"No one has ever been here before," I twirl my finger indicating my home. "I liked having someone here because it wasn't so lonely. It was nice having a friend." I hope that wasn't too much, but I asked if he wanted the truth.
"Couldn't I be your friend?" He sounds sincere.
"I'm not sure you're a very good friend." I say regrettably. I look down and see my plate is mostly full and now cold. I push it to the ottoman having lost my appetite.
Beau doesn't deny my claim. The sad part is, I know he could be a good friend. He was a great listener, before he left, and he seems truly empathetic, until he gets scared off. He isn’t perfect, but I know he would be a good friend. I wish he could be more, but I'd settle for friend.
"I liked being with you too. I had to stop myself from seeing you everyday. Yesterday, I just lost the fight." His hand is clinched on his thigh. "There's a lot of shit going on in my life right now, and I'm not sure I want it contaminating you. There's a lot you don't know about me." He stands and takes a few steps toward the kitchen, before turning to face me again.
I want to ask what it is I don't know, but I don't. I want to ask why his life is so hard right now, but I don't. I settle for telling him, "I'm not weak you know. I know it may seem like I'm fragile, but I'm not."
Beau grabs the back of his neck in frustration, "That's not what I meant at all. I'm just not sure I want you exposed to this shit." I can tell he's struggling with what he wants to tell me.
"I like hanging out with you and watching you at your bookstore with your friends. I like the way you make me feel. You don't have an ulterior motive to get to know me. Hell, the first time I tried to talk to you, you wouldn't give me the time of day. I watched you with that boy and that guy from the market. You were truly kind, not because you wanted something or someone was watching, but just because that's who you are. This may surprise you, but kindness has become extremely rare in my world.”
He drops his arm slapping his outer thigh. His body goes rigid, "Then you tell me about that fucker, and I want to break his hands and maybe even his neck. I want to know his name, where he lives, so I can make sure you don't have to keep looking over your shoulder.” He looks up at me struggling to keep composure, “I don't know how to deal with this shit, and that's not even including the major fuck up my life is right now." He almost pants in agitation as he finishes.
"Okay," I say.
"Okay?" He questions back incredulously.
"Okay, I can understand most of that, but I can't be a better friend to you, unless you let me." I reply simply.
"You are unreal. I just tell you I'm struggling with not killing your stepfather and that my life is shit right now, and you want to be a better friend to me? It’s unbelievable." Beau's hands are on his narrow hips, and his head is hung low as he stares at the floor. I'm not sure what else to say. I don't care if he has stuff he's not ready to talk about. I have things I don’t want to share either. And while I am not a fan of violence, it most certainly doesn't bother me that he would like to kill Darryl. I've thought about it for years. I know neither of us would really do it.
"How about when you're ready to talk to someone about why things are in the tank for you right now, you tell me?" I shrug, letting him know it's not a big deal, "Unless you're wanted for murder, I'm fine with not knowing everything just yet." I trust him, as a friend and as someone I let into my home. I don't know why yet, but I do.
He's looking at me skeptically. “I do have one condition,” I hold my finger up and point at him, "If you decide you don't want my friendship or something changes and you’re not going to be around anymore, tell me, let me know. No drama. I won't make a big deal about it, won't ask why, or where you're going. Just give me a heads up. I don’t like it when people disappear."
He looks thoughtful, "I can do that." He sounds confident.
I smile getting comfy in the corner of the sofa. I tuck my legs under my butt and pull my knees together. Beau moves around the table and sits down, much closer than he was before.
"What if I want more---than friendship?" He asks the timber of his voice changes. It's deeper.
"More what?" my reply comes out breathlessly. His palm moves to my knee and slides a little up my thigh. I can feel the warmth from his hand through my leggings. My eyes track the movement until it finally stops more than half way up my thigh. His thumb makes lazy circles on the outside of my leg, and his fingers squeeze slightly as they circle my inner thigh. He's touching me, really touching me, and I don't want to pull away.
