“Jesus, Saz. That’s crazy.” I grab my drink and take a long sip. My mind is racing. For all the talking that David and I have done over the past few weeks, we have never discussed any of his ex-girlfriends. And now I know there are at least two. Maybe three, if the “gun hound” isn’t Anna or Lucia, or if you count him sleeping with his dad’s secretary. I have always considered past relationships in the none-of-my-business category, but it seems as if David’s exes are a complicated bunch. I suddenly feel very naive.
Saz is taking a sip of his beer, and I glance over my shoulder at David. I need to see him. To confirm that he is the same man that Saz and I are talking about. When my eyes meet his, I can see immediately that he is uncomfortable. That he is guarded. His body language is screaming it. His arms are crossed over each other but not across his chest, around his midsection. Like he is protecting himself from a shot to the gut. For the first time ever, I look at David and I see insecurity. He knows we are talking about him, and he is clearly uneasy as shit about it. John is talking to him, but I don’t think he is listening. He is focused on me and Saz.
Now I feel guilty and dirty for talking about this. For making David feel insecure. For making him wonder what we are saying. I need to stop. I turn back to Saz.
“I’m going to go check in with David now,” I tell him. “It was nice talking with you, Saz.”
“You too, Emma. And take it easy on him, okay?” he says. I don’t answer. I just smile and walk over to David.
As soon as I get there, his arms release his waist and wrap around me, folding me against him. I put my head on his chest and slide my hands around him. I’m sure everyone is looking at us, hugging like this at the bar, but I don’t care. It’s nice to know that David doesn’t either. It makes me realize that there’s a lot of stuff I don’t care about. Really. When it comes down to it, I don’t care about what kind of crazy shit David did because of someone named Lucia. I don’t care that he didn’t tell me about the cocksucker who used to live in my apartment. I don’t care what Matt knows about David that I don’t. I don’t care about gun-toting ex-girlfriends or illegal poker nights or his fucked-up family. I don’t care. He’ll tell me what he wants me to know. And none of it will matter anyway. Because I already know I love him, and all that shit won’t make a damn bit of difference.
Shit. I love David Calgaro.
“I want to go,” I say to him, my head still against his chest.
“Fuck.” It comes out of him sounding sick and disturbed. “Why can’t any of my friends keep their mouths shut? What did he say, Emma?” I lean back away from him and look at his face. He thinks I’m angry.
“It doesn’t matter what he said. None of it matters,” I say softly.
“What the hell does that mean?” He sounds hurt.
“It means that any one of them could tell me that you snorted coke with the pope, and it wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference.” His face relaxes. He recognizes his own words of assurance from Monday night. From the night I said I would be his girlfriend. He briefly closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and shakes his head.
When he opens his eyes, they dig into mine. “Two of the same,” he says stone-faced. “Let’s get out of here.”
* * *
Neither of us brings up my conversation with Saz. We don’t talk about it on the drive home or all day Sunday. He doesn’t ask, and I don’t offer. But I think David already knows what Saz told me. I think he called or texted him about it. I also think David probably chewed Saz a new one for sharing what wasn’t his to share.
On Sunday, I get my period, so by the time Monday rolls around, we have both caught up on our sleep. And grocery shopping and laundry. David is still not letting me out of his sight, driving me wherever I want to go and hanging out at my apartment as if it’s his own. I make it no secret: I love how safe I feel when he’s around. When I tell him as much, his face shines, and he plumps himself up like a horny rooster strutting through the barnyard. It makes me laugh out loud.
At work on Monday, Matt goes back to being Matt, though he does ask me if David was mad at him for his departing comment on Friday. I laugh and tell him that David wanted to chase him down for it, but in the end, I managed to hold him back. We had a great weekend, I tell Matt, and then I thank him again for our little talk on Friday. I don’t want to make things awkward between us, so I make no mention of his discussion with David about “the new hottie at work.” Inside, though, I think of it every time I look at him. It still makes me feel giddy. And stupid.