Gorgeous Rotten Scoundrel (15 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

I woke up at the ass crack of dawn the next morning. Even though I knew he would likely go out with Josh for lunch, I did my duty of setting up a nice breakfast buffet that would serve as enough food for dinner too if they so pleased. I left everything nicely presented: some omelets on the warmer, and fruits displayed in a circular formation. I timed the coffee machine for the time I knew Heath woke up every morning, and then I made my escape. I needed air: air that didn't have his delicious scent wafting in it. I needed a view that didn't consist of his impeccable features. I needed room: a room I could enter that didn't give me flashbacks of our intense fuck sessions; by now, we had nearly done something in every room of that house. Only my bathroom was safe, but that's the place I used to touch myself when I thought of him, so even that room stifled me.

I left a handwritten note on the table. He was still my boss after all, I couldn't just vanish:

Heath,

Left to go run errands. Made plenty of food for you and Josh. Hope you both have a great day. Call me if you need anything.

- Sadie

I hoped that would prevent one of his check-in texts and buy me time until mid-evening.

I had no solid plans, I knew no one other than Illy besides Heath around these parts, and I would rather stick a flaming screwdriver in my eye than reach out to that wench. So, I found the local library, borrowed a couple of books, and headed to the beach, wearing the same emerald string bikini I wore when he ravaged me from behind in the kitchen. I was becoming pathetic: I wore it because the fabric against my flesh brought me back to the feelings of that day. Here I was, exiling myself from the home that kept us so close, feigning some great escape, but even after doing all this, I had to bring one little piece of him with me.

I enjoyed myself as best I could, engrossing my thoughts into the book in front of me when I heard a voice: "That's a great book."

I looked up, my eyes took a second to adjust to the blinding sun, and when they did, I saw a dark-haired guy standing over me.

"Oh, I hope so, just started." Really, I had started about an hour and a half ago but struggled to get past the first three pages. I kept reading paragraphs over and over again because my mind was elsewhere.

"Well, keep plugging along, it's a page turner."

"Thanks."

He turned to walk away, but then stopped mid-stride and turned bashfully. "Are you alone? A couple of my buddies and their girlfriends are over there if you want to join us."

Now, his features had begun to register and he was really good looking. Think dark shiny hair, brown eyes, great jawline, about 5'10" or so. He was polite, and based on his earlier comment, I assumed well-read as well. I should jump on this guy and dry hump his leg, but all I felt was
meh.

Meh? Meh!
This was not me, it was like Heath was ruining my pussy for all other men.

My first instinct was to say no, as was the case with my general distrust of humans with penises, but then I thought aloud: "Sure." Why the hell not? I wasn't married. Hell, I wasn't in a relationship of any sort. Why not take up this very pleasant-looking man up on his offer to entertain me? The group of people ended up being nice enough and a nice reminder that the world didn't consist of only Heath, though he stayed ever present in the back of my mind. I couldn't help but glance at the phone every hour, wondering why he hadn't reached out, and if he wanted to, but had chosen to go silent after I kicked him out of the bed last night.

"I should go," I said at about seven. The sun was a couple of hours from completely setting, but swirls of orange and pink seeped into the clear blue sky.

I grabbed my tote and towel, lurching my way up from the sand, when Mark, the guy who invited me over, offered me his hand and I accepted.

"It was really nice meeting you. Can I walk you to your car?"

"Uh...okay." I wasn't used to this chivalry.

I'm not going to lie, I felt a little awkward. I knew where this was headed, and despite the hours I had spent with Mark and his friends, my mind was still battling with every neuron to be present. "I'd like to hang out with you again. If that's okay."

"Sure." He was nice and he
was
good-looking. I had to prove to myself that I wasn't somehow stupidly saving myself for Heath so we exchanged numbers. "See you soon," I said, eager to return home.

***

I was surprised to see Josh loading the back of a Town Car as I arrived.

"Hey," I said as I stepped out of my car. "Are you leaving already? I thought you were here for one more day."

"No, I leave tomorrow night. Heath wanted to go to a hotel, I guess he's a fan of it and wanted to show me around."

This was not in the plans. Heath and I had become a well-oiled machine. He should have asked me to book the hotel and he would have let me know he wouldn't be around this evening. Something was up.

I entered the house, dropping my tote on the entry table. Heath was walking into the living room on his crutches.

"Hey..." I said in a questioning tone.

