Kristen told Tyler no to his proposal, and I hadn’t seen her in two fucking weeks.
Shawn, Brandon, and I stood on the Vegas strip in front of the Bellagio fountains, waiting for the water show to start. It was Brandon’s bachelor party weekend. It couldn’t have come at a worse time. I was losing my fucking mind. I needed to see her.
I checked my phone again. Nothing.
Shawn saw me check my cell. “Man, she’s not thinking about your ass.
Fuck, you’re sprung.”
Brandon took a drink from his water bottle. “They’re going into massages. Sloan just texted me.”
Sloan was having her bachelorette party today back in California. I hated that I needed to hear about Kristen’s day in the third person. I fucking hated it.
The morning after karaoke night, our crew had been sent as an emergency strike team to Sequoia National Park to fight a wildfire. We’d been there for twelve days, and Kristen only called me once the whole time I was gone. She wouldn’t answer my calls or texts. She’d gone completely cold on me.
We’d gotten home just in time to leave for Vegas. I didn’t have time to go to her house.
I rolled up my sleeves. It was 2:00 in the afternoon and the sidewalk
radiated heat. Sweaty tourists streamed past us. Sunburned spring breakers drinking out of souvenir cups, a cluster of young women laughing as they passed, huddled around a friend in a white veil, two middle-aged women wearing backpacks and cameras.
Couples holding hands.
Shawn lit a cigar. “She’s probably fucking somebody this weekend, bro.
You should hook up too.”
“Shut the fuck up, dick.” I plucked at the front of my shirt, wondering offhand if Shawn was right, and getting irritable just thinking about it.
Brandon waved off a guy in sunglasses handing out flyers for a strip club. “No change at all with her, huh?”
I shook my head. “She’s been off ever since karaoke night.”
It was like an enormous tower had come up around her with a drawbridge, a moat full of piranhas, and machine guns on top. Compliments of Tyler, no doubt. I fucking hated that guy. I mean, I hadn’t really been making progress with her before he showed up, but at least she spoke to me back then.
One minute she was sitting in my lap in an Uber and dancing with me, telling me she’d liked me, and the next I couldn’t even get a text back.
I’d played that last night over and over again in my mind, trying to figure out what went wrong.
We’d been slow dancing. I told her not to marry Tyler. She’d obviously agreed I was right about that because she’d gone outside to call him and told him no to his proposal. Then she’d come back in a different person.
She’d made me take her home, cried the whole way there, and wouldn’t let me touch her. Locked herself in her room, kicked me out of her house, and she’d barely spoken to me since.
And I didn’t fucking get it.
This morning I’d sent her a text I knew was risky. But if she wasn’t speaking to me anyway, what was the harm? Things couldn’t get worse. I’d typed the words “I miss you” and stood staring at it for a solid five minutes before I hit Send.
That was three hours ago. She left me on read.
Brandon leaned on his forearms against the concrete railing over the lake, squinting out over the blue-green water. “I hate to say it, but Shawn might be right. Maybe you should see what else is out there.”
I couldn’t even look at him. “I don’t want to see what else is out there,” I said through clenched teeth. “If this was Sloan, would you want to see what else was out there?”
Fuck, if anyone should understand, it should be him. What did it mean that even Brandon was telling me to get over it?
He put his hands up. “Okay. You’re right. I’m sorry. It just doesn’t seem like this situation is getting any better, and I hate to see you chasing someone who’s not reciprocating. That’s all.”
“She’s just not that into you, man. Take the hint,” Shawn said, blowing cigar smoke. “Let me ask you something.” He tapped ash onto the sidewalk. “How many of your hoodies does she have?”
I wrinkled my brow. “None. Why?”
“She’s not into you, bro. Bitches love hoodies. If she’s not stealing your hoodies, she don’t want your ass.”
This thrust me deeper into my dark place. As ridiculous as it sounded, it also rang true. Even Celeste had kept a few of my hoodies at the end and she fucking hated me.
Sometimes I worried Shawn was some sort of idiot relationship savant.
Too much of what he said had a convoluted wisdom to it.
This terrified me.
Still, there was one thing. “If she’s not into me, why did she check up on me through Brandon?”
This was weird. The whole time I was gone, she wouldn’t return any of my calls or texts. But then, on day eight of clearing brush, I’d gotten moved to a different firebreak than Brandon. When he got off shift, he told Sloan he didn’t know where I was, and within seconds of Brandon hanging up with Sloan, Kristen started blowing up my phone. It was the only time I’d talked to her. She’d sounded almost desperate to know I was okay.
