The Contradiction of Solitude Read Free Page A

server. Again, I ignored him.
    “No, we’re good, Nancy. Thanks,” I said. She dropped her hand onto my arm and gave it a squeeze. Always touching. Tate snorted again. It didn’t make me uncomfortable. It made me sad. For her. For a woman who could only find joy in groping the young customers.
    “You in the market for some old lady strange?” Tate snickered.
    “You’re a dick.” I shook my head.
    “I’m a HUGE dick,” he chortled, grabbing at his junk, though thankfully it was underneath the table.
    “Dude, this is a family restaurant,” I groaned, looking around.
    “Stop being such a pussy.” Tate started to put on his coat. “I’ve got to get back. You comin’?”
    “Nah, I’m still eating. I can pay for yours. Head out if you want.” I had a mountain of stuff to do back at the studio but I wasn’t feeling in a rush to leave. Never in a rush. I liked to take my time.
    “Really? That’s cool of you. I’ll getcha back another time,” Tate said, getting to his feet.
    Then I was alone.
    And awkwardly sitting by myself. I looked at my food. Concentrating. I didn’t want to look lonely. But that’s exactly what I was.
    Lonely.
    Alone.
    Always.
    I stuffed a fry in my mouth and then started constructing elaborate structures out of the fried potatoes on my plate.
    Piling. Stacking. Making things out of nothing. It’s what I did best.
    “Is that Stonehenge?”
    The voice startled me and I may have flinched a little. I’m not sure why.
    I looked up and froze.
    Literally and completely froze. Paralyzed. Immobilized. Suspended in motion.
    Because she was gorgeous in all the ways that you would expect a girl to be. Her hair was long and dark. Her lips plump and looked as though they tasted like my downfall. Her skin was pale and unblemished except for the freckles dusting her nose.
    I knew those freckles were deceiving. She wore innocence like a badge. To be noticed. To cajole unsuspecting souls into easy submission. Those freckles could lure a man into false confidence, thinking her meek and malleable.
    But her eyes gave her away.
    Dark and wide and bottomless. Coal black. They were sad and devoid of light. But I knew there was a soul inside there somewhere.
    Or at least I hoped so.
    She had a beat up copy of Swann’s Way tucked under her arm, and I instantly recognized her. It was the girl from last weekend.
    I had noticed her right away. It was impossible not to pay attention to someone that looked like that. She had watched me even as I pretended not to watch her. I had dug her voyeur act. It was flattering.
    I was not a Casanova by any stretch of the imagination but I loved women. And they loved me. It was a reciprocal arrangement built on mutual pleasure and satisfaction. My relationships ended amicably. Effortlessly. Simply. It was done in a respectful manner for all parties involved. I didn’t want to hurt anyone, because I wasn’t in the habit of being hurt. I wouldn’t allow it. My partners knew it. There were no expectations.
    I didn’t do drama. Or unnecessary tension. Life was too short to be mired in wasteful emotions.
    And I had noticed her. The girl with the coal black eyes who had never said a word.
    I had briefly wondered if she was a mute.
    Though apparently not.
    “Huh?” I asked lamely.
    She arched an eyebrow and nodded her head toward my plate. I looked down and realized I had indeed built a sad little Stonehenge out of my fries.
    “Looks like it,” I chuckled. I tried not to stare at her but it was really hard. She was that pretty.
    She stood there beside my table with an odd expression on her face. She stared at my seasoned fries like they were a hell of a lot more interesting than I was.
    Overshadowed by junk food. I had hit a new low.
    “Maybe I should try for the White House next time.” I sounded like an idiot. My poor attempt at a joke was ridiculous. But I didn’t care. I just wanted to hear her voice again.
    I was feeling irrational. Impulsive.
    Crazy.
    “Or maybe