Page 67 of Summer with My Sexy Ex
He nods.
“And she had one foot out the door the entire time. I just didn’t want to see it.”
“What are you going to do?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “Let her go? Fight for her? Pretend it never happened?”
“I can see that.”
“Which one?” I ask.
“All of them. They all make sense.”
“You aren’t very helpful.”
“It’s part of my charm.” He smirks. “You talk to her since she left?”
“I don’t even have her fucking number.” I drain my beer. The more I have, the faster they go down.
“Shit, I can give you her number,” he says.
“Not how I want to get it, man.” I stand. “Want another?” I ask, about to get my fourth of the night.
“I’m good for now,” Blake says.
I toss my empty bottle in the recycle bin and repeat the same process Blake did a moment ago. I wipe the bottle condensation from my hand to my jeans. The glint of the late-afternoon sun off my wedding ring mocks me from my finger. I should take it off.
My next credit card bill will be insanely high between the ceremony, rings, extra days in a suite, new cell phone, hotel room damage, and changed flight fees.
“She said we should avoid each other at your wedding.” I hadn’t told him that part yet.
“She said that?” He sounds surprised.
“In her note, yeah.”
“What else did she say in the note?” he asks.
“That was pretty much it. We both knew it wouldn’t last. Let’s avoid each other at Blake’s wedding. Have a nice life.”
“Give her a few days, maybe she’ll come around.” He doesn’t sound certain.
“Are you saying that as my friend or her brother?” I ask.
“Neither. I’ve come to realize I don’t know fuck all about women. It’s even worse when you love or are related to them.”
“Hell yes to that, brother.” I raise my beer in the air.
“Misha is the only girl worth paying attention to.” She raises her head when Blake says her name. He reaches down to pet her, where she lies between our two chairs. She rolls on her back immediately, so he’ll rub her belly.
“Why can’t regular women be as easy to please as Misha?” Blake asks. “Roll on their back when they want a belly rub, nudge you with their nose when they want attention, bark by their bowl when hungry—”
“Piss on the floor when they’re mad,” I add.
He laughs. “Exactly.”
“Everything okay, man?” I ask again. He has sounded a bit cryptic today where women and relationships are concerned.
“All good.” He drains his beer. “I think I will have another.”
