Not Looking for Love: Episode 6 (A New Adult Contemporary Romance Novel) (11 page)

I take a long drink of my wine to chase away the thought, and ask Leo a complicated question about his work. He always takes a long time to answer, and loves talking about himself, so it works. Scott didn't talk a lot about himself, which I thought was refreshing at the time. Now it seems he just didn't want me to know him. Or maybe he really was more concerned about me.

"Do you want to get another drink?" Leo asks once we're done eating and the waiter is clearing our table.
 

"Sure, but let's go somewhere else," I say. Might as well start pretending I'm over Scott, even if I'm not quite there yet.

Leo takes me to a wine bar I've never been to, orders some Italian wine I've never heard of. It tastes good, even if it is a little too sweet for my taste.
 

Somewhere around my third glass he changes tactic, starts asking me about my life. But I'm not ready to tell him about my mom yet, so I focus on my dad and his new job in Geneva. Which sets Leo off about how the UN is not doing enough to stem human rights violations. Stuff I heard before, but he's bringing my dad into it, and I don't like it.
 

"They're doing as much as can be done," I counter. "Given the flaws in the system. But the intentions are good."

I can almost hear my dad speaking these words and I've argued the same points with him before, but tonight I'm firmly on Dad's side. Mostly because I had too much to drink, and Leo keeps edging closer to me on the pretext of not hearing me well enough. But I know my voice carries very well, so there's really no reason his whole side should be pressing into me right now.

"We should go," I say, interrupting him midsentence. "I have a lot of work to do tomorrow."

I can't have Leo leaning against me, smelling like Scott. It's too confusing. The wine is making me want sex, but with Scott, not Leo, so it's all wrong.
 

He argues, but I call the waitress over and pay, ignoring his protests. I let him buy dinner, because he wouldn't hear a no, so I'm paying for the wine. This isn't a date. This is just two people with common interests sharing a drink.

I take out my phone to call a cab once we're on the sidewalk. I drove here, but I'm too unsteady to drive back, which is just another way this night has gone all wrong.

"I can drive you home," Leo offers, but I refuse, saying he had too much to drink too, though he seems quite sober.

"I had a great time tonight," he says after I order a taxi, looking directly into my eyes and swaying closer. I look down the street, keeping a watch for the cab.
 

"Yeah, it was fun," I mutter, since he's waiting for me to say something.

"We must do it again."

I nod. "Sure."

A taxi rounds the corner and I step closer to the curb. "That's my ride. I'll call you."

He places his hands on my shoulders and moves to kiss my cheeks. But he doesn't move his head to the side on the second one, and I end up kissing his lips. Such a cheap, childish move.
 

I fight the urge to wipe off my lips. Even though Leo is perfect for me. On paper. But my heart, my mind, my whole being wants Scott so badly now I'm trembling.
 

I say a hasty good night and bolt into the cab, slamming the doors with way too much force. I could just call Scott, tell him how I feel. But then what? He doesn't want insane, flighty Gail. Never did. He doesn't want any Gail at all. Else he'd call me back by now.

I can’t sleep when I get back from Vlado’s dinner party. Every time I close my eyes it's like a million fucking fire ants are crawling all over me, biting. I even try to jerk off so I could finally relax enough to sleep, but I keep seeing Gail, her face, her milky white skin, her long brown hair covering her full breasts, the hard nipples poking out. My hands are burning with the need to touch her right now, and I can almost feel her straddling me. No, I can't go there. It's bad enough I have those wet dreams about her almost every night. They’re probably the only reason I haven't needed the emergency room for the blue balls problem, because I positively cannot let myself jerk off thinking about Gail. Else I’ll go insane with the need to be with her.
 
But I can't do it without thinking of her. I’m such a mess.

So I'm back to square one, staring at the TV screen and some dumb crime documentary, which is all I watch these days. Maybe it’s some subconscious attempt to figure out what to do about Mike, even though I'm pretty sure nothing can be done. Either I go along, or Gail dies. Or I die. Or go to jail. If only I could get to sleep, then at least I'd be able to see Gail.
 

My phone ringing wakes me sometime on Saturday afternoon, and of course my first thought is that it's Gail. Followed almost immediately by sickening disappointment when it's actually Mike.
 

"You staying in tonight?" he asks.
 

"I was gonna, yeah," I mutter.
 

"OK, well, just thought I'd ask," he says and hangs up. I don't know if I'll ever get used to these weird ass calls of his, but they’re starting to seem more commonplace now.
 

After a quick shower it's almost dark outside again, and I debate with to order take out or actually go out. In the end I settle for a couple of those noodle soups since I can't be bothered with anything else. I'm still tired like I haven't slept at all.

The intercom buzzes at a little past nine. "There's a lady here to see you," the doorman informs me. I'm just opening and closing my mouth. It can't be Gail. Although she did track me down in Alaska. But there's no way she could know where I am now. This apartment isn’t in my name, and no one but Mike knows where I live.

"Sir?" the doorman asks. "Should I send her up?"

"Yes," I manage, and open the front door, staring at the elevators.

