Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
“What do you mean, what did I do?” I take a sip. Very good stuff. I’m going to have about ten more glasses before this night is over.
“You had a wife. Now you don’t. What did you do? Adler says you liked her too.”
“My assistant, Isabel. You met her that one time a couple years back, remember?”
He nods once. “I remember. Pretty girl. Though you always have pretty girls around, don’t you?”
“If that’s a subtle dig at my sexual proclivities, you can fuck right off.”
“It wasn’t subtle. What did you do?”
I grind my jaw. “Nothing.”
“Not buying that. What did you do?”
“Nothing.” I glare at him. “Why are you here again? Don’t you have your own business to run?”
“Yes,” he says, “but Jayson told me you were weird on the phone to him, so I came.”
Jayson, my other brother, who can also fuck off for meddling.
“You flew out to LA because I was weird on the phone? You have to realize that sounds insane.”
“And yet here I am. What did you do?”
“Would you stop fucking asking that?”
“When you tell me, I will. What did you do?”
I throw back my glass, downing the liquor, and slam the empty on the bar. I gesture for another. “I withheld information from her. Okay? Happy? She interpreted that as lying. I interpreted it as protecting her. We can’t seem to agree.”
“Huh.” He doesn’t elaborate. That’s typical Erick. With him, less is always more.
I feel the need to keep talking, which is annoying. “She’s back at her place ignoring me. And you know what pisses me off the most? We had just gotten into a fight, but we resolved it by being grown-ass adults that communicated with each other. I thought we figured it out, but instead of just talking to me like she did last time, she’s pulling away. I don’t understand it.”
“Hm.” Erick turns his glass in a circle.
“I shouldn’t fucking care. I never wanted this to begin with. Our relationship was fake from the start, but something changed and now I have all these goddamn feelings. You know how much I hate feelings.”
“Yes.”
“Feelings are awful. Feelings make people do stupid shit like write poetry or play the acoustic guitar. I hate the acoustic guitar. There is nothing worse than a guy with a ponytail playing acoustic guitar while reciting poetry about love and feelings and shit. I swear, that makes me want to commit straight-up murder.”
“Con.”
“She should be here.” I glare at my brother. “Not off hiding. She should be here. With me.”
He grunts and nods. “I see.”
“You don’t see.” I slump forward. “I’ve been a prick for a long time. You know that. It’s been easier, avoiding the real thing, because the halfway thing feels good for a little bit. You fuck, that’s cool, you move on. Nobody gets hurt, but nobody feels particularly amazing either. It’s bland, it’s fine. People think you need exciting shit to drown feelings, but that’s definitely not true. Bland and boring gets the job done. I was good with fine and feeling nothing until she showed up and made me realize that, holy shit, fine is nowhere near amazing, and feelings can be kind of great if they’re directed toward the right woman. Fine is like slime at the bottom of a shower, and amazing is like standing in a fresh hot spring or something. This metaphor sucks, but you know what I mean. She woke me up.”
“And now she’s gone.”
“Because I lied, and all she can see is the guy I’ve always been, because that’s the guy she’s known for so long, when I don’t want to be that guy anymore. But maybe that’s all I am.” I sip my new drink, feeling miserable. It’s pathetic, if I’m honest with myself. I’m a Costa—I’m one of the most powerful men in Los Angeles. And I’m hung up on some girl.
I’m feeling my goddamn feelings for the first time in a while.
And it really sucks.
“What are you gonna do about it?” Erick asks.
I look at him askance. “Have you been listening? She doesn’t want to talk to me.”
“I heard.”
“I’ve called, texted, even considered email but fucking email is for weirdos and business bros. I want to kick down her door and drag her home, but that’ll only make things worse. I never should’ve agreed to give her space. What the hell does space do anyway? What a joke.”
“So what are you gonna do?”
“I don’t know,” I say, getting frustrated. “Stalk her? Make her remember why she wants to be with me to begin with?”
“Good plan.”
“Yeah, good one, I can just follow her around and yell at her out the car window. Tell her how funny and handsome and rich I am. Remind her about my fantastic dick. She’ll come running back.”
“Maybe not that part about your dick, but the stalking isn’t bad.” He takes another sip.