Chapter 28

Chapter 28

Ford

Two weeks dragged by.

I had no contact with Valentina after I left with Bella. Our only connection had been Montauk and Match, and the summer was over. Though I had taken to stalking Match.com once or twice a day—checking to see if her profile had changed to active. Logically, I understood that I hadn’t fought for her because she needed to see other people—so her profile should change to active. But it was going to slice my heart in two when it did.

In a fucked-up way, I wanted that to happen. I wanted the pain, wanted to know she’d moved on. Maybe being jealous and pissed off would make it easier for me to do just that.

Tonight I’d made plans with Logan, even though I hadn’t been in the mood to go out. He’d busted my balls about being scarce all summer until I agreed to meet for drinks. I figured one drink wouldn’t kill me. We sat at the bar bullshitting for two hours. I’d intentionally picked a place I knew wasn’t a hookup hotspot. I wasn’t in the mood to spend the night talking to a bunch of women I had no interest in.

But I guess that didn’t work out too well.

“Are these seats taken?” a tall blonde said.

I looked around the bar. There were plenty of other open seats. But Logan beat me to the answer.

He pulled out the stool next to him. “We were holding them, just waiting for the two of you to get here.”

I rolled my eyes.

The women giggled.

“I’m Gianna,” the blonde said. She had on a low-cut red shirt, and her tits were spilling out of it.

“I’m Amber.” The brunette offered me her hand.

“Logan Flint.” He lifted Gianna’s hand and brought it to his lips.

No one flirted more than Logan. He didn’t know how to turn it off. It either got him laid or got him smacked—it was fifty-fifty, odds he did pretty damn well with.

“Ford.” I nodded and shook Barbie Number One’s hand.

I might not have been in the mood for company, but there was nothing wrong with my eyesight. They were both pretty. Sexy, actually. Though, I found myself comparing them to Valentina.

Val had a natural beauty, a girl-next-door look that let you see who she was right away. Most women wore masks. I’d never understood why they put so much makeup on, especially when they were young. They painted their entire faces—eyebrows, eyelids, cheekbones, noses, lips—until their skin looked artificial. They thought it hid their flaws, but to me it hid their beauty.

Logan called the bartender over and told him to put whatever the ladies were drinking on his tab. While they were ordering, he leaned over to me. “Dibs on the blonde.”

“You can have both, buddy.”

He squinted at me like I had two heads. As fucked up as it was, it felt wrong to be talking to women in a bar.

I was single and hadn’t spoken to Valentina in two weeks, yet my heart felt like it was cheating. I had to force myself to stick around and finish my beer while making conversation. Despite my mood, the ladies turned out to be pretty nice. I’d judged them because they cared about their appearances and approached men in a bar. But Amber turned out to be an attorney, and Gianna was a teacher. I found myself asking Gianna questions about her job—what she’d thought of her first year teaching and what time she got out in the afternoons.

Basically, I was desperate to know how Valentina was enjoying her first few weeks and used this woman as a substitute.

The bar had gotten busier, and they’d turned up the music, which made it difficult to hold a conversation.

Gianna held one hand to her ear. “Would you guys want to get out of here? I only live a few blocks away, and it’s so loud.”

Logan jumped at the offer. “Absolutely.” He lifted his hand for the bartender to close out the tab. I might’ve been substituting Gianna for Val in a conversation about teaching, but there was no way I was substituting her for anything else.

I leaned in to Gianna so she could hear me. “Thank you for the offer. But I have an early day tomorrow, so I’m gonna head out.”

She pouted. “You sure? Maybe just one drink?”

“Yeah. I’m sure.” I stood and reached into my pocket to pull out my billfold. Dropping a hundred on the bar, I turned to Logan, “I’m gonna head out, buddy.”

His brows drew down. “What? Why?”

“I have a meeting first thing in the morning.”

“So? You’re the boss. Push it back to the afternoon.”

“Can’t,” I said.

Though, that wasn’t exactly true. I could push back my morning marketing meeting if I wanted to. I just didn’t want to. It was probably against bro code to duck out as Logan’s wingman, but I was confident he’d still be going home with them both.

Logan attempted to object. But I’d already said goodnight to the ladies. I slapped my buddy on the back. “Talk to you later.”

He shook his head and mumbled so only I could hear him. “You’re crazy.”

Yeah, crazy about a woman I might get to see next year.

***

I took the long way home.

It wasn’t the fastest route, but it was only about seven blocks out of my way. Logan and I had met at a bar uptown, not too far from Eve’s restaurant. If I walked two blocks north and five blocks east, I could jump on the R train, and that would let me off a block from my building. So what if I’d passed the N train five blocks ago and that dropped me just as close? I was still, technically, on my way home.

I told myself I was just going to pass by, not stop, and definitely not go inside. With that agenda, I wasn’t even sure what the hell the point was; yet I was compelled to at least walk past.

