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“What’s gotten into you tonight? Do you smell like smoke?” She leans in closer.
I offer a half-lie. “Cigar at the bar.”
“You’d better not be smoking again.” She eyes me. Doesn’t believe me. Leaning in further, she’s ready to interrogate me like a detective from one of her true crime shows. Her soft eyes study my face. “God, she’s really gotten to you, hasn’t she?”
“Who?” I take a bored drag from my drink, pretending I don’t know the gorgeous angel she speaks of.
The angel I just saw wearing a white wedding gown.
“Shut up. God. You always turn into a statue when it comes to soft things like feelings. You liked her. A lot. You two got along. You actually smiled, laughed when you were with her. What happened?”
“I broke it off.”
“I know. But why?”
I pinch the stem of my glass, swirling the wine along the globe, watching red legs trail down. “None of your business.”
Who is she marrying and how soon can I have him beat up?
“Rock. Look at me.”
I glance up.
“She wasn’t one of your charity cases. I was wrong. I could see that the first time I saw you two together. Hell—I fell in love with her the first time she came into the office asking if we were hiring. Her stuffy little librarian get-up, that innocent smile. She’s sweet. Hell, even I get a toothache looking at her, and I like men. Even if they never like me back,” she jokes.
“Their loss,” I say. “I mean it.”
“Thanks.” She keeps going. “But come on. Cheer up or get her back.”
“Cheer up or get her back? It’s not that simple. You don’t even know why we broke—why I broke up with her.”
She presses her palms flat against the top of the table as if to keep from smacking some sense into me. “Well, I would if you told me. Try me.”
I don’t say anything, instead opting to busy my mouth with a leftover stuffed mushroom off her plate, popping it in my mouth. It’s good, garlicy and buttery and a bit spicy. I grab another.
“Can’t talk,” I say between bites. “Chewing.”
My angel is getting married. And it’s not to me. I let her go.
The very best thing in my life, the best thing that ever happened to me, and I let her go.
Clinging to the stem of her wineglass now, probably to keep from choking me, Claudia huffs, “Could you be more obnoxious? Fine. I’ll guess why you two broke up.”
“Don’t, Claudia. Please.”
But she continues her investigation. “It couldn’t have been the sex. The two of you walk by and anyone can feel the heat coming off you like oversexed rabbits. You were obviously attracted to one another.”
Her comment sends a searing pain through my gut, remembering firsthand that passion. “The second mushroom was a mistake,” I say.
But I know the discomfort is not from butter but from the big sister truth bomb she just lit.
“Rock.” Her voice is soft now, all signs of frustration gone. “Please. Tell me what happened. You need to talk about this. I’m worried about you.”
She gives me time, quiet space to answer. Finally, I say, “We were attracted to one another. The sex was incredible. I’m obsessed with her.”
“And?”
“And… it’s not just that. I smile when she walks into a room, get sad when she walks out. She’s the first thing I think of when I wake up. The last person I see in my mind’s eye when I go to bed at night.”
