Played (Trapped Book 3) Page 6

  There, I’ve gotten it off my chest. No more thinking about him. Thoughts of him consumed my sleep last night but I refuse to allow them to take up a single second more of my life.

  And I hope his girlfriend dumps his miserable, lying by omission ass and he ends up alone suffering from erectile dysfunction.

  It’s what he deserves for playing me. Treating me like—like I’m nothing.

  Okay, enough. He’s not worth the space you’re allowing him to take up in your head.

  Right. No more.

  I enter the grocery store, my first stop in a day filled with errands. If I’m lucky, I’ll be here thirty minutes tops. I make a beeline for the fruit, vegetable and deli section.

  Crap. I forgot to grab a cart.

  Josh’s fault.

  As I backtrack to the entrance to retrieve one, a familiar figure catches my attention.

  Damn. She’s staring right at me.

  I should have known better than to come to Publix now. Mid-afternoon would have been a better time as it’s usually when the women of means flock to their country clubs after having dutifully attended to their wifely and motherly duties in the morning. It’s the same routine my mother adheres to when she’s home.

  The backstory on my mother is this: we haven’t gotten along since I gave up trying to please her. I guess you can say it was also the same time she says I went through my rebellious stage.

  In other words, I stopped hanging out with the daughters of her country-club friends. I wasn’t interested in the boys she wanted me to date. You know the ones, whose parents are “the right kind of people” because they’re lawyers, doctors, politicians or CEOs of a Fortune 500 company.

  I’m not unhappy to say, I’ve been a huge disappointment to Margaret.

  Thankfully, she’s thousands of miles away. Right now, however, I have a different problem and she’s standing in the bakery section wearing linen slacks and a floral scarf draped around her neck, her smooth skin courtesy of expensive facial products and surgical intervention. Until someone discovers the fountain of youth, those in need of a nip here and a tuck there have Dr. Steve, the plastic surgeon of the country club set, to turn to. Mrs. Landers is well acquainted with his services.

  Too bad I didn’t see her before she saw me. It might have given me time to hide. Yet I still hold out hope that a smile and wave is all she plans to exchange.

  She waves and I smile. Then I hold my breath and pray. Please don’t come over.

  My hopes are dashed when she starts toward me, cardboard cake box in hand. Her strides are unhurried but the distance between us closes pretty damn quickly.

  “Erin, dear, it’s so lovely to see you. It’s been so long.”

  Not nearly long enough.

  Enveloped by her floral perfume, I paste on a smile. “Hi, Mrs. Landers.”

  She’s Dale’s mother but I try not to hold that against her. I’d once tried to put myself in her place and eventually concluded that she did what she did because she loves her son and not because she and her husband are heartless people. But it had taken almost a year for me to get to that place and many more months to stop literally running in the opposite direction on the rare occasions I even glimpsed her in public. These days, I don’t run, I endure.

  “Don’t you look lovely.”

  I’m wearing blue skinny jeans, a scooped neck blouse and chunky wedge sandals. Nothing groundbreaking. But then she hasn’t seen me in a long time.

  “And you look wonderful as always. I love your blouse. The color is perfect on you.” It’s the same red as her lipstick and the perfect foil for her mink-brown, shoulder-length bob. There’s nothing that matters more to Mrs. Landers than appearances. Her own and other people’s, especially the girls her three sons deign to bring home. She’s like my own mother in that respect. Margaret is all about appearances.

  “I heard your parents are in Japan.” She scrunches her dainty nose. “Danielle says she’s not enjoying herself. How unfortunate.”

  Danielle is a mutual acquaintance of her and my mother. She’s also never heard a rumor she isn’t eager to spread. It isn’t surprising she’s the one airing my mother’s complaints. What’s also not surprising is that this is how I’m getting the news. But then, I haven’t heard from my mother since she called to let me know they’d arrived safely, which was over a week ago.

