60. My Middle Name is Classy
The Psych Myself Up to Tell My New Boyfriend About Sleeping With My Ex Party was well underway. Granted, it was a little light on party guests. But I’d had quite an interesting time downing half of a pizza and three beers on my own, a meal that put me solidly in the drunk category. Not the best place to be when trying to coherently confess your soul.
I’d also turned just a teensy bit emotional. Maybe it was the hit I took off the joint that I found in one of my old purses. Or it was post-period hormones but whatever the reason, by the time Carter knocked on my door, I was half crying, half panicked.
I shouldn’t have been so freaked out. Except that Carter was the first guy I’d liked in a long time. And he wasn’t damaged or an asshole, which was a new thing for me.
I opened the door, and Carter swayed a little. Oh, wait. No. That was me. I swayed a little and my hand tightened on the door. “Are you okay?” His eyes concerned, his brow furrowed, and he stepped forward and grabbed my arms, sort of holding me up.
“I’m fine.” I giggled. I didn’t know why I giggled. I was nervous, and my stomach was in knots and a fifteen-year-old girl’s giggle came out of me. He smiled a little, and I wanted to kiss him for it.
“I take it we’re not going to dinner.” He eyed my pizza and the empty bottles, which I swore I had thrown away but nope, they were sitting right there, on my coffee table, giant pieces of evidence. And oh shit, he was right; we were supposed to go out for sushi. The pizza had been a frozen one that I had planned to heat up as just a snack. One piece, that was all I’d have, something to tide me over until dinner. The beer had started the same way. One tiny piece of pizza and one beer, just to calm my nerves and pacify my stomach. Then … my eyes drifted over the train wreck on my coffee table. I didn’t handle stress well.
There’d been a speech I’d planned. I closed my eyes and tried to remember it. Something that started with my history with Vic. It’d been a good speech. I’d practiced it twice. Carter’s hands were holding me up by my biceps, I glanced down at them and the words just blurted out, without introduction or warning.
“I slept with my ex. In Joey Plazen’s trailer. The night before he gave me the car.”
Then … with his hands still wrapped around my arms, I leaned forward and vomited.
Super. Classy.
I know.
I opened my eyes and blinked, my alarm clock coming into fuzzy focus. I rolled over carefully, stilling when I realized I wasn’t alone, Carter next to me, stretched out on top of the covers, jeans on, a couch pillow squashed underneath his head. I closed my eyes and did a self-assessment.
Foul taste in my mouth? Yep.
A little sweaty underneath the hot blankets? Oh yeah.
Knot in my stomach? Gone.
Shame of my actions? Non-existent.
Hmmm. I felt brave enough to prop up on my elbows and look around. I was pretty certain, given his full dress and … I peeked under the covers … my own jeans and top, that we didn’t have sex. Or get even close to it. I closed my eyes and tried to remember more. The memory came fuzzy through the grip of a headache.
I’d told Carter about Vic and me. Then, I’d vomited. Apologized while … crawling to the bathroom? I winced, and Carter shifted. He opened his eyes and saw me.
“Chloe.” His hand lifted, rubbing over his face. “Good morning.”
“I slept with Vic. In Joey Plazen’s trailer.” It was like my vomit from last night. It just wouldn’t stop coming out.
He smiled. “Yes. I know. You mentioned that, several times.”
“And you’re okay with it?”
He considered me for a long moment. “I wasn’t. But … you’re pretty hard to stay mad at when you’re bent over a toilet.”
I winced. “Sorry.”
“You said that a lot last night.” He met my eyes. “But you also told me it was over, with you and him.”
“It is.” My words were firm, no hesitation in my gaze. “Definitely.” The words rolled out strong and confident. And I was sure of myself, positive that I wanted it to be over. What I wasn’t as confident about was if it actually was over. It took two to tango, but it also took two to part.
“Why do you seem surprised that I’m not mad?”
“Well…” I kicked off a tangle of sheets. “It was after we hooked up. That’d bother some guys.” It definitely would have bothered Vic.
“I didn’t exactly walk away from that night expecting loyalty.” He reached for me, but I rolled away. Mainly because I was pretty sure my morning breath was horrific. But also because he was so casual about this that it was raising my own questions.
“Did you have someone like that? An ex who was still around? Or who still is?”
“You mean, like Presa?” he raised his eyebrows and I fidgeted with the edge of the sheet. “Before that show, I hadn’t seen Presa in months.”
Months? I would have preferred years. “Anyone else?” The memory of the brunette—Brit—came to mind.
“Someone who gives me exorbitant gifts and drags me into isolated places for impromptu sex?” He shook his head with a smile. “No.”
“I’m serious.” I faced him squarely, wanting a straight answer. “Do you?”
“No.” He pulled at the front of my shirt and I was forced into a kiss. “I don’t. You’re it.”
“Vic and I are over.” I said the sentence a second time, because surely that would make it true.
Something flickered in his eyes. “I think you should tell him that.” The suggestion was simple, no edge to the words, but they still cut me to the bone. I couldn’t think of anything I’d rather do less.
“No.” I stood up and headed to the bathroom, beelining for my toothbrush.
“Chloe.” There was enough command in his voice to cause me to look over. “You tell me that it’s over, but I’ve tripped over this guy since I met you. That car … you hooking up with him…” He took a deep breath. “Speaking as a man, I can tell you that we are dense. We miss subtle clues and tend to ignore things we don’t want to hear.”
I frowned. “Then he’ll just ignore everything I say.” Perfect logic.
“Talk to him.” He pushed the subject, ignoring my logic, and I looked away, giving full concentration to the application of my toothpaste in a proper manner.
“Okay?” He poked me, and I looked up with a snarl.
“Fine.” I stuck the toothbrush in my mouth with a scowl, and the conversation was over.
My stress, on the other hand, was just beginning.