Page 8 of Play Dirty

I have a pair of sweat shorts that I usually wear to the gym. They’ll do, so I slip those on.

This time when I turn around, Augustine is watching me. She smiles. “What is this place?”

“My house,” I deadpan.

“Why are you living like this?”

“I told you, I’m liquidating. So I can pay you cash for the building when you finally sell it to me. No bank is gonna give me a loan to open a sex club.”

“Why don’t you have furniture?”

“Because it’s dumb.”

She laughs. “You know, you were always a weird guy, Jordan. But this… this is a whole new level of strange. Just live at the Four Seasons.”

“Why would I pay for a hotel room at the Four Seasons when I have this?”

“Because at least you’d have the appearance of being normal. This is over the top. You do realize that, right?”

I shrug and go looking for sneakers. Find them and sit on the edge of the desk as I slip them on and tie the laces. “So where we going today?” I ask.

“Up to the river.”

“What river?”

“Poudre. We have a cabin up there now. It’s nice. Quiet. Bring a change of clothes too. We’re staying overnight.”

I feel obligated to object, but it actually sounds nice. So I don’t. Just pack up a duffel bag and say, “OK, let’s go.”

The whole drive up to the Poudre River cabin I am lost in thought. It’s not like there aren’t a million thoughts to get lost in, either. So the hour-and-a-half drive is filled with silence because Augustine, who is sitting in the back, has her earbuds in. Alexander just drives. And so I just sit there wondering what the fuck is happening.

How did they get this way? Like… what happened to them back in LA that this is who they are now? Also… wow, I feel like I dodged a bullet. Because I could be driving this car and some other man could be sitting in the passenger seat next to me while my wife ignored both of us.

I almost feel sorry for the dude.

It’s not like I ever hated Alexander. I didn’t. I was jealous, of course. Because she chose him and not me. But he’s older than us. So I guess I get why a twenty-three-year-old woman would choose a thirty-year-old man over a guy her own age. He had a career, and a house, and all that shit twenty-something women want.

I was in law school, so while it was a promising beginning he was well past that.

Choosing him was the right choice, I decide.

The cabin is just a small, two-room box made of logs. It’s quaint and it has electricity and plumbing, so that’s a plus. But this isn’t really my idea of a weekend getaway in the mountains. I was picturing, you know, a five-thousand-square-foot custom log home.

“Is that disgust I see on your face, Jordan?”

I turn away from the cabin and stare at Augustine. She’s standing in a beam of sunlight, her dark hair blowing slightly in the soft breeze. And for the first time I notice that she looks… older. Tired, maybe. Or defeated. That might be the word.

She’s still pretty though. And every now and then she’ll smile at something—it’s not usually me, or Alexander—and she’ll look young again.

“No,” I say. “I’m fine.”

“Good,” she says. And then turns, walks up to the front door, unlocks it, and disappears inside.

Alexander is getting their bags from the back of the Land Rover and the hatch closes with a soft click as he walks past me.

He still hasn’t said a word.

“What did you do?” I ask abruptly.