Unloved: Chapter 47

My hands are sweaty—way too sweaty to lay on her thigh, though I want to, badly. To touch the exposed length of her leg in her denim skort, trace it all the way to the top of her tall, heeled boots.

I also tried to clean up nicely, changing about five times before settling on black jeans, a white T-shirt, and a dark cream wool shirt jacket. The combo makes my skin seem more golden than it is now that I’ve been without the heat of the sun for a few months, my summer tan fading off.

I’d nearly swallowed my tongue when Ro came out of Millay, the setting sun dancing off her glowing face and beaming smile.

We both stood there for a few minutes, staring brightly at one another, matching blushes and fidgeting hands.

Finally I swooped in for a quick, tight hug before ushering her into the passenger seat of my car.

Music plays softly from the speaker, her choice, of course. Nat and Alex Wolff sing “Glue” while she directs me every so often as we head closer to Boston.

“You know, I think this is the first time someone has planned a date for me,” I say, turning off the highway onto our exit. Actually, it’s one of the only dates I’ve ever been on, but I don’t divulge that.

“Is it selfish that I’m glad I’m your first?”

A laugh bursts out before I can help it and Ro blanches.

“No—I, I mean…”

“I know what you meant,” I say, leaning over at the red light to kiss her on the cheek, leaving my palm just below her knee as I straighten.

“Here?” I ask, looking a little bewildered toward the nondescript building with black painted windows and antique lamps outside where a lone bouncer sits. “You bringing me all the way out here to kill me in the freezing cold?”

She nods, and I slow to park in the extended lot near the back for an easier exit if the half-empty lot fills up a bit more.

“It’s not even snowing yet—”

My eyes scan her. “I thought you were a California girl.”

“Maybe I’m not a baby when it comes to the cold,” she says before opening her door and hopping out into the frigid night.

Chuckling under my breath, I follow her lead and wrap my arm around her against the whipping wind. “

She punches my shoulder lightly with a glint in her eyes that makes me want to do a backflip or become a full-time court jester and keep her giggling all night.

“You’ve been out of Texas for four years. You think you’d have toughened up by now.” She smiles, all proud of herself, and I swallow any retort in favor of just looking at her.

She’s so beautiful, smiling as she flashes her ID to the bouncer and waiting inside the doorway for me to follow.

It’s warm, a little hazy with smoke, and it looks like not much has changed since it opened in the 1960s—as stated on the painted signs above the bar. It’s mostly high-top tables and a few red vinyl sofas. The lights are dim, blue and green shimmering accents flaring across the black-and-white-checked floor.

There’s a singer with a guitar up on the small stage in the corner, singing a gorgeous acoustic cover of some popular radio hit. Even the dance floor is crowded, couples slowly spinning to the music.

Ro had warned me it was a “small bites” place, which meant it would cost me my entire spring grocery budget to feed myself. Looking over the short menu as we step up to the bar, I’m glad I ate before.

I order us both a drink, opting for their whiskey-themed special and grabbing Ro a fruity seltzer. We toast and smile at each other, and it’s seamless—tinged with the awkwardness of overexcitement. I can the thrill thrumming between us.

“Do you want to dance?” I ask.

She nods immediately, grinning like a loon as I down my drink and wait for her to finish hers before taking her hand, leading her to the crowd of bodies sluggishly swaying.

Ro’s head is on my chest, soft curls across my arm, as she’s left it almost all down in a swirling cascade of dark brown. The woman on stage croons, smoky and beautiful as she sings “We Don’t Have to Take Our Clothes Off” with the soothing piano and strings echoing behind her.

I want to press the words into Ro’s skin, to make sure she can hear what I’m thinking without the terror of speaking it out.

I press a kiss to her hair, then to her forehead, and watch as her plush lips slip into a smile and her eyes bat up at me.

The words almost tumble out then and there. It’s our first date, but forget the rest. I’m done, I’ve decided.

I close my eyes and contentedly breathe in the familiar scent of her clean floral and coconut perfume. Everything here with her seems perfect, like the pictures already in frames at the store of happy families—frozen, beautiful moments. I want a million of them with her.

But when I open my eyes, I see a ghost.

Carmen.

Carmen Tinley is here, in my bubble of bliss, like a haunting reminder of everything I don’t want even to Ro. I try blinking, hoping somehow it was a trick of the light, that she’ll just disappear.

