five days of your life, you were the worst version of yourself and it made you so sick that you promised never to become like that again, no matter what. I’m not sure how you’ve got it in your mind that somehow those five days make you a horrible, horrible person, but I can tell you that I’m over it. We’ve all made poor choices like that on some level. Maybe the mistakes other people make aren’t for sale on adult-only websites, but I can promise you that there are mistakes that are much, much worse. You could have, for example, pretended to be in love with a girl, said every pretty word possible to get yourself laid, been irresponsible with protection even though you knew she wasn’t on birth control, only to hand her the number of an abortion doctor and banish her forever when she tells you she’s pregnant.”
A calming breath was his only reply.
“Let’s see,” she mused. “As a woman, which guy would I rather be with? The guy who filmed some people having sex once upon a time, or the guy who gets girls pregnant and then urges them to have abortions. Gosh. That’s a stumper.”
“Uh, I’m pretty sure most women would choose none of the above.”
“Right,” she drawled. “Because they’re holding out for Mr. Perfect. That guy who’s never made a mistake in his life and lives to sweep her—and only her—off her feet. Well, news flash, Mike. Those guys are a whole other ball of psychotic wax. Even if you throw them into the pot, I’d still choose you.”
“Okay, I get it,” he said, and she could hear a smile in his voice. “I get it, okay? You’ve officially made me feel a little better.”
“Just a little?”
“Okay, a lot.”
“Good,” she said, pleased. “Because you’re a good guy, Mike. Don’t let anyone make you forget that.”
“I’ll try.”
Rori smiled, and nearly tacked on three more words before she stopped herself. I love you. They weren’t casual words for Rori. It wasn’t like they threw those words around in her family, nor were those words tossed around among her friends. It had been years since she said them, and yet they’d almost slipped out as casually as good night or thank you.
“I, uh, should go,” she said instead, hoping her panic did come through in her voice. “I really do need to get this sculpture as far as I can tonight and I do need two hands for that.”
“I’ll bet,” he chuckled. “I look forward to seeing it at your exhibit.”
“I bet you do,” she said.
“And Rori? I’m glad we traded secrets. They may not be pretty, but it’s better to know that about you so I don’t accidentally do or say things that hurt you, you know?”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “And Mike? I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? You know, in case you go into one of those estrogen tailspins.”
He let out a full laugh this time. “Sounds good,” he said, and they said their goodbyes for the night.
Chapter 40
August
She wasn’t calling. Tonight was Rori’s big meeting with her matchmaker’s choice of men for her, and Rori wasn’t calling.
That couldn’t be good.
The last communication Mike had from her was a text from earlier that night that simply read, Off to meet the future Mr. Townsend. Wish me luck.
And, of course, like an fool he’d done just that.
What an idiot.
It was now past 1:30 a.m. in New York and he hadn’t heard a peep from her. That had to mean things were going well… that she liked the guy. Count Anton Olivier Leseuer.
Seriously, could the guy have a worst last name than Leseuer? With a French accent his name sounded like “le sewer” and without an accent it sounded like “loser.” It was a lose-lose. No pun intended.
If Mike hadn’t googled the guy, he would have thought Rori made him up. French, rich, and quasi-royalty. He was titled, sure, but Mike still wasn’t sure if that title was totally legit. According to his Wikipedia search, “count” was one of the titles ambitious families took upon themselves, rather than necessarily having it bestowed upon them.
And really, what member of royalty with any sense would ever decree that there should be a Count Leseuer?
But whatever the case may be, it didn’t change the fact that Rori was out on a date with Count Leseuer at 1:30 in the morning. Well past bedtime. And if Rori didn’t call?
Unable to complete the thought—unable to breathe at the thought—Mike scrolled through pictures online of