“Well, I guess that’s it,” Grant smiles, standing up from the table. He wipes his mouth with the linen napkin and tosses it on his plate.
Somehow I managed to make it through dinner. Grant chatted away, talking about dirt bikes and poker, two subjects that I would have conversed with him about before we broke up. Tonight, I realize how much I really don’t care about either of them and how many hours of my life I wasted trying to become interested for his benefit. He never learned about books or yoga for me.
Every now and then he seemed to realize it was a total one-way conversation and he’d slip in a question about Brady or my schooling. My answers were half-assed because I know he didn’t really want to know. He wanted to slip back into our normal routine, of him leading the relationship and me happily playing along, but that wasn’t happening. This dinner was for information or an end to his games.
Over the course of the past few months, things have changed. I’ve changed. I’ve had to get stronger, lean on myself more. And watching the power shift between the two of us, I like it. I’m sure part of the way I feel is having something to compare it to.
“Brynne? You ready?” he asks. He’s clearly enjoying the fact that there’s no bill to pay and I realize that he’s not even going to leave a tip. My annoyance creeps up through the bliss of seeing Fenton and I clench my jaw closed. I give him the benefit of the doubt and wait a few seconds, but he makes no move to get his wallet.
Grumbling, I grab my purse and fish out a few bills and plop them on the table. I want to get this over with and get out of here as quickly as possible.
I roll my eyes and stand, hoisting my purse on my shoulder. I wait for him to lead the way. When he doesn’t, I realize just how different things are now. I really have no idea what he’s been doing for the last few months, but I know one thing—I don’t really want to know. It doesn’t matter. Our story has ended and he isn’t going to tell us anything about Zimbabwe. He’s just wanting a companion and that’s not me. This ends now. His hold on me, in any form—Brady included—ends now.
“You ready?” he asks, moving around the table.
I head towards the door, Grant shuffling behind me.
“You want to come by my house?” he asks, completely unfazed by the events of the evening. His thumbs are jammed in the pockets of his jeans and I vaguely wonder if he’ll ask me to the movies like we’re sixteen.
“No, Grant.”
“But babe . . .”
I whirl around to face him. “No, Grant. No to your house, no to babe. No to everything.”
“Don’t tell me you’re done. That’s not fair. Everything I’ve done in my life is for you!”
“You fucked the blonde from the cantina for me. You lost my brother on another continent. Thanks. I really appreciate it.” I turn away and start through the door again. “Fuck you.”
“You can’t blame Brady on me! That was Mandla’s fault! Not mine!”
I pause and glance at him over my shoulder. “It was both your faults. Even if Mandla changed your orders that day, which they deny, you had a responsibility to me, to my family, to bring Brady home.”
“I tried! I did everything I could! You have to believe me, Brynne! I love Brady as much as you do. I would never have done anything to hurt him. Things over there just . . .” His eyes dart around, to me and then flick away just as quickly. His hand racing through his hair.
Maybe Dad was right. Maybe he is on the cusp of telling us something.
“Just what?” I probe.
“You just can’t understand it till you’ve been there. There’s so much that goes on.”
“But not responsibility to someone you love as much as I do. I get it.”
“You love me. I know you do,” he coaxes.
Just like that, his demeanor has changed. He’s playing a game, whatever it might be. There will be no truths tonight. Not from him, anyway.
I push my finger into his chest, my nail digging into his shirt. “You don’t know what love is, Grant. If you loved me, you wouldn’t have lied to me. You wouldn’t have cheated on me. You wouldn’t have taken my brother to Africa and put him in harm’s way! None of that is love, Grant. It’s nothing remotely similar to what love should look like!”
“I’m sorry, Brynne.”
“I bet you are.” A crack in my fury opens and I see the vulnerable guy I remember and my anger wanes. “Look, Grant, I know I’m blaming you for the world right now. But you deserve it for what you’ve done to me.”
“I know, Brynne. And fuck if I’m not sorry.”
“But as far as Brady,” I continue, ignoring his apology, “you know Mandla blames you. You know there’s this cloud of suspicion around you—”
“That’s bullshit!” he interrupts, his eyes wide. “I had nothing to do with that, Brynne. You have to know that!”
“I hope not. But you can’t blame me for wondering.”
“Brynne, I . . .” He stumbles on his words, reaching for something to say when there isn’t anything he can say.
“Good luck, Grant. I mean that. I hope you figure your life out and end up in a good place . . . but tonight marks the end of any connection we’ve ever had. Don’t call me or lure me into meeting you. If you have something you want to say, call my Dad. I’m done.”
Turning away, I head towards the parking lot.
