Page 79 of How to Deal
A pint of ice cream and pan of brownies later, I’m on the couch, curled up next to Zane crying. “I can’t believe I let another man inside me.”
“You’re talking about your heart, right? Just so we’re clear,because there are multiple meanings behind that statement.”
Raising my head, I scowl at him, tears rolling down my cheeks. He brushes them aside, tenderly. “Yes, Z. I’m talking about my heart.”
He laughs lightly. “I’m sure this is a misunderstanding.” Pointing to my ringing phone, he gives me that look. The one that says, pick up the fucker. It’s been ringing nonstop for the last hour. All calls from Tathan probably trying to explain his lying ass.
“No. He should have told me about her.”
“Who? Selma? The chick in his apartment?”
I sit up. “You mean his fiancée?”
In a quick movement, Zane steals my phone and answers it. “You have some explaining to do, Mr.,” Zane says, though his voice is anything but serious. Tathan says something, and then Zane nods. “Yeah, she knows now. You should have warned her. She’s not happy and currently in a sugar-coma, “I hate men” tirade.”
They talk.
I glare.
Sure, I’d been avoiding the calls because, in all honesty, I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear his excuses. Having a fiancée is something that should come up in the friend zone, not thedealzone.
Zane pulls the phone away, holding his hand over the speaker. “He’s on his way home.”
“What?” I shout. “He’s shooting a wedding this week. He can’t come back tonight.”
Zane shrugs and tells Tathan, “She looks like her head’s going to explode.”
I rip the phone from his hand. “Listen, asshole. It’s one thing to lie to me, but I like you because you honor your responsibilities. Or liked you. Past tense. I hate you now. But if you cancel on that wedding, you’re an even bigger asshole than I originally thought.”
I wait, and I don’t know why I do because I’d certainly convinced myself tonight I wouldn’t listen to his lame excuse as to why he hadn’t told me about Selma.
He sighs, heavily. “Amalie.” I listen closely to his tone and imagine what he looks like. Probably sitting there, tugging at his hair, eyes tired, three, maybe four empty beers in front of him. “Fuck. . . I didn’t know she was coming back to town.”
He didn’t know? So he acknowledges she’s real? For a moment I hoped this was all some kind of sick joke. Apparently not. “Yeah, well, she did.”
“I didn’t—”
“I don’t care,” I shout, cutting him off and then press the End button, hanging up on him. “Don’t youdareanswer my phone again.”
Zane’s eyes widen, and he nods. “My bad.”
No, my bad. For believing good straight guys actually exist in life.
