eleven
Things cooled on the way home. I kept my legs crossed and his hand stayed on the gear shifter. When I told Jonathan the lady cop said we should get a room, he laughed.
“If only she knew who she was talking about,” he said. After a few seconds, he stopped at a light and turned to me. “So, what’s up with you saying you’re not sleeping with me, then pushing up against my dick on the hood of my car?”
I was a little annoyed with the question, because he brought me there and he started kissing my neck, but I also couldn’t pretend I wasn’t just as responsible for the raw heat of the scene.
“I just…” I had to pause and think. The light changed, and when he turned his head back to the road, I felt like I could talk. “I have things I’m doing. I can’t be up all night fucking because my voice gets messed up. I can’t think about a man, any man, nothing personal, when I should be writing songs. Carving out enough nights for song writing, between gigs and working, is hard enough without making time for a boyfriend. So, I mean, I had to give up something in life, and it’s men.”
He nodded and thought about it. He rubbed his chin, which had a little bit of stubble. My neck remembered it very fondly. “I get it.”
“So, I’m sorry I led you on. That was careless.”
His laugh was loud and inappropriate, considering what I’d just said, but he didn’t seem embarrassed.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“You’re taking all my best lines.”
“Didn’t mean to steal your thunder.”
“No problem. I enjoyed hearing it.”
I leaned back and watched the scenery change from the twisted forestation of Mulholland to the expanse of the 101. How did I end up in this car, at four in the morning, with a known womanizer? Yes, he was gorgeous and warm and knew all the right places and ways to touch me, but really? How stupid would I be? How many women had fallen for this crap, and I was going to be another one in line?
The wind made it hard to talk until he pulled off downtown. “What’s with you and sleeping around?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“All the women. You have a reputation.”
“Do I?” He smirked, not looking at me as he drove. “And that didn’t chase you away?”
“I trust myself. I trust my instincts and my resolve. You just make me curious is all.”
He shrugged. “What do you think your reputation is?”
“I don’t have one.”
“Of course you do. Everyone does. When people talk about Monica, what do they say, besides that she’s beautiful?”
I let the compliment slide. Coming from someone who had almost made his way into my pants, it didn’t mean much. “I guess they say I’m ambitious. I hope they say I’m talented. My friend Darren would say I’m cold.”
“Did he try to get you into bed, too?”
“Shut up.” He glanced at me and we smiled at each other. “I was with him for six and a half years, so it’s not like he had to try for a long time.”
“Was it a hard breakup?” He stopped at a light and turned his gaze to me, ready to offer me sympathy or words of wisdom.
“No. It was the easiest thing we ever did.” I couldn’t discern what he was thinking from the way he looked at me, but he got serious, draining his tone of all flirtation.
“Easy for you?”
“Both. It was dying for a long time.”
He looked out his window, rubbing his lips with two fingertips.
“You want to say something you’re not saying,” I said. “I don’t want to be your girlfriend, so being honest isn’t going to come back and bite you on the ass.”
The Stock, and my car, were a block away. He pulled up to the curb. He put the Mercedes in park but didn’t turn the key.
“You really want to know?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because you make me curious.”
He smirked. “My wife and I were married that long. It wasn’t easy.” He rubbed the steering wheel, and I realized he regretted answering even the first part of the question. It was too late for me to give up on him now, so I waited until he said, “She left and took everything with her.”
“I don’t understand. Are you broke?”
He put the car into drive and turned to me. “She didn’t take a dime. She took everything that mattered.”
I felt sorry and then I felt stupid for feeling any kind of sympathy. I wanted to hold his hand and tell him he’d get over it someday, but nothing could have been less appropriate.
“I’m kinda hungry,” I said. “There’s this food truck thing on First and Olive. In a parking lot? You can come if you want.”
“It’s four in the morning.”
“Don’t come. Your call.”
“You’re a tough customer. Anyone ever tell you that?”
I shrugged. I really was hungry, and nothing sounded better than a little Kogi kimchi right then.