by Gini Koch
“Oh, James. . . . ” I couldn’t talk and started to bawl again.
“Kevin said Jeff was acting like a massive jerk, Christopher told me you two broke up, Jeff got into a fight with Paul—”
This shocked me out of tears. “A fight with Paul? Why?”
“Hell if I know. Paul won’t talk about it, but he’s furious. I think he managed to knock Jeff out, though.”
“Jeff got into a fistfight with Paul?”
“Something’s wrong, really wrong.”
“Well, I’m here crying my eyes out, so tell me something I didn’t already know.”
“Babe, I don’t think it’s you.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“No, I mean something’s wrong with Jeff. Not that you did anything. He’s lost it.”
“Yeah, well, he seemed fine with me leaving.”
“That’s what I mean. The man lives for you.”
“No, the man lies well.”
“They can’t lie. You’ve seen that for almost six months. They literally can’t.”
“He did. Really well, too. I assume he’s had a lot of practice at it.” And I’d fallen for it, so very willingly.
“Kitty, he wasn’t lying. I’ve known him for several years. Jeff’s not a womanizer. At all.”
“Right. Well, I know he dated about ten human women, and more than ten A-C girls.”
Reader burst into laughter. “Did he tell you that?”
I pulled it up from memory. “He said that he’d dated fewer than ten humans and more than ten A-Cs.”
“Truthful, yet a lie at the same time, I’ll give you that. As we both know, the only way they can manage it. If he was counting the girls from school that Christopher’s told me about, and Lissa, then we do get to all of eleven A-Cs. Keep in mind that seven of them he dated when he was between twelve and twenty. In terms of the humans, if we count you, he’s dated exactly one.”
“One other?”
“No, one. As in you, only.”
“So, I was his exotic event.” My heart ached and I couldn’t even cry.
“No, he’s in love with you. He’s been in love with you since you two met.”
“He doesn’t love me any more, if he ever did. Feel free to ask him about it. I’m sure he’ll suggest you and I have been cheating on him the entire time.”
Reader sighed. “No idea. Look, do you need me to come and be your date?”
“I love you, James. No, but I can’t tell you what the offer means.”
“I love you too, you know that. Look, just hold it together, okay? We’ll figure out what’s going on.”
“I’ll do my best.”
We hung up, and I looked at the clock. Plenty of time before the first event, which was a dinner-dance. Wonderful. Made worse by the fact that I knew my girlfriends weren’t coming. I’d seen Amy when we’d been in Paris—she was living there and said since she’d met Jeff, she didn’t need to come out. I wondered if she could get here anyway. She could afford it. But I couldn’t bring myself to call her and ask.
Sheila and I had texted about it, and I knew she wasn’t coming due to finances and the same reasons I hadn’t wanted to come—she didn’t really care about anyone she wasn’t still in contact with. I was currently willing to pay to fly her out, too, but again, couldn’t bring myself to even suggest it.
Both of them would come, both wouldn’t care that I needed them because my heart was broken—that’s what friends were for. But it was too new, too raw, and I couldn’t imagine telling them about it and not being known for the next decade as the chick who had a meltdown at the Princess.
I’d forgotten to let Chuckie know I was coming, so he was out, and it wasn’t fair for me ask him to come save me anyway. He would, if I called him, not only because he was that kind of friend but because I couldn’t lie to him at all, and he’d know how upset I was, and then nothing would stop him from coming. But having that meltdown with Chuckie would be no better than having it with Amy and Sheila. I’d still be the Class Loser for eternity.
I took a shower and forced myself to not notice that it would be an awesome place to have sex. I was never doing that again. Not sex—at least I hoped I wasn’t going to end up celibate—but doing it in the shower. I’d never be able to have sex in a shower and not think of Martini.
Of course, as I toweled off, the issue was that there were far too many places where sex was going to remind me of him. Like, everywhere. I forced myself to think about who might be there tonight.
