Page 32 of Very Bad Things

“Yeah.” She nods. “With Ryan, it’s exactly like what you’re describing but it’s also emotional. In fact, I think that’s what makes it so fiery and exciting, knowing we connect on all levels. I’m sorry you didn’t have that with Carson; I didn’t know that.”

I give her a half smile. “It’s not like our sex life was bad. I loved it. It’s like not realizing what you’re missing because you don’t know what you don’t know. I wouldn’t say that was one of strong points. I would have liked to explore that side of myself more with him but when I would try, it was usually shut down.”

“Is that why you loved those romance novels?” She laughs and it makes me laugh.

“Yeah, actually.”

“Hey.” She reaches out and takes both my hands in hers. “Don’t worry about what me or anyone else thinks when you’re deciding about this trip. If you want to go, have a fling for two or three days, and never speak of it again, then fine. Or maybe you are falling and maybe there is the potential to have the fire with the emotions. Just listen to your heart, babe.”

I think about Xana’s words the rest of the weekend and all through next week. I bounce back and forth between being convinced I’m going to absolutely not going.

I lie on my bed, staring at the ceiling as I hum a song to myself. I haven’t seen or heard from Weston since the night he kissed me in my kitchen. Tomorrow is Friday and we not only get it off, but also Monday for the holiday. I roll over and look at the clock; it’s just after ten and I can’t fall asleep. I flip the covers off and walk to the living room, grabbing my Kindle and flipping open the latest romance novel I’ve been reading.

I don’t realize how long I’ve been reading until my head lulls forward, my eyes closing. I jolt awake, rubbing my eyes and squinting to see the time on the microwave. It’s almost one now. I yawn, shutting my Kindle down and trudging back to my bedroom. I grab my phone, about to silence my alarm for tomorrow since I’m off work when I see a text from Weston.

Weston:In case you change your mind. Here are the departure details for my private jet tomorrow. And don’t forget… doors close FIFTEEN minutes before departure. ;)

I stare at the text with the directions to the private terminal his plane is leaving out of and the time it departs. I reread it three times, his comment about the departure time making me laugh, something that before would have made me roll my eyes. Now, I can hear the playful mocking tone of his voice in my head.

I look over at the bag that’s still sitting in the corner of my room with the dress and swimsuits I purchased this past weekend. I sit on the edge of my bed, adrenaline coursing through me, making me way too wired to sleep now. I bounce my leg up and down, staring at the bag as if it’s going to tell me what to do.

“Screw it.” I stand up and walk to my closet, pulling out my suitcase from the back where it’s been buried since I moved into this apartment. I pull open drawers, grabbing underwear and bras, shorts, shirts, and shoes. I tell myself not to think, just pack.

“Shit, shit, shit!” I search through my nightstand, almost panicking when I can’t find my passport. “Oh.” I drop to my hands and knees, reaching under my bed to pull out an old shoebox. “There you are.” I locate it under my birth certificate, completely forgetting I had put it in this box when I moved. I’m about to put the lid back on when my eye catches the corner of a small maroon box sticking out from beneath a stack of photos. I know what the box is; it’s my engagement ring. I’m tempted to pull it out and put it on, something I found myself doing almost weekly after Carson died. I would wrap myself in one of his sweatshirts and sob on the floor for hours until my body couldn’t shed another tear.

“Now isn’t the time,” I say to myself as I close the lid, sliding the box back under my bed. By the time I’m finished packing in a flurry, it’s well after two and according to Weston’s text, his plane will be departing at eight sharp. I set my alarm, triple-checking it before falling into bed.

10

WESTON

Icheck my watch for the fifth time, reaching into my pocket for my phone to check it as well. No missed texts or calls. Our flight leaves in less than thirty minutes.

Fuck! I shouldn’t have said what I said to her. I shouldn’t have kissed her, but I couldn’t deny myself any longer. I’m not surprised she isn’t coming; I probably scared her.

“Something bothering you, son?” My father doesn’t look up from his newspaper.

“No,” I lie.

“Your mother mentioned a young lady coming along to attend to Daisy?” This time he pulls the paper down, his eyes peering over the top of his reading glasses like he used to do when I was in trouble as a teenager.

“Possibly, yes. Daisy’s schoolteacher actually.”

“And what happened to the nanny?”

I don’t like his insinuating tone. My father and I get along, but that’s about it. I certainly don’t take any sort of fatherly or relationship advice from the man. I try to keep it strictly business.

“She quit. She wasn’t long term anyway; she graduated college and moved out of state with her girlfriend.”

“You know, I dated a woman once who had a girlfriend.”

“Yes, Dad, I remember. She also was my nanny. And then you dated the one after as well. Unlike you, I don’t hire nannies as forms of entertainment or flavors of the month.”

His insidious smile falters. “You don’t have to be so vulgar, Weston. When will you stop throwing my past in my face? Your mother has forgiven me.” He flicks the paper back up with a harrumph.

Womanizer doesn’t hardly begin to describe my father. He has a long history of more than reprehensible behavior toward my mother, my nannies, his secretaries, flight attendants, and so on. It’s more than embarrassing and a reputation I made sure not to perpetuate. He thinks that since he’s managed to keep his dick in his pants for the last five years, he deserves to be absolved from everything.

“Darling, is she coming or not?” my mother asks in a hushed tone, making sure Daisy isn’t in earshot.

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