for wanting a relationship. Or even for wanting that thrill of first love back.”
“But…” I said with a tight smile.
He gave me a wry look in return. “But a relationship between someone like you and a civilian, for want of a better word, how is that supposed to work? Are you going to tell him the truth about what you’ve been doing for the last fifteen years?”
I took a much larger sip of my drink. “How can I, Leo? He’s a good guy. Honest. There are things I’ve done that would send him screaming away.”
Leo frowned and tilted his head in a small shrug.
“What?” I asked. “And don’t tell me I was some kind of, of…” I leaned towards him, waving my glass around as I searched for the right word. I tried not to let it be public knowledge, but when it came to alcohol, I was a bit of a lightweight. Two drinks were enough to make me tipsy. “Of a Robin Hood or a good guy. I wasn’t. I swindled greedy people, yes. People looking to make a quick buck. Stupid people, smug people. And I will probably continue to do so after this ridiculous situation is over with.”
“Well, that answers my second question,” he said.
“Which was?”
“Would you give up the life to stay with him? If he asked?”
I slumped down into the chair with an exaggerated sigh. Wasn’t that the question? Would I? Could I? Could I conceivably somehow rejoin mainstream society? And do what? Get a job?
I felt Leo’s eyes on me. I gulped down the last of my drink with a scowl. “He would never ask.” I thumped the glass heavily on the small cocktail table and then stood. “I’m going to retire and regroup,” I said, gathering what dignity I could around me. We hadn’t changed after the golf course and I was feeling vaguely ridiculous in a yellow polo shirt and khaki golf shorts, though they made me almost invisible in this crowd.
“That’s not an answer,” Leo said to my retreating back.
I stopped, not turning around. “I know.”
He didn’t say anything more.
Back in my room, I changed into boxers and a light T-shirt. Pulling myself together, and placing my mind squarely in the here and now, I turned the television on and took out my laptop, setting it on the bed next to me but not turning it on. I had work to do. I doubted Eric was sitting at home rehashing our sad, childish affair. He was probably laughing with Ryan over how pathetic I was. Or more likely, they weren’t thinking about me at all.
My phone vibrated with an incoming text, interrupting my very important session of brooding and staring at the ceiling. I ignored it. There was a second buzz and then a third hard on its heels. Fine. With a sigh over the injustice of it all, I looked at the phone.
The message was from an unknown number with an area code I didn’t immediately recognize. We need to talk. Ominous and cryptic. Wonderful.
Message number two cleared it up. It’s Eric. This is my number. Obviously.
Maybe he was thinking about me.
Message number three read. Call me. Please.
Oh, goody, just what I needed, more guilt. Now that the free booze and sunstroke of the golf tournament had worn off, he’d probably realized that he’d been an idiot to even consider getting back together. He probably wanted to yell at me. Maybe I should let him. No sense in postponing the inevitable. The phone buzzed again as I was saving his number in my contacts.
I know you’re brooding, Carly. Stop being so fucking dramatic and text me back.
A small laugh escaped me. I shook my head and sat up on the edge of the bed, staring at the phone in my hand. Fuck you, Tiny, I texted back before my brain could spend an hour searching for the hidden meanings and passive-aggressiveness in his text, trying to figure what angle he was working.
There would be no angle.
Eric had always been direct, painfully so, in his communication. He said what he meant and meant what he said. Something I hadn’t realized I’d missed until right now. Mentally rolling my eyes at myself, I added a smiley face to the end of my words so he wouldn’t think I was angry with him.
Did you call your mother? he asked.
Went right to voicemail. I left a message asking her to meet me at the rink around noon. I didn’t tell him I’d waited