Unfortunately, even though I’d slowed to a snail’s pace a building before the restaurant, when I walked past Eve’s bistro, the only thing I’d accomplished was taking twelve more steps. No one happened to be coming in or out, and Eve was nowhere in sight. Deflated—though, not sure what I’d expected to happen—I kept walking. But by the time I made it to the corner, my mind had started to reel.

It’s Friday night. It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for Val to have dinner at her friend’s restaurant.

She might be inside.

Maybe I could just look in the window and see.

Yeah, I’ll just go back and take one quick look.

Turning around, I started back toward the restaurant.

Fuck. What am I doing?

What if Val’s in there with a date?

What if they walk out the door laughing and smiling just as I pass by?

I think I’m losing it.

I grumbled to myself, yet slowed as I arrived back at the restaurant door. When I was almost all the way to the other end of the long windows, I attempted to look casual. Stopping, I took out my phone and played with it. My back was to the window, so I turned around to look inside. Only there was too much glare, and all I could see was a reflection of myself. I let out a sigh of frustration, shoved my phone in my pocket, and turned to walk away once again.

But I only made it three steps.

“Fuck this,” I groaned. I had to know. Backing up to the window once again, I cupped my hands to peer inside, my nose pressed to the glass. I could see inside now, but there wasn’t too much going on. A few tables were filled, but the restaurant was half empty—which I suppose made sense, since it was getting pretty late. I surveyed the room, scanning each table. At one point, I saw a flash of dark, curly hair, and for half a second I got excited…though, it turned out not to be her.

My shoulders slumped. I’d been looking into the room and not directly in front of me, so a knock on the glass startled me. I finally looked at the couple sitting literally right on the other side of where my face was pressed. The guy held up his hands in the universal what the fuck are you doing gesture. Shit.

I waved an apology and took off.

Perfect. Now I’m not just watching her Match account, Instagram, and Facebook. I’m turning into a full-fledged stalker. I needed to go the hell home.

***

At least one relationship from Match.com had worked out.

A few weeks later, I sat in the conference room with my marketing team going through the first two months of results from our advertising campaign. It turned out to be the best bang for our buck we’d ever had—more successful than billboards, newspaper ads, and advertising in commercial real estate mags.

The marketing team had come up with a few new advertisements to run—four video ads—each one targeting a different demographic. So far, we’d only used static graphics. Each twenty-second video featured a different couple who’d met on Match.com and also used shared office space. Apparently, people ate up those short vignettes where the happy couple tells their bullshit love story, so the click rates are through the roof.

Though today, I fucking hated them. Screw these happy people when I have to be miserable.

The spots were shot in our offices, and the couples mentioned why they loved using our shared workspace. They seemed more like Match.com success stories than advertising, but I guessed that was the point. I was able to stomach two, anxious to be done with the happy couples projected onto the whiteboard.

The third couple came on the screen, and a woman who was probably in her mid-thirties said, “My parents are divorced. I’m divorced. Ron was the first person I met on Match.com.”

Ron piped in, smiling at her. “We hit it off, but she didn’t want a relationship.”

The camera zoomed down to the man’s knee, where the woman laid her hand. “I went out with a bunch of men because it felt like I was supposed to.” She shrugged. “But I just kept thinking about Ron.”

The dude laughed. “She was in denial, but I knew right away.”

The camera moved in close to their faces, and they looked into each other’s eyes. Then it zoomed down to her belly—her pregnant belly—and her hand, adorned with a wedding ring, rubbed her stomach. “Sometimes you just have to take a chance.”

The video then moved on to how he also took a chance and started his own business and needed impressive office space without the commitment and price tag. But I’d stopped listening.

I stood abruptly before they could even show the last video. “Good job. Run with it.”

I saw the confusion on my team’s faces as I walked toward the door. They looked at each other, silently asking what the hell was wrong with me. I just didn’t give a shit.

Later that night, my office phone rang. The caller ID said it was Logan. I didn’t feel like talking, but he’d called my cell earlier, so I figured I’d make sure everything was alright. Tossing my pen on the desk, I leaned back into my chair.

He started talking before I even said hello. “Remember the twins from Chi Omega? The gymnasts who had those juicy lips?”

I nodded. “Jenna and Justine. Jenna was a business major and Justine pre-med.”

“Whatever. I saw them in the elevator of my building today at work. Haven’t seen them in a few years.”

“How are they doing?”

“They’re fucking hotter than ever. That’s how they’re doing.”

“Are you calling to tell me you hooked up with them both? Because I really don’t want to hear the details.”

“No. I’m calling to tell you Jenna asked about you. She said she had the biggest crush on you back in college.”

“Oh yeah? That must’ve bruised your ego.”

“Not at all. I’ll take either one. I still can’t tell the difference anyway. We have plans with them Friday night.”

“We?”

“Yeah. The four of us.”

“No, thanks.”

“Dude…do you know how flexible they are?”

I still had no interest. I rubbed my eyes with one hand. “I’m not up for it.”

