Darker Water

by Lauren Stewart

“Maybe.”

  “Lane was really worried Hillary might get the wrong idea about us. Know what that’s about?”

  “Hillary wants her to be happy and to find a guy who isn’t like any of the assholes she’s dated before. They call them frogs.”

  “Yeah. Well, you can let Hillary know that her dream has become a reality. I’m definitely not like any of the assholes she’s dated. I’m a totally different kind of asshole. But dating isn’t on the table.” And at this point, neither was sex.

  Suddenly Lane was heading towards us, stomping really, her jaw tight and her eyes wary. Hillary was right behind her, with the same expression.

  “I don’t think they were talking about your ass, man,” Eric said.

  “You”—Lane pointed at me—“come with me.”

  “Do you need help finding the bathroom?” I went with her because my only other option was to stand around with Eric and his grumpy, cheating girlfriend. “What’s up?”

  She didn’t say anything until we were in the lobby. “You didn’t recognize Hillary at all, did you?”

  “She looked familiar.”

  “You slept with her.”

  “Did she actually say that? Because I don’t think we had sex. I could be wrong, though.”

  She threw up her hands. “What does that even mean? How do you remember someone but not know if you had sex with them?”

  “Come on, how am I supposed to remember someone I slept with two years ago?”

  “It wasn’t two years ago. It was four months ago. She and Eric broke up for a few weeks.”

  Okay, so my timing was right. But I still didn’t remember the sex. “I’m not sure how to take that. One night with me and she gets back together with her boyfriend. Does that mean I was so good or so bad?”

  “She said you were amazing. Right up until you said goodbye and left. Well, she actually told me you said, ‘Sayonara, baby,’ and then slammed the door on your way out, but I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt considering how pissed off she is right now. You don’t really say ‘Sayonara, baby,’ do you?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t slam doors either, especially after I come. I’m usually pretty happy at that point.”

  “I was there, you know.” She spoke so quietly, it took my brain a second to figure out what she’d said. “In the apartment. I didn’t see you, but I—” She looked away. “I heard you guys, like, you know…during...”

  “Well, isn’t that awkward?”

  “And she talked about you the next day. The whole fucking day. She didn’t stop once.”

  I almost made a joke, but we’d already talked about this a hundred times more than I wanted to. And Lane didn’t look ready to laugh.

  “Hillary told me no one had ever made her feel as special as you did. I think she used the word: worshipped. Please tell me how it’s possible to worship someone and then not remember her.”

  I blew out a breath. “I remember her mouth. She has a very nice mouth.”

  Lane’s lips slammed together.

  “And her face looked familiar.” I shrugged. “What do you want from me here? We fucked, that’s it. If that made her feel special, or whatever word she wants to use, then maybe she needs to reevaluate her sex life, because while what I remember was good, there was nothing overly special about it.”

  She stared at me as if I’d done something wrong.

  “Jesus, Lane, it probably won’t be the last time we’ll be in a room with someone I’ve screwed around with. And chances are I won’t remember some of them, either. So what do you want me to do about that? Should I go?”

  “No,” she said quietly. “I just don’t want things to be horribly awkward between my best friend and—”

  “The guy you’re not dating. Got it. I’ll try not to piss her off more. Although, in all fairness, she has no reason to be mad at me. I’m always clear about what I want.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “And also to be clear: yes, I remember somebody being on their knees, but it wasn’t me and it wasn’t to propose.”

  She groaned. “Please don’t say anything like that around her. Or me, actually. I don’t need that visual.”

  “Does Eric know?”

  She shook her head. “She’s going to tell him, but not now.”

  “Great. I’m tired of talking. Show me some fucking art.” We walked through the gallery and I tried to keep my mouth shut. Art should be either beautiful or deliberately ugly. Most of these looked like something I’d make in one of my Getting Handy classes.

  “I’m pretty sure this one is made from the recycled hairballs of feral cats,” I said. “It’s...” Fuck it. This shit was scarring my retinas. “Can we leave now?”

  “If you want to leave, then leave.”

  “If I wanted to leave, I’d be across town by now. But I want to leave with you.”

  “I can’t yet. I need to network, start a conversation with someone from the gallery or someone else important.”

  “Then why are we looking at the crappy art? You want to meet someone important, you go to the middle of the room or you go to the bar. No one from the gallery will be looking at the art—they’ll be looking at the people looking at the art.”

  “I hate it when you make sense.” She turned around and scanned the room. “Do you think the guy in the red jacket is the gallery owner?”

  “No way. He’s sweating and keeps glancing at that wreck of a— I don’t even know what the fuck that is. Anyway, he’s probably the—Do I have to call him an artist?”

  “How do you know this stuff?”

  “My parents threw a lot of parties. I’ve never been a good sleeper, so I’d sneak into the kitchen and snag a bottle of champagne.”

  “How old were you?”

  I thought about it, but not for too long because I didn’t have many memories that didn’t make me want to throw up. “Hayden, my brother, wasn’t there—they’d already shipped him off to boarding school. It was a few years before my dad croaked, and I had to have been old enough to know how to open a bottle of champagne, so I guess I was around ten.”

