I’m pretty low-key. Mads and I grew up in a relatively small town in Minnesota where we went to high school together. Our families went to, and still attend, the same large Lutheran Church. I’ve known her since we went to Sunday school together. The first fight I ever got in was because I beat up a kid in middle school for yanking on her bra strap. One of my oldest sisters was best friends with one of her older sisters all through high school and even roomed together their freshman year at the University of Minnesota shortly after Madison and I started dating.
We spent our weekends fishing and swimming at our families’ lake houses, because that’s what you do in Minnesota in the summer. We spent our winters skating on the ice rink my parents built for me in the back yard every year.
We drank some, tried pot, but mostly, ever since I was fifteen, I was focused on three things: school, hockey, and Madison. And definitely not in that order.
“I’m sorry, Sebastian. Is it…”
Over? She doesn’t ask. I shrug and swallow a large bite of eggs. “We’ve had problems for a while and the divorce papers made it seem pretty final.”
Admitting it to someone else makes me feel worse and I focus on my eggs, which are really damn good, so I don’t have to see her expression. Why I’m confessing this to Gigi and not one of my friends is befuddling. What’d she say last night? A bartender is like a therapist? Maybe there’s truth in that.
“Again, I’m—”
“Sorry. I get it.” I really don’t want to hear apologies for things that aren’t anyone else’s fault. Or see pity in their eyes.
“Sebastian.”
I act like I don’t hear her and when she says nothing else, silence descends. It’s thick and it’s heavy and I have to change this subject. I gesture to the wall where she has one huge area covered with neatly arranged canvas photos. It’s vastly different from the chaos with the rest of her apartment. I can’t help but notice how precisely arranged they all are. And how vastly different all the photos are.
“What are those from?”
“Oh.” She smiles softly, and even her blue eyes seem to sparkle. “Dad gave those to me as a gift when I returned. They’re pictures I texted and emailed him when I was gone.”
I stare at her for a moment. Then two. Then I realize I’m still fucking staring at her mouth and God damn it.
I focus on my sausage and my breakfast while she babbles on about Turkey and Hungary, pointing out where some of the photos were taken and I’m glad she gives me that play, knowing I was getting the attention off myself. But truthfully, Gigi is easy to listen to. That husky voice of hers is calming, melodic with softness and it’s all things I should definitely not be noticing about the bartender who helped me to her apartment and let me sleep in her bed but it can’t be helped.
Gigi might be the most interesting woman I’ve ever met in my life. That she’s beautiful and I’m noticing shouldn’t make me feel like such an asshole, and yet I can’t stop it.
I finish my meal with gusto, shoving down how it threatens to revolt in my stomach and when I’m done, I stand abruptly. “I should get going.”
For a brief moment, she looks stunned. I swear her face turns sad before she nods.
“Sure. Okay.”
I pat my pockets and come up empty.
Gigi points to a spot on her kitchen counter. “Your keys and everything else are over there.”
I remember the shit she gave me when she took them from me. Along with the question I’d asked her.
Does it ever get lonely?
If I want company, I have no problems finding it.
Yeah. It’s definitely time to go.
I’m now remembering that response with her holding that cherry-flavored condom in her hand, and I’m pretty damn certain that’s not how it actually happened. I also remember her saying something wise about needing to be happy with yourself but I was already too drunk to appreciate it.
“Thanks for everything,” I say once I’ve slid my keys into my pocket and tugged my hat down low. I don’t look at my phone screen. I don’t want to know yet if Madison ever called me back after the dozens of messages and texts I sent last night before getting blackout drunk seemed like the perfectly reasonable solution for my problems. “Honestly Gigi. I appreciate your help last night. And this morning.”
She grins up at me, pink lips in a tight smile. “Anytime.”
“I’ll just…” Be awkward and make this suddenly ten thousand times worse. “Wait outside for the Uber.”
She points to a door beyond her kitchen. There are two that are facing in an L-shape before the short hallway that leads to her bathroom. “Door on the right will take you down to the alley. Take care, Sebastian.”
Right. Somehow, I like hotshot instead of my first name coming from her. Especially with the strange look she’s giving me. Like I’ve upset her somehow. Or disappointed her. I know the look well from the last few years of my turmoil with Madison.
“See you around?”
“Whenever you guys stop in, I’ll probably be here.”
“Right. Thanks again.”
“Like I said before, no problem.”
She turns back to her food and grabs her phone at the table. I’ve done something wrong. Only I can’t figure out what. Which means when I leave, carefully trudging down the rickety metal steps outside to the alley and out to the street, my mind isn’t on the lack of texts from Madison, it’s on the look Gigi gave me when I told her I had to leave.
And that’s not cool.
Chapter Four
Gigi
It’s not the first time in the last week that I’ve walked into my bedroom, such as it is, and my gaze has gone immediately to where Sebastian passed out on Saturday night. It’s not even the first time I’ve scanned the area and been embarrassed for the mess he so politely called me out on— it only took a slowly arching brow.
It is the first time I’ve walked in, cleaning bucket in one hand, vacuum in the other, determined to clean up my mess.
I’ve never been great at cleaning or picking up. It’s easier to sweep all my dirty clothes off the floor and dump them in the basket I take to the laundromat. Since that’s all a pain in the butt, I’m more likely to go buy new clothes than shuffle everything down the stairs, through the alley, and across the street to my parking spot in a private lot.
My mind constantly runs with a hundred things on my to-do list. I’d rather sit and read or go for a walk or spend an afternoon at a museum or strolling through the farmer’s market than I want to be stuck inside, armed with a dusting rag and mop bucket.
While I know Sebastian’s teasing of me was playful, watching him hop and skip around my mess was mortifying. I shouldn’t even care what he thinks of me. I’ve never cared if people see me as I am before. And truly, his opinion of me shouldn’t matter.
I’m the girl who helped him out. I’m the girl who serves him drinks with a smile. And I’m the girl who will never, ever be on his radar for a woman.
Besides, he’s still technically married.
I’m being stupid. I haven’t yet washed the sheets, mostly because I like the gentle waft of his body wash or cologne when I roll onto the pillow he slept on. And that’s just gross.