  “I’m sure she’ll manage to make things work. She always does,” I say lightly. If I had to guess, my mother’s grievances are probably related to her accommodations. The last time she was there, she’d complained about everything being too small.

  “What are you up to these days? How is the job coming along? Your mother told me you’re working for a newspaper. As a reporter or something.”

  There’s an art to turning up your nose without moving a muscle. Mrs. Landers manages this effortlessly. I dated her son back when I thought I wanted to be a lawyer—a decision I’d come to with significant parental pressure. That had her stamp of approval. After all, her husband is a partner in the largest law firm in Georgia, and Dale is currently at Yale, his father’s alma mater, pursuing a law degree.

  They have political aspirations for him, God help us. His older brother is running to be the next Georgia Secretary of State and the middle one is a freshman state rep. With Dale, the best looking and most charismatic of the three, his parents’ sights are set on the governor’s mansion, and then if things go well, the White House.

  Hard pass. Beyond the fact that Dale should be in jail and not in a mansion of any sort, I had and have no desire to be a politician’s wife.

  “Yes, working the lifestyle beat. It’s rough work but someone’s got to do it,” I say, ignoring the judgment in her tone.

  I’ve learned not to live my life trying to please others. One of the lessons one learns as the daughter of Margaret Jean Bancroft. Try to please her at your own peril.

  “Well yes, I can imagine,” Mrs. Landers says, smiling politely. And she’s nothing if not polite. It’s her calling card.

  “I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but Dale is home. He’s taking a semester off. The poor thing worked himself to the bone the past four years. He deserves a break,” she says with a motherly tsk. “He’s actually at the bank next door and I know he’d be thrilled to see you again.”

  No!

  I stare at her, incredulous, unable to believe my ears. That she could say this to me knowing—knowing what he did.

  “Mrs. Landers, I don’t think—”

  The words are barely out of my mouth when she exclaims, “Oh, look, there he is.”

  You know that feeling that washes over you right before you throw up? The wave of heat that sweeps your face? That’s what’s happening to me. But having skipped breakfast this morning, there’s nothing to throw up. I swallow down my fear, panic and revulsion.

  “Dale, darling, look who I ran into.”

  I don’t want to turn and face him but Dale approaching me from behind is a much bigger threat. I turn to find him advancing toward us with intent and purpose, and looking hardly changed from three-and-a-half years ago, the last time I’d set eyes on him.

  His dark hair may be a little shorter and his face slightly more angular, but other than that, he looks the same. Where most people would consider him attractive, I don’t. Once I’d been exposed to the real Dale, he’d morphed into someone decidedly less than that.

  “Erin, it’s great to see you.” He eyes me appreciatively in a head-to-toe perusal.

  A shiver of revulsion races down my spine.

  It’s when he leans down, his face coming perilously close to mine that it registers he intends to kiss me. I jerk back, nearly tripping over myself, in a desperate effort to get away. Aghast, I stare at him and then at his mother. Both appear stunned by the violence of my reaction.

  “Erin, is something wrong?” Mrs. Landers asks as if she’d never begged me, tears streaming down her face, to forgive her son for what he had done.

  “It’s okay, Mom
. I’ll talk to her,” he says.

  Like hell you will.

  “Wonderful. I’ll just get the candles while you two catch up.” His mother says as if the last several seconds hadn’t occurred, making her either a top-notch actress or what I’d long suspected. A heartless bitch. “It was nice seeing you again, Erin. And if Dale forgets to mention it, we’re celebrating his birthday tomorrow at the club at seven and we’d love you to come. Just something small. Nothing fancy.”

  Or she lacks all self-awareness.

  I don’t bother responding, and when she walks away, I head for the exit.

  “Erin, wait up,” Dale says, lengthening his stride and easily keeping up with me.

  “Leave me alone.” I push the words out through gritted teeth, fury enveloping me now.

  The automatic doors in front of me slide open and I’m through them in a flash, determined to put as much distance between us as possible.

  “C’mon, Erin, I just want to talk.”