As I got dressed, I realized that probably no one I liked was going to be there. Brian was a maybe now, and that meant I was not only going to this thing alone, but I was going into enemy territory alone. I’d had a lot more friends in high school than Chuckie had, but we’d both agreed that college was a hell of a lot better.
I went through my purse. I’d brought a small handbag for the evening events—they were formal after all. Put the room key, my cell phone, driver’s license, and some cash in. Contemplated my iPod and decided that was admitting defeat too early. Looked at the Glock. Realized why people killed themselves in hotel rooms. Put the Glock back into my purse.
I took a look in the mirror. I was in a long, slinky, sleeveless black dress that cut low in the front and back. It was tight around the hips and had a slit up the right side to the knee. I was in high black sling-back stilettos. I looked good. Unless you saw my expression, and then I looked like crap.
I played around and decided to put my hair up. I rarely did this, but I had so much time to kill. My experience over the last few months told me that if Martini were here with me, there would be no time wasted, and we’d be late because we’d be so busy doing the deed in every part of the room.
That line of thought was agonizing, so I went back to my hair. Managed to get it up and have tendrils hanging down. Looked good. I’d do it more often, but I rarely had ninety minutes to kill on hair prep.
All ready to be first in line to sit down. How fun. I considered a wrap, but it was still pretty warm in early October in Pueblo Caliente, and, miraculously, the hotel didn’t seem over air-conditioned. My mind mentioned that if Martini were with me I’d just wear his suit jacket if I got cold. He loved to put it on me the few times we were out—it let him take care of me and mark me as his at the same time.
Only, he didn’t care about that anymore. I tried to come up with lines of thought that didn’t lead right back to Martini. Failed, utterly. I wanted to take my purse but grabbed my handbag instead. See? I was a big girl, I could mix it up and handle change. I hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the door, as much to repel robbers as to pretend something fun was happening in there.
Mercifully alone in the elevator. Stared at my reflection the whole way down and practiced smiling. Normally not an issue. Today, not doing so well.
Elevator opened up right in front of the lounge. I didn’t drink any more because A-Cs were deadly allergic to alcohol, and I’d never wanted to risk getting alcohol into Martini’s system through kissing me. Considered the benefits of getting stinking drunk but just couldn’t do it.
Wandered through and found the room. Signed in and had to explain that my significant other was late due to a delayed plane and so probably wouldn’t make it tonight. It was a good lie, and I was going to use it throughout the weekend. Damn those airlines. My mind tickled again—I thought about the jet but came up with nothing.
The women checking me in looked vaguely familiar, and I realized they’d been in Student Government when we were in school. Couldn’t come up with their names, didn’t bother to try hard.
I didn’t choose a table. I wandered the room instead. There were huge blowups of pictures I vaguely remembered as being from our Senior Yearbook. I found the track team. There I was, right next to Brian. We both looked really young and reasonably happy. I couldn’t remember if I’d broken up with him before or after this picture had been taken, but he had his arm around me and I didn’t appear to mind.
Looked at all the
pictures, studied them, really. They represented things that I might not remember all that clearly or think about too often, but these years had helped shape me into who I was now.
I got to the Chess Club picture. I was the only girl in it. I hadn’t wanted to join, but Chuckie had begged me to, so I’d given in. I was standing next to him in the picture—it was one of the few pictures of him he’d ever allowed to be taken during these years, and only because I’d insisted on it since he’d been the Chess Club President for our entire four years of high school.
He was shorter than me, wearing thick glasses and ravaged by acne. I laughed to myself. His acne had cleared up pretty much right after this picture was taken, he’d spurted a foot and a half in our freshman year of college, and he’d gotten contacts. He’d also matured into a pretty hot-looking adult.
Someone was behind me, I could feel it. Close to six months of killing superbeings had honed a lot of my senses. I prepared for some kind of attack.
“Boy, we look young.” It was a man’s voice, and extremely familiar.
