Page 23 of Sugar
I laugh. “Do any of them ever stick around?”
“Who?”
“The girls you sleep with,” I say in a whisper.
He clicks his tongue. “Ava, I’m not answering that. That’s not even what I meant.”
I laugh again. “Yeah right.”
The server comes back with our drinks and drops two straws in the middle of the table. Kasey picks them both up, ripping the paper from everything but the tip, and dunks one in each of our glasses. “We’re supposed to be focusing on you tonight,” he says blandly, looking around to make sure no one’s listening. “You owe me somespecifics.”
I internally groan, dreading this conversation. Not because I’m scared of the truth, but because of how it might change the way Kasey looks at me. I know it shouldn’t matter, but . . . it does. He knew a version of me that was so confident, so headstrong. I guess maybe I’m a little ashamed of how far I’ve drifted away from that girl.
“There’s a guy . . .” I say, looking at the wall instead of at him.
Kasey snorts.
I crumple my napkin and throw it at him. “Don’t be a dick.”
“Let me guess,” he says, eyes sparking with challenge. He smiles like he’s teasing, but I think it’s just for show because he’s got that look he used to get when he was frustrated. Sharp gaze, tense jaw. Even his fingers curl halfway to a fist before he releases them again. “You thought you’d mess around with someone who had something you wanted: power, money, maybe a slick new Jaguar?—”
“I drive a Range Rover,” I interrupt. “Jaguars are ugly.”
“—and you thought you could keep control of the relationship, thought you could get what you wanted and get out before things got messy.” He lowers his voice as someone walks by our table, headed for the bathroom. “But then you realized you were right smack dab in the middle of a mess you helped make.” His grin is lethal. “Am I close?”
I want to smack him, but his read on the situation is annoyingly spot-on. “Guess some things don’t change, huh?” I quip as I try to shove away my shame. “I was always pretty shit at dating.”
“You weren’t shit at dating, Ava. You just liked to play games. Liked to win. But you also had a habit of picking assholes who knew how to outplay you.”
“Youweren’t an asshole.”
“We weren’t a game,” he counters roughly.
The words clang like a falling hammer. I pull my soda closer and rip the paper hat off my straw, sucking down a long sip. “Anyway,” I say. “Tobias works at the same firm as me. I was in consideration to make partner for months, and Ithoughthe was going to be supportive about it. I worked my ass off to prove myself to the other partners.” I think that’s what hurts the most, how close I got to finally being recognized for my ability. Toearnsomething for myself. “Turns out he went behind my back and called a meeting with them to downplay my impact. He convinced them he was better suited for the opportunity, that they needed anotherstrong manat the helm.
“And then, when he got it, he tried to gaslight me into believing he was better than me. Tried to convince me I never had what it took. I knew it was bullshit, but what could I do? He’d already won. So I ended things. Packed up my shit from our apartment and left. I crashed with a friend and did my best to ignore him, but . . .” I trail off, trying to find the right words.
Kasey’s gaze is sharp enough to cut glass. “What happened, Ava?”
I know I should tell him everything—I need to give him the whole truth. But I can’t do it . . . not yet.
“He just . . . he wouldn’t leave me alone. He kept showing up, kept trying to talk me into getting back together. It became too much. He showed up at my friend’s house one morning and caused a scene in the front yard. I tried talking to one of the partners about his behavior and was essentially told that’s what happens when you sleep with coworkers. So I decided to cut my losses and leave.”
“This guy was actively harassing you and they didn’t do anything about it?”
I shrug. “He’s one of them now, right? Having to formally discipline your newest partner wouldn’t look good for the firm. It’s easier to blame me.”
Kasey’s jaw tics.
The server comes by holding a large pizza pan with a towel. He smiles as he sets it down on the stand in the middle of the table. “Peppers or cheese?” he asks.
“No thank you,” Kasey clips, eyes still fastened to me.
The server’s smile slips before he scampers off.
“What does any of that have to do with this?” he asks.
“This?”
