"Darcy..." She ran an impatient hand through her hair, and my stomach tightened at the familiar gesture. After only 24 hours, and already so familiar. How in the hell had this woman gotten under my skin fast? "Ah, Jesus, Darcy, I'm so sorry. I forgot she was coming..."
Not 'I'm sorry I wasn't honest with you', or 'I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was involved with someone else'...
I snorted and shook my head. "Yes, how very awkward for you to have your girlfriend there when you walk in with the woman you fucked last night." She flinched at that, and took an involuntary step back, but didn't deny the accusation.
I crossed my arms and tilted my head, flashing a bitter smile. "And now you've got to go back and explain to your girlfriend why you chased me out the door." I tapped my chin with a fingernail, feigning contemplation. "Now, the question is, will you tell the truth - tell her that you spent last night with me? Or will you keep her on the 'need to know' basis that you used with me?" I shrugged, and stepped back. "I guess I should be flattered that you think enough of me to follow me out here at all. Do all your one night stands get as much consideration?"
Her eyes sparked with anger, chasing away any remorse that may have been there before.
"Fuck you, Darcy," She hissed through clenched teeth. "I didn't plan what happened, it just happened! I don't remember you doing any complaining at the time." She threw up her hands, "Christ, you're acting like we're together or something!"
Because that's what it felt like, at least for me...
"It was one night, Darcy - one night!"
Ouch. Damn; girlfriend had some guns, and wasn't afraid to use 'em. And she was sounding a lot like the spoiled seventeen year-old that I had met and intensely disliked five years ago.
I stiffened, and did the worst thing possible - I let my mouth go off before checking in with my brain.
"You're absolutely right, sweetheart; it was just one night. And I guess not bad as far as one nights go..." She blanched a little, but I kept right on going. "Yeah, I'd say ya did yourself proud. And gosh, thanks for letting me entertain your poor, horny ass until your girlfriend got here. Speaking of whom; hadn't you best get back to her? I'm sure she's getting lonely for her Kimber."
As we stared at each other, my anger began to drain away, replaced by regret. But it was too late.
"Goddamn you, Darcy Max," she said in a whisper as she wiped angry tears from her eyes, "goddamn you!"
She turned and walked away.
Well, mission accomplished - I had made her feel as crappy as I did. Yeah, well, I'm all about sharing.
I watched her go, telling myself it was for the best.
God, I was such a liar.
Despite my earlier good intentions to resist unhealthy urges, my feet headed for the nearest bar and I had downed two shots of Porfidio before common sense came back for a visit. And not the common sense that told me, 'slow down, Darce, this isn't what you need.' No, it was the common sense that said, 'What the hell are you doing shooting ten dollar shots of good sipping tequila?' Jesus, sometimes I'm too practical for my own good.
The bar my feet had chosen was normally a local's hangout, dark and smoky; just barely on the safe side of seedy. I liked it for its dinginess - liked that the ash trays were cheap little gold colored aluminum things, liked that the bar was battered and scored with gashes that looked suspiciously like knife slashes, liked that there was still buckshot embedded in the back wall from a drunken prank several years back and liked that the back booths were dark enough for any number of illicit activities to take place, with no one the wiser...these little signs of coarseness usually kept the tourists out, but tonight, during the height of the holiday season, a good portion of the clientele was decidedly non-local and the atmosphere downright festive.
Damn. It's hard to wallow surrounded by yuletide freakin' cheer, but I was going to give it my best shot.
I scowled at the gaiety around me and gruffly ordered a third drink with a beer back, nodding my thanks and sympathy to the bartender as she put my order up. I grabbed them and moved down the bar to the end, away from a man and woman who had moved up beside me. I wanted to be far away when the cigarette he was waving around finally came into contact with the woman's huge Texas-style hair that had to be held in place by an entire case of something highly flammable. I plopped my drinks and morose self down and stared sightlessly at the television above the bar, visions of Kim dancing through my head.
Visions of Kim and the secret smiles we had shared that morning over breakfast with her family.
Of Kim as she pulled me into a bathroom stall in the lodge that afternoon to kiss me senseless; her mouth hungry and desperate, as if she would never get enough.
Of Kim collapsed on top of me, sweaty and panting, my fingers still stroking softly...
Jesus.
I don't know how long I sat, sipping and staring, vacillating between anger and self-pity, but eventually the tequila was gone and I drained the rest of the beer and left the bar.
I walked aimlessly along the snowy streets, the alcohol in my system enough to keep me warm, but not nearly enough to stop thoughts of a certain dark-haired, blue-eyed woman from ricocheting around my brain.
Kim, who I had known for less than 48 hours.
Kim, who had a runway model girlfriend.
Kim...who I was realizing I had already fallen hard for.
I walked around for nearly an hour, not wanting to go home but not wanting to go to another bar, either. Finally the warming effects of the tequila wore off and the cold drove me to Greta's door.
I thought at first that I had woken her - she was wearing a bathrobe and her hair was mussed as if from sleep. Her welcoming smile immediately turned to concern when she saw me, and she pulled me, unresisting, into the warmth of her apartment.
"Jesus Christ, D - what the hell happened to you? And where's Kim? Last time I saw you, the two of you were sending looks across the table that would make Madonna blush!"
"Ah, yes," I walked past her and collapsed on her couch with a sigh, "well, that was before Kim's girlfriend showed up and dropped me right back down here with the rest of the mortals."
"Her girlfriend?!?" She was suitably shocked, and I felt just a little better that I wasn't the only clueless one.
"Yep, her girlfriend. And not just any girlfriend. You know that line from the Rolling Stones song? You make a dead man come? It's that kind of girlfriend. Shit, I felt like I should be paying money, just to get a glimpse of her. Damn." I sighed and leaned my head back on the cushions. "Damn, damn, damn."
"Shit, Darce, I'm sorry." She thought a second. "Are you sure? I mean, Pam and Ken never mentioned any girlfriend, and they both seemed pleased as punch that you two were getting on so well...hell, I watched the two of you together today, and I can't imagine Kim looking at someone like she looked at you if she was with someone else."
It was nice to have her say that, but I was a little suspicious of her use of the phrase 'pleased as punch.' Greta was known to, on occasion, drink martinis and watch Cary Grant movies, and when she did, she used expressions picked up from her mother; 'pleased as punch' being one of her favorites. Also common were 'happy as clams' and 'snug as a bug in a rug'.
I looked over at the counter separating the kitchen from the living room and saw the tell-tale martini pitcher.
"To Catch a Thief?" I asked with a small smile as she dropped down on the couch beside me and gave me a sloppy kiss on the cheek.
"Already watched that. I just started Philadelphia Story. You know...Dexter P. Haaaaa-ven," she said in a sing-song voice, and I laughed. It felt great.
"Smashing." I said, and bumped her shoulder with mine. "Mind if I horn in on your party?"