“Sterling, Morgan & Haines, of course. And then Cole and myself.”
I see his cheek move, like he’s biting it from the inside. “Cole Godley, right?”
“That’s right. What a name, huh? You think he’d be some arrogant asshole, but he’s actually really nice. Like the Southern gentlemen you hear about but never actually meet. Unless you go to the South, maybe.”
Eli nods, arranging the bacon, lettuce and tomato on one slice of bread, covering it with the second piece, cutting the whole thing in half, and passing it over on a plate. “Or LA, apparently.”
I watch him as I take a bite of the sandwich. Hot, salty, delicious. “This is good. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” A barely there pause. “Tell me about Cole Godley.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“How do you know his name?”
“I’m putting together the website. I saw his bio. His photo.” The last words are added very deliberately.
“I told you everything I know. We weren’t together very long. It was more a meet and greet. But he was nice. I didn’t get the impression he was waiting for me to turn around so he could stab me in the back.”
“If you turned around, I don’t think stabbing you’d be the first thing on his mind.”
I frown and put down the sandwich. “Am I missing something?”
A too-casual shrug. “I don’t know. Are you?”
It’s clear Eli’s a little jealous of Cole. I’m pretty sure most men would be—he’s gorgeous, successful, smart and kind—but we work in a building full of men who fit that bill, and I’ve never given him any reason to worry. I’m sure his reaction has more to do with the fact that Cole’s on the other side of the country and I’ll soon be joining him, but I can’t completely suppress the shiver of suspicion that winds its way through me, making my toes tap against the hardwood floor. I deal with this sort of thing every day, after all—people trying to deflect attention for their sins by pointing out someone else’s, real or imagined.
I shake my head and take another bite, the sandwich suddenly a little too salty, a little too dry. “He has a girlfriend,” I say through the mouthful. We’d met her at the party.
Eli sighs and scratches his chin. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I’m sure he’s a nice guy. It’s none of my business.”
My relief is short-lived. I think I’d prefer his jealousy to his indifference; at least it would balance out the jealousy I feel when I see him with Winona. Or Stella. “I’m full,” I say, pushing away the untouched second half of the sandwich. “Sorry. I thought I could eat more.”
“Don’t apologize. I’ll eat it. I’m a great cook.”
“Tell me about your weekend,” I say, taking a sip of water.
He lifts the top piece of bread from the sandwich and sprinkles on more pepper. “Not much to tell. Kent’s one of those guys who sees water damage on the ceiling and waits to see if it dries up instead of looking for a leak. A year later, it still hadn’t dried—” He raises his eyebrows to indicate that this is a shocking development—”and, knowing the forecast, called me for help.”
“Knowing the forecast, or knowing you’d know how to fix a roof?”
“Bit of both, maybe.”
“Was it a lot of work?”
He puts the plate in the dishwasher. Again, I think about how ridiculously neat this place is, everything in its spot, like he’s still trying to prove how good he can be. How good he is. “Couple days’ worth.” He turns back to catch me yawning. “You just want to go to sleep?”
I don’t want to make a big deal out of it, but if I spend the night and we don’t have sex, it will be the first time. Not just with Eli, but ever. The first time I ever spent the night with a man without sex. The first time he picked me up at the airport. Made me a sandwich. “I couldn’t sleep on the plane. Too many people stopped by to praise Susan.”
He smiles as we walk down the hall to the bedroom. I change into my usual pajamas—a cotton tank top and panties—and Eli strips down to his boxers, then climbs into bed beside me, switching off the light.
“Thanks for picking us up,” I say into the darkness. “And for the sandwich.”
He squeezes my hand beneath the covers. “I’m happy to do it. Now be quiet so I can picture you naked, doing the stuff you did on the computer the other night.”
“Eli.”
“Ooh, are you going to provide the sound effects? Even better. Try to make it a little breathier. More like, ‘Oh, Eli...’”
