Page 5 of Plenty Of…
“Yes,” he replies, amusement coloring the tone of his voice. “Have dinner with me.”
“No. That’s, what? Three times you’ve asked and I’ve said no? Are you hard of hearing in your old age?”
He chuckles, and the sound moves like liquid from my eardrum, down my throat and to my nipples. I shiver. Jesus. Memories from yesteryear assault my mind, one in particular making me squirm. He’s whispering dirty things in my ear again, making my body pliant and ready. That’s the memory, but my body is unable to tell the difference between past and present, and is lighting up as if it’s happening for the first time all over again. I’m so going to send the fuckers at the fish app a stocking full of rotten fish heads and a whole lot of Chocolate’s cat shit too. Assholes have no business being in the dating app market.
“You know I’m rather persistent, Avril. I don’t like hearing no.”
“You had no problem turning me down on my birthday,” I snap. “Or telling me no after you’d fucked me stupid for two weeks, and decided you were done with me.”
I didn’t mean to say that, but I never had the opportunity to do it ten years ago when he told me we had to end things because he loved his wife, and didn’t want to ruin his friendship with my dad and wasn’t willing to tear his life apart to be with a silly little girl. Those were his words to me, words that sent me off a cliff and into an abyss for four long months. It also made me grow up a whole lot faster, too, just to save myself the trouble of ever being told I was a silly little girl ever again.
He sighs, and I hear the sound of ice sliding around in a glass. “You were a teenager, Avril. I had to respect that. But you’re not even close to the truth about what happened when you were eighteen, why I had to end it between us.”
My brows couldn’t furrow any deeper, I’m frowning so hard my forehead hurts. “Why are you on the app?” I blurt out. Instead of asking all the sensible questions, or hell, even having up the damn phone, that is what I go with. Why are you on the app? God, there aren’t many moments in my life when I question my intelligence or my intellect, but this is one of them.
There’s a moment of pause, but I can visualize him taking a sip of his favorite scotch before he replies, “Same reason as you. I needed a date for the gala.”
“Bullshit. You’re married.”
Another beat of silence, in which I hear him take another sip of scotch, and swallow. “Not anymore.”
Seriously, Avril, get your shit together.
I shake my head, and in the process, try to shake some sense into myself. “Good for you, Forbes. But I’m not having dinner with you, I’m not going to the gala with you, and if you do happen to cross my path on Saturday night, turn the other way.”
I cut the call, and throw my phone clear across the room. The screen shatters, and the phone lands on the hardwood floor with a thud. Well, Dad won’t be happy about me needing a new phone, but at least the fucking app is gone. The silence that follows only augments the erratic beat of my heart, and the pulse that has taken up residence between my legs. No, vagina, we can’t have Forbes in there again, he broke our heart, remember?
I should feel liberated after telling him off, and a part of me does, but another part, the part that reveled in the sound of his voice after all this time, wants to see him. I can’t even say for old time’s sake because if he’s telling the truth, he’ll be at the gala anyway. Shit.
I’d send Penny a text and ask her to remove my name from the guest list but A) my phone is fucked and B) my dad will not be happy if I miss the event this year. I grab my laptop with an aggravated flourish, and book an Uber online. I can’t go without a phone, and that’s at least something I can sort out tonight. As for Forbes? I have no fucking idea how to fix that.