I turned around and looked up into the face of a tall, pretty handsome guy you’d never suspect had dealt with bad acne as a teenager. “Chuckie?”
He smiled, and it was a nice smile—gentle, confident, and affectionate. “You look beautiful, Kitty.” I felt my cheeks get hot. Chuckie was making me blush? Since when?
“I didn’t know you were going to be here.” It was lame, but better than standing there with my mouth hanging open or asking him why he’d decided to come to a reunion we’d both told each other we were going to avoid.
“I asked your mother not to let you know I was coming. I wanted to surprise you.”
“I’m surprised.”
“Good. Then step one of my master plan is achieved.”
CHAPTER 65
“YOU HERE WITH ANYBODY?”
Wow, what a question. I was proud that I didn’t burst into tears. “I was supposed to be, but . . . I’m not.”
“His loss.” He smiled and took my arm. “Love the dress.”
“Thanks. Is that an Armani suit?”
“You’re good. You always could tell the designers.”
“Never wore them.”
“Before. Because that’s an Armani dress.”
“Yeah.” I was confused. Chuckie was acting far smoother and much more confident than I remembered. True, I hadn’t actually seen him for over a year, due to his schedule and my new secret life. But I just didn’t remember him as being suave. “Chuckie, I thought you were in D.C.”
He chuckled. “You know, you’re the only person who still calls me Chuckie.”
My cheeks were hot again. “Sorry.”
“No, I don’t mind. From anyone else I would, but from you it’s like . . . a pet name.”
He led me to a table near the dance floor. “You sure you want to sit here?” We’d always hung in the back if we’d gone places together, even comics conventions. Even when we’d taken trips together as young adults, he’d kept us in the back of the room.
“I’m not seventeen any more, so, yeah.” He smiled. “Yes, I still like the back of the room under normal circumstances. The reunion isn’t one of them.” He pulled my chair out and slid it in, then seated himself next to me. “You look great. No engagement or wedding ring, I see.”
“No.” Managed to get that one syllable out without losing it.
“Good.”
Good? I checked his hand. No ring. Not that I’d expect him to get married to someone and not tell me. We told each other everything. Well, we had up until I’d met the boys from A-C. Guilt tried to join my emotional party, but Heartbreak was still in control, and Confusion insisted that it had shotgun right now. Guilt slunk to the background, hovering around, waiting for its opportunity to make me more depressed.
Chuckie looked around and hailed a waiter. “What do you want to drink? Alcohol or Coke?”
“Um, Coke.”
“One Coke, light ice, and a straw. And one beer, imported if you have it.” I thanked God he wasn’t ordering a martini. I also realized he remembered how I took my soft drinks. True, he’d heard me order this for years, but it registered that he’d paid attention to it, to something very small that still mattered to me. He turned from the waiter back to me. “So, how long ago did you two break up?”
“Beg pardon?”
Chuckie shook his head. “I know the look. You’re trying to hold it together. You looked like this when you broke up with Brian. And, well, all the others.”
“I did?”
“Yeah. The endings were always really hard on you.”
“Endings usually are.”
“Ours wasn’t.” The drinks arrived and he paid the waiter, leaving a generous tip.
“We didn’t date.”
He grinned. “I suppose calling Vegas a date would be stretching the term, yeah.”
“I think of it as a fling.”
“I think of it as the best week of my life.” He said it so casually, as if he were commenting on the weather. I almost spilled my Coke.
“Um, what?”
“I hear Brian’s an astronaut.” Everyone was on top of things other than me.
“Yes. He’s doing well. I just saw him a couple of weeks ago, in fact.”
“He’s coming tonight?”
“Not sure. He was planning on it, but work might not let him make it.”
“He ask you to marry him yet?”
I gave Chuckie a long look. “Um, in a way, yeah.”
“And you said no.”
“Right again. How did you know?”