"More from you, of you," He says lowly. I swallow and open my mouth, but nothing comes out, so I shut it. My mind zooms through the possibilities and most lead to one designation, a broken heart. I'm not sure I could do casual with him. If he's just looking for a friends with benefits arrangement, I'll have to walk away.
I've been quiet for a while when he prompts, "Sammy?"
I open my mouth; this time I know what to say. I don't want to say it, but if I don't I know I'd regret it sooner rather than later.
I look right in his eyes answering, "That really depends on what you’re asking for Beau. I don't do booty calls or friends with benefits, so I need to know what you're asking for first.” I shake my head, “I'm not asking for any kind of commitment, but I'm not good with casual." His big hand squeezes before he pulls away. My heart drops but a part of me knew he would pull away. If I'm honest, that same part of me is grateful, because the hurt I feel now is nothing to the devastation I know would come later. I nod my head in acknowledgment of his answer.
He doesn't say anything when I stand up. I grab our plates and move to the kitchen. I hide behind the cabinets, one of the few places in my home that offers some form of seclusion.
It only takes me a few seconds to force lightness in my tone, "Do you need anything while I'm up?"
"No, I should probably get going.” His voice sounds hollow. “Thank you for dinner," his reply comes from near the front door. "Goodbye Sam," his voice a little bittersweet.
And he's gone, but this time he didn't need to tell me he won't be back. I know. The door shuts quietly, before I even leave the sanctity of the kitchen.
I lock the door out of habit and turn out the lights. I crawl into bed and wish I could have given him the answer he was looking for.
Chapter 8
I spend my weekend having a pity party. By Monday, I shower off the mess I let myself become, done feeling sorry for myself.
Jess spots me walking up smiling. She assumes it's leftover from my date with Nate, "Was it great? You looked great. I knew you two would click." I burst her matchmaking bubble quickly before I even get the gate unlock. I eye her with one brow raised and add an amused chuckle.
"No, it wasn't great. Click? You thought I'd click with a twenty-five-year-old that still lives at home and wants to play video games for a living?"
Jess looks offended, "Oh, come on Sam. He wasn't that bad." She fires back while I'm disarming the alarm.
"Oh, but he was! Did you know dogs are way too mainstream for him and that he likes when his ferret sleeps on his feet?" I screech, as Jess's head shakes back and forth. Her face scrunches up like she has caught a bad smell.
"Nooooh," she groans. "That is not first date material. That's the kind of thing you throw down after I love you’s are exchanged."
I slap my hand on the coffee counter, "You knew!" I accuse. There’s no real heat to my tone.
Jess has the nerve to look sheepish, "Other than that, he's a good catch, he’s driven. He wants to make a lot of his life. He’s cute and dresses pretty nice. I mean, the ferret thing is odd, but if you're in the bed with him, he won't need the ferret to keep warm." She starts laughing at my expense.
"You know," I say thoughtfully tapping my chin. "You're right. I should totally call him and beg for a second date. A date where I can walk twenty blocks in heels, pay for my own meal that he ends up eating when he doesn’t like his own, and then listen to him rave about how well his mother cooks.
I don't know what I was thinking. Hurry, let me borrow your phone." I make grabby hands at her as her laugher turns to a horrified expression.
"He didn’t!" she shouts.
"I assure you, he did," I wave my hand dismissively. "That was all before he suggested we share our sexual history, especially any and all bedroom preferences. I quote including, but not limited to spanking, biting, bondage, fur or pony fetish, and role playing. I about pissed myself, Jess. He seemed totally cool with the fact I don't talk about my kinks until the second date. Said he thought that was reasonable. So yes, my darling Jess, it was in fact, that bad."
Jess apologizes profusely throughout the day, and as we sit together for lunch, she promises to leave my love life to me.
“It’s fine Jess, I don’t date often anyway.”
“Still, so sorry.”
I move to change the topic, “So how’s it going with Tim?”
