Darker Water (10 page)

I took a deep breath before heading in. It
was the first time I’d been near a bar since that night I hated
thinking about. Fortunately, the chance of someone throwing a punch
while wearing Armani and looking at recycled hippie art was
slim.

On second thought…

That chance skyrocketed when I saw my wicked
stepsister on the arm of a guy I’d never seen before. Anna looked
great, like always. No one could ever say she lacked fashion sense
or didn’t know how to spend someone else’s money. She also looked
bored as hell. Not a good sign, considering the evening was only
starting, but Anna didn’t excite easily. When our eyes met, hers
opened wider but she made no move to come over or call me to the
group she was standing with. I gave her a little nod before heading
inside.

I was one-hundred percent okay pretending we
didn’t know each other. I’d be one-hundred percent okay with doing
it one-hundred percent of the time, too. The only thing that stuck
in my throat was who she was with. Was that the new boyfriend she
mentioned and, if so, how much of an asshole was he?

Fuck it, I was here for someone else. If Anna
wanted to screw her life up, there wasn’t anything I could do about
it. Lane stood next to the bar with Eric and Hillary, her back to
me. The closer I got, the wider Hillary’s eyes became. At least I
assumed it was Hillary. She looked a little familiar, but the only
Hillary I’d ever met gave me a damn good blowjob after a—

Oh shit.

That was only a couple months ago, definitely
less than Lane said her roommate and Eric had been dating. Unless I
was getting my blowjobs mixed up. Well, this should be fun. I’d
have to try not to laugh too loudly.

She whispered something into Eric’s ear and
he nodded. Obviously it was about me, but since her boyfriend’s
forehead barely wrinkled, it probably wasn’t a confession. Another
thing I didn’t care about. Too bad for Eric, but not my
problem.

I held my finger to my lips until I was right
behind Lane. “Hi, honey. Sorry I’m late.”

She spun around and stopped. Her drink kept
moving—most of it landing on my jacket. She attacked it with a
cocktail napkin apologizing and mumbling obscenities under her
breath about what I’d said.

“Quit grumbling. I’m only about ten minutes
late.” I stopped her and took off my jacket, handing it to the
bartender to toss in back somewhere.

“That’s not what I’m grumbling about.”

After setting her empty glass down, she
turned to her friends. “This very cruel man who I am not dating and
who is about to promise never to call me ‘honey’ again is
Carson.”

“I promise to never call you or anyone else
‘honey’ ever again, muffin.” When I caught Hillary’s eye, she
stepped back, her lips tight. And while I couldn’t give a shit if
Hillary could take a joke or not, Lane did. “Alright, fine. I won’t
call her or anyone else muffin again either. Oh, and we’re not
dating.”

“Or sleeping together,” Lane added
quickly.

I turned towards her and mouthed, “Yet.”

“Laney, help me find the bathroom,” Hillary
said, looking at me.

“I’ll be right back.” Lane let herself be
dragged off, shrugging her shoulders. As soon as she turned,
Hillary bent in close and started whispering.

“Do you think women really think they’re
fooling us when they do that?” I asked. “Why don’t they just say,
‘We’re going to go talk shit about you’?”

“Not sure. But then again, how often have you
said, ‘I’m gonna be over here with my friend talking about your
ass,’ to a woman?”

“Point. You think they’re talking about me or
you?”

Eric chuckled. “Hillary and I have been
together a long time—the whispered conversations stop long before
the two-year mark. So it’s definitely about you.”

“Two years.” Minus the night my cock was in
her mouth. I could’ve been wrong about the timing, though. Or the
mouth. “Think they’re talking about my ass?”

“Maybe.”

“Lane was really worried Hillary might get
the wrong idea about us. Know what that’s about?”

“Hillary wants her to be happy and to find a
guy who isn’t like any of the assholes she’s dated before. They
call them frogs.”

“Yeah. Well, you can let Hillary know that
her dream has become a reality. I’m definitely not like any of the
assholes she’s dated. I’m a totally different kind of asshole. But
dating isn’t on the table.” And at this point, neither was sex.

Suddenly Lane was heading towards us,
stomping really, her jaw tight and her eyes wary. Hillary was right
behind her, with the same expression.