  “You were stealing champagne when you were ten?”

  I shrugged. “It has bubbles. Like soda.”

  “Oh my god, that’s horrible!” She covered her mouth. “I shouldn’t laugh, but I can’t help it. It explains so much.”

  “Shut up. We’re here to get you noticed, not giggle about the drunk ten-year-old.”

  Laney’s laugh cut off and her body stiffened. “Twice in one night? What are the chances?” I followed her line of sight and saw why. A common reaction to seeing Anna. Laughter ceases to be around anyone from my family. We are the black holes of happiness.

  My stepsister was standing next to the guy she came with and talking to a man who was either one of the obscenely untalented artists showing their crap tonight or the horribly tasteless gallery owner.

  “Anna likes to be ignored at things like this, so don’t worry about her.” As if that was possible. We were surrounded by drama—artists, an irritable stepsister, and a pissed-off woman with a talented mouth. “You look like I need a drink. Don’t move. I’ll be right back. I’ll get you one, too.”

  She clutched my arm. “Don’t you dare leave me to deal with all your women, Carson.”

  “My women?” I laughed. “I swear, none of them are, or ever have been, my women. I’ll be two minutes, and I promise not to get into any trouble.”

  Ninety seconds. It couldn’t have been longer than ninety seconds. And I hadn’t gotten into any trouble—I’d walked away and left Lane to it. That minute and a half had been enough time for Anna to come over and make Lane feel like shit. She wasn’t crying or anything, because my girl is tough as hell, but there was a distinct look of triumph on Anna’s face.

  I glared at her as I came up to them, handing Lane both drinks. She needed them more than I did. “One and then the other. Come on. You can do it.”

  “I’m fine.” She rolled her eyes but
downed the first drink and didn’t hand back the second. “Anna was just telling me how surprised she was to see you at an event like this. Because you don’t usually take your ‘playthings’ out.”

  I turned to my wicked stepsister. “I’m her plaything, actually. Lane’s an artist. That’s why we’re here.”

  “Oh?” She looked around the room. “Which piece is yours?”

  “I’m not showing here.”

  “Yet,” I added. “That guy you were talking to, he owns the gallery, right?” As poisonous as Anna could be, she might also be able to help.

  “Richard? Yes. It’s next to impossible for new artists to show here, unless they’re amazingly talented.” When the corners of her mouth curled, I knew what was going to happen next. “Or if they have an inside track—Richard always helps his friends. He’s wonderful that way.” And that’s where she shut up.

  “Then since Lane is amazingly talented, he’ll love her.” I tried to keep my voice down because I’d just finished promising I wouldn’t cause any trouble, but all I wanted to do was permanently tape my stepsister’s fucking mouth shut. “I think I heard him calling you—you should go see what he wants.”

  She ignored me. “I love your dress, Laney.”

  “Thank you.” She glanced at me, blushing. “It was a gift.”

  “From you, Carson?” Anna asked loudly. “So you do have some taste. In women’s clothing, at least. You still need some work on the women who wear it though.”

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” It happened so fast, I wasn’t sure if Lane’s gasp was because of Anna’s insult or the volume of my response. “Isn’t your boyfriend giving you enough attention?” I tried to lower my voice. Not sure it worked, though. “I’m with who I want to be with. So either apologize and play nice or apologize and leave us the hell alone. Understand?”

  All conversation had stopped, making my voice seem even louder and more pissed off. I knew I’d embarrassed Lane and might have ruined her chance of ever getting some of her art in here, but fuck if I was going to let Anna get away with that shit.

  “It’s okay.” Lane put her hand on my arm. “A friend of my parents used to be like that. Until her family had her committed. So with the right meds, I’m sure Anna will be fine.”

  I wanted to kiss her. Stopped myself right before it happened, actually. She was so damn impressive.

  Anna cleared her throat. “You two enjoy your evening.”

  “You forgot something,” I said loudly. I had no problem embarrassing her to get what I wanted.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yep.”

  She glanced around at the other guests. They were all staring, her date glaring at us from across the room. “Fine. I shouldn’t have said that, Laney.” She looked at me to see if that was enough, then sighed and got the rest out as quickly as she could. “You really do look beautiful in the dress and that comeback about your parent’s friend was good.” She threw her hands up. “Happy now?”

  “Happy now?” I asked Lane.

  “No. But I want her to go away and for everyone to stop looking at us. So…”

  Anna took the hint and headed back to people who liked her, or at least pretended to.

  “I’m going, too,” Lane said. “You can stay if you want.”

  “Why the fuck would I want to do that?”

  Conversations started back up before we’d made it out of the main room, only to be silenced when a woman stepped up onto a pedestal and let her robe fall to the floor.

  “Finally, some actual art.” That put a hurdle in my way out the door.

  Lane grumbled something about the predictability of men. I wasn’t going to argue.

  A guy tied ribbons that hung from the ceiling around the nude woman’s wrists and ankles.

  “Please let me do that to you,” I whispered. “Please, Lane. I’m begging you.”

  Then the guy pulled a screen up from the ground so all we could see was the woman’s silhouette as she moved awkwardly, like she was a puppet or something. And there went the kind of art I enjoy. What a waste.

