“How have you been?”
“Good. Work is work. Life is fine.” She paused, dropping her fingertips to rest on my knee under the bar. She only used this smoky, sexy voice when she wanted something. “Have you given more thought to merging the companies?”
“We’re looking into it,” I said, taking a swig from my beer.
“And . . . us?” She looked up through mascara-coated eyelashes, her eyebrows in sharp arches. Her hand slid further up my thigh, and a heavy breath escaped my lips. This interaction made me feel like the slimy guy I always promised myself I wouldn’t be.
“Still under consideration,” I said, keeping my tone neutral.
She straightened her back and sipped her drink. “You know we go well together.”
“We used to.”
“We could again. Look.” She held up her phone and leaned into me, enabling selfie mode. Before, it had always been me trying to get her to be in a photo and not the other way around. The memory struck me as she clicked the button and our image froze on the screen—the moment looked false. My expression was almost wistful, and Kelsey grinned. “We still fit together. I miss being with you, Wes. No one ever got me like you did. Plus, working together, we could move mountains.”
I searched her face for some small crack in her demeanor, but she said I miss you the same way she’d ordered the drink. Matter-of-factly. “We’re different people now.”
“We’re better,” she said, dropping her phone into her purse. “Not scraping by or doing jobs we hate, not at the mercy of our families.”
I nodded without comment.
“We were always good in bed.” She returned her hand to my arm. “Let’s start there.” It wasn’t a question; it never was with Kelsey. It was always a statement. She slid her fingers over my jaw. Britta had commented in passing that she liked seeing a five-o’clock shadow on men, and I’d forgone shaving quite so regularly. “This is a new look; I like it.”
I finished my drink, eyes flicking to my phone sitting on the bar.
“You don’t want to talk. That’s fine.” Her hand fell and she finished her drink. “Want to get out of here?”
I touched her lower back to guide her through the crowd as we walked to the exit. I’d done it hundreds of times, but everything about the intimate gesture felt wrong.
* * *
BY THE TIME we stepped into her apartment, the inkling that this was a bad decision was a steady stream of foreboding.
“Wine?” she asked, without stepping into the kitchen.
I shook my head.
“Me, either.” She stepped forward, sliding her hands up my forearms and over my biceps. The rush I expected didn’t come. Her body against mine was all sharp angles. Everything about it was too sterile, too laced with history. Too not Britta.
Her lips neared mine, but I rested my hands on hers. “Kels, wait. Stop.” I pried her hands away and returned them to her side. “I’m not feeling it.”
“What do you mean, you’re not feeling it?”
“It’s not working for me.” I would have thought she’d noticed I wasn’t into it. “Is it for you?”
“If your dick still works, I’m guessing you’ll feel just fine.” The breathy voice was gone, and a hundred iterations of that demanding, demeaning tone flashed through my mind, only this time I didn’t try to explain it away. Kelsey always lashed out when she felt dismissed, but it didn’t mean I needed to take it.
I stepped around her, heading for the door. “I’m going.”
“Wait. I’m sorry. That was out of line. I’m just . . . worked up, and you know I don’t like talking about feelings. We can slow down.”
“No, Kels. This is not going to happen.”
“Is there someone else?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “What gives?”
I didn’t owe her anything, and I could have lied, but I didn’t want to deny what I was feeling anymore. “Yes. There’s someone else.”
Kelsey looked like I had slapped her, and I regretted my honesty immediately. She acted hard, but life had taught her to be that way, and for the first time, I wondered if this getting-back-together idea was genuine and not just her playing some game. The flash of vulnerability on her face, the hurt, was only there for a moment, though. “Who?”
I ran my hand over the back of my neck. “Does it matter?”
“Unbelievable. Why did you ask me out if there’s someone else?” She rested her hands on her hips. “Next thing you know you’re going to tell me it’s someone cliché like your secretary, or maybe someone your mom brought home, or even the fat girl from the park.”