The walk to my car is quiet, the warm air billowing my hair behind me. I fill my lungs with air and let my heartbeat steady, relishing the sense of tranquility that’s washing over me. Not much was discovered at dinner, but one thing became crystal clear: the way I felt about Grant and the way I feel about Fenton couldn’t be any more different.
I climb in the car and back out of the space. My phone rings before I even put it in drive. I click the button on my bluetooth when I see Fenton’s name.
My plan was to play it cool, make him wait before caving to him. To his benefit, my body is still on a high from being around him, so I give in immediately. It’s not a fight I’m fit to win.
“Hey,” I say, my voice swollen with a smile.
“Are you okay?” His smooth tone wraps me up and makes me feel like he’s right beside me. Like he’s pulling me into one of his tight hugs.
“I’m fine.”
“I’m really asking, rudo. Are you really okay?”
The smile breaks across my face at his insistence and his compassion. “Yes. I’m really okay, Fent.”
His sigh streams through the phone and the touch of frustration is not lost on me. “Are you alone?”
I pull out of the parking lot of Pano and onto the road leading to the freeway.
“You mean you aren’t following me?” I only half tease. It wouldn’t surprise me. And it wouldn’t anger me either. The thought of seeing him, just the two of us, makes me want to dance in the seat of the car.
“You didn’t answer my question.” Fenton’s voice comes out in a strained breath. “Are. You. Fucking. Alone?”
“Yes, I’m alone,” I mock him. “But just for giggles, what would you do if I weren’t? What would you do if I said that I was with Grant and his fingers were dipping insi—”
“Brynne . . .”
“What if I told you his lips were—”
“I’m trying to be calm,” he interrupts, making me giggle, “But you’re pushing the fucking limits of my self-restraint.”
“Ah, poor you.”
He snorts. “It’s going to be poor you if you keep it up.”
“I might like it.”
He growls, the sound lighting me up from every which way. “Turn around and come back here.”
“I need to get home.”
“Just give me a few minutes.”
I laugh. “It’s never just a few minutes with you.”
He chuckles, the smoothness warming me. “No, it’s not and it won’t be. I’m not that kind of guy.”
“Thankfully.”
“So turn the car around and come for me.”
“I can go home and come, Fent.” I grin as I steer down the exit towards my house. Just knowing I’m turning him on, listening to him get worked up is better foreplay than I’ve ever had with anyone else. Having an effect on a man of this caliber is exhilarating.
I wait for him to respond and he doesn’t. He sits on the other end of the phone, completely still, not uttering a word.
“You still there?” I ask.
“I’m trying to decide how to handle you.”
I burst into a fit of laughter.
“This isn’t funny, Brynne.”
“Oh, no, it really is.”
He seems to struggle with his words, starting to speak and then stopping a few times in a row. My laughter ceases and a dubious feeling takes its place.
“In all seriousness, can I see you tonight?”
The way the words hit me makes me lose my breath. He’s not being playful, not teasing me with sexual innuendo. I’m not sure how to read what he’s saying, but there’s some overriding quality that makes me still.
“I have to work in the morning,” I reply, my voice wobbly.
“I’ll triple it.”
I can’t help but smile. “We’ve been here before. You can’t buy your way all the time.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” His words are so low, I can barely make them out.
A heaviness sits on my chest, an odd sense of trepidation taking over. There’s something in his tone that makes me curious, but also one that wants me to keep my distance.
“I can send someone to pick you up if you’re almost home by now,” he offers as I pull into my house.
“I, um, I really can’t tonight, Fenton.” I flip off the ignition and inside the car. “I have a few questions for you before we see each other again.”
He sighs, but doesn’t miss a beat. “Shoot.”
A million things flutter through my mind, a host of questions and clarifications I need. I don’t even know where to start.
Presley’s Mercedes pulls in beside me and she jumps out and waggles two bottles of wine in the air.
“Now’s not a good time. I need a few minutes to get my head together. It’s been a crazy night.”
“All right,” he sighs. “Can I see you tomorrow?”
“I thought you had work to do and you couldn’t see me?”
“I do have work to do and, honestly, I probably have no business seeing you. But what can I say?”
I grin. “Ah, Fent, did you fall in love with me?”
“No, but I’ll pretend to love you if you’ll come over tonight.”
Laughter rolls off my tongue and I open my car door. Presley is standing there waiting for me. “I really can’t tonight. I have a date.”
“It better be with Presley.”
“I—”
“I’m warning you,” he growls, “If you fuck with me again and pretend you’re with someone besides Presley, I’ll be at your door in ten minutes.”
“It’s with Presley,” I reply sweetly. “Now I gotta go.”
“Talk to you soon.”
“Bye.”