“You slept together.” He didn’t sound surprised. Why should he be? It was obvious where it was going with us, wasn’t it? Hadn’t it been growing for a while?
“Yes. But . . .” I sighed. “It was more than that. We . . . dammit, I’m freaking in love with her.”
“Congratulations.” His words were mild and so was his expression, but his eyes were filled with glee. Glee at the gossip he was going to have. Bastard. He was just holding his breath until he could go to his wife and tell her.
I swore again. “Don’t congratulate me. She’s pretending like nothing happened at all. When she’s not avoiding me. It’s driving me nuts. I just want to talk to her.”
“Just talk to her?”
“No, that’s not all, but it’s a start.”
“Maybe she doesn't feel the same way you feel. Did you ever think of that?”
“Yes. I’ve thought of that. I’ve gone over it in my head again and again, and I know she wants me to think it wasn’t anything but a fling for her, but I was there. I know her. I know her better than she likes to accept. And I know she felt it too. I know she’s falling for me too. I can’t just let her go, Duke. Love is too rare, too precious to just toss aside because you’re afraid or too damn stubborn to admit that you want it too.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want love at all? She is a pretty independent woman. She’s never needed a man to be complete.”
I sat back. Was that true? Did she want to be alone? Did she just want flings, just want to have hot sex and then not want anything more? “No. That can’t be it. She believes in love. She believes her friends can have love. She . . . felt something for me. She . . . we . . .” I realized that I couldn’t know. She’d been open with me, but only to a certain extent. What if I was wrong? What if she wasn’t pretending that it meant nothing, but it really was just a fling on vacation? Maybe it really did mean nothing to her. I stood. Searching for something. Some answers. I had none. “What we had was real. What we have is real. Dammit. I care for her. She knows that. And I know she cares for me.”
Duke grunted. “Maybe you should find a reason to get fake married to her.”
I snorted. “That’s ridiculous. Why would I do that?”
“I dunno; it worked for me. My wife fake married me, and then she finally admitted she loved me. And now we’re blissfully happy and have a dog together.”
“Yes, well . . . I’m not as ridiculous as you.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but did you or did you not ask her to be your fake girlfriend on your business trip?”
“Shut up.” I glared at him and tossed the last of the drink back. I was finally feeling the buzz. “I don’t need to fake marry her. I need to talk to her.”
“Ah, yes. That does seem more reasonable. Why didn’t I think of that?” He cleared my glass and wiped down the bar underneath it like he was trying to get rid of me. “I seem to recall that Mona is at home right now, and her roommates won’t be coming home tonight.”
“Her roommates?” I chuckled. Duke and Lissie were her roommates. “You mean you’ll take your wife to your little love nest above the bar?” The love nest was his apartment. They hadn’t gotten rid of it yet, even though Lissie owned a whole building because they liked to have quickies during the day. He thought I didn’t know.
“That is what I mean. Good luck.” He turned his back on me.
He was a good friend. I nodded and left, sweeping out of the bar and down the street without another word.
Before I got there, I stopped. Like a memory, there on the street in front of her building was that terrible, ugly, green Prius. I had to laugh. That horrible, slow, reliable, little car I’d driven all the way to the Adirondacks and back in. With her. It wasn’t when it had all started, but it was when something between us had changed. I couldn’t let her go.
I clanged up the iron front stairs of her building, not quietly. All the women in the yoga studio saw me and waved frantically. I waved back but had no time for them. I buzzed her apartment. She did not answer. Then, I buzzed again. And again. And quite a few more times. She had better not ignore me. I was done with being ignored. We were going to sort this out.
Finally she answered.
“What is it? Stop buzzing!” Her voice was annoyed and tinny.
“I need to talk to you.” I paused. “It’s Jack.”
“I know who it is,” she snapped. The door stayed closed for long seconds until, finally, she released the lock. She’d had to think about it. She’d thought about not letting me in. Well, no more stalling, we were having this out. I went up the stairs two at a time. Her door was open, so I walked in.
Mona was sitting on the couch, sipping a cup of tea, reading a book, and pretending like she hadn’t just been standing at the buzzer deciding whether or not she wanted to pretend I didn’t exist. “Oh hello, Jack. How are you? Did you want a cup of yerba mate? It’s very good for you. Fills up the holes in your aura.”
All I could do was stare at her. “Really? You offer me yerba mate, like some sort of hippie freak?” I took off my jacket and threw it on the chair by the door.
She put the teacup down with a clink, and turned to me, slowly. She narrowed her eyes with a deadly glare and crossed her arms over her chest. “Excuse me, jackass? Did you just come in here and call me a freak?” She stood, affronted, and I looked her up and down, from her bare feet to her worn and holey jeans to her soft, old tshirt. She had her hair tied up in a pineapple on the top of her head, and every last thing about her was wonderful.
I smiled with delicious glee. “If the Birkenstock fits . . .”
“You pompous jackass.” She took an angry step towards me. “You can’t just storm into my apartment and start calling me names as if you own the place or something. Who do you think you are? Why did I even let you up?”
“Better question: why the hell have you been avoiding me all week?”
“My life doesn’t revolve around you. I swear, Jack. I know you’re a gorgeous award winning photographer and billionaire but you are not the center of my life.” Her nostrils flared and she ground her teeth together.
“I didn’t think I was, but you know that’s not why I’m asking. Why are you acting like I don’t exist. I called. I texted. I stopped by your yoga studio, and your employees said you’d taken time off.”
“I am not at your beck and call, Jack Hamilton. You can just drop your billionaire entitlement. You don’t own me.”
I took a step back. “Is that what this is? Do you think I think I am trying to assert some sort of claim on you?” I thought we had gotten over this, but apparently we hadn’t. “I don’t. I just . . . miss you.”
She turned her back on me and began gathering up her teacup and pot. “My tea is cold.” She walked off into the kitchen, leaving me there fuming.
This woman was impossible. I followed her. She was rinsing out her cup as if nothing was happening.
“Mona. Answer me.”
“Hmm?” she didn’t look at me. “If you don’t like yerba mate I have a great chamomile blend. You seem kind of high strung. It’s calming.” I could imagine her condescending smirk, although she kept her face turned away. Her back was upright and her shoulders tight. I thought she might turn around and take a swing at me.