Page 51 of Vivacity
Talia is still staring at me in fascination, and I want to tell her to knock it off. Just then, opposite me, Marlowe does the most comedic duck-and-dive, scrunching her entire upper body over while her neck disappears between her shoulders.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ I ask laughingly.
‘Speak of the devil.’ She gives the tiniest jerk of her head in the direction of the door. ‘Ethan’s here.’
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Ethan sits aloneat the bar doing a most excellent impression of Hades, having slipped up from the Underworld for a night of debauchery. I acknowledged him with a nod and a tight smile as he walked across the room, because I’m not totally immature and he is my boss, after all. He certainly hasn’t undertaken anydebauchery yet, though. As I continue to chat and laugh with the girls, I watch him rebuff woman after woman at the bar with Darcy levels of imperiousness. He’s dressed all in black, as befits the ruler of the Underworld, in a form-fitting shirt and trousers. No jacket, no tie. A few buttons open on the shirt. All very austere and dramatic and sexy.
And, if I’m totally honest, his eyes seem to be trained on me—or us—most of the time. I wonder how he’s handling the gorgeous riot of colour in here. The bar is pink onyx, backlit so it glows wonderfully, the bar stools Kelly green. It’s far too warm and sensual for Ethan.
‘He’s totally here for you,’ Talia says.
‘No he’s not,’ I argue, although I know she’s probably right. I studied enough Attachment Theory in my degree to know that if Ethan’s parenting attachment style is all-out avoidant, his attachment style to me seems more disorganised, which, to any of us on the receiving end, would look like blowing hot and cold. Push her away and then run after her to make sure she’s not really going to abandon him, you know? Then have a moment of vulnerability, feel desperately unsafe, and freeze her out again.
That kind of attachment style tends to stem from a person’s caregivers representing both safetyanddanger. Not knowing which way a parent figure will go makes for a chaotic upbringing. That said, the output is always equally chaotic and draining for everyone involved.
If I force myself to have a moment of introspection, I’ll admit Athena had a point earlier. She called out one of my blind spots—that I’m attracted to people who won’t tempt me to settle down. And, when people whose opinions you value show you your blind spots, it’s worth paying attention. There’s nothing more satisfying than knowing you’ve met one of your unknown unknowns face to face. For me, anyway.
None of that changes my current situation, which is that my boss is a majorly hot and majorly dysfunctional arsehole who has followed me here tonight like a little lamb who’s lost his mama. It grates, and it also makes me feel guilty, which is really fucking unfair. His behaviour earlier was beyond demeaning. If I was anyone else, I would have called Camille straight away and demanded out of my contract. And now all I want to do is have a fun night out with my girls, and here he is, cramping my style and probably planning to cockblock me.
I don’t even know if I want to go next door. Ethan was right when he called me out on that aspect earlier—it’s not like I haven’t had enough orgasms this past week. But what I would like is some sex on my terms, with a guy who knows what he wants and doesn’t view his own emotional world as the Bogeyman.
Or guys.
Just saying.
What I do know is that, now Ethan’s turned up, I’ll have to go next door just to prove a point.
Marls and Athena are making noises about going home, anyway, so I sigh and turn to face the others.
‘Come on, girls. Let’s go see what all the fuss is about.’
CHAPTER 24
Ethan
The decision to follow Sophia to Alchemy wasn’t actually a decision. Not when I’d spoken to her earlier in that unforgivable way. The option of waiting until Monday to see her was unfathomable.
But now that I’m here, it’s clear she’s not thrilled to see me.
Far from it.
It shouldn’t come as a surprise. I lashed out, saying things that were as disgusting as they were untrue, and she responded by giving me the kind of grace I neither expected nor deserved.
Any other woman would have slapped my face or thrown a glass of water in it.
Any other woman would have handed in her notice there and then.
But Sophia didn’t.
And, as I slunk off to the den and collapsed on the sofa in a gigantic puddle of shame and self-loathing, I forced myself to confront some harsh truths. I owed her that, at the very least. I was out of line—way, way out of line—and I didn’t know why I had said those things or where they had come from. I really didn’t. I was shocked and disgusted the moment they came out of my mouth.
I didn’t understand what she’d meant when she’d said I was testing her. I was lashing out, I suppose. What was that saying?Hurt people hurt people.I was feeling shitty after Elena called me out on my inadequacies as a father, and I had some childish, petty impulse to hurt Sophia, too, to make her feel some level of the shame and inadequacy I was feeling. Not rocket science, but inexcusable, nonetheless.
Even now, I genuinely don’t understand what she means when she talks about these ‘parts’, but I can concede that there’s some kind of war being waged inside me, that there’s a conflict. I hope that means I’m not all bad, that the rot hasn’t spread to my core.
That there’s hope for me yet.