  I refuse to look at him as I breeze past an older couple coming in. I’m forced to pause at the curb in order to pinpoint the location of my car in the quickly filling parking lot. Beside me, Dale lets out a frustrated breath and runs his hand through his hair.

  “For the last time, Dale, leave me alone. I don’t ever want to talk to you, and you know that.” When I’d broken up with him, I’d made that abundantly clear. I don’t know why he’s hounding me now, but it’s not going to work.

  “I’m sorry. What else do you want me to say?”

  Spotting, my car, I hurry toward it, opening the door with the click of my key fob so that I can slide right in and lock the doors. But trying to lose Dale is like trying to shake off a blood-sucking leech. No offense to blood-sucking leeches.

  At the driver side door, I turn abruptly and confront him. “Jesus Christ, Dale, what do you want? I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.”

  Surprised at the suddenness of my about face, he takes an involuntary step back. Then his hands go up, imploring. “I don’t want you to hate me.”

  “You should have thought of that before you did what you did,” I whisper fiercely. I bat away strands of hair that escaped my slipknot and are blowing in my face.

  He briefly looks away, the stain of guilt on his cheeks. “It’s been over three years.” Below the cajoling tone, I can pick up the frustration in his voice. Typical Dale. He can’t stand not getting his way and me not forgiving him has really gotten under his craw. Not the girlfriend who used to adore him.

  I glare at him. “Are you done? Is that all you wanted to say?”

  He shifts on his feet, his expression a study in misery. It’s a look meant to wear me down. A look meant to take the edge off my anger. Soften me. Make me malleable. Which is how he’d always gotten his way. Well, no more. The last time had been the last time. He no longer has the power to manipulate me.

  “Are you seeing anyone?”

  My jaw drops. His question takes my breath away. Even for him, this takes gall. I’m nearly blind with rage as I turn and jerk open the car door and get in. His arm shoots out, preventing me from closing it, and it’s deja vu with him looming over me, looking desperate and panicked.

  “Drew said you’re not seeing anyone,” he says, his voice slightly breathless.

  I tug on the handle in an effort to close the door, but it barely budges from his unyielding grip. Genuine panic begins to set in, making my breathing choppy.

  “He said you haven’t seen anyone since we broke up.”

  Drew is—or was—his best friend, and a lifetime wouldn’t be long enough if I never saw him again either.

  “Let go of the door before I call the police,” I say in the calmest voice I can manage.

  His jaw tightens and for a moment I think he’s going to cause a scene. Then his expression clears, and he slowly steps back, removing his hand from the door. I immediately pull it shut and rev the engine.

  He’s quick to step out of my way as if worried I might Oops right over him. He’s smart to be worried because right now revenge never looked so good.

  Despite all my bravado, five minutes and three miles later, my hands are still shaking.

  I end up going to another chain grocery store five miles farther out. The entire time, I vacillate between fear and anger. And then fear at the strength of my anger.

  God how I hate Dale. And his mother… Ugh. They need help. The whole lot of them.

  An hour later, my arms strain carrying two bags of groceries into the kitchen but there’s a peaceful mindlessness in the task of putting them away. I’m calmer, more collected when I’m done. Thoughts of Dale no longer have me contemplating committing bodily harm. And thoughts of Josh have me…have me wishing for things I promised myself I’d stop wishing for.

  I’m saved from my thoughts wandering into the melancholy realm by the rattling and buzzing of my cell on the counter. I look down. The number is unfamiliar but I’m pretty sure I know who it is. The call I’ve been expecting. Forewarned is forearmed, isn’t that how the saying goes? Well, here goes nothing.

  I answer. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Erin. It’s Chloe. I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

  My gaze darts to the clock on the double oven. Eleven o’clock. She’s not wasting any time. “You caught me between errands, so I’m good.”

  “Great. I hope you don’t mind me calling you. I got your number from Paige.”

  So I was told.