Chapter Seventeen
On Wednesday I absentmindedly look around online in an effort to find furnishings for my new apartment, but my heart’s not really in it. There’s no softball game tonight, so Dorrie’s at a pool party/sleepover, and after work Eli’s helping Kent repair the water damage on his ceiling and won’t be done until late, leaving me with nothing to look forward to and no one to do it with.
By three o’clock I’m going stir-crazy, thinking maybe I should take myself out to dinner or shopping or something—anything—to get out of the apartment. Even though I’m so bored I could die, when River Smith calls to tell me his evening plans fell through and he’s now left with an extra ticket to a Jean-Luc Godard retrospective, I think twice before accepting.
“Don’t try to convince me you haven’t been dying to see this movie, Caitlin,” he teases, calling me out on my hesitation.
“I’m sorry,” I say, trying to figure out just how to phrase this. I’ve turned men down, but never before have I used the “I just want to be friends” line. Never before have I wanted to be friends. “It’s just that there’s...someone.”
“Ah.” He sounds vaguely disappointed, but we both know he won’t have any trouble finding a new workplace flirtation. “A baseball-game someone?”
“That’s him.”
“Is it serious?”
I take a breath. I don’t know how serious a summer fling should be, but it feels terrifyingly serious to me. “It’s serious enough that I need to tell you about it before we get to the theater,” I hedge. “Assuming you still want me to come.”
“Are you kidding?” he scoffs. “I’ve called a dozen women already. You’re the first to agree. Beggars can’t be choosers. Please come.”
“You ass. You didn’t call a dozen women.”
He laughs. “Fine. But please come. I’m sure the next eleven will say ‘Jean-Luc who?’ and turn me down anyway.”
I smile. “Well. When you put it like that.”
He names the place and offers to pick me up, but I decline. I know the theater, an older building just a ten-minute walk from my apartment. We agree to meet there at six thirty, and, now that I have plans, the rest of the afternoon passes quickly. At six I dress in skinny black pants, a white button-up, and flats. I leave my hair down, add a swipe of red lipstick and figure I’ll fit in at a French documentary.
It’s warm outside but not as hot as it has been, and I’ve barely begun to wilt when I arrive at the theater at exactly six thirty. A line extends down the block, so I read the marquee as I wait for River. Five films, none of which I’m familiar with. And none of which are in English.
“Right on time.” I turn to find River smiling behind me. He’s traded his three-piece suit for dark-wash jeans and a black polo, the color offsetting his olive skin and glowing white teeth. He holds up the tickets and takes my arm, leading me to the end of the line.
“I didn’t realize it would be so busy,” I comment.
“Do you watch many movies?”
“No,” I admit.
A flash of dimple. “I can’t imagine you’d have time. I try to squeeze in as much as I can—and not just because it’s my job. I prefer smaller festivals like this, showing things I’d
never get to see otherwise.”
“You’re a big Godard fan?” I’d done a bit of research this afternoon, none of which left me craving the experience. Even more, however, I hadn’t wanted to spend the evening alone, so here I am.
“Is that hard to believe?” River asks. “I remember my mother taking me to see Weekend when I was ten, and I don’t know... Something just clicked. He spoke to me. Not literally, obviously. And I didn’t speak French, and I could barely keep up with the subtitles, but the images just...worked.” He shrugs and smiles. “Anyway. I’m glad you could make it.”
“Thanks for thinking of me.” Apart from Eli, my sister and Dorrie, I can’t think of anyone else who might. And then, despite my best efforts not to, I think of Eli. And I miss him. He worked all day Monday, Tuesday and today. Last night he’d had a family thing, and tonight he’s working with Kent. We’d made tentative plans for tomorrow evening—of the “I’ll call you” variety—and though I hate the thought of being one of those women whose happiness hinges on a phone call, I really want to see him.
