Something Borrowed - Emily Giffin [88]
"Oh yeah. That dude Hillary picked up on the beach."
I laugh again. "Something like that."
"She did. For real. It was a strong move."
"Hillary is more like a guy than a girl in a lot of ways," I say, thinking that I could never approach a stranger on the beach like that.
"Yeah," he says. "It's great, really. I'm still waiting for you to be aggressive with me."
I smile. "Oh, really?"
"Yes, really." He smiles, looking right at me.
"So," I say.
"So." He moves his arm against mine.
"I'm pasty," I say, comparing our skin tones.
"I like pale," he says. "It's feminine."
"So let me get this straight," I say, "you like aggressive women who look feminine?"
He snaps his ringers in the air and points at me. "You got it. Can you deliver?"
I laugh and sip my beer, wonder if Marcus will kiss me tonight. If he does, I might kiss him back. I might even enjoy it. "If you can't be with the one you love…"
We finish our beers. I say I am tired of country music and ask Marcus if he is ready to go. He says sure, do I want to go to another bar? Have I been to Aubette? It's only a few blocks away.
"Yeah. It's on the same block as I Trulli, right?"
"Yeah. I've only been there on weeknights so I don't know if it will be any good. But they have these killer apple martinis that would be right up your alley. You want to go?"
I laugh. How does he know what is up my alley? Dex is up my alley. "Sure. Let's go."
We walk quickly to Aubette, past the muscle-bound doorman clad in black at the entrance. We move inside. The crowd is hard to pinpointthere is a bridge-and-tunnel element with a dash of Euro wannabes. I follow Marcus toward the cigar bar in the back and sit next to him on a buttoned leather couch with high arms. It is cozy, but would be cozier with Dex. I force him from my mind.
"What do you want?"
"An apple martini." I can feel the red wine and beers moving toward my head. A martini probably isn't a good idea, but I don't care.
"You won't be sorry. Be right back."
He returns with my apple martini and a glass of scotch for himself.
"How is it?" he asks, after I take a sip.
"It's good."
"Tastes just like a Jolly Rancher, doesn't it?"
I take another sip. "Yeah. It does. Want a taste?"
He sips from my glass and then licks his lips and looks at me. It is an invitation. For a second, in my semidrunk state, I am confused, unsure what to do next. I think of Dex. He hasn't broken off the engagement yet. He might never. I can kiss Marcus in the meantime. I must protect my heart. And something tells me that Marcus wouldn't mind being used in this manner. I lean toward him, initiate a kiss.
"Wow." He grins. "Didn't see that coming."
I kiss him again.
"Or that," he says.
I wonder if he will tell Dex. Part of me hopes he will. I kiss him a third time and add a little tongue for good measure. We talk some more. I am buzzed and vaguely attracted to him. He has nice forearms, with just the right amount of hair. We kiss several more times and it feels good, but nothing stirs inside me. And every time our lips touch, I miss Dexter a little bit more.
We finally leave Aubette and stand awkwardly in the street. A cab sails down Twenty-seventh toward Lex. Marcus doesn't stop me from hailing it, doesn't ask me to go back to his place. I am relieved, because I think I
might have said yes. And that would be a mistake. It would only be the apple martini talking—that and a growing resentment in my chest that here I am, six days postroll, playing third wheel at a romantic dinner and kissing the wrong guy in a windowless lounge filled with cigar smoke.
* * *
Marcus is what I need to give Dex more time. The logic is convoluted, but I feel that the small act of betrayal puts Dex and me on equal footing, at least in the short run. He is engaged; I kissed his friend.
Hillary doesn't buy the rationale. She is beside herself, telling me to cut it off. No more. Enough.
"Just a little more time," I say. "It's still only July. We're only in July."
She looks at me skeptically.
"Come on, Hill," I say. "Patience is a