According to Jane (4 page)

I hoped they'd sit down. At a dark table. Preferably in some other bar. Like one in downtown Pittsburgh. (Too close?) Then I could get a jigger of fortifying tequila in peace. But they seemed ensconced where they were, leaning up against the padded side of the bar, facing each other. And I was getting desperate.

I pushed the smoky air out of my lungs, edged up to the corner of the bar's counter and tried to blend in with the other patrons.

"What'll you have, Ellie?" the bartender boomed in a jovial voice.

I gave him my margarita order, attempting to concentrate only on the task at hand. I studied the bartender who, after a dozen of my visits, had spent more time talking to me at The Bitter Tap than my own boyfriend. He was a nice guy. About thirty. Slightly overweight. Smooth, cocoa-colored skin. Always wore a gold chain around his neck and a warm smile. I worked hard to keep my attention focused on his friendly face.

But the ever-obsessed psycho in me wouldn't take the hint.

My gaze kept drifting to Sam's beer glass, the way he held it and brought it to his lips. I hadn't forgotten a single detail about Sam's mouth, his hands. My cheeks warmed at the memory of those inquisitive fingers touching my body that long-ago night, then they burned as I remembered the shame and hurt that followed.

I got my drink and licked the salt off half the rim before taking my first swallow. The sting of tequila short-circuited my senses for, maybe, thirteen seconds. Not long enough.

I glanced at Dominic, who'd returned to pontificating about some post-Cold War, Baltic-immigration policy that apparently had international significance, then over at Sam again, who was staring right at me, his jaw tense.

I looked away.

Can't say I was proud to admit this, but I was still really mad at Sam.

Well, no. That would be a prime example of my ability to utilize subtlety and massive understatement, which had proved helpful in my university lit courses. Long live English majors.

More accurately, I was insanely, unrelentingly furious over the way he'd let things end between us. I wasn't over it, like I should've been. I hadn't moved on, like a true adult would have.

In fact, four years after that particularly painful one-night stand, I'd go so far as to claim I felt
more
pissed off there in the bar than I'd been back then. And that was saying something.

Clearly, these thoughts didn't reflect well upon my maturity level. I knew I should've grown up, walked away, traveled on, let it all go--or, at least, chosen to go into denial or therapy. But, see, a Zen-like acceptance of my fate just wasn't my reality.

As I watched Sam steal glances at me while lounging at the bar with Camryn, I had only one prevailing thought--I wanted to get bloody even with him. A few related thoughts followed:

I wanted to extract some serious revenge in return for the emotional damages I'd suffered that last week of senior year in high school.

I wanted him to endure, if only for one day, a fraction as much hurt as I'd felt.

I wanted to make his life such a living hell that night that he'd wake up in the morning clutching his ribs, feeling agonizing stabs of pain where his heart should've been.

I wanted his whole body to ache from the emotional torment. Just like mine had.

I was a really nice person, huh?

I shrugged to myself. Having once come so close to loving Sam, no degree of hatred seemed too extreme or even remotely unjustified.

However, before I could work out my best strategy for dismembering his life piece by piece, I decided I needed another gulp of my drink. When I lowered the glass from my lips, Camryn was standing right in front of me.

"Look," she said, her voice chilly, "Sam's in the bathroom. I've only got a minute, so I'll say this fast. He's taken." She paused, leveling those green eyes at me with utter gravity. "I saw the looks that passed between you two. I don't know your history with him but, whatever it was, it's over now and he's with me."

A granule of salt must've caught in my throat because I had to cough a few times before I could laugh. "Camryn," I said between cough-laugh spasms, "I am
so
not after him. He's
all
yours, and I sincerely wish you the best of luck because, honey, you're gonna need it." I took another sip.

Her eyes narrowed. "Why do you say that?"

A glimmer of a strategy started to coagulate at the fringes of my mind. A devious one, true, but both drinking to excess and being around Sam had a way of bringing out the worst in me.

Again, I told Jane to calm down. (She wasn't letting up on the ranting.) I assured her I was doing all right and had the situation under control. Really.

