Man Candy (28 page)

too painful, so I left it in the drawer and

chose a gold tassel pendant instead.

At the party, I had a cocktail to calm

my nerves, and then another one after

that because Quinn hadn’t arrived yet but

I knew he had to be coming. By the

bottom of the second drink, I still hadn’t

seen him, so I approached Nolan. “Hey,

was Quinn invited?”

“Yes,” he said, opening a bottle of

red. “But he said he was going to be a

little late.”

“Oh,” I said, hoping I sounded as if I

didn’t care. “Just wondering. Hey, can

you pour me a glass of that?”

Twenty minutes later, I was sipping

wine in one corner of the living room,

watching the doorway like a bird of

prey, when he walked in.

My heart stopped.

The room spun.

I’d forgotten how beautiful he was.

As if he had radar where I was

concerned, his eyes found me

immediately. I wanted to look away, but

I couldn’t. I wanted to breathe, but I

couldn’t. I wanted to run over to him and

wrap my legs around his waist, but I

couldn’t. The room seemed to go silent,

the air full of something so thick it

stifled the sound. My mouth was dry. I

lifted my glass to my lips and drank,

barely tasting the wine.

God, what had I done? Why had I

walked away from him? What the hell

was wrong with me? Physical need for

him took over my senses.

I have to get him back in my bed, in

my arms, in my body.

But how could I do it? Was he still

mad? Would he even come over to say

hi?

I decided to try a little smile.

He nodded without smiling back, and

went into the kitchen.

Fuck! Why had I smiled at him? Now

I seemed weak and pathetic, and I didn’t

want to come from that position. I

needed to find a conversation to get in

on before he came back in here and saw

me standing alone. Searching the room, I

saw Alex talking to some of his friends

from work, and made my way over to

them. I positioned myself so I’d see if

Quinn came into he living room, but he

never did.

Goddamn him! Was he made of steel

or something? How could he ignore me

like this?

Because he doesn’t care.

I bit my lip. Was that true? Had he

gotten over me already? I couldn’t bear

the thought. I downed the last of my wine

and went for more, stumbling a little on

my way out of the room.

From the kitchen, I could see into the

family room, where Quinn was talking to

Nolan and a woman I didn’t recognize.

Jealousy made my nostrils flare. I

poured another glass of pinot noir,

spilling some on the counter.

When I looked up again, I caught him

staring at me.

You do care, Quinn. I feel it. And I

want you—I need to feel your hands on

me, hear you whisper dirty words,

watch your face as you come.

Suddenly I had an idea—the perfect

plan for seduction.

It was risky, but if it worked it

would be kind of funny, and Quinn loved

a good joke. Plus sales pitches were my

thing, right? I was a little drunk, but I

thought I knew what Quinn wanted to

hear—the three little words that would

lure him into my bed.

It would totally go my way this time.

Tossing my hair over my shoulder, I

headed in his direction.

TWENTY-SEVEN

QUINN

GOD, she was gorgeous. That dress she

was wearing clung to every curve. Fuck,

I missed those curves. And her hair. I

missed the way it felt in my hands, the

way it smelled, the way it looked

spilling across the pillow. Those shoes

were the ones she’d been wearing the

night I took her to The Whitney, the night

she’d asked me to stay over, the night of

the Finger.

My cock jumped, and I stifled a

groan.

I’d known she would be here tonight,

and I almost hadn’t come, but hiding out

wasn’t my style. Then when I saw her,

standing there in the living room by

herself, looking so beautiful, so

vulnerable, I nearly lost it and ran right

for her. Not a day went by that I didn’t

want her back.

But not on her terms, and not with

her boundaries. I wanted more.

She walked up to me, and I could tell

right away she was tipsy. Her eyes were

glassy, and she didn’t seem too steady on

her feet. “Excuse me,” I said to Nolan

and the woman he’d introduced me to

(although I’d forgotten her name

instantly). Moving away from them

slightly, I turned to Jaime.

“Hi,” she said, so friendly it was as

if she’d forgotten she broke up with me

three weeks ago.

“Hi.”

Suddenly she took me by the arm and

pulled me into the hallway, past the

kitchen, and into the bathroom. She let

go of my arm and shut the door, setting

her wine glass on the vanity. The light

was off but a huge green candle with

three wicks had been lit by the sink.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” She

moved closer, pressing her chest to mine

and running a hand up my lapel. “I

missed you. You left without saying

goodbye.” She had lipstick on her teeth.

“Are you OK?” I asked her, feeling

the way she swayed toward me.

“I’m totally fine,” she said. “Mmmm,

you smell good.”

“How did you get here?”

“I drove.” She toyed with the collar

of my shirt. “Why, do you want to take

me home?”

“I want to make sure you get home

safely.”

She giggled. “You’re worried about

me. I like it. And look where we are.”

I looked around. “The bathroom?”

More laughter. “Yes. I want a do-

over.”

It hit me right as she spoke what she

was doing.

“I think I love you, Quinn.”

Oh, Jesus.
“Jaime.”

“I want you back.”

“Back where?”

“With me. In my bed.”

“Why?”

“Because I miss you there.”

I stared down at her, searching her

face for the truth, for some evidence that

she knew what she was saying to me, for

some sign of change in her.

I didn’t see any of it.

“No.” It was hard keeping my hands

to myself the way she was hanging on

me, but I did, one clenched around a

beer bottle, one fisted at my side.

