Man of the world, p.19
Man of the World, page 19
Here in LA, the only indication that fall is around the corner are the back-to-school displays in the stores. It’s not quite as hot as it was in July, but the sun is still bright and warm, the sky is cloudless and blue, and the sand stretches as far as my eyes can see to either side of me.
But that doesn’t mean that summer isn’t ending.
I bend down to let Princess off the leash and straighten up, looking around the empty beach. I’m already starting to note “lasts” in my mind: soon this will be the last time I walk on this beach, the last time I take Princess out, the last time I admire this view, the last time I’m with Carina …
I’m struck again by a vision of her surrounded by muscular, mostly naked men while her friends take bets on which one she’ll hook up with, and I feel a peculiar lurch of emotion that I can’t quite identify …
… Okay, I’ll cop to a little jealousy. Because even if we’re just friends, or maybe because we’re friends, I feel … protective of her. I don’t want her to get hurt, or do anything she’ll regret.
Now that she’s had sex, what’s stopping her from having more? As much as she likes, with as many men as she wants?
That was, after all, the whole point of our arrangement: my job was to break her in with some “not awful” sex. Now that I’ve succeeded beyond my wildest dreams, I wonder if it might come back to bite me. We never really talked about what we’d do if one of us wanted to hook up with someone else, just said we’d deal with it if the time came.
There are no strings to our relationship, and there’s a firm time limit. Why shouldn’t she hook up with an attractive man if she wants to this weekend?
Princess runs down to the edge of the water, leaping back as a gentle wave rushes up the sand and over her front paws. She runs back to me, barking.
“Yep, it’s wet,” I grumble. “Go figure.”
We hang on the beach for awhile, then I bring Princess back to my house. There’s no reason for her to be left all alone at Carina’s place when it’s no trouble for her to stay here. She sniffs around, exploring the little house, then settles down to watch me sort through my books and clothes.
In the evening, I take her back to Carina’s and feed her some dinner, watching her as she scarfs the food down noisily. You’d think such a dainty dog would have better table manners. I glance at my watch.
“Hey, girl.” I stoop down to scratch the little dog on the head. “I’m going to have to head out. I’ll come back and let you out in the morning.”
I stand and make for the door, but Princess yaps and dashes toward me, running in circles around my feet. “No, girl, I gotta go. Stay and eat your dinner.”
She whines and jumps up, stretching her tiny legs as far up my shins as they’ll go. “I gotta go,” I tell her again. “Look, if you want, I’ll come back and check on you when I get home. I’ll only be gone a few hours.
She makes a pathetic whining noise, and I feel an almost painful dart of pity for the little dog. She misses her mistress. I bend down and pet her again. “I really have to go. It won’t be for long, and Carina will be back tomorrow afternoon.”
I stand up and open the front door. Princess looks hopefully outside.
“Stay,” I warn her.
She tilts her head to one side and then lets out a tiny, heartrending howl.
I stand in the doorframe, feeling like a jerk for leaving her behind. I start to pull the door closed, and the howl grows louder and more pathetic.
I can’t do it.
I push the door open again, head back to the house, and pick the leash up off the kitchen counter. Princess stops howling and runs over to me, jumping up and barking with excitement. I clip the leash to her collar.
“Fine, you win. Let’s go.”
Fortunately, the bar where we’re meeting has an outdoor patio area, and I text Liam to tell him to meet me out there.
When we pull up in front of the bar, I look at the little dog with her hot pink collar, and bright eyes. “I’m taking one on the chin for you tonight,” I tell her, but she just cocks her head, impatient to get out of the car.
Liam and Marcus are already seated at a table when I walk in, Princess trotting happily by my feet.
Liam is lounging in his chair, one hand wrapped around a pint, his free arm stretched across the back of the empty chair beside him. He looks at me then down at the little dog, shakes his head slowly, and begins to laugh.
“What the feck is that?”
I brace myself. “I’m looking after my neighbor’s dog.”
