The air deflates from my lungs. “Don’t go, Beau. Don’t be mad at me anymore, please.”
As he stands from his chair, the heavy weight of disappointment burrows itself into my throat, making it hard to swallow.
“I just need time…to figure this out.”
“Come over anytime. We can talk about whatever you’d like. I’ll do anything,” I plead, staring at his back as he walks away, feeling like a fool. But I don’t care. I’ll act a fool just to get him back in my life.
As the door closes without another word from him, I stand there for a while replaying everything in my head. Then, I somberly make my way back to my desk, where I continue to be completely unproductive and stare at nothing while my mind replays all of my mistakes.
Opening the top drawer, I see those light blue panties she left the day it ended. On top of them is the black remote. Both of them stare up at me as a reminder that I will never see Charlotte again. Not as long as Beau has a problem with it.
Picking up the panties, I toss them in the trash can next to my desk. Then with the remote in my hand, I imagine the way she looked when I played with her. That bright smile and gorgeous brown eyes.
“Fuck!” I bellow, tossing the remote hard against the wall and feeling instant gratification as it crashes to the floor in pieces.
Ignoring the mess I made, I grab my keys off the table by the front door. I have to get the fuck out here, and there’s only one place I want to go. I’m tired of moping and feeling lonely. Bile rises in my throat as I think about it, but I need some company tonight. Maybe, if I’m lucky enough, I can fuck away how much I miss her and recover some semblance of the man I used to be.
RULE #34: WHEN YOU’RE A MEMBER OF AN EXCLUSIVE SEX CLUB, THERE’S REALLY NO REASON TO STAY HOME ALONE ON A FRIDAY NIGHT.
Charlie
Turns out leading a group of eight-year-olds on roller skates in the cupid shuffle isn’t enough to cheer me up. I can fake a smile, and I can look the part, but on the inside, I just want to go home and crawl into my bed.
After the song is over, I skate back to the front desk, where I pass out skates and sell glow sticks. When it’s quiet, I remember the two times Emerson came to the rink—the first time to shock the hell out of me, and the second time to shock me even more. I can still see him standing here, talking to Sophie and my mom, and it only makes me miss him more.
When the front door opens, I catch a glimpse of a man walking in, silhouetted by the sun behind him, so I can’t make out who it is. The body and gait of his steps is so familiar, my heart nearly stops in my chest.
He wouldn’t come here, would he?
But then the man walks in a little farther, and I make out those sandy brown curls and slightly thinner frame. What the hell is Beau doing here?
He spots me behind the counter and gives me an awkward wave. Oh God…this is going to be awful. I haven’t exactly faced my ex-boyfriend since he found out I was screwing his dad.
As he approaches the counter, I sort of expect him to be irate and start ranting at me and calling me names, but he doesn’t.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey.”
“Sorry to bother you at work. Do you have time for a break?”
“Umm…” I stammer. Getting yelled at by my ex isn’t exactly how I’d like to spend my break.
“I’m not mad,” he says, obviously reading my mind. “I just feel like we should talk.”
“Uhh…sure.” Turning away from him, I go back to the office where Shelley is working and ask her to cover while I’m on break, which she does. I take off my skates and slip into my slides. Then, I walk with Beau out to the parking lot. It’s early May, which means it’s warm, a little windy, and not a cloud in sight.
If there was any weather suitable for this conversation…I guess this is it.
When we reach his truck, he flips down the tailgate and I climb up. We used to do this a lot between shifts at work or for lunch. It makes me feel like the old me, not Charlotte, the girl who wore stilettos and played a sexy secretary for her boss.
Beau and I sit in silence for a few minutes.
Finally, he glances my way and says with a grimace, “My dad, Charlie?”
Fuck this. I hop off the tailgate and start my march back to the front door. He calls after me before I can reach it. “I’m sorry, just come back.”
“I’m not going to spend my break getting guilt-tripped by you.”
“I’m not guilt-tripping you!” he argues. “I just want to hear your side of the story.”