"Hey," he said without stopping.

"You didn't tell me you were going somewhere."

He stopped his stride. "Yup. I am. I didn't know I needed to tell you where I was going." He started up again.

"Well it's just that--"

"Just that what?"

"I, uh...usually you tell me your plans."

"Well I just did. So are we good? Can you hold the fort down for one day?" He asked sarcastically.
Asshole.

"Yeah. Will you need me to pick you up from the hotel? I assume Josh is leaving from there."

"I'll get a car service."

Within seconds and I heard the car door slam, and the car driving away on gravel.

Was he hurt?
That wasn't possible. That would require human emotions. That would mean that he cared about something beyond sex. And yet, he had never acted like this before. We threw our punches and we threw them freely, unabashedly so, but I don't think I'd had ever seen him like this. I couldn't be imagining that this was personal.

I realized after a few minutes that I hadn't moved from the spot where I stood since he left and I shook my head to clear my thoughts. Then I did what I felt I had to do, because what I wanted to do was call Heath and make him explain what was on his mind. I needed to focus that energy somewhere. Heath was used to women begging for him. I would not be that woman. I shot a text:

Sadie:

Hi Mark? What are you doing tomorrow?

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Mark took me to Beau Marchais the next evening, and it was clear this was a date. The place had the nice white tablecloths, a French-inspired menu, and mood lighting. It was just the right amount of stuffy, without being over the top.
Good taste.

Mark was ever the gentleman, exiting the car to open the door for me, and pulling out my chair for me to have a seat. I wore a red sundress with cap sleeves that stopped right at my kneecaps. Perfectly ladylike, belying my behavior during the greater part of this summer.

The conversation was pleasant. Mark was a hedge fund manager,
blah blah blah
. It was all very appropriate, and nice, and he seemed like a gem of a guy. And yet, while he was all the things I should have been able to check off my list and scream: bingo! Something was off. Something was missing. That was my problem and I knew it: I never gave the right guys enough time to grow on me. So while he wouldn't be getting a kiss tonight, I thought we could see each other a few more times and let things move really slowly, unlike the way things had moved with Heath.

He drove me back to the house and walked me to the front door of Heath's place. I had a feeling he expected something, but I didn't want to lead him on. I wanted to make sure I felt something before I kissed him.

"I had a great time tonight Sadie. I have to tell you again, you look beautiful."

"Thank you. And thank you so much for dinner. You have to let me get the tab next time." He smiled, I think because I had just confirmed we would be seeing each other again. His teeth were really, really sparkly under the floodlight. Almost artificially so.

"Never."
Ever the gentleman.

"Well, goodnight." And before he could lean in for a kiss: "Listen, Mark, I want to take things slowly."

"Of course. No rush, let's just get to know each other."

"Okay, well I'll see you soon then?" And we hugged stiffly as we tried to figure out how we fit against each other's bodies. On the way back to his cherry-colored classic convertible, he looked back at me, his strong jawline prominently jutting at this angle, and smiled.

I felt perfectly pleasant, proper, and ladylike. This is how one is
supposed
to feel after a date. I glanced down at my phone, it was a little after nine, not too shabby, a perfectly ladylike time to return home after a first date. Furthermore, there were no bodily fluids exchanged, and so, I was feeling quite proud of myself.

I glided into the entryway, which had a direct view into the kitchen and was surprised to see Heath was already home, rummaging through some leftovers using
only
one crutch and no moon boots.
Stubborn bastard.

"Hi, I didn't expect you to be home yet," I said, matter-of-factly.

He was mid bite and stopped. "Yeah, I just dropped off Josh."

"It was nice having him around."

"Yup."

"How was your stay at the hotel?"

"It was
a lot
of fun," he said raising his eyebrows. He was trying to taunt me. Images of him noshing on model's pussies flashed in my head. Orgies, dildos, swings, whips, lube...My mind was going to the furthest reaches of sexual experiences. It would make sense, Heath would want to show off all the ass he could get to his "bro." And he would go to a hotel, so I would be none the wiser. He could keep me compartmentalized in this home while he went around fucking anything with two tits and a head of hair. "How was your evening?" He asked very formally.

"It was very nice. I met a guy on the beach yesterday. A hedge fund manager. He took me to Beau Marchais tonight," I said casually, but with a little extra perk to my voice as I kicked off my shoes. Heath's jaw tightened.

"You mean when you were running errands?"