Liam exchanges a commiserating look with Marcus then looks back at me. “Have a seat, you poor, whipped man. I was going to ask if your balls were still locked up in the lovely Miss Carina’s purse, but I think we have the answer to that.”
Marcus hands me a cocktail menu. “Might I suggest something fruity and pink to go with your puppy’s leash?”
I toss the menu on the table. “I’ll have a beer, thanks. Laugh all you like, but if you’d heard this poor little thing crying, you’d have brought her along too.”
“Well, you may not be on the hunt, but Marcus and I were hoping to maybe meet some women tonight,” Liam says. “If your little friend here attracts the blokes instead of the birds, she’s going straight back in your car.”
I’m about to tell him that I never said I wasn’t on the hunt, but one look at the pink leash I’m still holding in my hand and I keep my mouth firmly shut. Whatever Carina may or may not be doing in Vegas, I know I’m not going to be picking up other women while babysitting her dog.
Maybe the dog’s babysitting me.
Liam’s fears turn out to be unfounded; Princess is the best wingman any of us have ever had. Women ooh and ahh over her, stopping to pet and cuddle her, and before we know it, we’re the most popular men in the bar.
“That dog’s the canine version of Tinder,” Marcus whispers to me mid-evening. “If you ever want to rent it out to guys looking to score, you could make a small fortune.” Across the table from us, Liam is chatting happily with two women, who, having come for the dog, are now staying for the Irish charm.
After the first few minutes, I started telling people that Princess belonged to my girlfriend. It felt more natural than saying “my friend,” and there’s no point standing in Liam and Marcus’s way.
“Don’t get too attached,” I tell Marcus. “I’m probably not going to stay out all that late.”
“Don’t leave now. At the rate things are going, Liam’ll have his green card before the bar closes.”
“Is he still on that?” I glance at Liam, wondering if he’s looking for more than just some simple companionship for the evening.
Marcus nods. “I think he may actually be serious about it now.”
“God, I hope he doesn’t get himself in trouble.” I shake my head, but Liam’s matrimonial prospects aren’t my concern. I nurse a second beer and wait another hour before getting up and announcing my—and Princess’s—departure.
Marcus and Liam protest, but not overmuch. Each of them has a collection of new phone numbers and they’re seated with four attractive women who look like they might be willing to close down the bar with them. I wave them off and say goodnight, and Princess and I head back up the shore to our little dead-end street.
The street is dark. There are no street lights and the only light from any of the houses is the dim bulb that illuminates part of my deck. A silver Prius is parked on the side of the road, and I assume it belongs to the people renting the Airbnb place, or maybe someone visiting them. Otherwise, there’s no sign of life. I pull into my own driveway, glancing reflexively at Carina’s driveway, but of course, her car isn’t there.
As I put my car in park, I consider taking Princess back to Carina’s house—but hell with it.
“Why don’t you stay with me tonight, girl? I could use a little company.”
Princess snuffles agreeably, and I let her out of the car. She bounces around the foot of the wooden steps that lead to the deck, then follows me as I mount the steps.
Because I have half an eye on Princess, I don’t notice the woman sitting in the deck chair until I’m all the way up the steps. When I suddenly spot her, my heart jumps into my throat and I feel a rush of excitement that Carina’s back.
Then just as quickly, cold shock rushes down my spine.
“Mi amor, so good to see you again.”
I’d recognize that throaty voice and that accent anywhere.
She stands up and walks over to me, a wide smile on her face, her arms spread wide, and enfolds me in a hug. My arms automatically wrap around her in response, her blond hair tickling my chin, but my mind has gone blank with surprise.
“Pilar …” I finally manage, “what are you doing here?”
Princess is going crazy with the barking, and Pilar steps back and bends down to let her sniff her hand, then gives her a scratch on the head before standing up again. “So cute! I didn’t think you were the little-dog type of man.”