Jess pulls a spoon from her mouth, and smiles. It’s a private smile that tells me just how in love she is.
“He’s just---we’re just. Sooo good.” She exaggerates dreamily.
I grin as a response.
“We had dinner with his parents again. I was worried at first, but I really like them.”
Anna walks by pointedly ignoring us, preoccupied with her phone. It has been a theme for her, most of the morning at least.
“You okay, Anna?” I ask.
She murmurs a positive response but continues to flick through her phone in an agitated manner. Well that’s a bit odd.
On Tuesday, after work, I hit the grocer, stocking up on items for the book club meeting tomorrow night. I plan to make pretty much the same dishes as last month but add in a pumpkin cheesecake, perfect for the October weather.
As Wednesday morning rolls around, I go about my usual prep work, both cooking and dressing myself for the event ahead of me.
After the cab drops me and my packages at the door, I make sure everything is running smoothly, before heading to the employee lounge. I drop my things off there and prep the dip quickly. I haven't had to work the floor much, with the new hires, and I find I miss the interaction with my customers. I quickly return to the front.
I have to make myself not think of Beau today. Usually I'm good at not over thinking that last encounter. It’s not until I get home, I start second guessing my choice. Would giving into him been better than this, just to have any part of him? I know the answer. It's just harder to accept today, because I'm still hoping he'll show up.
He doesn't, but ten others do, including my small group of regulars. A few of them watch the stairs, eagerly anticipating Beau; I find my gaze drifting there as well.
“We scared the new guy away,” Mickey mumbles forlornly to the group, and gets an equally forlorn reply.
After introductions, the discussion blossoms. There are even more opinions regarding the second book. It seems that without Beau here, the ladies are a little more open to share.
Cookie’s opinion is clear, “Listen, take away this guy being a gazillionaire and you’d have a totally different story.”
“How so?” a woman in a burgundy jacket, questions. I think her name is Candice.
“Well if some dude in a ratty trailer and an old pickup truck was basically stalking you and telling you very openly that he wanted to beat your ass with a belt, how well would that go?” Cookie’s brows are raised waiting for a reply from the group. When she doesn’t get one, she immediately continues, “It’s a fantasy, but in reality, this wouldn’t do.”
“That’s something we can discuss. What made Anna want to be with Christian? Was it money, like Cookie mentioned, his physical appearance, status, or personality?”
“I think the attraction is the determining factor. I don’t think money had anything to do with it.” Mickey looks over at her sister. From the look they share, they’ve had this conversation before.
Lauren breaks in, “You know what I don’t get? At the beginning she was all upset and freaked out about the discipline, but later in the book she’s the one who ups the ante.”
A few heads tilt, most seeming to actually be thinking about her question.
I throw my hat in the game, “I think there’s a few things that feed into that desire. First, she realized she liked some of what they’d done. She might have been confused at first, but liked it nonetheless. Second, I think she wanted it because she knew he wanted it.” My response garners a few reactions.
“Wait, so are you saying she did it to like, keep him?”
Surprisingly it’s Candice who answers her, “Hell yes she did! Why wouldn’t she? Satisfying someone’s sexual needs can be very gratifying. I’m pretty sure she was also in lust, if not love with him, at that point so she wanted to keep him happy.” She moves her hand around as she speaks, “That’s evident when she starts questioning if she could be ‘sub’ enough for him.”
We finish up just before close. I say good night to everyone, while George rings up a few copies of Fifty Shades Freed. I haven't looked over next month’s suggestion, but I'm hoping for something different. I've had about enough with the book boyfriends for a while. Things are back to normal, no one stays to help clean up.
When I hear someone rushing up the stairs, I assume it's someone who's forgotten their bag.
Instead I'm greeted with a frayed blue ball cap. All my wants about him being here fade in this moment. Now, I just wish I was already at home. This is all too exhausting. I sigh turning back around and finish gathering the trash and empty trays.
