I almost dropped my margarita when Russ strolled into the backyard. Giving Erika a furious look, I hissed, "You said he wouldn't be here!"
Erika cringed at the sight of my ex-boyfriend. "I didn't think he would be! I told Tony not to invite him, but I guess he forgot."
I rolled my eyes in exasperation. Erika, my best friend since high school, had been dating Tony for over a year. He was a little older, and she craved the stability he offered; he wasn't wild like the guys she normally fell for. The two of them recently decided to move in together, and they found a perfect place with reasonable rent. The house was a little beyond the suburbs but not way out in the sticks. When Erika invited me to a party at their new home, I agreed to come on one condition: that Russ wouldn't be there. I knew it wasn't fair to issue the ultimatum since Tony and Russ were good friends. But my breakup with Russ just a few weeks ago had been painful and ugly, and I wanted to avoid seeing him at all costs.
Yet here we were, in the same place at the same time, which was the last thing I wanted. Still, I couldn't help but sneak glances at Russ as he headed toward Tony and a small group of guys I didn't know well. He didn't look my way once.
Tony, however, grinned sheepishly when he noticed my icy glare. As Russ talked with one of their mutual friends, Tony raised his eyebrows expectantly and then gestured for me to join them. I flipped him the bird in response.
"I'm going to kick Tony's ass!" Erika said. "I guess he thought he was being cute, trying to get you two back together." She shot Tony a warning look that wiped the grin from his face. Then she turned to me. "I'm so sorry, Amie."
"It's fine," I sighed. "But I'm gonna need another drink. How about you?"
"I'm good, thanks." When Erika squeezed my hand, I forced a smile. I didn't want to ruin her party by acting like a sulky little bitch, but I knew I needed a minute alone to get my emotions under control. Right now, there were only about twenty people in the backyard for the cookout, so it wasn't as if I could hide among the crowd. If I stayed outside, Russ and I were sure to run into each other.
I got up and headed toward the back door, which led into the kitchen. Once inside, I poured myself another margarita from the huge pitcher Tony had made. He was heavy-handed with the tequila, and I made sure to pace myself so I wouldn't have to take an Uber home. When I heard the screen door open behind me, I figured it was Erika coming for a second drink, after all. "Change your mind?" I asked, looking over my shoulder. But it wasn't Erika standing behind me.
Russ lingered near the door, arms folded over his chest. Being in the same room with him made me bristle. "Kitchen's all yours," I said, my voice flat. Gripping my glass too tightly, I tried to move past him, but he held out a hand to stop me.
"Can we talk?" he asked.
I stared straight ahead, refusing to look at him. "I think you and I said more than enough last time we were together."
"Amie, I'm sorry." Russ took a sideways step, so he was directly in my line of vision. He was also blocking the damn door. "I hate the way things ended between us."
I didn't trust myself to speak. Instead, I lifted my glass to my lips and took a sip. Like me, Russ wore jeans and a T-shirt. I could tell his wavy brown hair had been cut recently. His blue eyes were entreating as they met mine. "I'm surprised you showed up here tonight," I finally said. Though I felt my face pulling into an ugly sneer, I was powerless to stop it. "I thought you decided you were too good to slum around with lowlifes like us."
"That's not fair, and you know it!" he shot back. "Christ, I was only trying to give you some advice, and you took it all wrong!"
I snorted at that. For months, Russ and I had dated. We'd laughed at each other's silly jokes and walked along city streets holding hands. We spent our nights together and fucked like rabbits. And we confided in each other, sharing all our wild dreams we knew would never come true. I'd fallen in love with him. I thought he loved me. And then he got a new job. He was so excited, going on about how great it was for his career. At first, I'd shared in his excitement, because I knew how much the job meant to him.
But then he began to change. It started with his comments about my lack of ambition. "Don't you want to go back to school?" he asked. "You don't plan to wait tables for the rest of your life, do you?" I tried to overlook his "advice" even as I sensed us growing further apart. At twenty-two, I was only six years younger than Russ, but I started feeling like I was dating someone my dad's age.
Our relationship ended the night Erika and I decided to get matching tattoos. I hadn't mentioned it to Russ beforehand, and when I showed him the fresh ink—a vine of ivy wrapped delicately around my ankle—he gave me a disapproving look. "It's pretty, Amie, but you know it's going to be harder for you to get a decent job if you're covered in tattoos. You have plenty as it is."
At that moment, I understood what people meant when they said their blood boiled. Hot fury surged through me as I shouted, "Fuck you, Russ! I've had it with you trying to change me!"
Russ looked shocked at my outburst. "I'm not," he insisted.
"The hell you're not!" I pointed an accusing finger at him. "You constantly criticize my job, and my 'life choices,' and now you have a problem with my tattoos? Why the fuck did you want to get involved with me in the first place?" As angry as I was, I couldn't hide the fact that I was deeply hurt. Tears pooled in my throat, preventing me from saying another word.
Russ reached for me, but I jerked away. "Amie, I love you. I just want what's best for you."
I shook my head. "I'm sick of trying to live up to your expectations!" I hated myself for crying in front of him. It felt like weakness on my part. "You know what?" I went on. "You're boring now, Russ. All you ever talk about is your 'career.' Even the sex is boring!"
That was a low blow, I knew, and it was also a lie. The man could absolutely fuck, boring job talk notwithstanding. But he'd wounded me, and now I wanted to hurt him. I could tell by the way he blanched at my words that I'd succeeded. He held up his hands as if to fend off any more insults. "Then I guess we're done," he said, and I heard the unshed tears coating his voice.
"I guess we are!" I turned on my heel and strode out of his apartment. Only when I was in my car did I break down sobbing.
As Russ and I now stood in the kitchen, with the party going on outside, he dared to step closer to me. "I'm sorry I was a controlling asshole when we were together. But what you said?" He shook his head at the memory. "Talk about going for the jugular, Amie."
I was too full of pride to apologize, so I focused on my drink. Although my hair was pulled back in a ponytail, my face and neck grew flushed. My heartbeat reverberated in my skull, the way it sometimes did before I got a migraine.
Russ moved even closer. "Did you mean what you said?" he whispered. "About the sex being boring?"
"What the hell does it matter if I meant it or not?" I jutted out my chin, still defiant. "We're through, remember?" In response, Russ pried the glass from my hand. "Hey!" My scowl did nothing to deter him. After placing the glass on the counter, Russ leaned toward me. Mere inches separated us, and I could smell a hint of detergent wafting from his clean shirt.
"Look me in the eye and tell me you got bored fucking me," he demanded.
I tilted my head to glare up at him. He didn't look at all angry, I realized. No, he looked almost amused, as if he was fully aware he'd caught me in a lie. Swallowing hard, I steeled my spine. "I... got bored..." I desperately wanted to sound convincing, but the words came out shaky. Russ raised an eyebrow, and I knew I couldn't lie to his face. Instead, I murmured, "I still hate you." Then I wove my fingers through his hair and guided his mouth to mine.