* * *
In the morning, I was eager to have sex again.
There was nobody in the bed with me.
I walked na**d into the palatial bathroom, expecting to find him in the shower, but he wasn't there.
I had a quick shower, toweled off, and then laughed at the fact that I had a shirt and underwear in the bedroom, but no skirt. I put on what I could and ventured out looking for him, the towel wrapped around my waist.
I found Trevor in his huge, all-white kitchen, talking on the phone and pacing, a grim look on his face. He was mostly listening or giving one-word answers. I was dying to know what the call was about, but I gave him his privacy and went looking for my skirt, which was where I'd left it, by the front door. I finished dressing, ran up to the bedroom to hang up the towel, and by the time I came back down, Trevor had his shoes on and was pulling on his leather jacket.
I asked, “Is everything okay?”
“No, but everything is normal. Same shit, different day.”
“Was that your … ex-wife?”
He grimaced. “Come on. I gotta get you home or your mother will think I'm not a gentleman.”
I rolled my eyes. “It's morning. I think it's a bit late for that.”
He gave me a forced smile. “You had too much wine and crashed on my sofa. We'll say that.”
“Sure.”
* * *
The whole ride back to my house, I didn't ask why he was rushing me out, and he didn't offer any explanation.
We made small talk about the autumn leaves while my heart broke.
I held my hands in fists, upset with myself.
Why did I always pick emotionally unavailable men? First it was g*y dudes who didn't quite know they were g*y, and now … my sister's co-worker. A guy with an ex-wife and god knows how many other problems I had no clue about, because I'd practically blown him upon meeting him. If I worked out the time, it probably was less than two hours from us being introduced to me actually blowing him, in his truck.
I looked around the vehicle, feeling embarrassed and ashamed of what I'd done the night before, in that seat, under the cover of darkness.
When he pulled up in front of my house, I opened the door and jumped down, not waiting for assistance from Trevor.
By this point, I was stewing in my own anger, more pissed at myself for being a dumb girl than at him. He was a guy, ruled by his cock, and I'd made myself way too easy for him.
As I was jingling my keys, trying to get the stupid front door open, he caught my elbow and said, “You seem quiet today.”
I turned and snapped at him, “Maybe I am quiet. Maybe it's just how I am.”
“Did I do something wrong?” His eyebrows knit together in concern.
Really? No, really? Did I have to explain to him that rushing a girl out the house in the morning after sex without so much as a coffee is poor form? Maybe he was utterly clueless and that explained why he was getting divorced.
Instead of telling him all these things, I kept them to myself and said, “Don't mind me, I'm a grumpy bear before I get my coffee.”
He blinked. “Oh.”
And that was it. He wasn't picking up on the clue train at all.
He stretched his arms out and said, “Do we hug or something?”
I said, “How the f**k should I know!” I didn't wait for a response, just went into my house and shut the door behind me.
Inside my house, I stood there by the door, feeling stupid. I locked it. I stayed there, where I could see the shape of Trevor through the glass panels.
Ring the doorbell, I thought. Or knock. Do something.
But he didn't.
He turned and walked away.
* * *
My parents were out, at a flea market or something—their usual Saturday fun on the weekends they didn't travel up to our cabin by the lake.
I angrily paced the house, then went to my room and had a good cry into my pillow.
When I stopped feeling sorry for myself, I called up my sister Nikki and let her have it.
She claimed her cell phone was dying, but promised to come pick me up in half an hour and take me for breakfast.
I yelled into the phone, “It would have been nice if your terrific guy Trevor had made me breakfast!”
Then I felt like an idiot, because she'd already ended the call.
Also, because I was being an idiot. Of course Trevor wasn't a mind reader, and of course he couldn't have known what my expectations were. He probably had some sort of big property development deal that needed his attention, and perhaps he wasn't capable of sleeping nine or ten hours in a row like I am.
I took my idiot self into the bathroom and started a nice, hot, idiot shower, and another cry.
And then, to cap things off, I got wicked cramps and my period started.
I was on the pill, but I hadn't taken my pill the night before, because I'd been at Trevor's house, and I guess my body decided that since I already felt crappy, why not throw some nice uterus-agony on top of everything?
Nikki got there earlier than expected, and when she came into the house to get me, she found me sitting in the shower in the fetal position, sobbing and bleeding, the water pouring down on me.
She just turned off the water, handed me a tampon and a dark towel (my mother bought a second set of dark towels when Nikki and I hit puberty), and went to wait in my bedroom.
* * *
Seeing my puffy face in the mirror only made me want to cry some more, but I put on some makeup, combed out my hair, and got dressed while Nikki used my laptop on my bed.
We agreed that we wouldn't start talking about Trevor until I'd had my coffee.
I'd started drinking coffee at fourteen. It was my parents' idea. Most parents keep their kids away from the stuff, saying it “stunts their growth,” but I was such a grumpy, surly bear in the morning. They figured since it worked wonders for them both, it might do the trick for me.
And it did.
* * *
Nikki had set the pot brewing when she walked in the door, and I took my first cup in a thermos. I took it with me into Nikki's car, holding it like a security blanket as we drove to the local greasy spoon all-day breakfast place.
We took a booth inside the restaurant and ordered coffee and breakfast.
Around the time I was desperate for a second refill, Nikki said, “Out with it. What did he do? I'll kill him. Just so you know. He may be my boss, but I will kill him if he did anything to hurt your feelings.”
“He's your boss?”
“Duh.”
I groaned and banged my head on the table. “Yeah, I don't know why I didn't clue in to that part. Probably because I wasn't listening.”
She gave me side-eye. “Were you talking, non-stop? About all your g*y theater boyfriends? Were you flapping your mouth?”