I want to believe his words, but one important detail is standing in my way. "How can you say that, Ian?” My next words are whispered because the last thing I need is to inform the entire campus of my former relationship with Chaz Ashman, economics professor and giant asshole. “I slept with a married man. Repeatedly. I stayed in his house. I daydreamed about taking his last name someday. I cared for his kids. I—"
"You were fooled by a pathological liar, Mel. Everything he said was plausible. Every lie he told had a kernel of truth."
I shake my head. Ian's right, but he's also wrong. Did Chaz lie about being divorced? Yes. Repeatedly. Convincingly. But did I look close enough? Was I careful? No. I was quick to believe his lies because I wanted to. I wanted to be loved the way he said he loved me. I wanted to be cherished and adored. And Chaz? Christ, he played me perfectly. Told me how immature all the guys my age are. Said none of my relationships ever stuck because every guy I dated was intimidated by me. He praised and flattered me. Told me I was wise beyond my years, when really, I was fucking dumb. But his words unlocked a part of me I never thought I'd give anyone. I trusted him. I believed him when he said I needed a man in my life. A man, not a child. A man, not an overgrown teenager.
His pretty lies were exactly what I'd been craving, so when he told me he still wore his wedding band because the boys were struggling with the divorce, I bought it. I mean, why would he lie? And who was I to rip apart the world of the sweet little boys I babysat?
But he wasn't divorced.
He wasn't even separated.
His wife travels a lot.
And he lies a lot.
And cheats.
The day I found out—when I caught them in bed together—in the very bed I'd left that morning, Chaz assured me they both had cheated on each other. He insisted there was nothing left of their marriage—no trust, no love.
That was hard to believe considering I'd walked into the bedroom with a basket full of folded laundry only to find her riding Chaz's dick, reverse-cowgirl style.
His wife told me to put the laundry in the closet, but I could see in her eyes that she knew. She understood my shocked expression. She'd seen it before, no doubt. She regarded me with pity for a second before sinking back down on that lying bastard's cock and telling him to fuck her harder.
“Life will be better in less than six months, when I’m out in the big, bad world and away from this place,” I tell him before taking a sip of my too-cold, too-sweet drink. I’m graduating in December and moving on from Bainbridge.
“I know you’re excited for the future, but you’ve gotta admit you’ll miss good ole Bainbridge just a little, right?”
I sigh, looking around Wolfie’s. “Ok, you’re right. I will miss Bainbridge, but I’m ready to move on, you know? Ready to see what life has in store for me.”
“I get that,” Ian says, nodding. “And I’m excited for you. And I’m really hoping you find a job in D.C. and an apartment right next to mine.”
I smile. “That’s the dream. I’ll be sending out resumes and setting up interviews before too long. But I’m also looking into Philly. There are some great firms there, too. So, if I find a great job there, do you promise to visit me in the city of love?”
Ian laughs. “It’s the city of brotherly love, Mel.”
“Oh. Well, that’s fine. Love’s not for me, anyway, Ian. It’s a fact I’d rather face sooner than later. Just look at my parents. It’s no wonder the concept of love is foreign to me.”
“The hell it is. You love me. And Booker. And Phoebe and Ty. And Josie. Your heart is so full of love, Mel. You are one of the kindest, most compassionate people I know.”
“I’m a sassy bitch, Ian.”
“It’s one of the many reasons we love you,” he tells me, stealing a stinky artichoke from my basket.
“Wait, who do you love? Besides me, obviously.” Booker asks, joining us and sliding into the booth next to Ian. He plants a kiss on his boyfriend’s cheek, and I feel a pang in my chest, right where my heart would be if it weren’t a shriveled lump of coal. I study the two of them for a second. They’re a beautiful couple, no doubt. Booker’s a blond-haired, blue-eyed athlete while Ian’s several inches shorter and a bit leaner. Ian’s narrow face is framed in thick glasses, and his hair is more strawberry than blond. He’s all cardigans and loafers to Booker’s sweats and hoodies, but they fit together perfectly. Looking at them is looking at proof that love exists. I don’t deny it. I just don’t think I’m cut out for it.
“We love Mel,” Ian says plainly, and Booker nods.
“Of course, we do. Hey, are those artichokes? I heard they do them in an air fryer. Can I try one?”
I slide the offending basket across the table as my new food arrives. “Knock yourself out.”
We eat as Booker fills us in on the freshmen who’ve just joined Bainbridge’s hockey team. As this year’s captain, he knows all the good stories, even though the year hasn’t officially started. Most of the usual suspects are back for the season, with the notable exception of Neil Kozlow, who opted to play for the AHL instead of finishing his senior year at Bainbridge.
“So, it’s gonna be a good season?” I ask, nabbing the last mozzarella stick.
“Yeah, I think so. If everybody stays healthy, I’d say this is our year. Norris dominated the net last year, and Ollie and Santos are killer defensemen. Plus, if the new guys are even half as good on ice as they are on paper, it’s gonna be a hell of a year.”
“Good,” I say, smiling. “I mean, you know I love you, Book, but I’m not gonna freeze my ass off in that arena just to see your pretty face.”
