Darker Water (16 page)

I took the glass out of his hand. “I thought
you didn’t drink in public. Something about hiding your shame.”

“That’s a recent development.”

“Why’d you stop?

He paused. “Because the last time I got
drunk, I hurt someone pretty bad. More than pretty bad, I guess. I
don’t actually remember what happened, so I figured it was time to
go into hiding until I could figure out why I’d done it. But that’s
not going to happen here or now, so let’s stop talking about
it.”

Sometimes I felt like there was a hundred
times more I didn’t know about Carson than I did. I was probably
right.

He held my eyes with his for a second longer
than was comfortable before he spoke. “I’m gonna ask you something,
but you’re not allowed to get weird about it.”

“Um… I’ll try my best.”

“Why did you go out with so many frogs?”

“They weren’t frogs when I started going out
with them.”

“Yeah, they were.”

“Yeah, they were,” I repeated. I knew I
wasn’t the reason they’d changed, it just seemed like it. I sighed,
wondering if he’d open up more if I started. “My parents were high
school sweethearts, love at first sight, fated to be together.
After high school, my mom left everything she knew to go to
California with him. I must have heard their story a thousand times
growing up. I figured it would be the same for me—I would know from
the moment we met that he was the one. I was wrong once in high
school and have been wrong another four times since then.”

“And now you don’t believe in love?”

“Nope.”

“Do your parents still?”

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I guess they do. But
they’re both good people, so being together is just something they
don’t think about anymore. Something they’ve believed for so long,
it’s turned into a habit they’ll never break.”

“You mean a habit like how deeply I believe
you need to get laid? I’m going to need your help to break that
one.”

I laughed. “I think you’ll make it.”

Over the course of a few hours, he’d calmed
down, sobered up, and found his
joie de vivre
again. I knew
this because he started making more frequent passes at me.

When I came back from a bathroom run, he was
in the hallway, waiting for me. “Can I help you with something?” I
stepped to the side, but he didn’t let me pass. “Are you okay?”

“I need to repay you for the hell I put you
through today. You and I are going to play a game.”

Why was I suddenly so nervous? “What
game?”

“I haven’t named it yet. Let’s call it
‘Something for Nothing,’ at least for now.” He grabbed me by the
waist and turned us so we both faced the bar area with him behind
me. His hands stayed put, and he bent down so he could whisper in
my ear. “The goal is to get as many drinks as you can out of a guy
I choose for you. You don’t have to drink them all—you just have to
get him to pay for them. Give them away, dump them in the plants,
whatever.”

“This sounds like a truly terrible idea.”

“No, it’s a great idea. As in all games,
there are rules,” he said seriously. “Under no circumstances can
you take the guy’s number. If he asks you for yours, you can’t give
it to him, not even a fake one. That’s cheating.”

“What exactly is the point of this game?”

“To be open and honest and say what you want
and don’t want. Practice getting something for nothing. Because
believe me—I know this from experience—the guy is going to be
trying to do the exact same thing. He’ll have a lot more practice
and motivation than you will, so don’t think you can half-ass
it.”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s just for fun, Lane. No one’s gonna get
hurt. You’re not forcing him to do anything. You need practice not
worrying about other people’s needs more than your own.”

That was true. “I guess I could try. But
you’re not allowed to laugh if I fail miserably.”

“I swear I’ll only laugh if you fail any
other way. Now, who’s the lucky guy gonna be?” He walked me into
the crowd, saying, “Eeny-meeny-miny-moe.”

Just before I could say I wasn’t going to do
it, so he was free to laugh at me all he wanted, he shoved me
sideways into a tall, good-looking guy about our age. When I looked
back, he mouthed, ‘No cheating,’ and went to go sit at a table near
the back of the bar—with a perfect view of me.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, trying to squeeze around
the guy. “I was just trying to get to the bar.”

He smiled down at me. “No problem. Let me
help. What are you drinking?”

Seriously? That was way too easy. I guessed
it wouldn’t hurt to get one. Then Carson wouldn’t be able to laugh
as hard. “Vodka tonic. Thanks.”

