Page 82 of Intoxicated
She snorts into the back of her hand. “It’s a chicken and an egg conundrum, Mr. Benton.” That husky tone she adopts is awfully familiar. I heard it the first night we met. Combined withMr. Benton,it’s clear she’s pretending to play me. Or this is her default state when she begins to dissociate. I probably know her better than most of the guys she’s dated in the past few years, but there are still aspects of her brain I cannot fully comprehend. I doubt I ever will. “What came first? Women playing men to the point the men no longer took us seriously? Or the men disposing of us to the point we picked up these games for our survival?”
“Is that what it is, Ms. Lieberman?” I lower my face across the table. “All the odds are stacked against you, so you either go for the financial gold while you can or go completely independent?”
“No money.” Her drowsy eyes lull me into their web. If I’m not careful, I’ll never untangle myself again. “You grow up without any money and find out you’ve got two choices in life. Do you work your ass off in the capitalistic grind tomayberetire in relative luxury one day? Or do you use what God gave you to make the most of your youth?”
“Sounds like either way you lose that spark that made you so attractive to begin with.”
“You mean like you did?”
Ouch.Ouch.I could pretend that I don’t know what she means by that, but I do. It hits me so hard that I’m almost awestruck at her gall. So, what can I do? I’m the one who willingly told her what happened to my friend and how it affected me. She knows what I do – did – as a way to bide my time until I figured out what I really wanted to do with my life. Now here we are. She’s calling me out for being no better than her. I’m acknowledging that, yes, she truly is the closest thing to a perfect match I have ever met.
I have no idea what to say. To admit defeat? To challenge her?
Or maybe I should take her hand on this table as a reassurance that I get her.
We exchange no words as I finish my cocktail with my other hand and Cher gazes at the view. Conversations continue around us. My namesake shows another couple to some seats a few tables away. My eyes glaze over as I focus on the touch of Cher’s fingers – and the fact she hasn’t yanked them out of mine. She has such delicate, ladylike fingers. Nicely buffed and painted. Does she do her own nails? Or does she go to one of the many salons in her neighborhood? Like most young women who haven’t worked outside of an office or a schoolroom, her skin is soft and her knuckles softer. I could get lost in the way her skin stretches across her bones. Shit, is that weird to say? It made more sense in my head. Because if you could stare at her hands like I am right now, you’d get what I’m saying. Beautiful. Perfection. Like her, if she would damn well admit it.
Yup. I’m that fool who has stumbled into her web. Am I going to deny it any longer? I’m falling in love with her. I may alreadybein love with her, but I fear regrets. This isn’t a woman you knowingly give your heart to, not if you know who she is and what she can do. Look at that expression on her face. Can you call it that? Or should you admit that she’s an unfeeling wraith who bides her time until she has you in her snare? For all I know, she’s thinking about what to have for dinner. With or without me.
Has she learned that she’s so disposable, that she’s now mademethe disposable one?
Whether you know you’re getting into shit with her or not, you can’t help but embrace the chance that you’re disposable. I get it now. That phrase,“It’s better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.”I’ve never really been in love before. Not like this.
Something startles Cher to the point her hand falls out of mine and she whips her head toward a man coming up to our table. It’s not the other Drew. It’s a man who looks a bit older, and with blond hair and a black shirt that goes with his tan trousers. He has the air of respectability while retaining a hint of playboy charms. I know this type well. Aside from the retirement aged men who hire me, this guy is in my key business demographic.
God help us all. These two obviously know each other.
“Preston,” Cher says with an indifferent façade. “Funny running into you again.”
The man glances at me before giving his full attention to Cher. “Thought I’d pop over and say hello so we didn’t have to pretend to awkwardly ignore one another. Phoebe’s here, too, but I waited until she went to the little girls’ room to say hello.”
“I’ll be sure to hold it in a while longer so I don’t bump into her there.” Cher glimpses in my direction, a diabolical smile tugging at her mouth. “By the way, do you know Drew Benton? I’m sure you’ve noticed we’re seeing each other.” Yeah, we hadn’t exactly been hiding the hand holding. Now I’m roped into this. “Do you know Preston Bradley, Drew? He’s one of my many,manyex-boyfriends.”
“I believe we’ve been acquainted a time or two over the years.” I offer to shake Preston’s hand. I’m always impressed when a guy has a good handshake, and today is no different. I mean, if I have to imagine Cher having sex with this guy, he might as well have a strong handshake. “Although I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of a conversation.”
“Preston’s a venture capitalist, from Bradley & Marcus,” Cher continues, in that silky, haughty tone she adopts when impressing rich guys like us. “He’s dating a yoga instructor.”
“My Phoebe is also quite the accomplished, bestselling romance author.”
“Slide that in there, why don’t you, Preston?” Oh, here it comes. Cher’s unable to let him get away with humbragging like that. “Drew owns his own business up in Seattle, but he’s fromthoseBentons. The Beaverton ones.” Why, I wasn’t aware there were other Bentons. I learn something new about my own family every day.
“I’m well acquainted with your father, Drew,” Preston says to me. “We’ve done business together.”
“I don’t doubt it, if you really are an investor. My father loves asking for money.”
“As long as he does good things with it.”
“Doesn’t he always?” I reply.
A lean blond woman in a floor-length sundress cautiously approaches us. From the way she looks at Preston – and the way she frowns at Cher – I surmise she is the new girlfriend, Phoebe, bestselling romance author and yoga instructor. “Hello,” she coolly greets Cher. Instantly, I feel like I’m in the middle of an awkward divorce battle. It doesn’t help that Phoebe then looks at me, nothing but pity in her bright, observant eyes.
I wince. Not my smoothest move in front of affluent strangers, but I can’t help it. They might as well have shone a spotlight on my naivete.
“Take care. Enjoy your drinks.” Preston turns to Phoebe, arm encircling her waist, and escorts her back to their table. Drew the server looks on at us like we’re about to start a blood bath.
Nah.Nah.
I don’t order another drink. As soon as Cher’s finished with hers, I think it’s a good idea to get out of here. Her demeanor has suffered to the point that I’m not sure I can salvage it. Not even with my cock.
Guess there’s only one way to find out. Wish me luck.