“I don’t think they were talking about your
ass, man,” Eric said.

“You”—Lane pointed at me—“come with me.”

“Do you need help finding the bathroom?” I
went with her because my only other option was to stand around with
Eric and his grumpy, cheating girlfriend. “What’s up?”

She didn’t say anything until we were in the
lobby. “You didn’t recognize Hillary at all, did you?”

“She looked familiar.”

“You slept with her.”

“Did she actually say that? Because I don’t
think we had sex. I could be wrong, though.”

She threw up her hands. “What does that even
mean? How do you remember someone but not know if you had sex with
them?”

“Come on, how am I supposed to remember
someone I slept with two years ago?”

“It wasn’t two years ago. It was four months
ago. She and Eric broke up for a few weeks.”

Okay, so my timing was right. But I still
didn’t remember the sex. “I’m not sure how to take that. One night
with me and she gets back together with her boyfriend. Does that
mean I was so good or so bad?”

“She said you were amazing. Right up until
you said goodbye and left. Well, she actually told me you said,
‘Sayonara, baby,’ and then slammed the door on your way out, but
I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt considering how
pissed off she is right now. You don’t really say ‘Sayonara, baby,’
do you?”

I shook my head. “I don’t slam doors either,
especially after I come. I’m usually pretty happy at that
point.”

“I was there, you know.” She spoke so
quietly, it took my brain a second to figure out what she’d said.
“In the apartment. I didn’t see you, but I—” She looked away. “I
heard you guys, like, you know…during...”

“Well, isn’t that awkward?”

“And she talked about you the next day. The
whole fucking day. She didn’t stop once.”

I almost made a joke, but we’d already talked
about this a hundred times more than I wanted to. And Lane didn’t
look ready to laugh.

“Hillary told me no one had ever made her
feel as special as you did. I think she used the word: worshipped.
Please tell me how it’s possible to
worship
someone and then
not remember her.”

I blew out a breath. “I remember her mouth.
She has a very nice mouth.”

Lane’s lips slammed together.

“And her face looked familiar.” I shrugged.
“What do you want from me here? We fucked, that’s it. If that made
her feel special, or whatever word she wants to use, then maybe she
needs to reevaluate her sex life, because while what I remember was
good, there was nothing overly special about it.”

She stared at me as if I’d done something
wrong.

“Jesus, Lane, it probably won’t be the last
time we’ll be in a room with someone I’ve screwed around with. And
chances are I won’t remember some of them, either. So what do you
want me to do about that? Should I go?”

“No,” she said quietly. “I just don’t want
things to be horribly awkward between my best friend and—”

“The guy you’re not dating. Got it. I’ll try
not to piss her off more. Although, in all fairness, she has no
reason to be mad at me. I’m always clear about what I want.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“And also to be clear: yes, I remember
somebody being on their knees, but it wasn’t me and it wasn’t to
propose.”

She groaned. “Please don’t say anything like
that around her. Or me, actually. I don’t need that visual.”

“Does Eric know?”

She shook her head. “She’s going to tell him,
but not now.”

“Great. I’m tired of talking. Show me some
fucking art.” We walked through the gallery and I tried to keep my
mouth shut. Art should be either beautiful or
deliberately
ugly. Most of these looked like something
I
’d make in one of
my Getting Handy classes.

“I’m pretty sure this one is made from the
recycled hairballs of feral cats,” I said. “It’s...” Fuck it. This
shit was scarring my retinas. “Can we leave now?”

“If you want to leave, then leave.”

“If I wanted to leave, I’d be across town by
now. But I want to leave with
you
.”

“I can’t yet. I need to network, start a
conversation with someone from the gallery or someone else
important.”

“Then why are we looking at the crappy art?
You want to meet someone important, you go to the middle of the
room or you go to the bar. No one from the gallery will be looking
at the art—they’ll be looking at the
people
looking at the
art.”

“I hate it when you make sense.” She turned
around and scanned the room. “Do you think the guy in the red
jacket is the gallery owner?”

“No way. He’s sweating and keeps glancing at
that wreck of a— I don’t even know what the fuck that is. Anyway,
he’s probably the—Do I
have
to call him an artist?”

