Page 14 of My So-Called Perfect Life
Mr. Sexy hasn’t said anything, but I know he heard every word. I feel a tad raw, having admitted those thoughts aloud. Especially in front of a man who most likely has panties dropping for him nightly.
I know Scott’s actions have nothing to do with me and everything to do with him. I’m a smart woman, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. It doesn’t make the fact that, regardless of whatever, I wasn’t enough for him. It doesn’t matter that he had no problem sticking his dick in a woman who wasn’t me. And then was going to marry me right after. But it still hurts. My hand unconsciously rubs my chest over my heart.
“Hey.” His rich voice fills the air as he grabs the hand still clutching the napkin in a death grip.
My eyes meet his, and his stare is intense.
“He did you a favor.”
“Cheating on me with his assistant was doing me a favor?” I scoff, wanting to pull my hand back but don’t. For some reason, his touch calms me. It’s probably more the vodka than him but whatever.
“Yeah.” He nods. “Any asshole stupid enough to cheat when he has the chance to wake up next to you for the rest of his life is a moron and not worthy of you at all.”
I don’t know whether his words make me want to laugh or cry. They’re a total cliché, which seems to be my thing this weekend, but what red-blooded woman doesn’t want to hear the super-hot, looks-like-a-bad-boy man tell her that her dumb ex isn’t worthy of her?
I’m only human, and I seem to be in attention-craving mode. But the rawness is still there, so I try to salve it with a joke.
“Maybe I should’ve thanked him rather than outed him in front of all our friends and family.”
“You outed him?” Roxy laughs as she places a glass of water down in front of me. “Badass. You want another drink?”
“Sure, I’ll have a Jack and ginger, please.”
It’s not like I have anything better to do on this fine Sunday evening. I don’t have to be at work in the morning. The school year ended last week, and my summer camp job doesn’t start until the first. I’m supposed to be on vacation, starting tomorrow. Why not get drunk?
For the next twenty minutes, as the bar gets a little busier, I sit, sipping my drink and finishing my food. The little game of glances between me and the hottie bartender continues even as he and Roxy work around each other, seamlessly taking orders, pouring drinks, and delivering food. It feels like he’s looking into my battered soul at the moment and caressing it each time our eyes meet.
A few minutes later, a large group at the end of the bar heads out, and the din quiets down a bit. A perfect summer night, and while life continues in the city, I’m sitting here, alone, getting drunk and wallowing in my misery, when I promised myself I wouldn’t.
“So … what now?” Roxy asks as she clears away my now-empty dish of nachos.
“What I should do is find someone to sleep with,” I say, changing my mind about not needing a man to further mess up my life. While I’m sitting in here and life is going on out there, Scott is probably back at his place—which at this point, should be our place—banging Mandy in the bed where he used to make love to me. “Well, I knew I wasn’t necessarily satisfied in bed, but I wasn’t unsatisfied either. Scott was definitely disappointed, or he wouldn’t have cheated, so maybe it’s my turn now. I was with Scott for most of my twenties. Maybe it’s my turn to explore all the world has to offer.”
“That’s the spirit,” Roxy encourages in true sisterhood solidarity. “Screw him. Don’t let him make you feel bad. Find some hot stud and forget all about whatever his name is.”
Some customers at the other end of the bar give a yell, and Roxy heads to help them.
“I don’t think that idea is a very good one.”
“Why not? I’ve never had revenge sex before,” I say to Mr. Sexy, trying to ignore the way his voice curls around me like a warm embrace. “Maybe it’s just what the doctor ordered.”
He cocks his head to the side, a move that makes him look ten times sexier. He licks his lips, and I notice the bottom one is slightly fuller than the top.
“Something tells me you aren’t the rebound-sex kind of gal. You don’t seem like a one-night-stand type of woman.”
“And you don’t seem like you’d know where to look for a clit, much less find it.”
The words are out before I can even stop them. There isn’t any other time I can remember being this much of a bitch to a person I just met, but the way he’s been looking at me all night is different than the way he just checked me out, assessed me, and made a declaration like that. It pushes a button inside me, lighting up my inner bitch like a Christmas tree.
Is he saying that I don’t seem like I’d be good in bed? What does a revenge or rebound sex type of person even look like? Am I supposed to be wearing some kind of pin that lets everyone know? Is there a code word or secret handshake required to be in the one-night stand club? Some kind of initiation I’m unaware of?
A dark eyebrow raises as he places his hands flat on the bar and leans in, all while remaining significantly less ruffled by my comment than I was by his.
Bastard.
“I think we both know that is not true.”
The sad thing is, I have no doubt that he not only knows where a clit is, but also how to touch, stroke, lick, and do everything to it. And wouldn’t that be the perfectfuck youto Scott? Screaming louder than I ever have before.
