into one another in the building’s lobby or courtyard. Alan registered guilt on Corbin’s face during those brief run-ins, as though the fact that they no longer played racquetball was a breakup perpetrated by Corbin. Alan wanted to tell him that the breakup was mutual.
Then Audrey entered Alan’s life and Alan forgot all about Corbin, all about other people, really. He’d forgotten Corbin so completely that it actually took him a moment to identify him when he first saw him in Audrey’s apartment. His blond hair was a little longer, but nothing else had changed. Tall and muscular, dressed in a suit or workout gear. He settled into Audrey’s apartment as though he owned it, sprawling on her couch, watching her television. They were always sharing wine. They were rarely physical with one another, although Alan had watched them enter the bedroom together several times and pull the curtains closed. He’d also watched, once, as Corbin lifted Audrey into his arms, her legs around his waist, and kissed her. One of Corbin’s massive hands slid under Audrey’s skirt and Alan had to look away. Alan told himself that his disgust at seeing Corbin and Audrey together was a good thing, that it might cure him of his need to watch Audrey at all hours. If nothing else, Audrey was not the woman he thought she was, not if she was dating someone like Corbin.
Still, despite these thoughts, Alan found himself watching Audrey as much as he ever had, cherishing those moments when she was alone in her apartment, reading on her couch like she always had. She’d started a new book, Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn, and Alan, on his way home from work, stopped at a Barnes & Noble and bought a copy, just so they could read it at the same time. Days would go by with no appearance by Corbin, and Alan would begin to hope that the relationship was over, but then Corbin would show up on a Friday night, always with a bottle of wine. They rarely seemed to go out together. Alan wondered if they’d come to some kind of sex agreement—neighbors with benefits. The thought bothered him. What did she possibly see in him? Even as someone just for sex.
On one of the nights when Corbin was in Audrey’s apartment, Alan, after several beers, decided to send an e-mail to Corbin. It had been nearly a year since they’d last had contact. Alan composed the e-mail, working hard to make it sound dashed off, apologizing for how long it had been, then asking Corbin if he wanted to get together for a quick game followed by another beer at the Sevens. “Or we could skip the racquetball and just grab a drink, if you want,” Alan added, thinking that having a conversation with Corbin was his only goal. He hit send as soon as he’d written the e-mail, so as not to give himself time to reconsider. Alan sat back and sighed. If Corbin took the bait, then he’d be able to quiz him about Audrey, maybe find out what was happening in the relationship. Maybe Corbin and Alan would become friends, this second time around, and that would allow Alan to formally meet Audrey, get to know her. Alan found his mind galloping forward, toward scenarios where Audrey would leave Corbin to be with him. He stopped himself from going too far with these fantasies, got up from the computer, and returned to the window. Corbin was looking at his phone. Alan wondered if he was reading the e-mail he’d just sent. If so, he didn’t respond until the following day:
Hey man. Nice to hear from you. I actually stopped playing racquetball, and only play squash now. But let’s get that drink anyway. I’m free Wednesday next week.
Alan replied that he was free as well. As the day neared, he began to wonder if there was any chance that Corbin would bring Audrey along. Because of this slight possibility, Alan dressed in his best pair of jeans and his Rag & Bone blazer. But when he arrived at the Sevens at the appointed time, Corbin wasn’t there. And when Corbin finally showed, twenty minutes late, he was alone.
They small-talked through half a beer, Corbin checking his cell phone at two-minute intervals. Realizing he had limited time, Alan asked, trying to sound casual: “Who you seeing these days?”
“Seeing?” Corbin replied. “No one, actually. Well, there’s this girl at work. Married, unfortunately—”