Then I smiled sweetly at Camryn. "You each got into med school, right?"

"Right," Camryn said.

"The
same
med school?"

"No."

"The same
city,
at least?"

She shook her head and the gorgeous dark red tresses swayed like weeping willows. "But he'll be in New York, and I'll be in Philadelphia. They're not that far apart. We may be busy, but we'll see each other on some weekends and--"

"When do you leave?"

She pressed her lips together and her grip on her daiquiri tightened. "The end of the month. Why?"

"He'll break things off before then," I told her, my voice projecting a certainty I didn't feel in truth, but I made sure I sounded believable.

She tried to shrug it off. "Just because you couldn't hold on to him doesn't mean I--"

"Has he told you he loves you?"

"I don't have to answer that," she shot back.

"Fine, don't answer. Just think. Has he made you any promises? Or, when you bring up the future, does he deflect your questions?" I stopped for a long swallow of margarita.

Camryn remained silent, a cloud of uncertainty darkening her eyes.

I pressed on. "How about this--does he hide his feelings behind a facade of arrogance and cleverness, so you never really know what he's thinking? Does he enjoy the sex, but always keep a barrier between you? I'm talking emotional, not prophylactic," I clarified, although Camryn was, I gathered, a smart enough cookie to figure it out.

The slight pallor of her complexion let me know I'd hit a nerve. This should've made me feel guilty. But, guess what? It didn't.

"You seem like a very intelligent person," I told her with measured condescension, "but even clever girls make mistakes in judgment sometimes. No one would blame you if you got taken in by him. Temporarily. Although, knowing the truth, one has to wonder why you'd put up with it for--"

"What the hell
is
this?" a furious male voice demanded.

Sam.

Camryn and I swiveled toward him. "Back so soon?" I said.

Sam's eyes sparked with blue fire. Guess he'd overheard some of our conversation. Oops.

He speared me with a glare, then turned to his girlfriend. "Seems Ellie has become a bitter, spiteful person who never forgets the stupid things that happened in the past, and she can't see beyond her own issues and biases. Oh,
and
--" he said and glowered at me again, "she has a history of lusting after loser guys like Jason Bertignoli, for God's sake, so her judgment is questionable."

Every syllable leaving his mouth jabbed me like a stiletto to the heart. He thought our night together was a "stupid thing." God damn him. But, yeah, he was right about my judgment being bad. After all, I'd practically fallen in love with him.

He returned his gaze to Camryn. "So, regardless of what she's told you, just because she and I had no way of working things out four fucking
years
ago--" He paused to frown at me. "It doesn't mean it'll be the same with us." He reached for Camryn's arm.

She snatched her arm away. "What went wrong?" she asked him.

"What?"

"'Four fucking
years
ago,' Sam. What went wrong? How did it end?"

"Yeah, Sam," I chimed in. "Tell her. Please. And, while you're at it, I'd appreciate an illuminated recap because I was kind of deprived of your high-level reasoning back then." I drained my drink, set the glass on the counter and crossed my arms to keep them from trembling. "Whenever you're ready."

Sam looked between us, an expression of incredulousness on his handsome face. "I can't believe this," he muttered. "I am
not
doing this. Here. Now. With either of you."

"So, she wasn't lying then," Camryn said, her voice turning several degrees colder. "You really did something to warrant her anger and total bitchiness."

Total bitchiness? "Hey," I said. "I'm not being--"

She pointed a well-manicured fingernail at me. "You shut up. You've caused enough trouble."

Then she scowled at Sam. "Were you planning to break up with me this month? Is that why, no matter how many times I asked you about Labor Day plans or whose house we'd meet at for Thanksgiving, you kept putting me off? Is that why you couldn't commit to going to my brother's wedding in October? Why you kept saying, 'We'll see, Camryn,' every time I brought it up?"

Sam stared at her. So did I.

"Answer me, dammit!" she shrieked.

He exhaled long and hard. "Camryn, please. Let's go somewhere else and discuss this rationally. I don't want--"

"No! I want to know
now.
I don't want you trying to weasel out of it again."

