I whisper low enough for only his ear to hear, “That’s not what I mean.” Appalled, I turn to my left where Margaret Bilstead sits beside me. Brendan prepped me on the key people at the company, and Margaret is the Chief Financial Officer, so I know she’s no idiot. I want to have a conversation with someone who has some civility after that show of rudeness I just experienced. Bad manners are an unnecessary display of immaturity and they always embarrass me. “Margaret, tell me how it feels to be a woman at the top of all this testosterone.”
She smiles and rolls her eyes. “It’s hell, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
I chuckle and we turn more towards each other. Brendan can fend for himself for a while. I’m sure he can handle it.
Chapter Seventeen
Brendan
Women: transparent. Me: not blind.
Rebecca’s playing a losing game.
I saw her watching him make the rounds. I saw her beaming at him when he singled her out for a glass of wine when everyone else gets beer. And I sure as fuck saw the two of them being very cozy when I walked in on them last time she was here. Rebecca’s the closest thing to a girlfriend since Sara. I let her in more than anyone else and even though she wants more, I’m giving her a lot.
What she doesn’t know is that I’ve been toyed with by so many women since I joined the single life that I have learned over and over the tricks they play, and it’s made me jaded. I’ve had my texts go unanswered, followed by My battery died. It happened too often for me not to figure out that they were doing it to act hard to get. I’ve also found necklaces left on my bedroom floor when we were never in there, dropped on purpose to scare the next girl off. I’ve woken up to look at my phone and found it not in the same place I left it. I put a password on it from that point on. I’ve even been told I impregnated a girl when I know I didn’t. I calmly asked for a paternity test, got slapped, but found out eventually what I already knew – that I wasn’t the daddy.
So when I saw her and Tommy together, I thought he’s trying to win her away from me to piss me off, and she’s eating it up to make me jealous. I was over it. I sent her on her way and didn’t call, text, or email. But then it was almost six months and I didn’t hear a word. If she wanted to manipulate me, she would have done something. But she waited for me to come around and that took me by surprise. It made me rethink my silent treatment.
Watching her talk to Margaret, I think about my philosophy, tuning them out. Many women are like Rebecca. They’re good human beings who just want to be loved. But it takes awhile to decipher which category they fall into – Good or Bat Shit Crazy. I treat the good ones very well, take them out, hold their doors, and compliment them on their best qualities – always honestly. But I’m not willing to settle down because I don’t see the point. And I haven’t found THE woman. I don’t think she’s out there, and that’s how I consciously live my life. I don’t understand why everyone wants to pair off. I’ve yet to find a woman who makes me think of her long after I’ve left her. There was this one girl after college who smacked some sense into me, literally, about respecting the women I sleep with. Between her and Mark, it stuck. And respect includes letting them go when their feelings become involved to the point where they could get hurt. I can’t remember her name, which is ironic, but I think of her sometimes… but it’s a blur, really. I remember her saying “idiot,” and us yelling at each other. I also have a vague image of her looking at me like I hung the moon before I realized she was drunker than drunk underneath all that makeup. But it was a long time ago and there’ve been a lot of faces and voices since then. And she moved to Italy, so why remember? But sometimes she comes into my mind...
Why am I even thinking of her now? I’ve lost my train of thought...
Oh yeah. Rebecca knows where I stand and she puts up with it. So I realized I was being a jerk by not talking to her. Sometimes it takes me a second to see when I’m doing that. I missed her. And I needed to spend time with a woman who knew me a little better than some of my regulars and some of my fly-by-nights. So I called her yesterday and asked her to come to the game on a whim – completely forgetting that Tommy would be there. I didn’t think that far ahead.
