Not Looking for Love: Episode 6 (A New Adult Contemporary Romance Novel) (10 page)

Vlado tells us to mingle while we wait for a few more people. I take a drink and wander over to the windows, ignoring everyone there, not caring what they think of that. Sometimes it's better to be mistrusted than liked, and I think this is one such situation.
 

I missed sunset, but there's still a bright orange band lined with white on the western horizon. It blends almost seamlessly into the dark blue of the night sky, despite being so opposite in color. I wonder which colors I'd have to mix to paint it just right. Blue obviously, maybe red and black. Not too much white. That would have to just be used for the finishing touches. Not that I've actually painted anything in years. The last thing I was trying to learn before I got arrested was how to draw realistically. I never did achieve it, and I'm not sure I'll ever try again.

"It's time to eat!" Vlado yells and I follow the others to the table. Two more guys in suits came while I was gazing out the window. The rest of the company looks a lot like Greg—huge muscles and tattoos everywhere. They're all wearing suits and I wish Mike had been specific as to what I was supposed to wear, but at least I'm wearing a black sweater and pants, and, besides, I don't care.
 

Mike is sitting at Vlado's right, like some long lost son. They talk like they've known each other for a long time and really enjoy each other's company. The nausea rising in my stomach makes it impossible to even think of food.
 

Greg's sitting next to me, and keeps casting me looks like he wants to talk, but I'm fine just listening. Though some of the conversation is in Serbian, I presume, and I understand precisely jack shit.

We're sitting at a dark wood table, eating off plates with golden scrollwork worked into the edges. And the silverware looks like it's actually made of silver. The smell of cologne, brandy, wine, meat, beans and onions is mixing into a sickening odor in the air, and I hope someone cracks a window soon.
 

 
"You don't like the food?" Greg finally asks, chewing on a piece of the little sausages that are actually made of minced meat. I've cut one of mine into little pieces, but I'm still struggling with the decision to actually eat it. "It's cevapcici," he elaborates, like that means something to me. "Just eat it, it's good."

I shrug and take a bite. It's not bad but I still have no appetite.

I can feel Vlado look at me from time to time, but he's not addressing me directly, so I ignore him.
 

"You're not very talkative today," Greg remarks.
 

"I have other things on my mind," I mutter.

"You look it," he says and chuckles. But if he's this far in Vlado's confidences, he can't be my friend.
 

They're discussing things I know nothing about, so I guess it's not too strange I don't join in. Though Mike started casting me dark looks sometime in the middle of the main course. I ignore him too.

After what feels like days, Vlado finally tells us to go back to the living room for some drinks and smoking. He wanders over to me as I get my second drink, Mike trailing a few steps behind.
 

Vlado places his meaty arm around my shoulders and leans close to my face. He's shorter than me, but somehow it doesn't seem that way.

"So, how are you finding your first few weeks working for me?" he asks, and I can smell onions on his breath. There's only the barest hint of an accent in his voice.

"Fine, I guess," I say. "I do my job and go home."

"And you do it well," he says, smiling widely.
 

"I'd do it even better if I could do my own planning." I'm not really sure why I'm bringing it up. But not knowing where I'm going, or what the next job will be is starting to turn into pure dread before each one. Because what if I fuck something up? What happens to Gail then?

Vlado laughs, the smell of onions growing more disgusting. "I do like people who speak their mind plainly."

Mike's glaring at me, dark hatred in his eyes. Is he jealous?
 

"Yes, I think you've proven you can be trusted," Vlado says and finally removes his arm from my shoulders. "You can start taking part in the planning from now on."

I don't actually know if that's better or worse. It certainly means I'd be deeper in it, probably too deep to ever get out. But I guess I knew that from Mike's first phone call.

"And now it's time for some fun!" Vlado announces to the room, clapping his hands.
 

A large door on the other side of the room opens, and at least fifteen girls, my age or younger, wander into the room, all wearing impossibly high heals, and barely any clothes. They're all sorts, some longhaired, some blonde, some black haired, tall, short, skinny, curvy. Most of them I'd fuck in a heartbeat back before I met Gail. But right now, not a single one is doing anything for me.
 

They stroll over to the guys sitting on the sofas, and the ones standing by the windows. I take a few steps back, hoping none of them will wander to me. Most of them are swaying slightly, and their eyes are so glazed over I don't even think they spotted me all the way across the room.

"See anything you like?" Greg asks. He's standing on his own by the window too.

"Not a thing," I mutter. "I think I'll just leave."

"Now? But the party's just getting started."

"Not sure how I feel about doing it with a whole bunch of other guys around," I say. Which is partly true. But even if I was alone with all of these girls, I'd still leave. Just looking feels like I'm cheating on Gail.

"There's bedrooms," Greg says.
 

I slide open the balcony door and step outside. "What are you waiting for then?"

Greg follows me outside, and closes the door.
 

"You have a girl?" he asks and offers me a cigarette. I take it to have a reason for standing out here.
 

"Something like that," I say. I don't want to get into it. I just want to leave. "Why aren't you in there?"

He wanders over to the railing, leans against it. I'm afraid to go too close to the edge. The compulsion to jump is already too strong where I'm standing by the door.
 

