Picking Up the Pieces (26 page)

“You’re welcome.
I’m happy you like it. I wasn’t sure what to get you.”

“It’s great!
I hope you like yours too,” I said, handing him the small box I had behind my back.

“I’m sure I will.”
He took it from me, unwrapping it carefully like he wanted to savor the moment. He pulled every last speck of paper off the box before opening it to see what was inside.

“Do you like it
?” I asked nervously.

“I love it,” Adam said, taking out the watch to study it closely.
“I like that you can see the gears inside.”

“I was hoping you’d like that kind.
I figured since you’re an architect, you’d like to see how things are built. Flip it over.”

Unsure of why I said that, he looked at me curiously and then turned the watch over to see the inscription underneath.
“To make up for lost time,” he said quietly. He took my hand in his, his eyes thanking me more than his words ever could. “It’s perfect.”

Chapter 28: Max

After Lily’s visit, I knew that I needed to start moving on.
Even though I had been pissed to hear that Adam had told her about my conversation with him, in retrospect I was glad. If she could know what I had sacrificed for her and
still
not want me, well then I guess she never would. And while I accepted that she’d never love me like she loved
him
, there was still a part of me that hoped maybe one day she might feel something close.

             
It was thinking like that that only fucked me up more though. It made me question whether my conversation with Adam had really been as selfless as I had initially allowed myself to believe. Maybe I had hoped that he would tell her all along, and that it would cause her to see me in a different light. But I hadn’t
wanted
that holier-than-thou jackass to actually
tell
her I’d talked to him. Did I?
Fuck.

             
Thinking like this was getting me nowhere. I wasn’t a man of deep reflection and pondering. I was a man of action.
What the hell does a man of action do to get over the love of his life?

             
Getting drunk was out. Been there, done that, and it didn’t fix anything. Well, at least not in the long term. A mindless fuck could relieve some tension, but past history had taught me that it would ultimately only make me miss Lily more.
What would make me
not
miss Lily?

             
I paced my living room like a caged tiger, ready to pounce on any viable option that popped into my head. Finally, a thought so foreign to me—so out of my comfort zone that I nearly pushed the idea away due to the anxiety it filled me with—stopped me dead in my tracks. I shook my head as I ran a hand roughly through my hair.
Maybe it’ll be good for me
.

             
“I guess anything’s worth a shot at this point,” I muttered under my breath. I snatched my phone from the coffee table and began scrolling through my contacts. I finally found the name I’d been searching for and called before I could think anymore about it. She picked up before the second ring.

             
“Hello?” the surprised voice asked.

             
“Hey, uh, Alison, it’s Max Samson. I was, ahem, I was wondering,” I took a deep breath, willing myself to stop sounding so pathetic, “would you like to go out with me tonight?”

***

As I sat at Lorenzo’s Restaurant, I quickly began losing my nerve. Maybe I needed baby steps toward getting over Lily, like settling for a handjob in a bathroom as opposed to actually fucking somebody. A date suddenly seemed like a gargantuan leap for me to be making. I tried to calm down by reminding myself that Alison was a serious piece of ass. I met her at a photo shoot I had done a few months back. Jack had insisted I get some headshots to take with me for my interview and she’d been the makeup artist who had worked the shoot, though she definitely belonged
in front
of the camera. She was stunning with her jet black hair, fair skin, lean body, and tall stature. I had readjusted myself at least ten times as she leaned over me to apply my makeup, thrusting her perfectly round tits in my face.

             
She had given me her number in case I ever needed someone for another shoot, but she had also flirted with me incessantly. Not in a tacky, hey-I’m-super-easy kind of way, but in a coy, I’m-interested-in-more-than-one-night kind of way. So when I had decided to take this drastic course of action, she had been the obvious choice.

             
But as I sat there waiting for her, I felt like this whole thing only served to further demonstrate that I would never get over my impulsive nature. I hadn’t thought any of this through. Alison had seemed like a really sweet person, funny and charismatic. What kind of fucked up asshole chooses a girl like that as his rebound? I was probably going to crush this girl’s heart when I moved on. How was that fair to her?

             
I tried to reassure myself: maybe I wouldn’t move on. Maybe I’d really hit it off with her and we’d have a whirlwind romance that resulted in eloping to a tropical island. Or maybe she’d lock herself in her garage with a car running after I went out with her twice and never called her again.
Stop it, Max. You’re being ridiculous. She probably doesn’t even have a garage.

             
I had just started rocking in my chair like the guy in
Rain Man
when I heard her.

             
“Max, hi. How are you?”

             
Her voice was so happy, her smile so genuine as she leaned down to give me a hug, that I swore Satan was carving my name on a seat in hell at that exact moment.

             
“Alison, so great to see you,” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster as I returned her hug.

             
She giddily plopped herself in the chair across from me and slipped her purse under the chair. I quickly took her in. Her long, straight hair fell past her shoulders and spilled over a cream-colored shirt. She was beautiful.

             
It took me a moment to realize that she was staring at me, clearly waiting for me to say something. “Didn’t you wear a coat?”
Smooth, Max.

             
She let out an awkward laugh and narrowed her eyes, as surprised to hear my words as I was. “Yeah, I checked it at the front.”

             
“Oh yeah. Sorry. Stupid question. So,” I took a long drink of my water, trying desperately to think of something to say. “How have you been?”

             
She crossed her arms on the table and leaned forward, putting those tits I loved a little more on display. “I’ve been pretty good. Work’s been steady. How about you?”

