Manwhore +1
Page 10
“Well, I’m being honest, Rachel!”
I toss back the rest of my cocktail. My mind flashes to his hand, reaching for my leg under the table . . .
Twinkling green eyes, teasing me until I can’t bear it . . .
I love my friends; we’ve been together forever. They call my mom “Mom” and know everything about me, but now as Wynn asks me to relate the “job issue” and Gina tells her all about it, I keep draining my cocktail in silence, sadder than I’m letting on. My friends know everything about me, but at the same time, they don’t know it all.
They don’t know that as I sit here I remember all the ways he used to tease me about how I play it safe. He used to tease me to come out of my box, that he’d catch me. But would he catch me now?
“It doesn’t matter why he took four weeks,” I cut in when Wynn and Gina keep arguing over why he took so long to contact me. “I just want him to talk to me. I want to know if I hurt him so I can make it better. I want a chance to explain, apologize.”
“You doubt you hurt him?” Wynn asks, aghast. “Emmett told me there’s no way he’d give you the time of day right now if you weren’t under his skin.”
“Interesting,” Gina says. Then, looking at me, “You’re not the only one haunted by Saint, do you think that you’re haunting him too?”
“I don’t want us to be ghosts for each other. I want us to go back to the way we were when he . . . trusted me.”
Wynn whistles admiringly. “You can get that man in bed, maybe he’ll reluctantly love you, but you won’t get his trust if his life depended on it now.”
I wince at the thought of that. “True, trust is important to him; if I can’t prove to him I’m trustworthy I’m doomed to be one of his four-night girls.”
“Did you get the impression he’d give you another chance?” Wynn asks.
I stay quiet.
“Rachel?”
“No, Wynn. He doesn’t want me anymore. But I need to apologize. I just . . .” I shake my head. “I just don’t know what to do.” I look at Wynn when my refill comes, frowning as I realize something. “So you and Emmett have been talking about it?”
“Um. Well, yes,” she says uncomfortably. “Everybody’s touched on it, you know? It was public.”
I press on, “Did Emmett have any advice for me?”
Wynn shrugs. “He doesn’t think a man like Saint would give you another chance. But then, he did offer you a job, so . . .”
“What does Emmett the chef know about a guy who literally owns Chicago?” Gina tells Wynn, rolling her eyes. “Plus Emmett’s a guy. He’s telling you this so that you, Wynn, don’t turn out to be a reporter and reveal that he wears pink undies and shit.”
“Gina.” Wynn scowls.
Gina grins, then turns to me. “Tahoe says—”
“Tahoe?” Wynn and I say in unified shock.
“Tahoe ROTH?” Wynn asks. “The oil tycoon and Saint’s bestie?”
“He’s not Saint’s only bestie, Callan Carmichael is too,” Gina specifies, then she cuts me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, Rache. I’m not supposed to talk to you about this. But he’s concerned and so am I. And . . . well, from what Tahoe told me, Saint’s pretty messed up. Colder than usual. Really withdrawn.”
I sit here listening, aching.
“He loves Saint as much as I love you,” Gina says, and when Wynn opens her mouth to ask about the obvious elephant in the room—her plus Tahoe—Gina holds up a hand to stop her. “I don’t care for Tahoe, but he hasn’t enjoyed your breakup any more than I enjoy watching you mope. He called me to ask what was up, ’cause of course Saint’s not talking and he says he hasn’t seen Saint like this since his mother died.”
Knowing what I know—that his mother was the only one who probably genuinely cared for Malcolm while he was growing up, how he felt he’d failed her, how he’d failed himself in failing her, how he’s been trying to fill up an empty hole ever since—Gina’s words wreck me.
Wynn chides, “Stop talking to Tahoe, he’s just using this as an excuse to have sex with you.”
“I know, right?” Gina laughs.
“So? Are you going to let him?” Wynn asks, curious.
“No! He’s gross. I mean, he’s hot, but his attitude is gross.”
I stare at my cocktail and wonder if I’m already getting drunk to the point where I’m getting emotional too easily.
