The Relationship Pact(3)

“But are you? Are you really?” She slips her lipstick back into her purse. “Because I know you and the men you so sadly choose to date—”

“Hey!”

“And I don’t think men as a gender are your problem. And I think you know that.”

I gasp in mock horror. “What are you saying? Are you saying I’m the problem?”

“I’d never even consider such a thing,” she teases.

“Liar.”

She spins on her heel and faces me. When our eyes meet, we start to laugh.

Bellamy has been my best friend my entire life. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t know her. She’s always lived next door to my aunt Siggy—the best aunt in the entire world—and she’s always been the wild to my calm.

More or less.

“You know what your problem is,” she says pointedly when her laughter subsides. “It’s not fair to yourself to pretend it’s every man in the universe when, in reality, it’s—”

“Athletes,” we say in unison.

I sigh as dramatically as I can.

My weakness for the fit and delicious specimen who runs, jumps, and throws balls or hits pucks started in junior high school. It’s not a revelation.

I had the biggest, most annoying crush on a boy who played centerfield on my cousin’s all-star baseball team. I was twelve. He was older than me and had a swagger about him that appealed to me on a level I didn’t know existed. He was a little headstrong and a whole lot cocky—just enough to seem forbidden. My thing with athletes—and probably bad boys, if I’m honest—started that summer.

My brain shuffles through the memories of my last few boyfriends.

There was Charlie—the hockey goalie with sweet eyes and it’s-not-cheating-if-it’s-not-penetration code of conduct.

Benny was next. He was a minor league baseball player who firmly believed my place was in the kitchen. But not barefoot. He liked me in expensive heels.

There was Christopher—a sports manager who was career-driven and egotistical and couldn’t shut up about his day long enough to ask me about mine.

And, as if I had to prove to myself that I could do worse, I chose Sebastian Townsend. The golfer-turned-sports agent from Atlanta decided my take on monogamy—that cheaters should have their reproductive organs removed—was harsh, and I should cushion my expectations. Apparently, men are bees, and it’s their job to pollinate the flowers of the world.

It’s safe to say he didn’t support the idea of one bee plus one flower equals happiness. He also didn’t love—i.e., became enraged—at his theory working in reverse. Was one flower supposed to hope the one bee pollinating her had decent skills? Maybe she should be as free as the bee?

He took offense.

I’m not sure who ended it with who that night, but it went down rather spitefully … about as petty as Sebastian is tonight.

When I look back up at Bellamy, she’s shaking her head. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t let him get in your head.” She gets to her feet and towers over me in her nude-colored heels that are entirely unnecessary for a friend’s birthday party. “Sebastian is a twerp. I know all of his little smug grins and bullshit waves, with his new girl shrink-wrapped to his side, are getting to you tonight.”

“They are not.”

“So, you’re swearing off all men out of the blue? Riss, you like dick. You’re not going to go all cold turkey like that. It’s because he got to you tonight.”

I get to my feet in a rush. “He did not get to me tonight. He pissed me off. That little line about how … shameful, or whatever word he used, it must be to show up to our friend’s birthday party alone pissed me off.”

“Yeah. Of course, it did. It was by design.”

Anger pulses through me. “He used the word dreadful. It must have been dreadful to have to bring Bellamy as your date. I didn’t even get a chance to tell him I wasn’t here alone or with you as my date. Even though you are. But you know what I mean.”

“Either way, fuck him! I’m a great date.”

I smile through my annoyance. “He also told me not to worry. He told people our break-up was mutual and not that he had to let me down easy.”

Bellamy balks. “It was mutual.”

“Oh, trust me. I know. I was there.”

“That little twerp.”

I turn away from her and look in the mirror.

My reflection stares back at me. In my eyes, I see the truth. Sebastian didn’t get to me tonight. I did.

I’ve known for a while now that I needed a break. Ever since Christopher ghosted me because work always came first, I’ve learned that something had to change. I’ve just refused to give it too much thought—probably because I didn’t want to be here, standing in front of my reflection and knowing I have no one to blame for this mess of a love life other than me.

They say doing the same things while expecting a different result is ridiculous. That’s what I’ve been doing. Dating different packages of the same contents over and over again. And somehow, I expect it to work.

I know better. I’m not a stupid person.

Theoretically, at least. The past doesn’t speak well for me in this case.