The Boys of Blueberries

10

There are five stages of grief. Sabina goes through them like a grocery list in an effort to make sense of it all.

Denial

Sabina thought she could fuck it out of her system. Maybe she's just needy. Maybe she just got used to Tristan—his smell, his sounds, the shape of his body. She hasn't gotten laid in a long time.

The guy she took home from the club, the one she's been eyeing all night, the one she danced with and messed around with in the car, doesn't feel right. Her fingers in his hair seem twisted and tight and her skin itches with every touch their bodies make. It doesn't take long before Sabina knows that she doesn't want this, so she kicks him out. Goes through her contacts of convenient booty calls and asks one to come over.

She's already in a bad mood, so when she attaches her lips to her neck and fumbles with her robe, Sabina snaps, "Just take off your pants and hurry up, God, stop eating me."

As soon as they're done, Sabina picks up her robe and curls on the sofa, red wine in her hand. "Get out."

"You're so mean," the girl laughs, and slides in her ripped jeans. "Whoever it is, call them."

The model scowls. "Call who?"

"That person you're trying so hard not to like but clearly do."

"I don't like anybody. Get out." Sabina punches her fingers against the screen of her phone and waits until her booty call is out the door before pressing call. She doesn't want to be alone, and she doesn't want more sex, she wants someone to drink with. "You free?"

"Sweetheart," comes Jenner's teasing voice. "The last time we had sex was pre-Tristan. Is it post-Tristan now?"

Sabina lets out an irritated scoff. "Not for that, idiot. I'm drinking alone and I want some company. MJ is working late, Andy is busy making some flashcards for those little creatures. Rhysand and Adrian are stupid men and with you, I can get high."

She hears his smile when he responds, "Busy right now. Drinks on me next time, I promise. Sorry, babe."

Sabina rolls her eyes. "No, you're not. Bye."

She tosses her phone on the couch when she hangs up, tapping her fingers against her glass.

It's the quiet that drives her to do it. Maybe it's her second glass. Or her third. But in the quiet, her mind says, "If Tristan were here, he'd be standing against your counter, making coffee with only his jeans on. He always makes coffee after you hook up—the disgustingly sweet kind. He'd make one for you, too. But he's not here, he's out with nice girls like Camie Brown."

There's a sneer on her lips from the name. She decides to call him.

The other line is loud and boisterous and it takes a couple of seconds before Tristan says, in confusion, "Kyle?"

"Bishop." Sabina pulls at a thread in her robe. "I'm kind of drunk. And I want someone to be drunk with."

The noise quiets down. She imagines him stepping out, holding the phone to his ear, a frown on his beautiful face. "Are you at home?"

"Yeah. Can't leave the party early?"

Her voice is nonchalant. Tristan pauses for a second before saying, "I'll be there in fifteen."

Tristan dumps his wallet, keys, and phone on the coffee table as soon as he punches in her security code and sits on the couch, glancing at her. "You smell like sex."

Sabina tries not to grimace. She scrunches her nose and hugs her legs to her chest. "You smell like booze."

"I was out with some of the other staffers," Tristan says, standing up. He heads to the kitchen. "Which you would know about if you bothered to be an actual human being at work."