             
I started to reply, but was interrupted by the waiter. After he had read us the specials, taken our drink orders, and stared adoringly at Alison’s chest, I had totally forgotten what we were talking about. We sat in silence for a minute, both releasing a strained chuckle before she finally picked up the conversation.

             
“So I was really surprised to hear from you.”

             
“Yeah, well, I’d been thinking about you,”
for about ten seconds before I called,
“and finally decided to ask you out.”

             
“I’m glad you did,” she smiled sweetly. “You’ve been on my mind quite a bit since we met.”

             
“Oh yeah?” I asked, hitting her with my signature smile that girls usually couldn’t resist.
Tone it down. You’re on a date, not ho hunting.
I relaxed my lips into a slight grin before continuing. “Thinking all good things, I hope.”

             
“Definitely good things.”

             
The waiter arrived with our drinks, and we continued with casual conversation. The more we talked, the more I liked her. She was down-to-earth, easy-going, and even funnier than I remembered. All of my reservations had nearly slipped away. That is, until I watched her reach for her wine glass midway through dinner.

“Uh, Alison, this is probably a weird question, but,” I lowered my voice slightly, “are you married?”

She set her wine glass back down and eyed me curiously. “Why would that be a weird question?”

“Because I . . .”
What the fuck am I supposed to say to that?
“I don’t think women usually wear rings on their left ring finger unless they’re married.”

“I don’t think they do either.”

I waited for her to continue, but she didn’t.
What the hell is going on here?
“So that means you
are
married?”
Why is she still fucking eating? This chick is out of her mind.

“Yeah, I’m married.
I thought you knew that.”

“Why the hell would I know that?”
I couldn't believe this. I mean, for all I knew, I’d banged dozens of women who were married, but that was all one-and-done type of shit. I was actually trying to
date
this girl, and here she was, somebody’s goddamn wife. It suddenly occurred to me why I’d had that image when she first showed up. Satan really
had
been carving my name in a chair. Too bad I was already fucking sitting in it.

“I was wearing this ring when we met, Max.
I’m left handed and was putting makeup on you. I figured you saw it.”

I wanted to defend myself by screaming that my attention hadn’t exactly been on her hands, but I didn’t think that would help this nightmare. “Well, I didn’t.”
I was appalled, and that almost
never
happens.

“Why are you making such a big deal out of this?”
She looked genuinely confused, and I suddenly had an overwhelming urge to take her to the nearest hospital for a psych eval.

“Why am I
—? Because it
is
a big deal, Alison. You’re cheating on your husband. With me. I have enough bullshit going on without your marital drama adding to the pile.”

“The only one creating drama is you.”
Her tone was clipped and annoyed.

Is this bitch seriously pissed at
me
?

“And I’m not cheating on my husband.
He knows exactly where I am.”

I opened my mouth to retort, but
her words sunk in and caused me to slump back in my chair before I could utter a sound. I just sat there and stared across the table at her. This night had been going so well. How had it gone so wrong so quickly? Alison glared at me, waiting for me to say something. Finally, I did. “So let me get this straight. You’re not only married and out on a date with me, but your husband is aware of this and is, what, okay with it?”

“Yes, Max.
It isn’t that uncommon. We both have our individual needs, and we allow the other to satisfy those needs elsewhere. It keeps our marriage fresh and drama-free.”

“How does dating other people keep drama
out
of your relationship? You guys don’t mind sharing each other with other people?” I didn’t want to ask, but curiosity got the best of me. I mean, in theory this was the kind of marriage that would appeal to a guy like me. But I couldn’t imagine another dude boning my wife.
It would probably hurt as much as it does when I imagine Lily with Adam.
I lurched forward and rubbed my hands over my face. Like I really needed
that
fucking thought right now
.
Just when I thought the night couldn’t get worse, my brain had
to prove me wrong.

“Well, we have certain rules,” Alison said, answering the question I’d forgotten I’d even asked.

“Rules?” I asked in disbelief. Why was I still having this conversation? Part of me didn’t want to know, but part of me
had
to know—the degenerate part of course.

She leaned in and smiled conspiratorially, like she was about to share
a national secret with me. “Yeah, rules. Like the spouse has to approve of the other person. My husband was almost as excited as me when I told him about you,” she said with a wink.

I wanted to throw up.

“We need to be safe: condoms, birth control, no drugs or heavy drinking, stuff like that.”

I wasn’t sure why I was still listening to this, but I was horrified to realize that I was actually still considering banging this girl.
I mean, fuck it, when in Rome.

“And we always get to watch the other have sex.”

I lifted my hand at the waiter and yelled across the restaurant, “Check, please!”

Alison reached across the table and dragged her talons across my hand seductively.
“Excited to get out of here now, huh?” she purred.

I yanked my hand away from her.
“Yeah, excited to get the fuck
away
from you.” I gave the waiter my credit card and begged him to hurry back with it. I tried to avoid Alison’s glare as I took a large gulp of my scotch. The waiter returned quickly and I signed the receipt and stood. But I couldn’t resist one parting comment. “You know, Alison, I want to thank you. It’s people like you and your husband who reassure me that I’m not nearly as screwed up as I think I am. Have a good one.”

As I turned to walk away, I heard her hiss, “Fuck you.”

“Not in this lifetime, sweetheart,” I replied with a smirk, never breaking stride. “Not in this lifetime.”