I toss back the rest of my cocktail. My mind flashes to his hand, reaching for my leg under the table . . .
Twinkling green eyes, teasing me until I can’t bear it . . .
I love my friends; we’ve been together forever. They call my mom “Mom” and know everything about me, but now as Wynn asks me to relate the “job issue” and Gina tells her all about it, I keep draining my cocktail in silence, sadder than I’m letting on. My friends know everything about me, but at the same time, they don’t know it all.
They don’t know that as I sit here I remember all the ways he used to tease me about how I play it safe. He used to tease me to come out of my box, that he’d catch me. But would he catch me now?
“It doesn’t matter why he took four weeks,” I cut in when Wynn and Gina keep arguing over why he took so long to contact me. “I just want him to talk to me. I want to know if I hurt him so I can make it better. I want a chance to explain, apologize.”
“You doubt you hurt him?” Wynn asks, aghast. “Emmett told me there’s no way he’d give you the time of day right now if you weren’t under his skin.”
“Interesting,” Gina says. Then, looking at me, “You’re not the only one haunted by Saint, do you think that you’re haunting him too?”
“I don’t want us to be ghosts for each other. I want us to go back to the way we were when he . . . trusted me.”
Wynn whistles admiringly. “You can get that man in bed, maybe he’ll reluctantly love you, but you won’t get his trust if his life depended on it now.”
I wince at the thought of that. “True, trust is important to him; if I can’t prove to him I’m trustworthy I’m doomed to be one of his four-night girls.”
“Did you get the impression he’d give you another chance?” Wynn asks.
I stay quiet.
“Rachel?”
“No, Wynn. He doesn’t want me anymore. But I need to apologize. I just . . .” I shake my head. “I just don’t know what to do.” I look at Wynn when my refill comes, frowning as I realize something. “So you and Emmett have been talking about it?”
“Um. Well, yes,” she says uncomfortably. “Everybody’s touched on it, you know? It was public.”
I press on, “Did Emmett have any advice for me?”
Wynn shrugs. “He doesn’t think a man like Saint would give you another chance. But then, he did offer you a job, so . . .”
“What does Emmett the chef know about a guy who literally owns Chicago?” Gina tells Wynn, rolling her eyes. “Plus Emmett’s a guy. He’s telling you this so that you, Wynn, don’t turn out to be a reporter and reveal that he wears pink undies and shit.”
“Gina.” Wynn scowls.
Gina grins, then turns to me. “Tahoe says—”
“Tahoe?” Wynn and I say in unified shock.
“Tahoe ROTH?” Wynn asks. “The oil tycoon and Saint’s bestie?”
“He’s not Saint’s only bestie, Callan Carmichael is too,” Gina specifies, then she cuts me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, Rache. I’m not supposed to talk to you about this. But he’s concerned and so am I. And . . . well, from what Tahoe told me, Saint’s pretty messed up. Colder than usual. Really withdrawn.”
I sit here listening, aching.
“He loves Saint as much as I love you,” Gina says, and when Wynn opens her mouth to ask about the obvious elephant in the room—her plus Tahoe—Gina holds up a hand to stop her. “I don’t care for Tahoe, but he hasn’t enjoyed your breakup any more than I enjoy watching you mope. He called me to ask what was up, ’cause of course Saint’s not talking and he says he hasn’t seen Saint like this since his mother died.”
Knowing what I know—that his mother was the only one who probably genuinely cared for Malcolm while he was growing up, how he felt he’d failed her, how he’d failed himself in failing her, how he’s been trying to fill up an empty hole ever since—Gina’s words wreck me.
Wynn chides, “Stop talking to Tahoe, he’s just using this as an excuse to have sex with you.”
“I know, right?” Gina laughs.
“So? Are you going to let him?” Wynn asks, curious.
“No! He’s gross. I mean, he’s hot, but his attitude is gross.”
I stare at my cocktail and wonder if I’m already getting drunk to the point where I’m getting emotional too easily.