It takes forever, but the left one finally chimes, and a tall brunette gets out. And she could be Gail. Her hair's the same color, her legs are long enough, her breasts full and round. But the face is all wrong. She smiles as she approaches, her hips swaying.

"Who are you?" I ask.

She smiles wider and brushes against me as she enters the apartment.
 

"I'm Amber," she purrs into my ear. "But you can call me anything you like."

What the fuck's that supposed to mean?

I take a step back and keep the door open. "What are you doing here?"

She's wearing one of those charm bracelets the escorts Mike likes wear. It looks like the one Gail lost by the pool that first time we met. My stomach clenches at the memory. I want this fake Gail gone.
 

"I'm here so we can have a good time," Amber purrs again and steps closer, trying to force my hand off the doorknob.
 

"I never asked for you," I say.

"I'm supposed to tell you Mike sent me," she says. "And that you can call me Gail, if you want."

"Motherfucker!" I yell. She shakes a little, taking a full step back from me.

"I think you should go," I add.

She regains her composure, and slides her hand across my bare arm slowly. "Are you sure? Don't you like me?"

There's something so sincere in her question that my anger at Mike ebbs away a little.

"I suppose you won't get paid if I send you away, right?"

She looks at me with serious eyes, all the seduction gone. "No, I won't. I might even get fired. This is only my second job and I didn’t do that well on the first one."

It could just be a line and there's no way we're having sex, but I close the door. It's probably better if Mike thinks his little ploy succeeded anyway.

"Want a drink?"

She nods and follows me to the kitchen, her heels clicking across the wooden floor.
 

"This is a nice place you got here," she says, checking out the apartment while I pour the vodka.
 

"Yeah," I mutter handing her a glass and moving to the sofa. She follows, sits too close.

"So I take it I can't pull off being Gail?" she asks, her eyes fixed on the view outside the window. "I was so nervous all the way here. I was sure I couldn't do it, and I guess I was right." She fixes her gaze on me, but it's unsteady, like she's waiting for an answer. Her eyes are too dark to be Gail's.

"No, sorry," I say, not even sure why I'm apologizing. "I mean you’re attractive and everything, but you're not Gail."

Though with the way she tears up after I say it, she could be.

"Look I won't tell anyone this didn't work out," I say. "Just don't start crying."

"I just…I…" and tears are actually flowing down her cheeks. Great. I'm even making escorts cry now. I turn away from her and lean back, staring at the muted TV. Cops are arresting someone on screen, red and blue lights flashing.

"I'm acting like an idiot." She wipes the tears away with her fingers, and sobs softly. I just want someone to say something like that about me again someday, I guess."

"Maybe you're in the wrong line of business for that." I don't know why I'm being moralistic. Not like I can talk. I fucked up any chance of a normal life, because I was too weak to get out while I still could.

"Yeah, I know. But right now my options are pretty limited," she murmurs. "It's either this or the streets. And there I'd be in the same place, but with much less money and more disease."

"Just don't ever go when Mike asks for you," I say without thinking.
 

Her eyes turn wide, probably at the venom in my voice. Or maybe because she's here at Mike's orders. Way to try and comfort her. I swear, everything that comes into contact with me turns to shit, there's no middle ground anymore.

A charged silence is hanging between us now, but it's a distant thing, like it's happening to someone else.
 

She takes a long swallow of her drink, then sits there, rubbing the glass.
 

"So this Gail, she sounds like quite a girl," she finally ventures.
 

"Yeah," I mutter.
 

"What happened to her?"

"Nothing," I say. "It just didn't work out."

"Maybe you should try harder. Seeing as you're all cut up about it."

It makes sense, and for some reason it's not hard to listen to her speak about Gail.
 

"We're just from two very different worlds," I mutter. "It was crazy to think it could work out."

But I don't believe that. And I never will.
 

"That doesn't necessarily have to be a barrier," Amber says, glaring at me.
 

"No, but sometimes it is."
 

"My fiancé was killed in action in Afghanistan," she whispers. "That's a barrier."

"I'm sorry—"

"If you still want this Gail," she interrupts, "And all that's stopping you is some made up obstacle, maybe you deserve to be all cut up about it."

She's breathing heavily now, her cheeks all red.

And she's right. But it's not made up obstacles I'm facing here. They're very deadly and very real.

"Look, I appreciate your assessment of my situation, but maybe you don't know enough," I blurt out, kinda sorry this is the turn the conversation took. But then again, talking about Gail is not likely to make it any easier to get over her. "I think you can leave now. It's been long enough, so no one will suspect."

She doesn't argue, just gets up and holds her purse against her stomach. "I'm sorry, I spoke out of turn. We're still cool?"

"Yeah, I won't tell anyone what really happened. I'll even say you were really good." I just want her gone now.
 

She finds her own way out the door, but it's like Gail stayed. And for the rest of the long night I can feel her in the room with me, standing somewhere behind my shoulder, just out of sight. It gets so creepy, I have to leave the apartment, end up walking around the nearly deserted streets for hours like some deranged psycho. But that's not me. That's Mike, and I'll very likely never escape his grasp.