“How do you know this stuff?”

“My parents threw a lot of parties. I’ve
never been a good sleeper, so I’d sneak into the kitchen and snag a
bottle of champagne.”

“How old were you?”

I thought about it, but not for too long
because I didn’t have many memories that didn’t make me want to
throw up. “Hayden, my brother, wasn’t there—they’d already shipped
him off to boarding school. It was a few years before my dad
croaked, and I had to have been old enough to know how to open a
bottle of champagne, so I guess I was around ten.”

“You were stealing champagne when you were
ten?”

I shrugged. “It has bubbles. Like soda.”

“Oh my god, that’s horrible!” She covered her
mouth. “I shouldn’t laugh, but I can’t help it. It explains so
much.”

“Shut up. We’re here to get you noticed, not
giggle about the drunk ten-year-old.”

Laney’s laugh cut off and her body stiffened.
“Twice in one night? What are the chances?” I followed her line of
sight and saw why. A common reaction to seeing Anna. Laughter
ceases to be around anyone from my family. We are the black holes
of happiness.

My stepsister was standing next to the guy
she came with and talking to a man who was either one of the
obscenely untalented artists showing their crap tonight or the
horribly tasteless gallery owner.

“Anna likes to be ignored at things like
this, so don’t worry about her.” As if that was possible. We were
surrounded by drama—artists, an irritable stepsister, and a
pissed-off woman with a talented mouth. “You look like I need a
drink. Don’t move. I’ll be right back. I’ll get you one, too.”

She clutched my arm. “Don’t you dare leave me
to deal with all your women, Carson.”

“My women?” I laughed. “I swear, none of them
are, or ever have been, my women. I’ll be two minutes, and I
promise not to get into any trouble.”

Ninety seconds. It couldn’t have been longer
than ninety seconds. And I hadn’t gotten into any trouble—I’d
walked away and left Lane to it. That minute and a half had been
enough time for Anna to come over and make Lane feel like shit. She
wasn’t crying or anything, because my girl is tough as hell, but
there was a distinct look of triumph on Anna’s face.

I glared at her as I came up to them, handing
Lane both drinks. She needed them more than I did. “One and then
the other. Come on. You can do it.”

“I’m fine.” She rolled her eyes but downed
the first drink and didn’t hand back the second. “Anna was just
telling me how surprised she was to see you at an event like this.
Because you don’t usually take your ‘playthings’ out.”

I turned to my wicked stepsister. “I’m
her
plaything, actually. Lane’s an artist. That’s why we’re
here.”

“Oh?” She looked around the room. “Which
piece is yours?”

“I’m not showing here.”

“Yet,” I added. “That guy you were talking
to, he owns the gallery, right?” As poisonous as Anna could be, she
might also be able to help.

“Richard? Yes. It’s next to impossible for
new artists to show here, unless they’re amazingly talented.” When
the corners of her mouth curled, I knew what was going to happen
next. “Or if they have an inside track—Richard always helps his
friends. He’s wonderful that way.” And that’s where she shut
up.

“Then since Lane is amazingly talented, he’ll
love her.” I tried to keep my voice down because I’d just finished
promising I wouldn’t cause any trouble, but all I wanted to do was
permanently tape my stepsister’s fucking mouth shut. “I think I
heard him calling you—you should go see what he wants.”

She ignored me. “I love your dress,
Laney.”

“Thank you.” She glanced at me, blushing. “It
was a gift.”

“From you, Carson?” Anna asked loudly. “So
you
do
have some taste. In women’s clothing, at least. You
still need some work on the women who wear it though.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” It
happened so fast, I wasn’t sure if Lane’s gasp was because of
Anna’s insult or the volume of my response. “Isn’t your boyfriend
giving you enough attention?” I tried to lower my voice. Not sure
it worked, though. “I’m with who I want to be with. So either
apologize and play nice or apologize and leave us the hell alone.
Understand?”

All conversation had stopped, making my voice
seem even louder and more pissed off. I knew I’d embarrassed Lane
and might have ruined her chance of ever getting some of her art in
here, but fuck if I was going to let Anna get away with that
shit.