I thought by fawning all over her and faking that fucking meeting on a Sunday to get her alone, that he was just trying to get under my skin, which is his favorite sport. But today, something about the way he looked at her, struck me as weird. She was standing by the cooler, drinking a bottled-water. My baseball hat that she had borrowed, shielded her face from the sun most of the time and her hair was pulled back in a long, low ponytail. But then she bent her head back to drink the last of the water. The sun hit her face and I looked over at him and he was watching her, too. I couldn’t blame him; she’s beautiful. But it was the look I saw on him that floored me. He was in awe and he glanced my way fast, and then looked embarrassed. Tommy NEVER looks embarrassed. He could do the shittiest thing and still look like he meant to do it and ain’t it grand. I’ll be damned if I let that scumbag get his slimy hands on her. I know him too well, and I respect her too much.
I look over at her chatting with Margaret, and she looks happy and animated. The waitress drops off a glass of red for her and an empty pint glass for me.
“The pitcher’s over there.”
“Thanks.” I turn to listen to Rebecca.
“We’re working with girls around the world, helping them sell what they make, from blankets to chocolate through hats. Global Girlfriends empowers them with an online store to sell what they make to the world so they can pull themselves out of poverty. When before they had only a village to sell to, when the rest of that village was usually also poor. With limited funds, you can’t buy what’s being made so it was a vicious circle of poverty that’s now being eradicated by selling their skills on a global scale. It’s incredible!”
Margaret is all ears. “How can I help?”
I kiss her on the shoulder. “Can I interrupt for a second?”
She turns. “Um, hold on Margaret. Yes?” Her eyes are bright and energized by the discussion. She looks happy.
I take her hand and look at her fingers in mine. It’s taking some doing to say this. “Let’s add you as my emergency contact person. I can’t trust Mark for shit anyway. What’s he going to do, sit by my bedside and read to me?” I chuckle.
Her eyebrows go up just a little, but she covers her surprise quickly. I see it, of course. I always see it when she does that. “Okay, good. I’m glad you think that’s a good idea, too. I’ll give you my landline as well, just in case.” She smiles.
I bring her hand up and kiss it. She’s pleased and turns to Margaret again, but the moment definitely distracted her. That felt good to do.
I don’t want to be paranoid. I’m better than that. I want to trust her. She’s earned it.
Chapter Eighteen
Rebecca
Score Card: Me – 10,000. Other women Brendan’s seeing – 0.
Brendan excuses himself to use the bathroom and Margaret and I exchange information, and promise to keep in touch. Before I’ve even had time to soak in that Brendan just made a huge leap, Tommy walks over and slides in next to me. I quickly glance Brendan’s way, certain now is not the time to rock the boat. He’s gone, though.
Tommy might have timed this on purpose, but there’s nothing skeezie about his demeanor. He’s just his usual friendly self, so I relax and smile at him.
“Hey Bec, I just had to tell you, you were great out there today.”
“Thank you. I had to redeem myself for the first round.”
He grins. “Nah. You were just getting warmed up. It’s gotta be rough joining a team you don’t know. But you’ve obviously played recently. You on one in Arizona?”
He knows I live in Arizona?
“A team? No. I told Brendan it was high school, but I think the last time I played was really Junior High. Middle School, I think you guys call it now.”
Tommy laughs and shakes his head, leaning back in the chair.
“Oh... like you’re so much older than us. What are you, thirty one?”
My eyebrows go up and I laugh, waving his compliment away, but secretly pleased. “I wish. Add a few more years. And that’s as much as I’ll say.”
He picks up Brendan’s fork and turns it over a few times, looking at it. “I don’t know why women are so afraid to say their age. I mean, look at you. You’re stunning. And with age comes experience. Girls in their twenties have nothing on you. They’re like kids playing dress up.” He looks back up at me from under his eyebrows and tilts his head. Something sparks between us, and it makes his smile grow and mine fade away. I don’t know what that is between us, except that it’s very complicating. I look down and my eyes land on a silver ring. “I like your ring.”
He holds his hand up. “Yeah? It was my grandfather’s.” I take his hand and look at it.
“Is that a bull?” I ask, turning it in the light.
