Velvet Kisses(23)
Annie winces. “Are you at least going to tell him?”
“Tell him what? That we’re just hooking up for the sake of my article? That we’re nothing more than fuck buddies? He already knows that part—and trust me—he likes it. He couldn’t care less if this experience gets tossed on a pie chart or ends up in an entire rainbow of index graphs. Once I have about six or twelve of these consensual romps under my belt, I’ll publish my memoir—Sex and the Modern Woman. Believe me, Annie, social literature is all the rage. I smell a spot on the Times awaiting my arrival. It’s not like I’m starting some immoral movement. I’m simply compiling evidence that spells out that this way of life works. And, it is going to work for me. It already does for him.”
She swipes her phone off the dresser and starts texting. “We don’t know that it will work, Marley.”
“It will. What are you doing?” Annie isn’t one to ignore someone for the sake of social media. She’s up to no good. That little lift to her eyelid tells me so.
“I’m starting my own documentation diary of your little experience.”
“You can’t do that.”
“If you can turn Blake’s brother into some sort of glorified vibrator, I can very much make note of how things are going. Besides, the real reason I’m doing this is for your own good. Once you get your heart broken, and you will, I’ll make a graph of my own showing how clearly this was an error that you refused to see coming.”
“And then?” My voice gets swallowed up in unexpected emotion. The thought of Annie outsmarting me at my own game doesn’t sit well with me.
“And then, I’m going to make some mac and cheese and we’ll watch the entire marathon of Gilmore Girls all over again. I’ll be there for you when you break your own heart.” Her eyes enlarge as if making sure I get the point. “I’ll help you through it. You’ll see this tragic, deformed version of love is a heretic you’ve brought to something sacred.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Love doesn’t work for everyone—anyone, really—except maybe you. I’m here representing the rest of us.” God knows someone has to.
Annie scoots off the bed. “I’d better get to Hallowed Grounds. I’m meeting Kaya and Tristan before class. Don’t do anything insane today, ‘kay? I still want to talk about this.”
“Tell Kaya, I said hi.” Kaya is Annie’s good friend who happens to be dating Annie’s old interpreter, Tristan. He and Kaya are just another deliriously happy couple, living the hallucinatory dream at WB. It’s as if some love struck plague has hit, and, for some God forsaken reason, I’m immune to the infestation.
She waves me off as she heads out the door. “Love works!” She shouts as she makes her way down the hall.
It doesn’t. And I don’t need a thesis, a memoir, a survey, or a dozen cheating boyfriends to prove it.
I just know it.
Some things don’t work for me, and love is one of them.
* * *
Capwell Enterprises is tall and daunting—nothing but a collection of mirrored windows that reflect the ominous threat of an upcoming storm. I wonder if in some way this is symbolic, something that signifies a very dark period in my life that I’m about to undergo. A dull chortle rips from my throat as I enter the revolving doors. If I don’t believe in something as pie in the sky as love, I certainly don’t need to entertain symbolism by way of the weather. Reality doesn’t dictate itself in ominous signs and premonitions. Reality deals in movements, in small increments of time that are decided by wary humans with growling stomachs and desperate appetites for sex and power. Greed is the real name of the game, not I love you, certainly not I do. Marriage is an institution most likely developed by divorce lawyers, and, if I had any inclination for all things legal, I’d become a celebrated member of that elite society. At the least, I could navigate Jemma through the next few legal entanglements she ensnares herself with in the name of wedded bliss. Bliss. I smirk stepping into the elevator. More like blister as in it needs to be popped. If it sounds painful, it’s because it is.
My phone buzzes and I fish it out. Speaking of painful—it’s Will. A heavy sigh expels from me as I examine it.
You missed my tryouts. Made the team. Knew I would. You up for lunch?
I could A) ignore this message. B) block him from ever bothering me again. Or C) say yes and never show. I think I like C.
Congrats on making the team! I’ll be sure to make it to every single game. Look for me in the stands! Meet you in Founder’s Square in five!