Beautiful Player
Page 63
“I went running,” she said. “I thought you’d started and maybe I’d see you on the trail.”
“You thought I started without you?” I asked, laughing. “That would be rude.”
She didn’t answer and I realized too late that what I had done—not shown up, not even bothered to call—was just as bad.
“Shit, Ziggs, I’m sorry.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “So I’m Ziggy today. Interesting.”
“Yeah,” I mumbled, and then hated myself immediately. “No. Fuck, I don’t know who you are this morning.” I kicked away my sheets, willing my groggy brain to wake the f**k up already. “It messes with my head to call you Hanna.”
It makes me think you’re mine, I didn’t add.
Laughing sharply, she started walking again, the wind whipping even louder through the receiver. “Get over your man-angst, Will. We had sex. You’re supposed to do this kind of thing better than anyone. I’m not asking for a key to your apartment.” She paused, and my heart dropped into my stomach as I understood how my distance was coming across to her. She assumed I was brushing her off. I opened my mouth to backpedal, but her words came out faster: “I’m not even asking for a repeat, you egomaniacal jerk.”
And with that, she hung up.
I requested we move our regular group lunch from Tuesday to Monday on the basis that I’d lost my balls and my mind, and no one argued. It seemed that I’d reached a level of moony lovesickness that made giving me shit a lot less fun for my friends.
We met at Le Bernardin, ordered whatever we always ordered, and life seemed to move on as it had for the past nine months. Max kissed Sara until she batted him away. Bennett and Chloe pretended to hate each other over the salad she insisted they split for lunch, in some confusing form of flirty foreplay. The only thing that seemed different was that I drank my alcoholic lunch beverage in less than five minutes and then earned a raised eyebrow from our regular waiter when I ordered another.
“I think I’m the Kitty,” I said once the waiter left. When conversation came to a screeching halt, I registered that my friends had been happily babbling on about whateverthefuck while my brain was practically melting next to them.
“With Hanna?” I clarified, searching each of their faces for any sign of understanding. “I’m the Kitty. I’m the one saying I’m fine with just f**king around, but I’m not. I’m the one saying I’ll be happy to f**k only on the third Tuesday of odd-numbered months just so I can be with her. She’s the one who’s like, ‘Oh, I don’t need to hook up again.’?”
I was met with Chloe’s flat palm held up in my face. “Hold up, William. You’re f**king her?”
I sat up straight, eyes wide and defensive. “She’s twenty-four, not thirteen, Chloe. What the hell?”
“I don’t care that you’re f**king her—I care that you’ve f**ked her and she didn’t call one of us immediately. When did this happen?”
“Saturday. Two days ago; settle down,” I mumbled.
She sat back, expression softening somewhat.
Relaxing, I reached for my new drink almost as soon as the waiter put it in front of me. But Max was faster, pulling it out of my reach before I could get it. “We have an afternoon meeting with Albert Samuelson and I need you sharp.”
I nodded, bending to rub my eyes. “I hate all of you.”
“For being right?” Bennett correctly surmised.
I ignored him.
“Have you actually ended things with Kitty and Kristy?” Sara asked gently.
Fuck. This again.
I shook my head. “Why should I? There’s nothing going on with Hanna.”
“Except you have feelings for her,” Sara pressed, eyebrows drawn together. I hated her disapproval. Of any of my friends, Sara only gave me shit when it was fully deserved.
“I just figure why create more drama right now,” I reasoned, lamely.
“Has Hanna actually said that she doesn’t want anything more with you?” Chloe asked.
“It’s pretty obvious from the way she acted Sunday morning.”
Already nodding, Max added, “I hate to state the obvious, mate, but why haven’t you had the Will Sumner sit-down with her? Aren’t you sort of proving the long-suffering point you always throw at us regarding your hookups: that it’s better to discuss things up front than leave questions?”
“Because,” I explained, “it’s easy to have that convo when you know what you want and don’t want.”
“You thought I started without you?” I asked, laughing. “That would be rude.”
She didn’t answer and I realized too late that what I had done—not shown up, not even bothered to call—was just as bad.
“Shit, Ziggs, I’m sorry.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “So I’m Ziggy today. Interesting.”
“Yeah,” I mumbled, and then hated myself immediately. “No. Fuck, I don’t know who you are this morning.” I kicked away my sheets, willing my groggy brain to wake the f**k up already. “It messes with my head to call you Hanna.”
It makes me think you’re mine, I didn’t add.
Laughing sharply, she started walking again, the wind whipping even louder through the receiver. “Get over your man-angst, Will. We had sex. You’re supposed to do this kind of thing better than anyone. I’m not asking for a key to your apartment.” She paused, and my heart dropped into my stomach as I understood how my distance was coming across to her. She assumed I was brushing her off. I opened my mouth to backpedal, but her words came out faster: “I’m not even asking for a repeat, you egomaniacal jerk.”
And with that, she hung up.
I requested we move our regular group lunch from Tuesday to Monday on the basis that I’d lost my balls and my mind, and no one argued. It seemed that I’d reached a level of moony lovesickness that made giving me shit a lot less fun for my friends.
We met at Le Bernardin, ordered whatever we always ordered, and life seemed to move on as it had for the past nine months. Max kissed Sara until she batted him away. Bennett and Chloe pretended to hate each other over the salad she insisted they split for lunch, in some confusing form of flirty foreplay. The only thing that seemed different was that I drank my alcoholic lunch beverage in less than five minutes and then earned a raised eyebrow from our regular waiter when I ordered another.
“I think I’m the Kitty,” I said once the waiter left. When conversation came to a screeching halt, I registered that my friends had been happily babbling on about whateverthefuck while my brain was practically melting next to them.
“With Hanna?” I clarified, searching each of their faces for any sign of understanding. “I’m the Kitty. I’m the one saying I’m fine with just f**king around, but I’m not. I’m the one saying I’ll be happy to f**k only on the third Tuesday of odd-numbered months just so I can be with her. She’s the one who’s like, ‘Oh, I don’t need to hook up again.’?”
I was met with Chloe’s flat palm held up in my face. “Hold up, William. You’re f**king her?”
I sat up straight, eyes wide and defensive. “She’s twenty-four, not thirteen, Chloe. What the hell?”
“I don’t care that you’re f**king her—I care that you’ve f**ked her and she didn’t call one of us immediately. When did this happen?”
“Saturday. Two days ago; settle down,” I mumbled.
She sat back, expression softening somewhat.
Relaxing, I reached for my new drink almost as soon as the waiter put it in front of me. But Max was faster, pulling it out of my reach before I could get it. “We have an afternoon meeting with Albert Samuelson and I need you sharp.”
I nodded, bending to rub my eyes. “I hate all of you.”
“For being right?” Bennett correctly surmised.
I ignored him.
“Have you actually ended things with Kitty and Kristy?” Sara asked gently.
Fuck. This again.
I shook my head. “Why should I? There’s nothing going on with Hanna.”
“Except you have feelings for her,” Sara pressed, eyebrows drawn together. I hated her disapproval. Of any of my friends, Sara only gave me shit when it was fully deserved.
“I just figure why create more drama right now,” I reasoned, lamely.
“Has Hanna actually said that she doesn’t want anything more with you?” Chloe asked.
“It’s pretty obvious from the way she acted Sunday morning.”
Already nodding, Max added, “I hate to state the obvious, mate, but why haven’t you had the Will Sumner sit-down with her? Aren’t you sort of proving the long-suffering point you always throw at us regarding your hookups: that it’s better to discuss things up front than leave questions?”
“Because,” I explained, “it’s easy to have that convo when you know what you want and don’t want.”
