Ana didn’t love me. Why was it only then, when she said that she didn’t, that I fully realized that I did love her? I loved her. How was that for shit timing?
If I’d clued in earlier, woken her up in the middle of the night in Mammoth and told her I couldn’t live without her, would that have changed things? But it was too late now. Now she’d rejected me, thrown back my ring, walked off and told me to have a nice life.
Why did everything get symbolic when you felt sad? The taxi stopped at a light and in the gutter I saw an old, discarded sneaker. Had that sneaker once been loved, part of a cherished pair? Had it been surprised when its time had come to an end? Had it expected it, a hole where the big toe had poked on through giving it proper warning? I bet it hadn’t. I bet it had been shocked as hell to find itself alone and forgotten in the gutter of life.
I knew I was being melodramatic, looking out at a battered sneaker in the rain and feeling kinship. But, damn it, I felt exactly like that sneaker. Cast to the side, laces untied, I’d come undone.
29
Ana
Through my tears, I heard a knock on my hotel door. I didn’t know why Lola hadn’t booked me on a flight until five. That seemed like an impossibly long time to wait to leave, and now I had company. It had to be Ash. Who else could it be? But I didn’t think I could handle seeing him again.
He’d looked so devastated when I’d ended things at the park. Of course, that was the whole plan. If he’d laughed it off and said “no problem, sweetheart” the whole thing would have been a waste. The world would have learned what it already knew: Ash Black was an asshole. I’d been the only one out of the loop on that.
A knock again. Keeping the deadbolt chain on the door, I opened it a crack. Connor.
I sighed deeply. “What do you want?”
“Hey, now. Is that any way to greet your old friend Connor?” He leered at me.
“How did you find out where I was staying?” Only Lola knew, and I’d only told her about an hour ago. She’d arranged for a car to come pick me up at three.
“Lola knew you might need a shoulder to cry on.” There was that grin again. It gave me the creeps.
“I’m not really in the mood, Connor. Sorry.” I moved to shut the door right in his face. Such rude behavior from the librarian! But I was long past worrying about offending Connor.
His foot jammed into the door quick and fast, stopping me. The chain still held it closed, though. Suddenly, I felt glad I’d left it on.
“Come on now. Ash is out of the picture. We can pick up where we left off.”
“What are you talking about?” This man was disgusting. And why was he so relentless with me? It couldn’t be because he found me irresistibly sexy. He surrounded himself with far more X-rated eye candy than me. No, he must get off on going after something that belonged to Ash. Ick.
“Don’t tell me you don’t remember, luv?” Now he laid on the Irish brogue thick. “That night at the party. You were all over me.”
“I was not.”
“Let me help you remember. Unlock this door and let me in.” He gave me what I figured he thought was a charming smile. He was a rich and famous guy, so I guess it worked on lots of people. Not on me, though.
On me, it had the opposite effect. I got a cold chill down my spine and I remembered, clearly, when I’d seen that exact smile before. He’d been handing me a strange-tasting glass of punch at the New Year’s Eve party. It all came together.
“You drugged me,” I realized, out loud. “Didn’t you?”
“That’s quite an accusation.” He stepped back, hands up in surrender, feigning hurt.
“That night at the party,” I insisted. “You did, didn’t you?”
“Sometimes a girl needs help loosening up. It was for your own good.” He gave me a wink. “Am I right?”
I’d show him loosening up. In a move I later recognized could have gone very badly, I unfastened the chain on that deadbolt and stepped right into the hallway with him.
I looked him straight in the eye. “Connor? Fuck you.” And I kneed him hard in the groin. Thanks to the YMCA self-defense class my mother made me take before moving to the city, I got him right where it counted. He hunched down, cupping his balls with a sad yelp.
“You don’t drug women,” I told him, summoning my stern inner librarian.
He made a soft sound like a “meep.”
“And stay the hell away from me.” I took one last look at him, recognizing he posed no threat. None at all. And I headed back into my hotel room. Where were the cameras when you needed them? I would have liked them to have captured that shot.
A couple hours later, I found out where all the cameras were. The airport. Somehow they’d found out when I’d be leaving town. Thanks, Lola. Guys with cameras swarmed around me, asking for a quote. I was the heartbreaker now. Why had I done it? Had I left Ash for Connor? Inquiring minds wanted to know!
I kept my head down. I just needed to get past security. But then, I saw Ash. In a baseball cap pulled down low, he’d had the bad idea of meeting me there, too. He stood looking impossibly gorgeous and rumpled and distraught with his hands in his pockets. He hadn’t shaved and his stubble gave him a rakish edge. I knew how good it felt to kiss him with that rough scrape.
Click! About a thousand cameras went off, realizing they were getting two for the price of one. This couldn’t be happening. Was Ash’s appearance staged, too? I shook my head as he approached, trying to warn him off.
“Ana, just give me a second,” he pleaded.
“Why are you here?” I hissed, continuing to try to push my way through the throng. I didn’t have any bodyguards to help me. I did have my YMCA knee-to-the-groin trick, though, and I’d use it again if I had to.
“You won’t answer my calls. And Lola wouldn’t tell me where you were staying.”
“Great, she told Connor but not you?”
“She told Connor?”
“Yes, she told Connor. Your best friend. The date-rape king.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Ask him.”
“Ash! Over here! Ana! Are you giving him a second chance?” Voices called out to us, making it nearly impossible to speak ourselves.
“Just give me a second?” he asked urgently. Pulling me over into a corner, he shielded me with his body. The way he had in Paris. I shouldn’t be thinking about Paris. I needed to think about the conversation I’d overheard at the cabin.
“Ash, you don’t need to pretend anymore.” I spoke as loudly as I dared while photographers still swarmed around us.
“But I don’t want you to go!” He spoke loudly, clear enough for them to get every word.
In frustration, I wrapped my arm around his neck and pulled him down so I could speak in complete privacy. I tried to ignore how good he felt against me, the way his smell made my knees go weak. “I heard you in the kitchen talking with Connor. About how rough these weeks have been with me. How much it’s sucked and how you can’t wait for it to be over so you can go back to how things used to be. So you can stop pretending. I know.”