“What?” She blinked.

“Why are you doing this, Jaime?”

“I told you,” she said, one hand

sliding down the front of my jeans, the

other snaking around my waist. “I want

you. I want back what we had.”

“Why did you throw it away? Be

honest this time.”

She lifted her shoulders, her focus on

my chest. “I was just being silly.”

I set my beer down and gently

pushed her away, holding her forearms

out in front of me, forcing her to look me

in the eye. “Answer the question, Jaime.

I deserve the truth from you.”

“You know why.”

“Say it.”

“Because I was scared, OK?” She

stepped back, knotting her fingers at her

waist. “I’m scared of the way I feel. I’m

scared that when things fall apart, I will

too. And they always fall apart, Quinn.”

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not scared it will fall apart.

You’re scared it won’t.”

“What do you mean?” Her voice

shook.

“You hide behind this ‘love is just a

fairy tale used to sell lipstick’ wall so

you don’t have to make yourself

vulnerable to another person. So you

don’t have to trust someone and let him

trust you. So you don’t have to fucking

commit to someone and be willing to say

I’m sorry or I forgive you or help me or I

need you. So you don’t have to be

humbled by a feeling so fucking strong it

changes your life. Well, I want that. I

want to trust you. I want to need you. I

want
to be humbled by love, because it

makes me feel alive and part of

something good.”

“What we
had
was good! Why can’t

we go back to it?”

I shook my head. “Because I changed

my mind. I’m in love with you, but I

want
more
. I want a commitment from

you, a future with you, not just a fling. I

want to hear you say you believe it’s

possible.”

“That is what I’m saying, isn’t it?”

she asked, but I heard the doubt in her

voice.

“No, what you’re saying is that you

want me back in your bed, because the

sex is fun and you miss what we had, but

it’s just temporary because these feelings

won’t last.”

“But I said I love you! Isn’t that

enough?”

“Those are pretty words, Jaime, but

right now it sounds to me like you’re

using them as a means to an end. That

isn’t love.”

“You think I’m lying to you?”

“No. I think you’re lying to yourself.

I think you want more too, and you’re

scared to take it.”

She went silent, her shoulders

slumping.

“You’re right about serious

relationships not being all hearts and

flowers and orgasms, Jaime. That’s

falling
in love. Over time, it’s not that anymore. It takes
work
. It takes trust and sacrifice and faith in something you can’t

see. It means sticking the fuck around

when you’re scared or tempted or angry.

It’s knowing that someone has your back

and will be there at the end of your best

days and your worst. It’s understanding

that you’re part of something bigger than

yourself, and fighting for it. I know it’s

rare.” I softened my voice. “But that’s

what I’m looking for. And life is short.”

She started to cry. “I don’t know

what to do. I’m miserable without you,

but I don’t think I’m capable of being

what you want.”

You are. You just refuse to see it.

My chest hurt, and my gut was in

knots. I wanted to hold her so badly, but

I couldn’t give in, and I wasn’t going to

argue with her. “If that’s the truth, then

let me go.”

After a long pause, she stepped

aside. I opened the door and shouldered

by her without looking back.

I went right to Alex. “Listen, I have

to go, but don’t let your sister drive

home tonight. Get her a ride or keep her

here. She’s been drinking a lot.”

“OK.” He looked concerned.

“Everything alright?”

“I don’t know.” The truth was, I felt

like fucking overturning the coffee table,

maybe throwing it through the front

windows.

“Let’s hang out this week, OK? I’ll

make sure Jaime gets home safely or

stays over.”

“Sounds good.” I shook his hand and

he pulled me in for a hug. “Thanks.”

I let myself out and walked to my car

with long, angry strides. What the fuck

was I supposed to do with her?
I think I

love you?
Did she really think I was just looking for the words? It wasn’t that

hearing them from her hadn’t made me

happy—it had.

But it wasn’t enough.

TWENTY-EIGHT

JAIME

MY EYELIDS FELT like stubborn

garage doors, but I managed to get them

open after a few tries.

Oh, God.

The room wasn’t bright, but even the

small amount of sun creeping through the

blinds stabbed my retinas like a

thousand daggers. My head was…not

good.

Slowly, I sat up and looked around.

Someone had put me in a guest room at

Alex and Nolan’s house, or I’d put

myself in here—I couldn’t remember. I

was still wearing my dress, and my

heels were on the floor.

Somehow I managed to hobble over

to them, lean down, and pick them up,

but the room was not cooperating. The

floor pitched at strange angles and the

walls appeared to be circling me.

I made it to the bathroom, where I

thought I might throw up, but I didn’t.

Then I thought about flushing myself

down the toilet, but since that wasn’t an

option, I used the bathroom, washed my

hands, and splashed cold water on my

face

Then I looked in the mirror.

MISTAKE.

I looked almost as bad as I felt. The

carefully applied cat’s-eye liner had

morphed into raccoon eyes. My face was

pale, my eyes were bloodshot, and my

matted hair made Margot’s blond bird

nests look like gold satin. The effect of

two cocktails and many, many glasses of

red wine was not pretty.

“Whyyyyy,” I moaned.

But I knew why—to dull the pain.

When I thought about what had

happened with Quinn, I felt the sharp

sting of it poking through the haze of my

hangover.

But I deserved it.

I’d fucked up.

Again.

It had seemed like such a good idea,

cornering him in the bathroom, such a