He reached over a few people and tapped the
bar to get the bartender’s attention. A minute later he handed me a
drink and invited me to sit down. I saw Carson switch to a table by
the door to have a better view. The prick.

The game was hysterical to watch until I saw
Lane lean in close to the guy and whisper something. Then he said
something back and she laughed. Why’d she laugh? The guy couldn’t
possibly be funny. I’d picked him because he seemed like the type
who’d appreciate some attention from a woman who looks as good as
Lane does, and I figured she’d get a boost to her self-esteem. It
was supposed to have been my good deed of the year.

Now it looked like they were actually having
a good time. I fell against the back of my chair when Lane licked
her lips. What the fuck? It was a game. Games are fun.

This wasn’t fun.

Someone stopped right in front of me and
blocked my sightline. “Pick a direction and keep moving in it.”

“Is ‘down’ one of the choices?” A blonde
slipped into the chair across from me, smirking. “I really enjoy
going down.”

“That’s quite a coincidence.” My view just
got a lot better. She was pretty much as different from Lane as you
could get. Fake blonde, fake tan, fake tits. All the things women
think men shouldn’t like, for whatever reason. Her lips might have
even been fake, but I have firsthand knowledge that silicone has no
effect on how well a woman can use them.

I bought her a drink. She told me about her
job. I pretended to care. We both knew I didn’t. Every once in a
while, I felt like I could hear Lane’s voice. In this loud room of
strangers, her laugh came through, taunting me.

I started to get antsy. Every time I looked
around whatever-her-name-was’s shoulder, I saw Lane smiling and the
table fill with more empty glasses. This was her first time out, so
she needed to take it easy. I should’ve warned her about that.

When I saw the guy run his hand up the back
of her neck and pull her in, I shot out of my chair.

The blonde stood, too. “Are you okay?”

“No! Obviously not!” I took her by the arm to
scoot her to the side so I could see, although I wasn’t sure if I
should look. As if I could stop myself.

Lane’s eyes were huge—focusing on me, then
the blonde, then me, the blonde, down to her drink, and finally on
that stupid fucking guy she was with.

“Do you want to leave?” the blonde asked.

“God, yes.” Then I understood she meant with
her
. “No. No, I can’t leave my friend.” I slumped down in my
chair and put my head in my hands. This had to be the worst fucking
idea I’d ever had.

I didn’t notice the blonde had gone until I
heard Lane’s voice. “I thought you were going to leave with
her.”

The guy wasn’t around. Thank fuck.

“I couldn’t. I had to stay and make sure you
didn’t get yourself in trouble.”

She smiled as if she knew something I didn’t
and turned towards the door.

“What?”

“I won your game, Carson. I kicked ass.”

It was nice to be able to breathe. Doubly
nice to be able to leave. With her. “You must have cheated.”

“You’re a terrible loser. But you’re also
right.”

“Wait.” I caught up with her. “What does that
mean? You gave him your number? A fake one, right?”

“No.”

“What do you mean no?” What the fuck? “You
actually gave him your number?”

“No.”

“Oh.” I cleared my throat. “Cool. So how’d
you cheat then?”

“I asked him if he could buy me a few drinks
and hang out with me for a while. Because I needed his help to make
you jealous.”

“Nicely played, Lane.” It completely fucking
worked.

Two days later, Carson and I met for lunch
and spent the next four hours talking about things that couldn’t
possibly have taken four hours to talk about. Time didn’t seem to
work the same around Carson as it did around everyone else.

Since his place was between the restaurant
and mine, he made me walk him home.

“I get a little nervous walking home alone in
the daylight,” he said, getting up and tossing some cash on the
table.

“At—what are you—six-foot-one, I can see why.
You’re so weak and frail. Don’t worry—if anything happens, just
hide behind me.”

Thankfully nothing bad happened, and I
delivered him to his building without a scratch.

“Come up for a second.” He held the door
open. “I promise to behave.” He let go and then caught it just
before it smacked me in the face. “Mostly.”