“I always paid attention. That’s why I did well with the convenience stores. And with my investments. And everything else.” He gave me a small smile. “I’ve missed you these past few months.” Guilt crowed triumphantly and leaped into the fray.
He was sitting with one arm leaning on the table and his other hand resting on the back of my chair. It was a position that said he was only interested in looking at me, especially since his eyes weren’t wandering.
“I know. I’ve been . . . busy.” I was the Queen of Lame Responses tonight. “What are you doing now?” I managed to ask. “I mean to keep busy. Besides investing.”
“I work for the government in its Extraterrestrial Division.”
I managed not to react. “Right.”
“Not the same one as you,” he added. “What’s it like, dating an A-C?”
I felt cold all of a sudden. “Why are you asking me that?”
He shook his head. “I’m going to assume you’re reacting like this because you just broke up with him.” He leaned closer to me. “I’m not here to scare you, Kitty. I just know what you do, and I thought it would be nice to let you know I’m in a similar field.”
“What is it you think I do?”
Chuckie grinned. “I think you’re the recently appointed head of Airborne for Centaurion Division. You’re doing a great job, too. My people are very impressed.”
“Do your people report to Leventhal Reid?”
His eyes flashed. “That asshole? No, we don’t. Why, do you think I’ve become anti-alien or joined Club 51 after all this time?”
“No. I don’t know. No one knows what I do.” I felt panicked for reasons I couldn’t name.
He stroked my arm. “Stop. I’m not here to hurt you or threaten you. I’m happy to recruit you, if I can, but I didn’t come for that, either.”
“Why did you come then?”
He slid his hand up my arm, over my shoulder, up my neck, along my jaw to my chin. He drew my face to his and kissed me.
It wasn’t a kiss like Martini’s, but it wasn’t bad, either. Honestly, it wasn’t bad at all, bordering on pretty darned great. And unlike Brian’s, Chuckie’s kiss made me respond. He drew away from me slowly. “I came for you.”
Rebound relationships are never wise. Rebounding from one guy to another within the space of the same day not only wasn’t wise but put a girl high up in the running for
Slut of the Decade. I knew this, and yet I found myself okay with the fact that Chuckie had just kissed me. As long as I didn’t allow myself to think about kissing Martini, I was fine with it.
“This seems sort of sudden.”
“No. I’ve been in love with you since ninth grade.” Again, said so calmly.
“You never said.”
“I needed your friendship more. If I’d told you, I’d have lost you.” He stroked my neck. I tried not to react and failed. He gave me a half-smile. “This still make you sing?”
Vegas was coming back to me in full force. It had been pretty great, and my brain raced through the quick comparisons and confirmed what I’d registered in Florida—there hadn’t been a human male of my experience who’d been as good in bed as Chuckie. My brain also shared that part of why I’d been single and available when I’d met Martini was that I’d been waiting for someone to actually be better than Chuckie before I made a real commitment.
I forced myself not to make the comparison. No human could win against Martini, so why compare them to him? Besides, Chuckie was right on a spot that turned me into a puddle. “No,” I lied.
He gave me a slow smile and bent toward me. I wanted to move away but didn’t. His tongue stroked where his fingers had been, just for a few moments, while I gasped, and I just sat there, staring at nothing as his mouth moved up my neck. “Jeff, not here—”
Chuckie pulled away from me. “Jeff, huh? So I’m competing with Jeff Martini. Interesting.” He took a drink of his beer. I got the impression he was confirming what he knew or suspected, as opposed to discovering.
“Why would you think that’s who I meant?” My voice was stilted.
He grinned. “You’re a Commander. Who would you be dating, one of the grunts? I’ve seen Martini and White. They’re both your type.” He took another drink. “Why’d you pick Martini? I’d have put my money on White.”
I did not want to have this conversation, to the point where I unfroze and stood up. “Great seeing you.” I knocked my chair over, but managed to get away from the table without any other damage. The room was filling up, but I didn’t particularly care.