“Oh, shut up!” comes a woman’s voice. It’s the laughing, teasing, flirting kind of shut up, the one that registers no alarm. The one that means quite the opposite. “I said we should take a cab, you’re the one who insisted on driving, because God forbid you spend one night away from your silly—”
“If the next word out of your mouth is ‘truck,’ I swear to—” And then he cuts off, because the man laughing back, the man decidedly not shutting up, recognizes me just as certainly as I recognize his voice.
I turn slowly, willing myself not to see what I know I’ll see, and sure enough it’s Eli and Stella, ten steps away, laughing and smiling like any other couple coming out to see a movie. He’s dressed up, too, and he looks incredibly handsome, which makes it even worse. He’s wearing navy dress pants and a white button-up, suit jacket slung over one arm. Stella’s got both hands wrapped around his bicep, her pretty red dress offsetting his white and blue, making them the perfect all-American pair.
Stella’s midlaugh when she notices her date is dragging his feet, though when she spots me, she doesn’t look guilty or uncomfortable, just pleasantly surprised. Eli, at least, looks ill. And then, when he spots River, furious. The same feelings are roiling in my gut, but with the extra second advantage of turning around, I’d schooled my face into a calm mask, and return Stella’s smile without an ounce of emotion.
“Caitlin, hi!” she exclaims. “It’s so weird to meet you away from the ball diamond. I almost didn’t recognize you.”
“It’s good to see you again,” I say, smile firmly in place. “You two look nice. Are you coming from dinner?” I spare Eli a frosty look. He’s staring back at me, his dark eyes saying too many things for me to settle on one. Not that anything will change the fact that he’s on a fucking date with his ex-girlfriend. The one engaged to his best friend. Whose ceiling he’s supposed to be repairing.
“We are,” Stella continues blithely. “Just something quick, so we weren’t too late for the movie. What are you seeing?”
For the life of me, I can’t remember the name. River supplies the title, then graciously introduces himself, which I’d failed to do. “I’m so sorry,” I say hastily, as though I am somehow the asshole in this situation. “This is River Smith, he’s the style editor at Chicago’s Finest. River, this is Stella Carr, her daughter plays on my niece’s softball team. And this is Eli Grant, he works for the firm.” I’m so angry I can barely look at Eli’s face right now. I definitely can’t meet his eye. I take in the stiff set of his jaw, the flush marking his throat, and grit my teeth as they all shake hands and exchange pleasantries. There’s the inevitably awkward moment when the greetings are over and we all flounder for something to say, but the line chooses that moment to move and River and I turn and start to make our way inside.
Stella chatters cheerfully with Eli, whose responses are nothing more than grunts or monosyllabic mumbles, the answers you give when you know someone is desperately listening in. And just as he knows I’m listening, I know he’s watching. I can feel his gaze drilling into the middle of my back, two inches above where River’s placed his hand, guiding me through the line.
River’s not stupid. He heard me loud and clear earlier, and he knows tonight’s outing is strictly platonic. But he recognized Eli from the ball game, and knows exactly what’s going on. This gesture then, is strictly for Eli’s benefit, and I’m more than happy to let Eli read whatever he wants into it. Because I want him to be angry. I want him to be jealous. I want him to know exactly how I feel, times a million. But he can’t, can he? Because he’s still in love with Stella, and I barely know River. And I know he lied to me about Saturday: he wasn’t fixing the roof. He was with her. One day after convincing me to put everything on display on fucking Skype, he was with her. And lying again—lying—about tonight. I don’t know which hurts more: the fact that he’s with her, or the fact that I foolishly ignored my instincts, believed his idiotic leaking roof story and put myself in a position to get hurt.
The theater is blessedly dim and cool, and divided into three sections. The middle is mostly full, so River and I snag spots halfway back on the right, and Stella’s laugh alerts us to their position on the left side of the theater, slightly behind us.
“You doing okay?” River asks, turning off his phone before tucking it in his pocket.
“Fine.”
“That’s him, right?”
I purse my lips and force a nod.
“You two aren’t...exclusive?”