But there she is—at the bar, drinking a glass of wine the same color as her painted lips and vibrant hair, looking every bit the sad, lonely woman she was the first night we were together. And just like the last time, she’s staring at me.

I tuck Ro tighter to me, almost accidentally, and she lets out a breathy sigh of contentment.

“I like this,” she whispers, and her vulnerability makes me feel a little dizzy and sick. Enough that I pull away from Ro and run my hands through my hair.

“Matt?”

Even in her confusion, her tone is nothing but soft, gentle encouragement.

“Let me, um—” I shake my head. “I’m going to grab us some more drinks. And close out.” Because as much as I need some goddamn alcohol in my system, my need to get out of here is far greater.

“Okay.” She smiles. “I’m gonna run to the bathroom.”

I watch her all the way to the hallway, while the back of my neck pricks with that same feeling of being observed. Once Ro is safely away, I turn and walk right up to the little bar and order a shot of whiskey for myself and a fruity hard seltzer for Ro.

I’m far enough away that we shouldn’t be able to touch, yet when Carmen turns in her barstool, she presses her shoulder directly into mine where I’m leaning on the bar top.

“Funny seeing you here,” Carmen says, smiling. White teeth gleam beneath red lips, eyes darkened with glittering shadow that I once reveled in.

“Keeping tabs on me?” is my curt response.

She takes a long swig of her wine and shakes her head. “Total coincidence, I swear,” she says, crossing her heart like a promise.

“I’m here with Ro,” I spit out, jaw tight, my entire body wound like a spring toy, barely holding everything down.

“I saw.”

She leans close enough that some of her bright red hair trickles over my jacket. It makes my shoulder jerk, as if she’s touched bare skin.

“How’s that going, then? She gives you the answers and you give her an orgasm?”

The accusation makes the alcohol in my system sour to poison, and I don’t really want to do the shot the bartender places in front of me. Instead, I’d like to run to the bathroom, knock on the door until Ro lets me in, and kiss her. Tell her exactly how I feel.

Carmen’s allegation toward me is one thing; I can handle it. I’m used to it. It’s the slight against Ro that makes me furious.

I finally move, tossing back the shot and shaking my head at the woman I once looked at like she was everything I’d ever wanted. Whose attention I basked in nearly constantly, whose approval I craved.

Letting the flames of whiskey lick down my throat, I shove off the bar top.

“It’s not like that and you know it.”

“Right,” she says, and shakes her head.

I start to leave, but Carmen stands, her heels clacking as she steps to me and wraps a hand around my bicep to stop me.

“I’m not trying to be cruel, Freddy,” Carmen whispers, and I pause for a moment, my back to her. The sympathetic pity in her voice makes my head swim with memories. “I worry about you. You get these fantasies in your head, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“She’s not going to hurt me,” I say, but the conviction in my voice is gone.

Carmen is smart. So is Rosalie, both bound to do big things and wanting someone steady. Someone brilliant and well bred by their side. I was a fun-time distraction to Carmen—is that what this will become with Ro? Will she grow to resent what I can’t be for her?

Tyler’s voice taunts me.

“

My dad, a mockery of my own voice.

“

I shake my head to clear the old Carmen, speaking softly to a younger, crying Freddy on the front porch while her husband watches.

“Ro is brilliant, and she has a beautiful life ahead of her. Don’t make a mockery of her. And don’t expect her to want…”

She trails off and my eyes flash.

“Don’t expect her to want more from me, yeah?” I laugh, feeling sick. “Trust me, I won’t make that mistake again.”

I say it like a promise, to her and myself.

Shaking her off, I slap down a few bills and step away, spotting Ro moving toward me with a bright smile that slowly disappears as she looks closer at me.

“Hey,” Ro whispers. “Are you okay?”

“I wanna go,” I snap, tone desperate and restless. “Can we go?”

She nods apprehensively but doesn’t ask before taking my hand. I’m shoving our way out as fast as I can because I can’t. Fucking. Breathe. Even the walk in the cold to the car does nothing to soothe me or cool my overheated skin. I’m sure my grip on her hand is too tight but my muscles won’t cooperate.

“Was that Dr. Tinley?” she asks as I spot my car.

“No.” I lie so fast I surprise myself.

She pauses a second before, “Who was it?”

“No one,” I huff, eyes wild as I turn back to her and unlock the car, whipping open the back door. “Get in here, princess. It’s freezing and I wanna warm you up.”

This I can do. This is who I am—the one thing I’m good at.