  “Never mind.” I grabbed Lane’s hand and dragged her out to the street. We didn’t speak until we got in the car.

  “I may have handled that wrong.” I was supposed to be there just as a ticket in and I’d not only screwed her friend, I’d screwed her entire night just by being there.

  She shook her head slowly. “Anna handled it wrong.”

  “You’d think people like her don’t exist outside of high school movies, but they do. She’s actually gotten better with age. Like vinegar.”

  “Do you know what she said when I told her what I do for a living? She asked me if refinishing furniture was code for something in”—she did air quotes—“the business. You know, screw and nail and drill. Why is she such a bitch?”

  “Anna loves competition almost as much as she loves attention. This is the first time she’s ever seen me with anyone. I think she was in shock.”

  “How long have you known her?”

  “Since we were in high school. With breaks, most of them not nearly long enough.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her grimace. “She and I have a very odd relationship. One day she hates me, every day I hate her, sometimes we don’t talk, all the other times we talk more than I want to, that sort of thing. But after what she pulled in there… You don’t ever need to worry about Anna. Okay?”

  She nodded. “At least I got noticed. It would’ve been nice if it had been in any useful way, but that kind of thing takes time.” What followed was the longest train of silence we’d ever had.

  “Carson? Let’s promise never to do this kind of thing again.”

  “Okay.” Too bad, though. Parts of it had been fun.

  Chapter 10 - Laney

  It started as soon as I got home from the gallery opening and didn’t stop until Hillary packed her bag and went to Eric’s for the weekend. She didn’t miss a single opportunity to tell me what an asshole Carson was. She’d been very vulnerable after breaking up with Eric, and Carson had somehow used that to get her into bed. I wasn’t sure how he was supposed to have known how vulnerable she was feeling, but he should have. Of course, the truth was that he wouldn’t have been listening even if she had told him.

  I wasn’t sure what I believed. When I met him, he was pretty damn straightforward and, now that I knew him, it was hard to imagine him manipulating someone into bed. It was hard to imagine him needing to manipulate someone into bed. Although, yeah, he might have said something moderately rude before he left. Not to be mean, just because he doesn’t think about stuff like that.

  It was the other thing that freaked me out more. I remembered the morning after they slept together and thinking what a mistake Hillary had made. Not for the sex, but for the way she talked about the mysterious guy she’d been with. As if he’d actually cared about her. I was right—four months later, he didn’t even remember being with her. He didn’t care about her or want to make her feel special. All he wanted was to make her feel good while he made himself feel good. Hillary was a smart woman, a realist in almost everything, but she’d turned one night of sex into something more than it was and then had gotten upset when she found out she was wrong.

  After a night with Carson, would I do the same thing? Would he?

  Saturday morning, I decided to take the whole day off and do absolutely nothing. Since Hillary was off having another unexciting weekend with Eric, I didn’t even bother getting out of my pajamas.

  When Carson called, I flipped the TV off and stretched out on the couch. “What do you want?”

  “You know what I want, Lane. But that’s actually not why I called. I screwed up and forgot to send someone for that coffee table. The auction is tonight, and Eric’s photos of your table were sent out in the catalogue.”

  I’d completely forgotten, my mind on all the wrong things, even with a very full workload. “Should I bring it to you?”

  “I don’t want to mess up whatever you
planned to do today. Well, I need to mess up enough of it for you to be at your shop when the guy comes by. What time’s good for you?”

  “Give me an hour to jump in the shower and get down there.”

  “What are you doing later?”

  “I’ll be at the shop anyway, so I’ll probably work for a little while. Why?”

  “I take back my earlier comment. It was too polite. I’ve already ruined your plans for this morning, so it’s only right that I ruin them for the whole day.” His voice never changed inflection or speed. “And since it’s my birthday, you should give me a present. Guess what I want.”

  “Is it really your birthday or are you just saying that because you want a present?”

  “It’s really my birthday and I told you because I want a present. But you haven’t guessed what I want yet.”

  I laughed. “I don’t need to guess. I know what your answer will be and you’re not getting it.” Yet. He wasn’t getting it yet. Or if Hillary had her way—ever.

  “Oh, you thought I wanted you wrapped up in nothing but a big bow, didn’t you? Eww, gross. No. Ewww.” I could practically see his face twisted up with feigned disgust. “No, I want you to take me out for a birthday dinner and then go to the auction with me.”

  I bit my lip. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. We just agreed we weren’t going to do things that were too…”

  “Date night-ish? Yeah, I considered that. But as long as you don’t have any other roommates I could’ve slept with, we both know it’s not a date, and you wear more than a big bow, I don’t think it’ll be a problem. Don’t you want to see your piece go to the highest bidder?”

  “Yeah, but…” Would it work if I promised myself I wouldn’t do anything lame like pretend we were actually on a date?

  “I have to spend my birthday with a bunch of people I don’t like, Lane. The only way I’m gonna get through it is if I have someone to harass and grope under the table.”

  Well, that made it far less of a date night, didn’t it? “No hand-holding.”

  “Fuck no! Are you kidding me?”

  “No whispering secrets in my ear.”