"I did that too." The bastard knew he could have called me if he needed me for work reasons.

"Well, I am going to head to my fort and hit the hay early. I'm really worn out from last night. Exhausting. It was
craaazy
."
You son of a...

"Me too, I spent a lot of time partying with Mark and his friends yesterday afternoon." Really we just sat by a radio and chatted, but tomato, to-mah-to.

He hobbled on one crutch and no moon boots to his lair. I opened my mouth to nag him about his lack of compliance to doctor's orders, but this time I stopped myself.

I spent the rest of the evening laying in bed, staring at the ceiling. I knew what he was doing: he wanted to me to plead with him, to ask him what was wrong, and I was not going to play that game. So instead I grabbed the book I started yesterday (I was still stuck on page three) and read the same paragraph over and over again until I fell asleep.

***

For the next two weeks, Heath and I were like ships passing in the night. I went about my new social life, going on a few dates with Mark, and Heath went about his doing god knows what. Everything between Heath and I was business, no late-night talks on his bed, no guitar playing under the glow of tiki-torches, no sneaking into each other's rooms or breakfast on the balcony. And strangest thing of all, no...
arguing?
It wasn't that there wasn't tension, in fact that tension was thick. I felt it on my skin, in my gut; the air grew viscous and harder to breathe when we were in the same room. But instead of acknowledging it, either by being grownups and discussing it, or by releasing tension via bickering (followed most likely by fucking), we let it simmer. It was a slow simmer, just at the boiling point, and it built steadily, teetering on the edge of erupting. I didn't know how long we could last this way, but by being robotic, by acting like two droids and only interacting when we absolutely needed to, and doing so in short, efficient bursts, we were able to keep the tension at a low simmer.

That is until he asked me to the White Party. I don't know what prompted him, maybe he wanted a "date," or a prop, but just as I was heading up the stairs after plating his dinner and leaving him to eat alone, I heard him ask: "Do you want to go to a party tonight? It's one of those famous White Parties." His tone didn't have the usual level of excitement it had when he talked about parties, or anything else for that matter. It was flat, just the slightest hint of a question mark punctuated it.

I felt like someone released a gasket in my chest because I was happy that he wanted me to come; and yet I was scared of what could happen, even though I was extremely curious. In two days, he would be leaving for Paris to work his first modeling gig since his accident. I know he was really excited about the job, especially because just after the accident he genuinely felt that his career might be over. I was so happy for him and I wanted to share in his happiness with him, but we weren't really talking. Not the way we used to. The gig would only be a few days, but I thought about him leaving all the time. The thought of him leaving the country, with so much unresolved tension between us, weighed on me. It felt symbolic in some way, him leaving while he and I were in this standoff. It just didn't feel right. Yet I was far too stubborn to say anything to him, so I was glad he broke the stalemate by inviting me.

During the two weeks he and I had distanced ourselves from each other, just I had predicted, he was slowly going back to his old ways. After the hotel thing, he stayed home a few nights in a row, but the friends of convenience began to trickle back in again. It was just dinner a few times, but he was well-known in the area and couldn't go out without being spotted. I am sure dinners grew to something else as he would often come back late (yes, I listened for him).

I won't be needing your services tonight.
That was his way of telling me not to make dinner. But I knew what he was really trying to say was:
I'll be out getting my dick sucked in the bathroom of SL East. Enjoy your night alone, loser.
I would simply nod, sometimes not bothering to look up, but would grind my teeth so hard that I thought I might not have any enamel left by September. And now, after weeks of pretending I was a human light fixture, he was inviting me to this pish-posh White Party.

"Sure." I am an expert at stoic, even though I felt like someone was playing ping pong in my chest using my heart as the ball.

The only white dress I had was something seemingly designed to elicit contrasting thoughts of purity and filth. A tight, short, cotton/linen blend, the top fit like a bustier and pushed my tits up to my eyebrows. The white color and tiny band of ruffles along the hemline gave the dress just the right touch of innocence to contrast with its sexiness. I had a pair of tall white stilettos, with heels that should require a weapons permit. Shit, even my toes had cleavage that night. I let out my black elbow-length hair and pressed in barrel curls, then shook them vigorously for that freshly-fucked look. I topped off the outfit with red lipstick and cat eyes. I would break him. I would get some sort of a human expression out of him.

