The Atonement (The Arrangement, #3)(22)

Consider me curious.

“What are you going to school for?” I swirled the stirrer in my drink, the trill of the ice in my glass almost hypnotizing.

“Culinary arts, actually,” she said, as if it were something impressive. “I want to open my own cupcake bakery.”

“Just cupcakes?”

“Mhm.” She gave a proud nod. “Just cupcakes. Actually, that’s what I want to call it.”

“Well, it would certainly cut down on confusion.” Her expression changed, cooling slightly as she seemed to realize I was making fun of her, so I added, “Hey, who doesn’t love cupcakes? Sounds like a good idea to me.”

She giggled, rubbing her hands together. “So, tell me more about yourself. Do you live in Nashville?”

I shook my head quickly, used to lying my way through this question. “No. I’m just in town for business.”

“Oh, interesting.” She twirled her straw, not sounding the least bit interested. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No.” It wasn’t a lie. A wife wasn’t a girlfriend. “I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you if I did, now would I?”

“You’d be surprised.”

I sighed, resting an arm on the back of the booth. “Yeah, there are a lot of creeps out there.”

“I can’t tell if you’re joking, but there really are. It’s tough being a woman these days.”

“I get it.” I took another drink.

God, she was annoying.

Why did I care?

Why was I suffering through this?

If I asked her to leave with me right now, I was sure she would, even without the coercion of the drug I’d placed in her wasted drink. So, why couldn’t I ask her?

It wasn’t that she wasn’t attractive enough—I never cared about that.

It certainly wasn’t that she wasn’t annoying me enough.

Something was stopping me. A block of some sort.

Suddenly it hit me… I couldn’t bring myself to want to do it. It sounded about as fun as washing the car or painting the house. And it was a hell of a lot more work.

I wasn’t interested, not only in her, but in any of the women in the bar. Not because of some sudden change of heart, but more out of what felt like…laziness? Apathy?

I didn’t care about the girl. Didn’t care about the chase.

Ordinarily, the things I had planned for her were the only things that brought me clarity on my darkest days, but tonight…tonight I couldn’t do it.

“I love this song,” she squealed as the music changed to something else I didn’t recognize. “Do you know it?”

I cocked my ear to the side, as if I were trying to listen. “I don’t think so.”

If I took her home with me, if I just forced myself back into old habits, it would take my mind off of everything wrong with my life.

I could do it. It would be easy. And, once I’d started, I wouldn’t be able to stop.

“Hey, do you want to get out of here?” I asked, leaning forward and slurping down the rest of my drink. The alcohol burned my throat.

She smiled, running a finger around the rim of her glass. “Well, I want to finish my drink first. And…maybe have another.” She batted her eyelashes at me, and I pictured bashing her skull in. I could practically smell the blood.

But I didn’t want to.

As real as the possibility was, I just…didn’t want to.

God, what was wrong with me?

I slid out of the booth without warning. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Wait, what? I was just kidding.” She reached for my hand, and her skin on mine repulsed me. I felt like one of those guys who gets hypnotized to make their cigarettes taste like worms.

Everything I’d ever loved, everything I’d ever craved…felt pointless.

Unappealing.

Disgusting, even.

I couldn’t have been less into it.

“No, it’s fine. I just remembered I have to…” I didn’t bother finishing the sentence, already making my way across the bar and toward the front door.

What was wrong with me?

What had Ainsley done?





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN





AINSLEY





It was after eleven before Dylan finally returned to the room. Maisy and Riley were already asleep, and I pointed toward the box of pizza resting on top of the mini-fridge when he looked at me.

“We got your favorite.”

He walked past the pizza box without a word, kicking off his shoes and sliding into bed next to Riley. He pulled the covers up over his shoulders. I considered reminding him to brush his teeth, but thought better of it.

“Love you,” I whispered, to no response.

I watched him, waiting for him to look my way, to offer me even a moment’s glance to let me know the hatred didn’t run too deep, but it never came. I couldn’t blame him.

I did know how it felt.

I was glad he had at least one parent who was there for him, but I knew that didn’t make it better. Going through my parents’ divorce was the most isolating experience of my life, and I knew each of the kids would have to work through it in their own ways and their own time, no matter how badly it stung. What I knew most of all was that I couldn’t allow him to get in touch with Peter. I couldn’t allow Peter to get to him. If I did, I worried I’d never see my son again.