Darker Water (2 page)

Because women were just stupid enough to
believe we could have it all—the knight in shining armor and all
that bullshit. I’d spent a lot of nights with knights, and when I
finally woke up, when there was enough light to see who he truly
was, he was already on his way out the door. Off to sweep the next
idiot off her feet, to promise her everything and leave her with
nothing.

But ultimately it wasn’t the guys’ faults. It
was mine, for trusting them, for believing in something that wasn’t
true or possible. For handing them all the weapons necessary to
beat me.

I give up.

‘
Don’t worry, sweetie,’
my parents
would say every time I called them sobbing over a guy.
‘You’ll
find someone. Someone who deserves you.’
I’d bought into that
crap for my entire dating life. But who the fuck
deserves
a
spineless idiot? Someone who doesn’t even remember what she wants
or likes because she’s always been told what those things were by
whoever she was dating at the time. Too afraid to actually have an
opinion, let alone share it.

I didn’t want to be like this anymore. I
wasn’t always. I was a real person at one point. A strong one.
That’s who I needed to be again, to turn back into.

‘
You have to kiss a lot of frogs to find
your prince.’
My mother’s favorite expression was completely
fucking wrong. If you kiss a lot of frogs, all you end up with is
sore lips and a bunch of frogs. And if you kiss a lot of
princes
, hoping at least
one
of them will stay that
way, all you get is a horrific amount of disappointment and even
more
frogs.

Thanks, but I was done lying to myself.
Princes didn’t exist, happy endings never happened, love was all
make-believe.

I took a long, cleansing shower and got ready
for the day. A new day, new start, new Laney. And all the frogs
could go fuck themselves.

Hillary was in the kitchen pouring cereal.
“Have you been in your room this whole time?”

I nodded, taking another bowl down. “Had to
figure some stuff out. The deep emotional shit you don’t have to
think about.” Because Hillary was happily deluded and had been for
almost two years, minus about a week and a half six months ago. A
moment of clarity that she called a mistake. But her boyfriend was
nice and treated her well, so I hoped it lasted even while I knew
it wouldn’t.

“Did you figure it out?”

“Think so.”

“And the verdict?”

“I’m done.”

“With your business or the art?”

“Neither. I’m done with men. Relationships.
Love. It’s not real. Except for you and Eric,” I added because it
wasn’t my place to ruin Hillary’s fantasy. “I think
most”—
all
—“people only pretend they’re in love. Or are
deluded.” It couldn’t just be me—I’d have to be a lot more
narcissistic to think that the whole world was against me and only
me. There had to be others who’d figured it out. I hadn’t met any
of them, though. We realists needed to set up a support group. No
frogs or fairy tales allowed.

“Well, I think you’re wrong.” Of course she
did. Because Hillary hadn’t met as many frogs as I had.

Five months later…

Even though it was Saturday and I’d taken
most of the day off—a big perk of working for myself—I couldn’t go
home yet. I’d heard Hillary and Eric yelling at each other from out
in the hallway and did an about-face to avoid getting involved. I’m
sure the fight was truly important, like why he never took her out
anymore or something equally vital to the well-being of the
planet.

By my estimation, twenty minutes later, they
were either
still
fighting or they were already making up.
Either way, there’d be screaming I didn’t want to hear. So, I
decided to stay at my favorite coffee shop for at least another
half hour.

I took one of the comfy chairs in the corner,
put my coffee and my feet up on the large ottoman in front of me,
and opened the Angry Birds app on my phone. About fifteen minutes
later, I saw jean-clad legs in my peripheral vision. His shoes were
pointed towards me, but he didn’t say anything.

“Listen, I’m sure you’re a wonderful person,
but I need to focus.” I pointed to my phone without raising my
head. “Or I’m going to break my winning streak.”

“I’m not sure if you know this”—the legs
moved a step closer—“but when you win, you don’t actually get any
candy. Yeah,” he grumbled. “The day I found that out was one of the
worst days of my life.”

I wiped my mouth to cover my smile—he’d
probably take it as a sign I wanted to keep talking to him. “As
much as I appreciate the tip, I’m not interested.”