Sam shrugged, but his shoulders looked so stiff I thought they'd crack from the motion.

"Okay, fine," he told her. "The thing is, I don't know about the wedding. I don't have a clue what our schedules are going to look like then. We'll both probably be up to our ears in work. You know as well as I do that's what med school is all about."

"We're talking about two national holidays, Sam, and one once-in-a-lifetime event. Three lousy days out of four months." She twisted her fingers together into a warped steeple. "I told my
family
all about you. They wanted to meet you. I told them you might be someone they'd be glad they got to know. Someone I might have in my life..." A few tears dropped from her eyes, making the green even brighter. She swiped them away viciously and bit her lower lip.

I took a step away from the two of them. I didn't belong in the middle of this and, I'll admit, I was beginning to feel a few pinches of remorse for my--how did Camryn put it? Oh, yes. My anger and total bitchiness.

I took another step back but, in a flash, I was pulled nose-to-nose with Sam.

"Don't. You. Dare. Leave," he said in a low, very dangerous voice, his clenched fist full of my pink light-knit shirt. "If we're having a public confession session, you're damn well going to be a part of it, Ellie Barnett."

I swallowed and looked into his enraged face. He hadn't changed much, really, in the years since I'd last seen him this close up. His skin was a little tauter now, perhaps. His bone structure a bit more defined. His hair a fraction shorter. His muscles a tad firmer. His eyes were the same cool blue, though, with maybe a hint more malice.

Jane cried out,
Make him release you. Insufferable man!

"Let go of my shirt, Sam," I managed to say in what I hoped was a composed and level voice. Inside, though, every part of me quivered, and I couldn't figure out the reason. Fear? Shame? Anger? Jane's unaltered disdain? All of the above or something else entirely?

Sam released me, but his eyes didn't let me go. They trained on me with a wrath I hadn't been the recipient of since, well, since high school.

Camryn's response to this little scene bespoke a different reaction altogether. She no longer looked infuriated, just deflated. Disappointed. Sad and kind of hurt. "You don't love me, Sam. And you're not going to, are you?" She didn't wait for his answer. "I'll take a cab home."

"Aw, Camryn, c'mon." Sam tried to touch her again and, again, she pulled away.

"No," she said.

"Can't we at least talk? Can I call you tonight? Tomorrow?"

She gave a short, humorless laugh. "We'll see, Sam." She turned and marched out of the bar.

Sam stared after her in stunned silence.

I should've shut up, but I was slightly toasted. So, I said, "Well? Get going. Aren't you gonna run after her? Aren't you gonna tell her you love her and that you really
do
want to go with her to her brother's stupid wedding?"

My hands shook. To stop them, I squeezed my fists so hard my fingernails dug deep into my palms. I looked at them and saw those familiar crescent-shaped welts. Visible signs of a habit I'd never broken.

"I don't love her."

"What?" I glanced up from my hands to study Sam's face, now shuttered against all emotion.

"I'm not going to run after her because I don't love her. But"--he gave me a frozen glare--"I really did
like
her. She's bright, funny, a little high-maintenance, maybe, but a good person underneath the cool exterior. And you had no business at all doing what you did. That was heartless, Ellie."

My breath caught in my esophagus. "
I'm
heartless? Me? Screw you, Sam--"

He raised a brow. "So, your relationship with that Dominic dude is real wonderful, eh?" he said, implying with a tilt of his head that he didn't think so. "You two have got it all together? You're
happy
?"

"It--it's pretty good," I lied.

His eyes traveled down my body and then back up again. "How good?"

Intolerable rudeness
, Jane muttered, along with a few other choice phrases.

I mentally turned down the volume on her complaints and swallowed. "Don't be an ass," I said to Sam.

"Don't sidestep the question," Sam shot back.

"It's better than it was with you," I retorted before I lost my nerve. No doubt I'd burn in hell for all the lies I'd been telling, but I couldn't let Sam know the truth. He already had too much dirt on the real me.