“Yeah. My grandfather lived in Spain for most of his life.”
“It’s nice. I like it.”
“Most people don’t notice it.”
“I bet the women do,” I smile, looking over his shoulder just in time to see Brendan walking back with a sour expression. I drop his hand and sit back, feeling guilty.
“He’s right behind me, isn’t he?” Tommy says quietly as he puts the fork down and stands up. “Hey B-man, good game. I should be getting back to my side.”
“You should,” Brendan says without emotion as he slides in next to me and grimly looks at the fork like it’s infected with the swine flu. Our server – early-twenties with a lot of tattoos and hot pink hair – walks over to ask Brendan, “You want me to bring the pitcher over?”
He looks up. “Yes please. And another fork. You’re doing a great job, thanks.”
I stare at him, but he won’t look at me. “You okay?”
“Rebecca, what the fuck.”
“I’m sorry. He was just being friendly. I wasn’t meaning to make you jealous or do anything to irritate you. It was stupid of me, but what was I supposed to do, ask him to leave?”
“It’s alright. He’s just a fucking asshole,” he mutters under his breath.
“He wasn’t making a move on me. I would’ve known.”
Brendan smirks, picks up the fork and moves it to the edge of the table. “No, you wouldn’t have.”
“You can give me a little more credit, Brendan. I’m not a child. Look. I only have two hours before I have to head to the airport. Can we just have a good time?”
Brendan sucks on his teeth, thinking. “Yeah. Come on.” He slides out of the table and turns to me. “Grab your purse.”
Mario calls over, “Brendan, you’re not leaving are you? The main course hasn’t come yet!”
“Rebecca wants a cigarette,” Brendan calls back.
I blink from him to the group, horrified. I don’t smoke. I don’t want these people thinking I do.
One of the women looks up, “Can I bum one off you?”
“Um…”
He calls out to her, “No. They’re bad for you. You stay put.”
She sinks down in her chair. “Rude!”
He takes my hand and leads me out as I say quietly so as not to make a scene, “Brendan, I’m not sure what you think you’re trying to pull, but I’m not ready to go. I really have to eat something substantial.”
He doesn’t answer me, but turns left, toward the restrooms. My eyes dart to the right, where the exit is. What is he doing? As soon as we turn the corner, he pushes me against a wall, his mouth on mine. Tucked away from the crowd, we make out, our hands everywhere. I’m stunned, but going with it because it’s obvious Tommy has a way of bringing Brendan and I closer together and hallelujah for that. Gasping for air when he releases me, I watch as he backs away and looks at me from behind a wolf-stare. A memory of the first time I kissed him against the tree, with the ocean crashing below us, hits me. The man I see before me is not the boy I saw then. This man is a master of his own world. He wants things his way.
And not for a second will he let me believe I can flirt with his friends and have that be okay with him. Not ever.
I bring my fingers up to my lips as he turns and walks around the corner. He brings up his arm and wipes lipstick from his mouth on it, and vanishes from sight.
Breathless, I push open the door to the ladies room. I see my face and know instantly why he said to bring my purse. My lipstick is blurred and my eyes are sultry and ready for more kissing. He knew I’d need a second to gather myself. That’s how confident this cocky bastard is. Look at my face! He is incredible.
As I reapply my lips, I realize that no matter how much younger than me Brendan is – he holds all the power in this relationship. I tuck the stick back in my purse and straighten my neck, hold it high, and go back to join him. I don’t know if this will ever be more than what it is, but I’ve seen glimmers that things are shifting, that he really cares. I just have to be patient.
Present Day. I’m not leaving without a fight.
Walking by the hood of my Range Rover are two women – one, early twenties and wearing a bohemian-style dress under a jacket with fringe on the bottom. The other - early to mid thirties - has on a zipped-up cropped leather jacket, short boots and skinny jeans. And in the younger one’s hands is something I recognize instantly as my ticket out of this mess.
I fly out of my car. “Excuse me!”