"Ready?" I asked as I walked down the stairs. He looked up from his phone and kind of shifted a bit, but then stood firm. He quickly looked away, probably to stop himself from ogling.

"Yeah." His throat sounded dry. He stood up from the stool he was sitting on and I noticed him shift his pants.
Does he have a hard on?

Damn did he look good. He had on a fitted white long-sleeved designer t-shirt, white flat front pants that hit right at the ankle, and canvas low-cut sneakers with a faint hint of grey. On any other occasion, so much white in one outfit would be out of place, but buying into the concept, he looked great: the white made his tan and crystal blue eyes pop.

The ride over in the back of the limo was quiet.

"So did you invite me for quiet contemplation?" I asked.

"No...I just thought you might want to go out. You've been staying at home a lot."

"Sometimes I go out with Mark when you're out. I don't stay home every night."

He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. "Well, whatever, I thought you would want to come. This is one of those parties people come here for."

"Well, thank you."

"Anytime."

He was right about this being a big deal. For one, Heath rented a limo (or someone paid him to come and rented it for him, as was often the case). The beach club shimmered with laid-back elegance through the gathering dusk. White washed wood planks formed the exterior, and white awnings with yellow borders gently danced in the summer breeze above all the windows. The soft yellow glow of lights illuminated the outside of the club. Just behind it, its backyard, the Atlantic Ocean, murmured against a pristine white sand beach. There was a queue out the door of one of the entrances and the street was lined with expensive cars dropping people off. Heath lead me right past the enormous man managing the entrance, greeting him with a nod, to the many eyerolls of wannabe-patrons who were stuck on the seemingly frozen line.

The club's main restaurant had a long bar at one end. The rest of the open-air indoor space had sunken lounge areas bordered with built-in seating covered in white cushions. However, the big attraction was the expansive outdoor deck that led out to the beach. On the deck there was another bar and dozens of white metal tables and chairs. On the beach there was even more seating in the form of an enormous wooden square, again, covered in white cushions, and a few outdoor beds. Besides the rare pop of blue or yellow the club could not mask, everything was white and everyone was in white. Black lights scattered throughout broke up the near complete void of color.

"Hey!" Some guy I recognized from the party the night of Heath's accident clasped his hand, I think some sort of music producer. I remembered him because he had some of the brightest naturally-red hair I had ever seen. His cheeks were flushed from drinking, and his perfectly oval head looked like a giant cherry tomato. "What's up bradduh?" Great, a typical bro. He turned to me while still clenching Heath's hand, and leaned back, eying me up and down. Heath picked up the signal right away.

"This is my assistant, Sadie."
His assistant.
Yes, everyone make sure you know I am a tier below you trust fund babies, and bankers, and Hollywood types. I was a well-established chef first, assistant second. Heath is not stupid, he was trying to rile me up, I just knew it.

"Nice to meet you Sadeeeee," he almost hissed like a snake.

"You too," I said coldly stabbing him with invisible laser beams from my eyes.
I am not the one.

Heath was now walking on his own, no need for crutches or moon boots. He still had to ease back into vigorous exercise, but his fitness and youth was in his favor. I had barely known him like this, and when I did, he was at his worst and that was exactly what I expected to see. People filtered towards us, offering drinks. Pretty women hovered around him and his buds. He didn't quite ignore me, but everyone else was surrounding him and I didn't want to fight for his company. I realized this was a mistake. I knew no one here and this situation forced me to cling to him, and that was exactly what I did not want to do. Heath was at least nice to enough to grab me a cocktail before getting swarmed again. I slowly pulled myself away and stood, arms crossed, for some time, before I found a comfy seat on a couch. If he were to look over, I knew exactly what he would think:
uptight bitch.
I was completely okay with that.

I did spot the occasional celebrity, which was cool.

Some guy tried to talk to me and I politely gave him one word answers until he finally got the signal. I looked down at my phone, and saw a text from Mark.

Mark:

Want to go to a party tonight?

My stomach tightened. This was
the
party, and my eyes quickly scanned the room to see if he was around, but I didn't find him. I debated whether or not I should reply, and then that's when I saw it: I spotted Heath, he had drifted to a wall, he was laughing, some girl with far too much makeup on and far too huge of a boob job was leaning against him. I looked up at the exact moment she started nuzzling his neck. I turned away quickly because I thought I might break one of the beer bottles on the coffee table in front of me and cut a bitch.
Fuck him. Fuck him with a baseball bat.