Page 4 of Secrets in Love
Fuck, I miss her.
I was very used to dealing with public hard-ons should she say something remotely sexy, but crying in public would do nothing for the reputation I’d crafted.
To aid the suppression of any pesky feelings, I’d chosen to drown myself in a bevy of female companions. One-night stands, maybe two if I felt particularly in need of distraction, were my thing. I tried to make them as respectful as a hit-and-run, with no emotions and no strings, could be. It was just sex, and I was always upfront about that.
Maybe I sounded like a complete douche, but I made no apologies, took no prisoners, and suffered no fools. Relationships were not my thing.
This philosophy, or way of life, had worked amazingly well until the fateful day Evie left. Though it had been hard, almost torturous at times, to have her be so close and not be able to touch her, at least when she lived here in Byron, I could keep an eye on her and make sure she was safe and happy. I could drink in that golden skin and those bouncy, sexy curls I discreetly smelled whenever she was near me. Banana shampoo from The Body Shop is what she used, and I may or may not have bought some the day after she left just to feel her presence.
I thought things might have gotten easier, that my stupid sentiments would dissipate without daily viewings. But if anything, my appetite increased, as did the number of women cycling in and out of my bed. I lied, telling myself and those concerned around me that I was just having fun, that it had nothing to do with some girl I used to live next door to. But on an ironically bright and sunny day last week, a rare, excited message from that very girl crushed my soul and finally made me acknowledge how dark the clouds of grief and loneliness had become.
Evie: Nate, guess what! I got a trial as a teacher at Iris’s dance school. Apart from the fact that my boss is smokin, I don’t have a lot of details. Will let you know more when I do. I am so excited. (Yes, I know how rare that is.) I start tomorrow. Wish me luck.
Evie: Oh, and Nate… It’s a secret between you and me, okay? Don’t tell Finn, or I’ll come home and cut your balls off.
Skipping over the hot-boss comments tearing my guts to shreds, and the threats of violence, which turned me on for some reason, I focused on three words…
You and me.
Even entirely out of context, reading that phrase, picturing it slipping from her grumpy, pouty little mouth, made me see how much I missed her. How rapid my descent into misery had been. How deep my feelings ran.
Evie was gone, living on the other side of the world, meeting new people, and moving on, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
Well, almost. I guess…maybe…Icoulduse this as motivation. I could be more direct. Find the courage to tell Evie—my favorite girl (the line actually referred to her)—instead of pathetically hoping she may one day realize. ‘Cause, duh, take the hint, Nate. Nothing will if the 49,894 messages sent during her flight to NYC didn’t.
Instead of doing any of the above, in a dumbass, last-ditch scheme concocted while downing several beers with whiskey chasers, I decided to double down and do the complete opposite.
It was time to move on and cure myself of the Evie addiction.
I’m gonna get me a girlfriend.
How hard could it be? Some of the biggest dickheads I knew were happily married. If I was too, I’d satisfy the itch with regular sex and maybe, just maybe, break the back of this Evie thing for good.
It had the potential to be perfect.
I took a long, slow pull from my beer and pondered. Who to pick?
There are loads of nice girls I wouldn’t mind sleeping with again, but which of them wouldn’t annoy me after five minutes? Definitely not Angel from last night. God, I would shoot myself if I had to hear her voice again. Not Kara, the hot shearer, or her blonde friend—what’s her name? Ingrid? Heidi? Whatever it was, they looked way more into each other than me in that menage a trois.
“Jesus, Nate. Are you out on the prowl again? I swear that schlong of yours will drop off in some blonde hand one day.”
I knew who it was without looking. Polly Hart. Bartender. Evie’s hotty friend. Off-limits.
“Hey, Pol.”
“Hey, you who looks like he just ate a bag of shit and returned for seconds. Did some smart woman shut you down before you could bag her for the night?” My eyes left Evie’s messages and traveled slowly over the curves of Polly’s body. She really was gorgeous. Sexy and a total firecracker. Just like my Evie. Unlike Evie, Polly was tall with jet-black hair and dark-brown eyes that pierced right through me. “My eyes are up here, Nathaniel.”
“I’m aware.” I nodded as Polly scoffed and served the old man beside me, who smelled like blue cheese. Watching me as she poured his beer, she took his fiver, threw it in the cash drawer without looking and resumed my interrogation.
“You heard from Finn, or more importantly, Evie? I swear it’s impossible to catch that woman. She’s always off chasing Iris or helping Jocelyn with something. She’s a freaking angel.”
“That she is. And yeah, I heard from her just this morning, actually. She’s good. She’d just picked up Iris from dance and was home in bed writing.”
“Aww, she’s still writing her little stories?”
Every hair on my body rose. “They are not little stories, Polly. They’re novels. You shouldn’t dismiss her work like that. She’s really talented. In fact, she has more talent in her cute little finger than anyone in this shithole and will probably be like the next J.K. whatever her name is.”Shit, did I just call her finger cute?
Polly’s raised brow and head tilt told me I did. “Calm the farm, Nate. No one is dismissing your girl—”