I had purposefully avoided his apartment when
we were together, which all of a sudden was a lot. I hadn’t invited
him up to my place, either. I was well aware people can have sex in
places other than a bed, but it was easier to keep my thoughts
clean in public.

As soon as I decided I could do it—separate
sex and love—it wouldn’t matter. I would finally be able to do
something that I pretty much filled my days imagining. But,
unfortunately, another fantasy appeared out of nowhere
recently—that I was the one to tame him, make him change his ways,
want to be with me and me alone. Ugh. If I knew how to give myself
a partial lobotomy and knew where my delusion center was, I’d be
picking out a drill bit.

Maybe it was because now I knew about his
childhood, and the maternal, girlie side of me was triggered by the
pain in his voice. I didn’t know. And he wouldn’t care.

The longer it lasted, the more dangerous it
was. Carson would walk away if he even
smelled
anything that
moronic on me. His senses were heightened when it came to
recognizing monogamy pheromones.

He’d been more than clear about what he could
give me—sex. And no matter how amazing it was, he was also clear
about what would happen afterward—nothing. He didn’t do long term.
We both knew how risky it was, how quickly things could go bad.
Neither of us wanted it to happen until I was one-hundred percent
sure I wouldn’t attach a whole bunch of strings to him.

When I walked into his place, the first thing
I saw was my driftwood table. The table that was supposed to raise
money for his foundation, not be here.

“What the hell is that?”

He turned to see what I was freaking out
about. “That is a three-year-old piece of art. It’s not strong
enough to hold strippers though, so you’ll have to use one of the
others for that.”

I stomped over to it and then spun around to
face him. “I thought it was for the auction.”

“Oh shit.” He laughed. “You don’t really
think all of that was a ploy to get it for free, do you?”

“I hadn’t gotten that far—my thinking is
still stuck in confusion.” Sighing, I stepped back a little to see
it better because, honestly, it looked really great with the rest
of his furniture and I was kind of proud. “Why is it here?”

“Do you like it?” He came up behind me and
put his hands on my waist, his body barely touching mine. “I’m told
the artist has others, if you want one. But be aware: they’re not
cheap.”

“You bought it at the auction?”

“Yep.”

“If I knew you wanted it, I would’ve given it
to you.”

“That would have been a poor business
decision. Instead, you did a really good thing by giving it to the
Bennett Foundation, and you should soon be getting a thank you
letter that doubles as proof of the tax deduction.” He let go of
me. “Um… Promise me something. Just say yes. It’s not illegal.”

“Is it about sex?”

“No, but I’d be happy to throw that in.”

“I’m not going to promise you anything
without knowing what it is.” I wasn’t sure what he was hesitant to
say. He didn’t get hesitant or uncomfortable—that was
my
department.

“I swear it has nothing to do with sex or any
of the depraved things I want to do to you. Please?”

Oh hell, I wasn’t signing anything in blood.
“Fine, I promise.”

“Cash the check.”

“What do you—?” Shit. I sighed and crossed my
arms over my chest. “It’s in with the thank you letter?” When I
opened that envelope, I knew I’d find a check with his name on it,
written out for fifteen-hundred dollars.

“I saw your website, Lane. I almost started
crying. Seriously, cash the check.”

“How much did you pay for it at the
auction?”

“Six.”

Six made sense. “That’s pretty good. I didn’t
actually expect anyone to pay fifteen-hundred dollars, but gallery
owners are more likely to show your—”

“Thousand.”

My arms dropped to my sides, and I was silent
for a second. Then I shouted, “Six
thousand
? Oh my god, you
paid
six thousand dollars
for my table?”

“
My
table. I was almost outbid by some
guy who didn’t deserve it—he’d probably put his feet up on it or
use it for strippers. So I swooped in and took what was rightfully
mine. I got mad skills with an auction paddle.” He raised his hand
quickly as if he were pulling a gun and then dropped it just as
quickly. “I’m kidding—it was a silent auction. But I’d be happy to
show you my skill with a paddle.
Really
happy to show
you.”