They both turn and stop walking. The hospital looms large behind them. “Yes,” the older one says, scanning me boldly.
I point. “Is that Brendan Clark’s jacket?”
The both exchange a look before they nod.
“And you are?” the older one asks. They must be friends of Annie’s because he told me he left that jacket at the bar. Did she talk to them yet? Do they know he and I aren’t together?
I take a leap, and give them my best icy, authoritative stare as I cross to take it from the younger one’s reluctant clutches. “I’m his girlfriend. Rebecca Wells. I’ll take that to him, thank you.”
She lets it go, but she’s deflated. “Sure. No problem. We were just going to see if he’s okay.”
The older one stares at me. I can see from her face she wishes she could take the jacket back, but knows that’s impossible. Both my hands hold it tightly like they could lunge for it if I’m not careful. “He’s fine. I was just leaving to get him some things from his apartment. I’ll give this to him when I return.” I turn back to my S.U.V. “Have a nice day.”
“You too,” they both say, at the same time in varying volumes.
I don’t look back. As soon as I’m in my car, I turn it on, darting my eyes to watch them walk into the hospital. They’re probably going to visit her, not him, the little liars.
Reversing out of my parking spot, I drive quickly out of the lot, searching his pockets for his phone as I go. Pulling it out, I turn it on and hit the password I’ve seen him type in a zillion times. I never thought I’d need to use it, and it flashes through my mind that I am being crazy. But I don’t fucking care. I haven’t spent the last three years of my life being patient just to lose him to some girl in a pigtail and fucking freckles. And I sure as shit didn’t drive all the way from Arizona to have her walk over from two doors down and upend everything I’ve worked for with just a wave of her ass.
At a stop light, safely out of range of the hospital, I search his phone book and find the name I’m looking for. Hitting the number, I hold the phone to my ear, and put the pedal to the gas.
“Well this is a surprise,” a sick voice says.
“Tommy?”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line. “Who’s this?”
I take a deep breath and change lanes to get out from behind a slow moving sedan. “It’s Rebecca. Can I come see you?”
I wait for him to answer, thinking to myself, This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.
Chapter Nineteen
Annie
Staring at something that is not
supposed to enter my body. Muscles: tense Teeth: gritting
As Maria slides the thick needle back into the crook of my arm, I wince and watch. Necessary or no, the saline water enters my bloodstream, feeling foreign to me, unwanted. Behind Maria, the door opens and in walks a stone-faced, older male doctor I’ve never seen before. But then again, I haven’t seen a doctor yet. I was unconscious. This guy could have been taking care of me all night for all I know. So I smile at him, until I see who walks in to join him – a woman, also in a lab coat, with cropped brown hair and a plastic smile of fake, nurturing-care that I’m not buying.
Sometimes I’ll meet a person and instantly dislike them. She’s just joined this elite group. I don’t like how she looks at me. I don’t like her smile, because it’s not in her eyes. I don’t like her whole uptight energy. She’s gotta be a shrink. I used to go to a lot of them when I was a teenager, an effort to get me to conform to the masses.
“How’re you feeling,” the male doctor asks.
“I feel fine. I guess I just needed the sleep.”
“This is Doctor Wineapple. She’s here to talk to you about the trauma.”
My eyes land flatly on her. “Oh. So you are a shrink.”
She smiles like I’m a wounded child. I fucking hate that. I’m not wounded. I’ve never been wounded. I just don’t always agree with society and its bullshit. Especially shrinks. The craziest people I knew in college, were studying to be shrinks. They were searching to heal their own demons, thinking they were aching to heal other’s. If you don’t know that about yourself, how are you going to know it about other people?
“I understand you’ve been through something very intense, that you fainted under the stress and were brought here by ambulance.”
“Now we’re all caught up,” I mumble, glancing to Maria who’s watching from the corner, expressionless.
Reaching Hearts (Hearts Series Book 2) Page 7