She gives me a crooked smile, one that shows off the slight gap between her front teeth that I always thought was so sexy. “I’ve been in Manila for the last couple of months. The police are assassinating anyone suspected of dealing drugs, no arrests, no trials, just boom!” She mimes a gun pointed at her head going off, then shrugs. “Bad men make good stories. I’m on my way to Brussels now, but I had a layover in LA. I wanted to come talk to you face to face.”
I take in the sight of her. She’s shorter than Carina, but not by much. Her straight, blond, no-nonsense hair is pulled back in a ponytail. Dressed as always for travel, she’s wearing sneakers, khaki pants, and a t-shirt that shows off her generous chest. I spot a light jacket over the arm of the chair and, more alarmingly, an overnight bag on the ground beside it.
There’s no point asking her how she found me; any one of a dozen mutual acquaintances could have pointed her in the right direction, and in any event, she’s a good enough journalist that she could track me down with five minutes and an internet connection.
“You should have called. We could have … met for dinner or something.”
Having her here, in the flesh, disturbs me on more than one level. Already, I feel the careful calm that I’ve surrounded myself with start to crumble. Not to mention …
I glance guiltily in the direction of Carina’s house, grateful that she’s not home.
Not that it matters; regardless of my situation with Carina, Pilar and I are not hooking up, not again. My sanity means too much to me.
Plus it would just feel … wrong.
“Sorry, corazon. It was wrong, maybe, to surprise you like this, but I wanted to be sure I saw you.”
Pilar, like most journalists, is more the type to ask forgiveness than permission, and I think she knows that if I’d agreed to see her at all, it would have been for an hour or two at most in a public place. Some place where the opportunities for shouting, fighting, and passionate making up would have been severely limited.
She inches closer to me, close enough that I can smell her shampoo mixed with the fainter scent of cigarettes. The combination of scents used to be an aphrodisiac, something I associated with passion and drama and fights and incredible sex.
Now, I inhale her smell and wait for my body to react … but nothing happens.
Pilar cocks her head, looking up at me through heavy-lidded eyes, and trails a single finger down my chest. “Te extrano, mi corazon. I’m not here for dinner. I want to talk to you.” She sighs. “You’re still in me. Like poison.” She gives a little laugh, but there’s not much humor in it. “I want … how do you say it? Closure, maybe.”
I hesitate. Pilar’s brown eyes flick toward the door of my house, then she turns to me and raises her eyebrows. “Unless you’re not alone?”
I let out a ragged breath. “No, I’m alone.”
The smart thing to do would be to send her on her way. It’s not like I have to worry about her; Pilar is resourceful even by the standards of international journalists, and she’s quite capable of finding herself a nice hotel and getting a good night’s sleep before she catches her flight.
Guilt nags at me at the thought of inviting her into my house. Even though I know I won’t do anything with her, even though I have no specific obligations to Carina, it still feels somehow improper to ask her in, at this hour, just the two of us.
But now that she’s here, in the flesh, and not simply haunting my dreams anymore, I realize that I need closure too.
“What time is your flight tomorrow?” I ask her.
“Noon,” she answers.
She’ll need to leave here by ten at the latest and Carina won’t be back until mid-afternoon.
“Come on.” I take out my key, unlock the door, and usher her through it.
25
Carina
Olivia orders us a bottle of champagne before the plane has even left the ground. Beside me, Lindsay lifts her glass of orange juice and clinks it gently against the plastic cup that holds my champagne.
“Fair warning—since I can’t drink, I think Olivia’s going to make you the scapegoat,” she says.
“Guess I’m drinking for two.” I lift my glass to hers and wink at her, but I take only a very small sip. Knowing Olivia, I’ll need to pace myself. “How are things going with the baby?”
“It’s exhausting,” she answers, but her eyes are sparkling. “At least the first couple of months were. Seriously, if I hadn’t known I was pregnant, I’d have thought I had chronic fatigue syndrome or something. But now that’s worn off, and I feel amazing.” She puts a hand on her belly, which is showing just the gentlest of curves. “I think it’s a girl,” she confides in a low voice.