“They’ll get you up for it. Come on. What are you going to do? Spend the next year abstinent, only to drive out to Montauk with your hopes up on Memorial Day and have Valerie’s new, forty-year-old boyfriend answer the fucking door when you knock?”

My jaw flexed. “It’s Valentina.”

I should’ve never told him about what was going on with me, what went down this summer. But the day after I left him alone with the two women who’d tried to pick us up at the bar, he showed up at my office to ask what the hell was going on. And like a pussy, I unloaded my tale of woe on him.

But the thing was, I knew Logan—he could be relentless, and believe it or not, he was concerned about me. He just thought getting me laid was the way to make me feel better. I had no doubt that if I said no, he’d be standing in my office at some point tomorrow. I wouldn’t even put it past him to show up with the twins at my place Friday night.

“Fine.”

“Excellent.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “You won’t regret it, buddy. I’m telling you, that Janna had a twinkle in her eye when she said your name.”

“It’s Jenna.”

“Whatever. Meet us at seven at Boggs for dinner.”

***

Dinner wasn’t terrible, mostly because it felt like four old friends from college catching up, rather than a double date. Though, that was despite Logan’s constant flirting with Justine. Actually, he’d been flirting with Justine at the bar while we waited for our table. But when we were seated for dinner, he started flirting with Jenna, too. The bonehead still couldn’t tell them apart—even though I’d pointed out that one was wearing red and the other black.

After we finished eating, Logan suggested we go over to the bar across the street. I’d ditched him last time, so I went along with it, even though I would have rather gone home. At one point he and Justine went to dance, leaving Jenna and me alone to talk.

“So…are you seeing anyone?” She sipped her vodka and cranberry through a skinny red straw.

I tried to hide my flinch. “No.”

“Me either. I’ve been so busy with work that I haven’t gone out on a date in months.” She smiled and tilted her head. “What’s your excuse?”

I didn’t want to be rude, but I also didn’t want to explain anything. Luckily, the bartender came by and saved me from answering.

“Can I get you two another round?”

I looked to Jenna.

“Sure,” she said. “I’d love another.”

“Just for her, please. I’m good.”

The bartender walked away.

“You’re not joining me for another drink?” She smiled.

“I have a lot of work to do in the morning.”

“Oh. Okay.” She reached for her purse. “Can you excuse me for just a minute? I need to run to the ladies’ room.”

“Of course.” I stood and waited for her to get out of her seat.

While she was in the ladies’ room, I took out my phone and started to scroll through email. Nothing caught my attention, so I opened up Instagram.

The first photo that popped up was a picture on Eve’s account. We’d followed each other over the summer. Fuck. I shouldn’t have taken out my phone. It felt like someone kicked me in the stomach. Eve and her husband Tom were smiling wide for the camera on one side of a table, and sitting across from them, looking just as happy, was Val and some douchebag. How did I know the guy was a douchebag? Simple. He was sitting next to my girl. The picture was like a bad car accident. I knew it was stupid to look, but I couldn’t stop staring. After way too long, I managed to drop my eyes down to read the caption.

Shenanigans are overdue.

Logically, I knew I had zero right to get pissed. She’s supposed to move on, go on dates, experience life—that’s the fucking reason we weren’t together. But did it have to be so easy for her?

I looked down at her face again. Over the summer, I’d learned her smiles—the nervous one, the fake one she put on when she was trying to be polite, and the real one she’d given me so often. And that there, that was the real damn thing. I wanted to hurl my phone across the room in the worst way.

But because I’m a glutton for punishment, I instead clicked from Instagram over to Match.com. I only had to type in V and her name auto populated, probably because I’d searched it so many times. Her profile popped up on my screen, and I got the wind knocked out of me. Val’s profile status had been changed sometime over the past twenty-four hours—from Inactive to Active.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I’d left it up to fate, and it looked like fate had fucked me.

Jenna returned from the bathroom while I was still staring at my phone.

“Did you miss me?” She batted her eyelashes, and her newly glossed lips shimmered.

I should get out of here with her. If Val could move on so easily, so could I.

But…God, I was such a pussy.

I stood and dug into my pocket for cash. Tossing enough on the bar to cover three times what we drank, I looked at Jenna and held up my phone. “I’m sorry. Something’s come up. I need to run.”

“Oh no. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. No. Yeah. I just…need to call it a night. I’m really sorry. It was nice seeing you, Jenna.”

“Do you…want my number?”

I didn’t want to insult her more than I already had by not calling. “I was honest earlier when I said I wasn’t seeing anyone. But I did meet someone this summer, and I’m just not over her yet.”

Jenna smiled sadly. “Lucky girl.” She opened her purse and dug something out. Handing me a business card, she said, “If you want help getting over her, give me a call. Not many men would have admitted what you just did, and I really appreciate that. I like you. It doesn’t need to be more than it is. Call if you just want some company one night.”

I leaned in and kissed her cheek, taking the card from her hand. “Thanks, Jenna. Take care of yourself.”