Half an hour later, I’m dressed in a pair of black pants and a London-approved shirt, and have my bag packed for the overnight trip. I check to make sure I have my laptop and everything else I’ll need for the pitch meeting tomorrow. It’s clear I’m making this trip on my own based on Declan’s lack of response, and the fact that he hasn’t made an appearance since I knocked on his door. I pour myself a travel mug of coffee, stirring in the sugar and cream with more vigor than necessary. Coffee sloshes over the side, spilling on the counter. I don’t bother to wipe it up.
I slip my shoes on, double-check my overnight bag and purse one last time, and reach for Declan’s keys, but they’re missing from the hook. “Dammit.”
I have no interest in meeting one of his random one-night stands this morning, or interrupting something I won’t be able to unsee, but I also don’t want to drive my car on the freeway in the rain. I sigh, resigned, stomp back down the hall, and pound on Declan’s door. “I need the keys to your SUV. Where are they?” Yes, I’m bitchy. Yes, I believe I have a right to be.
There’s a lot of groaning and grunting, followed by profanity.
“Deck, I gotta go or I’m gonna be late. Where the heck are your keys?” Low-level panic sets in. I don’t want to be late this morning, especially since the game starts at noon and our friends secured really great seats. I also hate driving in the rain, and there’s a good chance it’s going to impact traffic.
The door to his bedroom swings open. His face is flushed, his hair a wreck, and all he’s wearing is a pair of boxers. I keep my eyes fixed above the neck. Based on my current view, I’ve interrupted some morning nookie. It’s another reason to be pissed, since he obviously put more value on getting laid than he did on getting his ass in gear so he could honor his commitment and come with me to Boulder.
I poke at my cheek with my tongue, so damn annoyed and ready to go off on him. I was counting on having his SUV today and some company on this freaking trip.
He drags a hand through his hair, biceps flexing. His lips are puffy and his eyes are glassy. I make the mistake of glancing to the right, which means I’m looking at the bare ass of the woman currently sprawled across his dark sheets.
I hold out my hand. “I just need the keys and then you can get back to your friend.”
He makes a face. One I don’t like. “My SUV isn’t here.”
“What do you mean it’s not here?” I really don’t have time for this.
“I left it downtown last night.”
“Are you fucking serious?”
“I wasn’t gonna drink and drive,” he mutters gruffly and motions to the pile of clothes on the floor behind him. “I can find the keys if you wanna Uber to it.”
Downtown is in the opposite direction of where I’m headed, and stopping to get his SUV will take time I can’t afford to waste. “Never mind, I don’t have time to fuck around this morning, unlike you apparently. Thanks for being reliable. Super glad I can count on you when I need you, Deck.” I’m annoyed and frustrated, not because he doesn’t have the right to bring someone home, but because he put some random woman ahead of our friendship. It isn’t like him to bail on me. And I hate even more that I’m worried about making the trip on my own because of the weather. It makes me feel weak and incompetent.
I turn away, and he grabs for my arm. “Ave, come on.”
I twist out of his grip and stalk down the hall, calling out, “Dude, you smell like stale beer and used condoms. I hope she was worth it.”
5
SO UNRELIABLE
AVERY
“I don’t know why I’m so damn surprised!” I turn my windshield wipers up to full speed as a transport truck passes. The weather is crap, the rain makes visibility bad, and my tires are not in great shape. I needed to have them changed a month ago, but my schedule has been hectic, so this coming Tuesday was the soonest I could make it work.
Now I’m stuck in the slow lane, behind what I’m presuming is an old guy based on the fact that it’s a gold Buick beast in front of me. Whoever is behind the wheel is going at least ten miles under the speed limit, and I can’t pass him until there’s a substantial break in the traffic.
Not that I actually want to pass him at all. I have a very good reason for my dislike of driving in the rain. My parents were killed in a car accident during a horrible rainstorm when I was sixteen years old. My sisters and I had been staying overnight with our grandmother—as was typical—and we woke up the next morning to our grandmother’s tears and her promise that she would take care of us.
Nothing prepares you for that kind of loss. And although it’s been more than a decade, I still avoid driving in the rain whenever I can. But today, that’s not an option, so all I can do is white-knuckle it all the way to Boulder and try not to have a panic attack along the way.
“Do you think he forgot?” Harley asks.
I’m on a conference call with my sisters—hands-free, obviously.
“I don’t know how he could. We talked about it twice in as many days! I’m so freaking annoyed that he pulled this shit!”
“I’m sorry, Avery. I would’ve come with you,” London says, voice full of empathy.
“It’s so frustrating. We’ve been talking about this trip for a damn month. He was so stoked about seeing all the guys from college, and then he goes and puts some random vagina ahead of me and his friends.”
“He’s a guy, though. They think with their dicks,” London replies matter-of-factly.
She’s right, but it still irks me that my best friend couldn’t even put me before someone he doesn’t know or care about. “It pisses me off that he had to pick last night of all nights to scratch his freaking itch. And you know what else pisses me off?” I don’t wait for them to respond. “That I had a date last night who I could have gone home with if I’d wanted to.”
“Yeah, but he had the personality of a bag of hair,” London reminds me.
“Why can’t I look at the surface and not care about what’s inside?”
“Is that a serious question or just you rambling because you’re frustrated?” Harley asks.
“I don’t know. Both, maybe? It would be a heck of a lot easier if conversation skills weren’t important. I wish I could be one of those people who doesn’t need to connect emotionally with someone to sleep with them.”
“I’m sure it would be a lot more convenient for the sake of meaningless sex, but I don’t think it would make you very happy to sleep with randoms. I’m also not sure it makes Declan happy either,” Harley says.
“He didn’t sound very unhappy this morning when he was boning his sleepover friend,” I snap. I haven’t had sex in like … I don’t even know how long. The reality is I don’t do casual relationships. I need to be comfortable with my partners and that takes time and connection. Which is another thing I have a hard time with. The rain slows a little, so I adjust my wiper speed from hyperdrive to moderately frantic.
“Maybe you need to be a little less discerning if you want the pleasure of a random hookup,” London says. “Although, I’m not sure Brock would’ve been the right choice for that, no matter what. He seemed like the kind of guy who would kiss his own bicep while pose-thrusting and then tell you there’s something wrong with you if you weren’t able to have an orgasm from looking at his awesome body.”