Page 45 of Smut

“Tell me more about your ex,” I counter. “What’s her name? You know mine.”

He finishes off his water and stabs the lime with his straw. “Rachel.”

“Are you pretending the lime is Rachel?”

He laughs. “This time last year, yes. Now, not so much. I don’t really think of her.”

I don’t know how I know she broke his heart but I do. I wasn’t even aware that Blake had a heart to break but I can see the undercurrent of pain there, one he’s been trying to hide behind his dimples ever since.

“Water under the bridge,” he adds, giving me a pointed look, the type that tells me to drop it.

And I really should. But there’s something inside that compels me to keep talking. Maybe it’s the shrub. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve already bared my soul to him through our story. He may not know it but there’s so much of me in Susan, in her insecurities and failures. My characters are still me, even if they are masked by fantasy and fiction.

“Well,” I say slowly, “Alan and I were together for four years. I lived with him for one. He was pretty much my best friend and always the nice guy, you know. He didn’t really have any faults but there was something missing between us and I put up with it because I didn’t know any better. I’d known him for so long and we started dating in high school and I think I was just so happy that a guy was interested in me, a guy that all the other girls wanted, that I jumped at it.”

I’m staring at the wood patterns on the table as I’m speaking and finally look up to see him. He’s listening, focused solely on me and gives me a little nod of encouragement. “Plus he was nice. I watched so many of my girlfriends get involved with the cheaters and the douchebags and I felt pretty lucky that I got a guy that wasn’t like that.” I pause, taking a sip of my drink. “But, after a while, I started to realize that he didn’t really know me. And maybe that’s my fault, maybe because I wasn’t showing myself to him. I’d always been taught to hide who I was growing up, because my parents wanted me to fit in more than anything, maybe because my sister already gave the middle finger to conformity. Anyway, long story short, New Year’s Eve Alan proposes to me in Tofino, at a party with his family and all our friends and I…I have to say no.”

“Shit,” Blake says softly. “How did that go?”

“Aside from puking on him seconds after he asked me?”

A smile spreads across his face, his eyes dancing. “You didn’t,” he says in hushed disbelief.

I nod and give him an embarrassed grin. “I did. It’s a thing that happens. Anyway. I totally broke his heart and then I vomited all over it. Not the best way to leave a relationship.”

He’s laughing softly as he leans back in his chair, running his fingers over his jaw. “That’s true but still. Damn. I guess it means I’m a horrible person that I find it all bloody hilarious.”

“I’m sure I’ll laugh one day.”

He inclines his head, studying me. “Still not quite over it.”

I give him a look. “I was with him for four years. He was my first love my first…everything.”

“But you’re better off now, you know that.”

I shrug. “Depends who you talk to.”

The waitress comes by just then giving us our food, a beet, hazelnut and goat cheese salad for myself, a meat pie for him. I’m thankful for having something to do other than spill the beans and after a few bites of the salad, my mind is distracted by my taste buds. By the time we’re done eating, it’s like we’ve both forgotten I opened up.

That is until he’s dropping me at my house.

“Thanks for keeping me company,” he says, large hands resting on the gear shift. “For the talk.”

I feel my body grow hot as I meet his eyes. Man, I must be tipsy as hell.

“Thanks for getting work done,” I tell him, keeping my voice level.

He gives me a tentative smile. “Well, what else am I here for?”

Our eyes lock and something deeper, wilder, passes between us. It causes my heart to pound so hard in my chest I think the only release is to open the car door and run, run, run into the darkness.

But somehow I compose myself, step outside and head down the driveway to my home, the night air cool and damp. I glance over my shoulder just before I go through the gate and he’s still parked at the curb, watching and waiting.

CHAPTER 8

Blake

Idon’t know how we do it.