He rubs his forehead and nods. “I graduated seminary last year. I was days away from my ordination this April when I changed my mind.”
“You wanted to become a priest?” It comes out sharp and cynical. I can’t even begin to get my head around the kid I knew becoming a man of the cloth.
His gaze goes all intense and I swear to God it’s like he’s trying to see into my skull. “I’ve changed since you knew me, Hilary.”
“When I knew you, you were dealing drugs and ruining my life!” It slices out of my mouth like a blade before I even think it, but there’s some satisfaction when I see it hit the mark. His piercing gaze clouds and he won’t meet my eyes.
He picks up his drink and takes a sip. “As I’ve already said, I’m sorry for my part in what happened to you. I’ve always regretted it.”
He’s regretted it. He’s regretted me. Fine. It’s not like that’s news.
“So, why did you change your mind? Why aren’t you a priest?”
“I fell in love.”
Somewhere deep inside me, a knife twists. “So . . . you’re with someone?”
He shakes his head slowly as something like chagrin flashes over his face, but it’s gone as fast. “No. We’re not together.”
“Why? I mean, if you gave up the priesthood . . .”
“She was in love with someone else,” he says, watching his finger trace circles on the tabletop. “But she was the pebble in my shoe that made me see what I’d dogmatically pursued for my entire adult life wasn’t my path. She made me question myself and realize I don’t have the discipline it takes for that life. I’ve never had that kind of control,” he adds, his dark gaze locking on mine.
“You love her.” He loves her. I can’t explain the sudden burst of bitterness I feel at the thought, except that it explodes out of the deepest layers of my being.
“I did,” he says. “She’s an extraordinary person.”
Suddenly, I want to make him suffer the way I did when he left me, and I know just the thing. I turn back and smile at him. “It’s my friend Jess’s birthday. I’m taking her to Club Sixty-nine on the Lower East Side tonight. You should come.”
I’m sure he’ll beg off. I can’t see Mr. I-almost-became-a-priest enjoying himself at a dance club. But that’s exactly why I invited him—to get him on my playing field and throw him off his game. I want to see him as uncomfortable as he makes me. I want to see him squirm. And I definitely know how to make men squirm.
“What time?” he asks.
“Ten.”
He gives me a slow nod. “And what is the dress?”
“You don’t get out much do you?” I smirk. “Dress hot. It’s a dance club.”
He huffs a laugh out his nose. “No, I don’t ‘get out much,’ but I’m sure I can find something that works.”
A little zing of electricity shoots up my spine. This is going to be so satisfying. He falls in love with someone else, but he regrets me? Fine. He’s going to see what he had and gave up. He’s going to squirm with his hard-on, knowing he can never have me again.
My turn to hurt him for a change.
Chapter Five
WHEN I GET home, Brett has already left for rehearsal. Since my normal outlet is gone, I decide to work up a sweat by cleaning. I need something mindless to keep me occupied until show time. I scrub three months’ worth of soap scum off the shower, give the kitchen floor its annual mopping, wash the overflowing mound of dishes in the kitchen sink, and wipe down every surface in the place.
Brett comes in just as I’m finishing the kitchen. “What’s for dinner?”
I duck into the fridge, which I probably should have cleaned in my frenzy. “There’s leftover Chinese takeout and . . . whatever this is,” I say pulling a styrofoam take-out box off the shelf and opening it. My face pinches against the rancid smell. “Ugh! No . . . you definitely don’t want that.” I say, pitching the moldy Mexican leftovers in the trash. “We have eggs. I could do a cheese omelet.”
I love to cook, but our refrigerator is pretty sparse because I’m at the bar most nights and Brett’s happy with takeout. Plus, the cooking is great, and the eating is great, but the cleaning up afterward blows.
Brett comes up behind me and cups my ass in his palms. “You keep pointing this thing in my face you’ll be eating me for dinner.”
“As appealing at that sounds, I’m drinking tonight, so I’ll need a little more than that to keep me vertical.”
He glides a hand between my legs. “Who you going out with?”
I brush his hand away and reach for the Chinese containers. “Jess. It’s her birthday.” I spin, kicking the fridge door closed. “You want to come?”
I only ask ’cause I know he’ll say no.
“Not really, babe. I’ve got poker at Rob’s tonight. Probably won’t be home till late.”
Which really means he won’t be home at all tonight. He usually stumbles in from his poker nights around sunrise, stinking of cigars and whisky.
I just shrug. That’s the great thing about our relationship. I don’t have to pretend I’m upset. No fake, “Jeez, hon, that’s too bad. We’ll miss you.” He knows I don’t really give a shit.
I take the Chinese containers to the microwave and heat up the contents, then dump the mu shu and chow mein onto plates.
“I heard about another audition you should go to,” he says as I bring the plates to the couch. “It’s not a musical, but it’s got a pretty big cast, so it’s worth a shot.”
I hand him his plate and drop onto the couch next to him. “If it’s not a musical, they probably won’t even want to see me.”
“If you want it, I’ll get you the audition,” he says through a mouthful of noodles. “There’s no dancing, so all you have to do is look hot and deliver your lines.”
I just look at him. Why is he helping me so much all of a sudden? After a second, he looks up and sees me staring.
“I’ll get you the audition,” he says, a little irritated, like I’m a bitch for questioning him.
I twirl my fork in my noodles and a few spill off the edge of the plate onto my lap. “Damn.” I look for somewhere to set my plate and end up putting it on the seat next to me. “Why don’t we have a coffee table?”
He shrugs and picks noodles off my lap. “Just never got one, I guess. Plus they take up space.”
“I want one.”
He quirks a half smile. “Go for it.”
When we’re done eating, I head to the shower and I’m a little relieved when Brett doesn’t follow me. I’m feeling uncharacteristically unhorny. Too busy plotting, I guess.
I’m going to be the hottest thing Alessandro’s ever laid eyes on. He regrets me? I’m going to make him regret the day he gave me up.
I slip on a sheer black thong then rifle through my closet, knowing exactly the outfit: a tight-fitting silver halter that is nearly transparent, and a tiny ruffled black skirt that barely covers my ass. I’ve got the perfect shoes too. Five-inch platforms that make my legs look totally lickable.
I want Alessandro to want to lick me.
Once I’m dressed, I smudge on some blush, draw on eyeliner, and brush on mascara. There’s no freaking way Alessandro’s going to be able to resist.
WHEN JESS AND I get to the club, we skip the line and the bouncer lets us in without a cover. I tug off my jacket, leaving it on the back of a chair near the door, and look for Alessandro. Jess and I are half an hour late, and there’s no way Mr. Uptight would be anything but punctual. I finally see him leaning against the bar talking to a pair of brunettes, one of whom is bursting out of her low-cut tank.