“Apparently not.”
“His mistake.”
I make my mouth move in something that’s supposed to be a polite smile, but doesn’t quite make it. “Thanks, River.”
Stella’s laughter rings out again. Honestly. I hope someone shushes her during the movie, and she makes Eli fight him and they get thrown out.
“She has a loud laugh,” River remarks.
“I’m sure it’s because Eli’s hilarious.”
“Is he?” We both know that’s not what he’s really asking.
I pull in a pained breath. “She’s his ex-girlfriend.”
“I see.”
“She left him for his best friend, and now...”
“They’re back together?”
“It looks that way.”
“This is you finding out?”
“Yep.”
“Well. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Oh, God, no. I’ve seen what you do to people who cross you. I would never.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh, though at a normal, indoor volume. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” I say, hoping I sound dismissive. “I’m moving at the end of the month. It had to end sometime.”
“Right.” River nods as though just remembering. “Los Angeles. I’ve got business there myself, actually.”
“You’re moving to LA?”
“No, not moving. But I’m flying out at the end of the month to interview a musician who got his start in Chicago. I’m only staying for a few days, but if you’d like, we can travel together. Maybe see a movie of your choosing. In English.”
“Sounds good.” I shoot him a genuine smile. It’s rare something gets to me the way Eli’s betrayal has, but it’s even rarer to have someone try to cheer me up afterward. “Thanks, River.”
He smiles back, teeth glinting in the dimming lights. “Just trying to stay on your good side.”
I couldn’t say what the movie was about if my life depended on it. I know it’s a documentary, but after the opening credits...I have no idea. All I can think about is Eli, forty traitorous feet to my left, no doubt biting his lip in an endearing way when Stella accidentally fondles him while reaching for popcorn.
“I’ll be right back,” I whisper to River at the hour mark
, darting down the dark aisle in search of a bathroom. The air conditioning is on high, and despite my long sleeves, I have goose bumps when I emerge in the lobby and make my way to the empty bathroom. I wash my hands, eyeing my reflection in the mirror, distantly pleased when tonight’s hurt feelings don’t show on my face. I don’t look like the cheerful date of a handsome, successful magazine editor, but I don’t look like someone who’s just had her heart stomped on either.
When I emerge from the bathroom, Eli’s waiting in the lobby, looking agitated. He’s put on the suit jacket as though it will make him look like less of a lying, cheating asshole, and goes completely still when he sees me. My heart kicks up a notch, thrilled to imagine him waiting for me, but it doesn’t change anything. He’s on a date with Stella. What I should do is ignore him completely, stride back into the theater and make out with River. Instead I stand, rooted to the spot as Eli approaches, never taking his eyes from my face. “Can we talk outside?” he asks quietly.
I pull in a breath through my nose. The rage I’d felt upon discovering his betrayal has barely faded, but the aftermath of the adrenaline rush has made my limbs weak, my knees and fingers trembling. “Fine.”
I trail Eli to the sidewalk, a few paces away from the door. An older couple stands beneath the awning nearby, smoking cigarettes and talking animatedly, completely uninterested in our company. Eli turns to face me and I stare back, grateful the sun has completed its descent, casting us in shadows.
“It’s not...” He runs a hand over his jaw, and I hear his palm rasp over his five o’clock shadow, the sexy, intimate sound I’ve come to associate with waking up next to him, feeling his weight on my chest as he leans over to kiss me, scratching my chin with his stubble.
“Don’t say it’s not what it looks like,” I say tightly. “It is.”
He looks away, jaw clenched, and looks back. “And you’re on a date with a guy named River.”
“Don’t think for one second that this conversation will be about anything but the fact that you lied to me.” I blink rapidly, cursing the stinging behind my eyes. It’s probably the cigarette smoke drifting over; I bet I’m allergic. “Don’t,” I snap, when he looks like he’s about to protest. “Was there ever a leak in the roof?”
In Her Defense Page 21