Page 41 of Van Cort
She flies backwards, tripping over until her ass is on the floor. I look at her, mock concern on my face, when I see her tear-stained cheeks.
“It doesn’t seem stuck.” She just sits there, sprawled legs and shock on her face. I go over and crouch, ready to help her up, but she crawls into me, almost desperate for me to hold her and console her.
“It wouldn’t work,” she says, as she sniffs and rubs her face on my shirt. “It wouldn’t. I tried calling and banging but it wouldn’t open and no one answered and-”
“Ssshh. It’s okay.”
I do console her for a few minutes. I let her stay in my arms, and I rub her back and hair, and I let her think I’m some fucking saviour. I enjoy it, though, because the feel of her shaking, the tears on my shirt, and the feel of her calming is all down to me. I suppose that’s more like me really, more natural.
“Are you okay now?” She nods on my chest and breaks from me, swiping her face as she gets up.
“Yes. Sorry. Silly. I get…Thank you.” She walks over to the other side of the bedroom and gets dressed quietly, probably embarrassed and stressed about her breakdown. “That was mortifying,” she confesses.
I watch her slip her heels on and shove things into her bag. “What was?”
“Hanging onto you like that. It makes me seem pathetic. Juvenile.”
I move over to her and take her face in my hands. “Are you?” She looks at me, not sure what to do with that question. “Are you pathetic, Andie? Weak?”
Her lips waver, and her eyes widen. “No.” She attempts to step back, but I hold firm.
I look over her face, running my thumb over the lush cupid’s bow of her lips. “Are you sure?”
She frowns. “Yes.” I let go and smile.
“Nothing to worry about then.”
Another few minutes of her fucking around in the room and she’s finally ready to leave. I grab both of our bags and walk us down to the lobby, where the hotel staff store our luggage so we can head to lunch.
Conversation, whilst we eat in one of the restaurants, is uninspiring, but pretending to be my brother, who was always anything but conversational with women, means there’s only so much I can do on this date. The food is palatable. I really wishAmerican Italian restaurants would learn to cook as the Italians do, though. Having said that, why would they? They’ve never been. I, on the other hand, spent four years on the outskirts of Milan and two years in Turin.
“Everett?”
“Yes, Andie.”
“I know we said this was casual, but I just wanted to let you know that I’ve had a really nice time, apart from the bathroom thing. I liked seeing you let your hair down last night.” Let my hair down? Jesus. He can’t even have a good time with her? He needs a few drinks in him.
“You must bring out the best in me.”
She giggles. It’s a nice sound. “Well, I hope so.”
“Do you?”
She looks up at me from her wine. “What? Yes, of course. As long as you keep your word-”
“My word?”
“Yes, about transparency and you actually calling me. If you do that, then yes, I’d like to think you enjoyed my company.”
I’m not sure if I do or not yet. Beautiful, yes. Interesting, unsure. Pliable, definitely.“I’m just going to make a call.”
I get up and walk a few tables away towards the entrance, dialling.
He doesn’t answer, so I call again.
Finally, he picks up.
“What do you want, West?”
