Soft Spot

Chapter 9 | Committed Whore

"Listen, Davis," he snaps and my mouth clamps shut. Davis? Did he just call me Davis? "This is going to take a while to settle in. I get that. But in order for you to help me, you have to take me seriously."

Me and serious coming from Sawyer in the same sentence sounded just as bizarre as him saying he was married. I wasn't sure which one I believed less.

"Oh, come on," I laughed although that time it sounded as unsure as I'd felt. The exhaustion in Sawyer's eyes said too much for me to deny. "You can't...You're not..."

"Married," he confirmed. "Well, separated."

I didn't think I really had words I hated but that one was coming in hot. So was the feeling of shock, disappointment, and maybe even betrayal.

I crossed my arms as a shield for my vulnerable words, looking away before I had to spit them out. "We have our moments but I don't really think you're all that bad. For you to have been married all this time and be the kind of guy you are, the kind of guy who fake-dates your friends, would make you a sleaze. Are you telling me you're a sleaze, Sawyer? Because that would suck balls."

I felt his stare boring into me but I kept my focus on Mao. He was staring down at his shit in disbelief, like he couldn't believe that came out of him. I guess Sawyer's confession has done a number on us both.

"I'm saying I made a drunken mistake three years ago. A mistake to a total stranger who turned out to be the most narcissistic woman and is refusing to divorce me. I'm saying I've been trying to leave her, but there are complications, and I need your help. I'm saying...I need you to be my friend."

So here I was, sitting in the passenger seat of Sawyer's car, and sipping on the coffee he bought me in compensation to meet him at nine a.m. on a Sunday morning.

He didn't say for what, and after telling me he needed a friend, he said he had to go and asked if he could pick me up bright and early, so I spent the entirety of the night tossing and turning and fighting to breathe because I didn't know what was going to happen next or what I'd gotten myself into. I think I was about to find out.

"How'd you sleep?" He breaks the silence first, looking over at me. I kept my stare straight ahead. The plaza we were parked in was totally deserted and as of now, I had zero guesses as to what stores here would actually interest Sawyer. "You look pretty tired."

"Thanks," I deadpan. "Roughly thirty minutes of sleep the night before and no motivation to even put on concealer will do that to you."

"You don't need it."

"Sleep? Great. Take my food and drink away while you're at it."

He chuckles and it's beyond me why. Nothing is funny before noon on the weekends.

"Makeup, Tink," he supplies. "You're pretty with it, pretty without it."

I grow warm from the neck up. Not that there's any explanation for that. It's an early February morning in San Francisco and the car's temperature is in the low forties. But I blame the warmth on the plaid scarf I wrapped around my neck. That's it. It totally makes sense.

"Shouldn't say that when you're married," I remind him under my breath. It sounded more bitter than I intended.

"Separated. I explained that, Tink."

"Barely. I mean since I've met you, you've been a—"

I stop there. I know I'm cranky and not a morning person but I shouldn't say what I was going to say.

"A whore?" Sawyer fills in for me. When I look over at him, there's laughter in his eyes. There's nothing he loves more than proving just how well he knows me.