Resentment(37)

“Fuck...” Eric jumps up. “I should’ve known he was drunk.” He grabs a few ice packs and waves me away. “Go look up the art shit, Mia. I don’t want to hear you shitting on Dean for at least three hours.”

“So four hours from now is fair game?”

“Out, Mia.” He points to the steps. “See you tonight.”

***

I stay away from home for as long as I can. I read every word of the twenty brochures his receptionist gave me, and bookmark each of the galleries websites on my computer so I can look them up later, and apply to their openings.

When the sun sets, and I force myself to head home, I can hear tons of loud voices as soon as I step off the elevator. Before I have a chance to unlock the door, it swings open and two guys stumble out with beers (and dates) at their sides. I step back as they keep stumbling toward me, clearly not in control of their bodies or minds right now.

I move inside the doorway and scan the living room. I see nothing but tattooed guys—very attractive, tattooed guys, and they are everywhere: sitting on the couch, laughing in the kitchen, and drinking in the foyer. There’s also a few couples in the hallway, caressing each other against the wall, looking as if they’re seconds away from fucking each other.

Confused, I walk into the kitchen where I find Eric. He seems oblivious to everything that’s happening and his full attention is on a pretty brunette in all red.

“Hey, Aim!” He looks up at me as I grab a water. “You find any potential jobs to apply for?”

“A couple.” I take a sip. “I thought you said this was a party. This looks like everyone is watching a game, except for the people who look like they’re going to have sex in your hallway.”

He laughs. “It is a party. UFC fight night viewing party.” He takes the water from my hands and replaces it with a beer. “I know it’s going to be hard for you, but try to relax. Try to be the opposite of what you normally are.”

“Fine.” I suddenly hear a familiar deep voice in the living room and Dean comes into view. He’s standing in the corner of the room, beer in one hand, his other hand wrapped around a blond wearing a tight black dress. She’s clearly into him, she’s whispering into his ear, and whatever he’s saying back, is making her blush.

As she turns around to face him completely, Dean’s eyes meet mine. They pin me right to the spot, preventing me from taking a single step.

I try my best to look away from him, but I can’t.

My heart starts to beat a rhythm I once knew years ago, but it quickly stops when his date pulls him forward and kisses him on the lips. Thoroughly.

Her hands are in his hair, her arms are around his neck and her body is pressed against him. But for some reason, his eyes are still locked on mine.

Disgusted with their kiss, I chug the rest of my beer and grab another one. Then I quickly slip through all the people in the living room and head out to the balcony. I notice another cooler stuffed with beers near the railing and quickly down the one in my hand, so I can have a third.

Ignoring the soft rain that’s falling over me, I shut my eyes and lean against the railing.

Do not let him affect you. Do not let him affect you. It’s been ten years, PLEASE do not let him affect you...

“So, I still affect you?” Dean’s voice is to my left and I can feel him stepping close to me.

I don’t answer, though. I don’t have to.

I hear him let out a sigh and then I hear the sound of him popping open a beer can. “I think we should set some boundaries, Mia. Since I clearly affect you—”

“You fucking revolt me.” I glare at him, taking three steps back.

“So, you are capable of talking to me today?” He rolls his eyes. “Why are you out here, since the fight is in there?”

“Surely you can ask the same question to yourself.”

“I’m not big on UFC fighting. I’m more of a football guy. Surely you remember that.”

“The Dean I remember hated football, but I don’t waste my time thinking about anything from the past.”

His lips turn up into a slight smile, and he looks as if he’s about to speak, but I beat him to it.

“For the record,” I say. “I want you to know, that whether you and my brother are butt buddies or not—”

“We're not butt buddies, we’re best friends.”

“Same thing—regardless of that, that doesn’t mean I’m your friend. As a matter of fact, I will never be your friend, and outside of this current moment, I hope our future conversations won’t last as long as this one has.”

“They won’t.” He grips the railing. “But considering we live together now, it means we’re going to be seeing each other a lot, unfortunately.”