Of course as soon as she realized I was alive and not burned to death, she hung up with me. But that’s when I realized she’d been using Sloan’s updates to keep tabs on me. Why? Why not just answer one of the many calls I made?
Shawn snorted. “Congratulations, motherfucker. She cares if you die.”
I glared at him. But it wasn’t just that. I caught her looking at me sometimes. Or when we were in bed, she would kiss me when she thought I was sleeping. Even at karaoke night, she was hugging me but she made a
lame excuse about it. It’s like she didn’t want me to know she gave a shit.
Like she’s pretending.
Shawn jabbed his cigar at me. “This is what you get for being a thirst responder.”
“A what?” I said moodily.
“A thirst responder,” Shawn said, leaning his back against the rail and crossing his legs at the ankles. “A thirsty motherfucker who hits on a bitch the second she’s single.”
Brandon chuckled.
I scowled at Shawn and then turned to Brandon. “Has Sloan said anything about it? Anything about Tyler? Or dating other people?”
Brandon shook his head. “No. Do you want me to ask her?”
“No.” I wanted to know, but I didn’t want Kristen to think I’d sent Brandon to sniff around. And Sloan would know if he was sniffing.
I dragged a hand down my face. I’d go right back to work at the fire station when I got back from Vegas, so that would be two more days. And then what? I’d come over and she’d ignore me in person? What the hell happened? I mean, I knew Tyler showing up had fucked with her, but I didn’t see what that had to do with me.
I fucking missed her. I couldn’t understand how she didn’t miss me back. Even on a friendship level, she should miss me. We hung out every minute that I wasn’t at the fire station. We were close. Could she really care this little?
“I just haven’t seen her in a while,” I mumbled, as if that explained it all. “Good,” Shawn said, grinning at the asses of a group of women walking past in short skirts and high heels. “Let her miss that shit. What up, ladies?
Want to help a couple of firemen celebrate a bachelor party?” They giggled and smiled at us but kept walking.
Brandon pulled a cigar from his pocket. “It’s not the worst advice,” he said, lighting a match and puffing on the end of his cigar until it lit. “Try to have a good time. Focus on something else.”
Music erupted around us, and the fountains burst into life. An instrumental of “Ain’t That a Kick in the Head.” Water shot a hundred feet in the air and danced in time with the song, sending a cool mist over us.
It was a vibrant high-energy contrast to my shitty mood.
Brandon and Shawn leaned on the rail and watched the show, and I
looked at my phone again.
Nothing.
I stared grouchily out over the congested strip at the black limos and taxis with their light boxes advertising shows I didn’t want to see and steak houses where I didn’t want to eat. What I wanted was to go home and see Kristen.
The ball was in her court.
It had always been in her court. This was her game.
Maybe she really didn’t have feelings for me. She’d said that one night at the karaoke bar that she’d had a crush on me, and that was the last bone she ever threw me. Hell, it was the only bone she ever threw me. And I’d been gnawing on it ever since. At the time, I’d even been a little hopeful that maybe, if she gave Tyler the boot, it was the start of something more between us.
Every time I thought I was getting closer to more, it was ripped away from me.
Maybe she was telling the truth, that all it would ever be between us was casual hookups and no strings attached.
Maybe even the casual hookups are over.
When the water show was done, Brandon looked at his watch. “I want to check out that rare bookstore before it closes.”
“Yeah, that sounds like a great fucking idea,” Shawn said. “Hey, let me get a picture of you guys. You can send it to Sloan.”
Brandon rummaged in his pocket and handed over his phone.
“Let me get one on your phone too,” he said to me. “You can send it to Kristen. Maybe she’ll print it and keep it where she keeps your balls.”
“Dick.” I put the phone in his hand.
Brandon and I posed against the railing in front of the lake, and I faked a smile. Shawn stood and held up Brandon’s cell for the picture. Then he drew his arm back and chucked Brandon’s phone over our heads into the water.
“Hey—” Before I could lunge for it, mine was next. Then he took his own phone, and like a fucking lunatic, he threw that too.
“What the fuck?!” I pushed him.
He laughed, taking the shove. “You two motherfuckers are in Vegas! This dude wants to go to a fucking rare bookstore, and your pussy-whipped
ass is practically crying over some girl. I’ve freed you, bitches!”
Even Brandon looked irritated. “You’re buying me a new phone, asshole.”
Shawn pulled out a flask. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll all get new shit when we win at the craps table.” He shoved the flask into Brandon’s chest. “No more Sloan and Kristen. No rare motherfucking books either. We’re in Vegas, and we’re gonna fucking do Vegas!”
