Yet neither of us breaks eye contact.
Emboldened by the alcohol and his unexpected authenticity, I say, “So you do find me attractive.”
His glare is deadly. “Out of curiosity, are you this way all the time?”
Enjoying how he’s throwing my words back at me, I smile again. “Which way?”
“Aggressively aggravating.”
“Depends on who you ask.”
“What did your ex have to say on the matter?”
A pang of heartache tightens my chest. I moisten my lips and look away. “I never aggravated him. I was too busy accommodating all his needs.”
He studies my profile. I know he wants to ask more, but he doesn’t. But his silence is active. He’s paying very close attention to me, to my expression and body language. After being with a self-obsessed narcissist for so long, this kind of engrossment feels decadent.
Chet always made me feel like a thirsty little house plant who’d been left to bake in the desert sun.
Looking out over the elegant room, I say quietly, “It’s funny. I know I’m an intelligent person, but when it came to my ex, I threw my brain out the window. I saw all the red flags. There were so many, he might as well have been a circus.”
“But he was just so charming.”
I return my focus to Cole, who’s nodding.
“Yes. How did you know?”
“Narcissists are always charming.”
“Wow.”
“What?”
“I was literally just thinking that he was a narcissist.”
“The only kind of man who would leave a woman like you has a personality disorder.”
When I look into his eyes, what I find is a reflection of myself, all ache and want and loneliness.
I’m not sure I like him. But I do trust him. Courtesy of my ex, I know all the ways a liar can hide. This man isn’t hiding anything.
He doesn’t seem capable of it.
Which is maybe why he sits alone in a crowded room, glaring at the rest of humanity, and looks at me as if he’d like to make me his supper but would rather let himself go hungry than eat.
I say, “I changed my mind.”
“About what?”
“About wanting to be here. I’m glad I came over. Thank you for letting me stay.”
“You’re not welcome.”
Another smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. I’ve probably smiled more since I sat down with him than I have in the past three months. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re strange?”
He shrugs. “Only everybody.”
“It doesn’t bother you?”
“You ever watch one of those documentaries on serial killers? Ted Bundy, Jeffrey Dahmer, those kind of guys?”
“Yes. Why?”
“The first thing the neighbors always say when they find out they’ve been living next to a guy who chops people up and eats them is, ‘He seemed so normal.’”
“So you’re telling me you’re not going to dismember me for your weekend barbeque?”
“I’m telling you that the more normal someone seems, the more skeletons they’ve got buried in their backyard. Which you already know.”
“How so?”
“I’d bet my house your clown of an ex seemed like the most well-adjusted man you’d ever met…at first. Then eventually the mask fell off, and you saw the monster underneath.”
It’s like he read a script of my entire relationship with Chet. The accuracy of all his assumptions is unnerving. But only because it makes me feel so naked. So seen.
A feeling I haven’t enjoyed in a very long time.
“Yes. But he never regarded himself like that. It takes a man with a good heart to recognize when he’s the monster in someone else’s story. The courage it takes to break his own heart to save another’s proves he’s not really a monster. He’s a hero. He just wants to think of himself as the bad guy so he never gets hurt again.”
The silence stretches until it’s taut and thrumming. Now we’re not even trying to pretend the eye contact is anything but sexually charged.
When the waiter arrives at our tableside and asks if we need something, we both say “Yes” at the same time without looking away from each other.
Many months later, after both our hearts are battered and bloodied, after all our tears have been shed and we’re strangers once again, I’ll look back on this moment and realize I was already lost.
Cole
She’s beautiful, this woman with green eyes, a razor wit, and a weakness for men who need therapy. Beautiful, smart, and observant, which makes her the kind of dangerous I should be walking away from right the fuck now.