting me back out. That’s not okay with me. How’s that for an understanding?” I rush through the words as the last remnants of anger course through my blood. Staring into his eyes to make sure I’m clear, I softly say, “Don’t do this again, Colin. If you don’t want to hurt me, then you need to stop offering a glimpse of what it’s like to be with you only to push away.”
He nods just at the moment voices enter the room. I slip off his jacket, handing it to him. Our fingers touch during the transition, and the sharp unexpected pang of lust, desire, and whatever else the hell it is travels sharply up my arm, warming me everywhere.
“I feel it too,” he whispers, finding my eyes. His are confused, bewildered almost, and for a second I understand him. I’m the unknown factor. He had his life planned out, a very specific path laid before him and not anywhere on his road to travel did Charlie Carter exist. Yet here I am, and his struggle is one of diversion. Should he divert from the path he meticulously planned or digress for an unknown draw toward a stranger, someone so unlike anyone he’s met before? I’m not anywhere near the social category of the women within his circle, further complicating his struggle.
“Colin, there you are.” Raquel’s voice is smooth, high-society syrup. When I glance toward her I notice Evan hovering at the outskirts of the room. He must have led her to Colin. “Oh, I didn’t expect to find you with someone. Who is your little friend?” she asks as she not-so-subtly checks me out, unable to hide the belittling tone in her voice.
I respond before Colin does, “No one of your concern.” I lift the corner of my mouth in a small smile as I take in her shocked expression. Turning to Colin, I note his mouth is lifted in a similar smirk.
“Thanks for the history lesson.” And with that I head out the door to find Molly and her boys, bypassing Evan without so much as a glance. He catches up to me clutching my shoulder in the empty hallway.
“Charlie, I’m sorry . . .”
“What is it with everyone and their I’m sorrys?” I ask, exasperated. “And exactly why are you sorry? For telling Colin where I was in the first place or taking Raquel back in to save him from me?” Evan is another thing I don’t understand. What is his role in the play I seem to be cast in?
“I’m trying to help him and you, Charlie. It may not seem that way, but I am. Colin’s my best friend and I want to see him happy.”
“And I’m the key to his happiness? Is that what you’re saying?” He doesn’t respond so I keep going. “Listen, Evan, I don’t have casual relationships with men and I’m not interested in starting one now. Don’t push him to me because you think it might be good for him; try to think about me too as you map out Colin’s path. I won’t let him play with me. I know for certain I deserve more than that.”
Evan’s eyes widen and without another word I slip back to the party, side-stepping Tim who’s waiting near the entrance, hoping to get swallowed back up by the crowd to become invisible.