  “I don’t mind at all. What’s up?” Last night, I decided easy-breezy was the way to handle this. She likes me—not sure why—and it isn’t her fault her boyfriend happens to be the guy I used to sleep with.

  “Paige said you weren’t seeing anyone, and I wondered if you wouldn’t mind me setting you up with my brother.” Her words come at me in a rush.

  I’m slow to respond, and when I do, she’d have to be blind, deaf and dumb not be able to pick up on my decided lack of interest. “Your brother?”

  “Just hear me out,” she says. “His name is Evan. He’s twenty-five and works at an art gallery in the city. He’s really cute—everyone tells him he looks a little like Chris Evans—and he has his own place. I think you guys would really hit it off. He’s great. Honestly. And I’m not saying that because we’re related. I would never set you or any of my friends up with my eldest brother, Nick. Nick’s a player and he wouldn’t be good for anyone right now.”

  Wow. Okay. Wasn’t expecting a pitch quite like that. The player older brother thing is a nice touch. Not that I doubt it’s true. I’m sure he is.

  But Josh is right. All things considered, me going out with him would be nuts.

  “He sounds…great. Honestly, he does, but I’m not looking to get involved with anyone right now.”

  “Not even one date?”

  “Not right now. I just started a new job and things are kind of crazy with me looking for a new place as I try to get situated.”

  A moment of silence is followed by a defeated sigh. “Josh warned me not to get my hopes up. He told me you’d probably say no.”

  I go from resting my butt against the counter to standing up straight. “Oh yeah?”

  “Yes, he said you don’t—date much.”

  She’s hedging. What isn’t she saying? What on earth did he tell her about me? That I’m a bitch? A snob?

  “Not that Josh would know, but I date plenty,” I counter defensively. And by plenty, I mean once a month. Okay maybe once every other month. It’s the having sex part of dating that’s rare.

  “He didn’t mean anything by it,” Chloe says, attempting to smooth the feathers her comments ruffled.

  What he meant to do is discourage her. Not that I didn’t know this beforehand. He told me he tried to talk her out of it when he called last night. But hearing it is something else entirely. It makes me feel managed. Handled in a way I don’t like.

  “The timing is simply wrong.”

  “I understand. Really, I do. It took me a year
to start dating after my last relationship. Sometimes it takes people even longer. Everyone’s different.”

  Wait. What does that have to do with—? “Did Josh say that’s the reason I don’t date?” My tone is sharp.

  “He did mention that you’d been seeing someone and that you might still be hung up on him.”

  Him. That last person I’d been sleeping with was him.

  My God, I can’t believe he said that. Is that what he believes, that it’ll take me a while to start dating after him? What, like he left a mark so deep, it’ll take me years to open myself up to someone else?

  Not on his life.

  “It wasn’t serious between me and the guy I was seeing before, so as usual, Josh has it wrong.” Pompous ass.

  “Oh.”

  Yes, oh. And make sure you go back and tell him that. He’s not irreplaceable. Quite the opposite. I can replace him with the snap of my fingers. Booty calls are a dime a dozen. But I want one better than that. And a first date is the perfect place to start.

  “What’s your brother’s name again?”

  “Evan.”

  “What are we talking about, one date, no pressure, no expectations?”

  “Absolutely,” she exclaims.

  Chloe’s persistence and enthusiasm should give me pause but I’m not thinking about her anymore. I’m thinking of Josh and anticipating the look on his face when he realizes he’s not getting the last word on this.

  “I guess we could do lunch next Saturday.” Lunch is a no-pressure kind of date. “Do you want to give him my number?”

  “How ’bout I cook, and we can make it a double date?”

  I clap my palm over my mouth to stifle a snort of laughter. Double date? This just keeps getting better and better.

  “Double date sounds good,” I reply, choking down more laughter.

  “Great. I’ll tell Evan.” Chloe sounds immensely pleased with herself.

  “Oh, one question about your brother. Are we talking the bearded Chris Evans or the clean shaven one?”

  Chloe laughs.

  Chapter Eight

  Josh