“Me neither. Wait, what aren’t we interested
in again? Oh, did you mean you and me…being interesting
together
? Then yeah, actually, I
am
interested in
that.”

I looked up at him briefly. Well, no one
could ever mistake him for average looking, that was for sure. Full
lips that looked very comfortable wearing a smirk. The tattoos
covering most of both forearms would’ve made my mom shake her head
and say something witty like, ‘
Maybe his parents didn’t give him
enough coloring books when he was little
.’ Light-brown hair
tossed in a hot,
I-have-more-important-things-to-take-care-of-than-my-hair way. One
of those more important things might be his body. If I wasn’t
completely cured of men, I’d thank him for making it a priority.
Not that I didn’t find men attractive anymore—I couldn’t control
that. And sure, I’d love to take a few more looks at the guy. But
that wouldn’t bring me anything but frustration. And frustration
didn’t bring me anything but the need for more batteries.

Three months ago, I would’ve been blushing,
stuttering, making a fool of myself, and planning our wedding. Now
I had more important things to take care of, like my sanity. And
some very unhappy birds.

So I slumped into the chair and went back to
my game. “Trust me, you don’t want me to get to know you, not if
you like who you are right now. I’m cursed. I could turn you into a
frog with barely any effort at all. Go find someone else to pretend
to be in love with. I wish you luck.”

He picked up my coffee from the ottoman and
sat down. “Congratulations. You’ve just made yourself twice as
intriguing. You have to know that all men enjoy a good chase every
once in a while.”

“I’m not running—I’m telling
you
to
run. Go hunt down someone else.”

“I’m Carson.”

“Okay, go hunt down someone else,
Carson.”

“Maybe three times as intriguing.” After a
second, he stood. “Nice to meet you, Lane.”

“It’s Laney, but how did you—?”

He glanced down at my coffee cup, which he
was still holding. My name was written in big letters on the side,
the ‘Y’ an illegible scribble. I should’ve gone the more
environmentally friendly route and skipped the paper cup. But not a
big deal. All he knew was most of my name and my drink order.
Thankfully they didn’t write my phone number on there, too. Not
that he would remember it three minutes from now, because frankly,
I’m not worth that much of his effort.

He handed my coffee back but didn’t go away,
seemingly content to keep staring at me with a cocky grin. Okay, he
was really far from average looking. But guaranteed, he was as much
a liar as they all are. Maybe worse because the more attractive a
guy is, the more he thinks he can get away with. I take that
back—the more he
can
get away with. Because women are
idiots.

“Let me guess,” I said. “You’re different
from every other guy, searching for the one woman who will complete
you. You’re considerate, caring, and really want a chance to know
who I truly am.”

“Not at all,” he said, ticking the points off
with his fingers and grimacing. “Definitely not. Dear god no.
That’s not even
close
to what I want from you. And…was that
all of them? I got distracted by your breasts for a little while
there, so I may have missed one.”

I coughed, covering my mouth before I spit my
coffee out. “Seriously?” In the last few months I’d had a lot of
similar conversations with moderately similar guys. But not a
single one had an answer even remotely like that.

“Seriously. I’m a complete asshole who only
cares about what he can get from someone. Take you, for example. I
saw you sitting here alone, no ring, great body. And thought, ‘I
want to fuck her.’ And yeah, those were the exact words that went
through my head. On the way over here I tried to figure out the
fastest and most efficient way to get you into my bed—which isn’t
far from here, by the way—hoping you weren’t the type who needed a
couple dinners out first. So, Lane”—he popped an eyebrow—“are
you?”

I didn’t know how to respond. Was I? I used
to be. Except it had taken more than a
couple
dinners before
I slept with someone. It had taken a commitment of some kind. And
now? Even though I was done with relationships and love, I didn’t
want to be celibate for the rest of my life. I wasn’t sure I was
ready, but there was only one way to find out. And, as far as
guinea pigs went, I couldn’t have found a more attractive one.
So…

Fuck it. For some unknown reason, I’d shaved
my legs this morning. Maybe it was a sign from the universe that
today was the day to do some experimenting.