She looks radiant. Happiness for her surges through me, and my eyes get teary. “Are you going to find out?”
She nods. “Martin wants to wait until she’s born, but I want to know as soon as possible. I mean, I don’t really care either way, but I just want to know everything, you know?”
I nod dreamily. I bet I’ll be like that too. “I’m so jealous. I love babies. You have to promise me you’ll let me babysit as often as I like.”
Lindsay laughs. “Consider yourself on speed dial. But that’s enough about me. I’ve hardly seen you all summer. How are things going with your neighbor?”
Aside from a couple of dress fittings and a brunch with Lindsay and the other bridesmaids a couple of weeks ago, I’ve hardly seen or talked to my best friend all summer. She’s been busy with work and wedding preparations, and I’ve been busy with … well, mostly Drew.
But I owe her some follow-up at least. She was the one who gave me the push that landed me in Drew’s arms, after all.
“We, um …” I feel my face start to get hot.
Lindsay squeals. “You did it, didn’t you?”
“Shh!” I glance around, but we’re the only two in our row, and Olivia and the other girls are all busy talking to each other. I drop my voice. “Yes, we’ve been hooking up for a few weeks now.”
Lindsay puts a hand to her forehead. “Oh my God, I am such a bad friend! I’m so sorry. I’ve been so wrapped up in the wedding and everything … I can’t believe I didn’t know about this.” She looks at me, her expression filled with apology.
“No, it’s fine,” I assure her. “I haven’t done such a hot job of picking up the phone myself.” The truth is that although I wouldn’t have minded talking through some of my muddled feelings about Drew, I don’t really want to share the intimate details. Our sexy friendship exists in its own private bubble, away from prying eyes and gossipy friends, and I think I like it that way.
“Well, tell me everything!” Lindsay insists. “I’m like an old married woman now, so I have to live vicariously through you.”
I look down at the little bubbles that are bursting in the plastic cup, thinking about our little game of calling Drew my “professor,” the twenty positions, my attempts at seduction by yoga, my little act with the trench coat, and I can’t bring myself to share any of it, even with my oldest friend.
I’m afraid that saying any of it out loud will somehow break the spell and burst the bubble.
“We have a kind of friends-with-benefits arrangement,” I tell her, trying to give her something. “Just on weekends.” I almost feel guilty sharing even that; it seems unfair not to include our weekday walks and talks on the beach, which are just as special in their own way as our time in bed. But that, too, feels too intimate to share. “He’s, um, really nice.”
Lindsay’s expression is a cross between concern and excitement. “Are you having fun?”
My face gets warmer as my smile gets wider. “I’m having a lot of fun.” That much I’m happy admitting.
“Are you having amazing-crazy-summer-bunny sex?” Lindsay’s expression is comically hopeful.
I laugh as I nod my head, and Lindsay claps her hands gleefully.
“And this is the guy you’re bringing to the wedding, right? My mother was asking who Andrew Calhoun was. Is it serious?”
“Oh, no. It’s just a summer thing … He’s a journalist for an international news agency, based out of Paris. He’s been here for a few months working on a book, but he’s heading back there in a couple of weeks.”
“You’re cool with that?” Lindsay looks mildly regretful, and impatience flashes through me—she was the one who told me to keep it casual for my first time—and then it’s gone.
Of course I’m cool with that.
I take another sip of champagne. “Oh, sure. I mean, I knew going into it that it was temporary. I’ll miss him when he goes, but we’re just friends.”
Lindsay’s smile grows sly. “And then when he goes, are you going to play the field for awhile, or do you think you’ll start looking for Mr. Right?”
My stomach drops. I want what Lindsay has—a sweet guy, a strong relationship, motherhood—but if it’s taken me this long just to lose my virginity, how much longer will it take to find Mr. Right?
This is Lindsay’s bachelorette party, though, and I don’t want to bring the mood down by confessing to my fears of spinsterhood. Let Lindsay think she can live vicariously through me for a little while at least.