"I'm never touching one of Vlado's girls again," he says, real anger in his voice. And there's more there, I'm sure, but I don't really want to know.

"We can wait until they start getting it on, then leave," he says. "I don't think they'll miss us much."

I glance back into the room, right into Mike's black eyes. One of the girls is sitting in his lap, kissing his neck, but it's like he doesn't even feel it. I look away and join Greg by the railing.

"How long do you think that'll take?"

"I'm actually ready to leave now." He tosses his cigarette over the railing and walks back inside. I follow.
 

We're almost at the door when Mike grabs my arm, stopping me. "Where are you going?"

"Home," I answer. "It's been a long day."

"Stay," he says and it sounds pleasant enough, but I know it's a command. One I'm not about to follow.

The elevator door opens and Greg steps inside, holding the door.
 

"I'll see you later, Mike," I say and pull my arm from his grasp. I hope he doesn't make an issue out of this, but I can't stay. As it is, I feel like I'm about to throw up.

"Your brother didn't want you to go," Greg remarks once we're finally descending.
 

"Whatever," I mutter. "He's a little fucked in the head."

"Yeah, I noticed," Greg says. "I hate doing jobs with him. It's a good thing he mostly plans them these days."

"How long's he been around then?" I ask.

"Two years, a little more," Greg says. "And now he's so tightly wedged in, I swear he's the first person Vlado thinks of when he wakes up in the morning."

He laughs as he says it, but it's a cold sound, almost scary.

"I just wish he'd left me out of it," I mutter, but I'm not sure Greg heard.
 

We're driving now, and I roll my window down, since I still can't shake the nausea. What if I fucked up by leaving? What if Mike hurts Gail now?

Greg asks where I want to go and I give him my address. He also asks if I want another drink, but I say no, so he drops me off at the sidewalk and speeds off. I just want to go to sleep, pretend none of this shit is my life now, and hope it won't get worse by tomorrow.

"You're making a huge fuss. Just go as friends," Phillipa says for what must be the millionth time. I've been tiring her for hours about whether I should meet Leo for a drink tonight. He sent me a text in the morning already, asking me out. It's two PM now and I still haven't replied. He probably thinks it's a no.
 

"Can't you come too?" I ask.

Phillipa shakes her head. "Holly wants to meet and talk."

I gasp, slamming my hand over my mouth. "Really? And you've let me tire you with my problem all day. That's great news!"

She shrugs and walks over to the sink, rinses off her plate. "Depends on how you look at it. I'm afraid going on this date with her will just open up all the old wounds. Or worse, give me hope."

I walk over to her and put my arm around her shoulders. "Hope sucks. But only if it's unfounded. Maybe you should give it another chance."

My own hope is bubbling to the surface like a geyser. I still wake up each morning with Scott and what happened the first thought. Still get butterflies in my stomach when I think of him, which is most of the time. It's been two months. When will it finally get easier? At least the urges to call him only come once every few days now.

"I should just man up and go, right?" Phillipa asks, rubbing my arm.

"Yes," I whisper. And I wish I could just call Scott and talk. But I won't willingly reopen that wound. I know where it leads. I will get over him.

"I'll go out too," I say. "That way we're both moving on.”

I text Leo back then spend ages picking out what to wear. I want something flattering, but not anything to suggest this is anything but two friends having a drink on a Saturday night.
 

I end up settling on a pair of boot cut slacks, ballet flats, a blouse, and my trench coat. The same one that got drenched in blood on one of those nights I chased after Scott when I shouldn't have. The dry cleaners managed to get most of the stain out, leaving just a faint outline. I'd throw it out, but it's one of the last things Mom bought for me before she got sick, and I couldn't handle parting with it.

Leo went all out on his outfit. He's wearing suit pants and a jacket, his off white shirt opened just a little too wide at the collar. He even did something to his hair so it looks messy yet neat at the same time. But that's not what gets me.
 

He's wearing the same cologne Scott uses, and the reminder turns my knees to jelly. My need to be meeting Scott tonight, not Leo, rushes to the surface, and I hardly remember to greet him back. He kisses me on both cheeks again, but it barely registers. I want to kiss Scott so badly I can actually taste him on my lips, my whole body flooding with warmth. Why did he have to ruin it all? We were doing so well.
 

"Are you feeling alright?" Leo asks. It's exactly what Scott would say. Because he never did think I was alright. I grasp the spark of anger that thought brings, grip it with my whole mind. Scott cheated on me. Walked out on me in the middle of the night without so much as an explanation. Did it again and again. I will not pine over him anymore.

"I just got a little dizzy. I haven't eaten much today."

Which is a lie. I've spent the whole day eating. If I wasn't on my period I'd be sure I was pregnant. And the memory of that drowns the remaining butterflies that rose from smelling Scott's cologne on Leo.

"Then let's eat," Leo says, and guides me to the Indian restaurant in front of which we met.

He spends the whole meal looking at me with far too much devotion, and far too little friendship. I know that look now, thanks to Scott, though learning it has brought more pain than anything else. Which is not true. Scott's also shown me how good falling in love can be.