Oh my god, I can’t believe I’m about to do
this.
I stood, grabbed my bag, and pushed past him on my way to
the door. Then I turned around. “I think that was an exceptionally
efficient way to get me into your bed.”

“Wow, great. Can you remind me what I said?”
He winked as he came towards me and put his hand on the small of my
back to nudge me outside. “So I know how to do it the next time I
meet another fantastic-looking woman I can’t wait to see
naked.”

“Hang on,” I said. “Give me your wallet.”

“My what?”

“Wallet.”

He handed it over, an amused and curious look
on his face. I peeked through it—some cash I didn’t care about, a
condom. “I see you come prepared.” Hadn’t meant to make the pun,
but both of us laughed anyway.

“I consider it a public service. You never
know when a beautiful woman might need one to have sex with a guy
who will do everything in his power to make sure she never regrets
her decision. But if you’re worried that there’s only one, I have
more back at my place.”

He was ten times more wicked than anyone I’d
ever dated, the complete opposite of everything I used to look for
in a man. Untamed, irreverent, demanding. Exactly what I needed. I
wouldn’t fall in fake-love with a guy like this in a million
years.

“You know that ‘Ribbed for her Pleasure’
doesn’t actually mean she’s all taken care of and you don’t have to
do anything, right?” I asked.

“No one has put anything in my complaint box
since I was fifteen. And I can explain that one—it was just a
simple misunderstanding.”

“Uh huh. And now you are…” I pulled out his
driver’s license. “Twenty-five. A decade of good behavior. Well
done, Carson Bennett.”

“I didn’t say anything about good behavior.”
He looked even better when he smiled.

After a deep, calming breath, I took a
picture of his license with my cell phone, followed by a picture of
him. Then I handed the wallet back and attached both photos to a
text message that read, ‘I’m going home with this guy. If he’s a
psycho, avenge my death. Thx,’ and showed it to him before I
pressed send. “I sent it to a friend. He’s a cop.” It wasn’t true,
but it sounded good.

“I didn’t mean
that
kind of bad
behavior.”

“It’s just a warning—if you turn out to be
more than just a selfish bastard, you should expect to be
castrated.”

“Duly noted, painfully imagined, and will
never be necessary. I’m only a selfish bastard. Promise.”

“Okay, then.” I started walking in the
direction he pointed. Because I was going home with him.
Oh my
god, I’m really going to do this
. Big breath. “One thing you
should know about me is that I hate small talk. So don’t ask me
what I do or where I’m from originally.”

He gave a small nod. “I don’t open doors or
pull out chairs. And I rarely apologize.”

“Interesting.” Definitely selfish-bastard
behavior. Cool. “I won’t lie and tell you how incredible you are if
you aren’t.” I’d done that with every guy I’d ever been with and
all I got in return was resentment and the need to sneak into the
bathroom to finish myself off after he fell asleep.

“I can’t sleep with someone else in my bed,”
he said.

“If you push my head down, expect to feel my
teeth. Sharp teeth.”

“Ouch.” He grimaced, laughing. “Okay, my
turn.” He paused for only a second. “Got one. I like to switch
things up a lot because I see sex as a team sport—there are a lot
of different positions on the field and we should have a chance to
try all of them.”

“Good one. I really, really hate it when a
guy thinks he knows what I like better than I do.”

“I love when a woman tells me exactly what
she wants.” He slipped his finger through the belt loop of my jeans
and pulled me along. “I also love it when she lets me do whatever I
want to do.”

“There is a time and a place for a quickie,
but not
every
time and not
every
place.”

“Well said. If I tell a woman she’s
beautiful, I’m not lying. Seriously, why can’t women take a
compliment?”

“Not enough practice, I guess.”

He stopped, keeping hold of my pants so I had
to stop as well. Then he looked me in the eyes. “You’re
beautiful.”

I felt the blush smack me in the face. I know
I’m moderately attractive, but beautiful…? “I already agreed to
sleep with you.”