I say in a flat tone, "Store’s closing soon, please head down to the register if you'd like to make a purchase."
"Sammy." God, this guy. I don't believe for one minute he doesn't know the effect he has on me.
"Sam or Samantha," I correct him. I'm being a bit of a bitch, but he needs to leave. I made myself clear. I would have been fine being his friend, but he just shut me out and vanished again.
"I really fucked up, huh?" I don't respond, so he continues, “I've seen you be polite to people who treated you like dirt, but you can't manage to look at me."
I can't tell if that fact pisses him off or makes him sad, but I still say nothing. He doesn't move to leave or say anything else. I can feel his presence behind me.
"Listen Beau, maybe it's me that doesn't make a good friend, but regardless of who or why, the fact remains." I finally turn and face the same gorgeous man that I ran into just over a month ago. The man who has managed to flip my world upside down in this short time.
My resolve almost leaves me, when I meet his beautiful green eyes as they study me. They are pleading, I feel like I'm the one who deprived him of something.
I clear my throat, "The fact remains that we cannot be friends."
George’s voice booms up from downstairs, "Sammy dear, I'm about finished. Would you like me to wait for you?"
Still looking into Beau's eyes, I call down, "Just a moment George, I have someone up here that needs to be let out before you lock up. No need to wait, I'll call a cab, thank you. I need a while longer to clean up."
"Oh." He sounds surprised at hearing this, "Alright dear."
I try to memorize his face, because I know what I'm about to ask him next.
"Please don't come back," I whisper.
"Sammy please," his eyes continue to plead with me.
"He's coming now George," with that I turn my back to the only man who's touch leaves me wanting more. I'm a coward. I'll chose my comfortable lonely life over this any day. I hear quiet murmurs for a brief moment then the door opens and shuts, the locks engaging.
I blow out a long breath and let my head fall forward leaning my hands on the table. God, that was hard. How can I feel like this over a man I barely know? I'm pathetic.
"Sammy."
I scream when Beau says my name suddenly in a low tone.
"What the fuck?" I shout and spin around seeing him standing at the top of the stairs. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack? How are you still
here?"
A small smile lifts his lips, "I pleaded my case with George. Never underestimate a fellow man’s sympathy for being in the dog house."
"Traitor!" I say indignantly. “Beau, what are you doing here?" I can hear the defeat in my own voice.
"I can't seem to stay away." He answers quickly.
Well that's not was I was expecting, "Oh, you seem to do fine at staying away. As long as it works for you, right? I mean why not, you come and go at your leisure anyway." Sarcasm is dripping with my every word.
"Sam, I don't want you to be mad at me. I didn't come here to fight with you." He says pleadingly.
"Are you kidding? I am mad at you." I growl, "You are so confusing! First, you make a big deal of finding out my story, then when I tell you, you disappear.” I look pointedly at him, “Thanks for that by the way, now I know to keep shit simple and give people the answers they want or expect; no one wants the real garbage. I'm glad I hashed that shit out for nothing.” I scoff, but continue my rant, “Then you come back and act like I'm the one doing something wrong, when I'm not at your beck and call.” I wave my hand that is currently holding a trash bag, at him. It’s appropriate really. “Oh, and let's not forget you never even apologized for the shit you said to me,” I hold my hands into a mock dreaming pose, “Every girl just loves to hear how the only reason someone would dare take them out, was because their abuser put them up to it.” I spit out my final sentences, “Have I gotten it right so far?"
In the span of my rant, I've closed the distance between us. I don't think he's moved once. Beau continues to stand there, taking all the poison I spew at him, and that pisses me off too.
"Let’s not stop now. Then I let you back in. No explanation, no apology, I never even asked for one." I laugh at how naïve I was being, but there's no humor in it. "Let’s stop now before you can bail again.” I hold my hand up when he opens his mouth to speak, “I was honest with you, but because I wouldn't let you in my pants, you left. That about sums it up, right Beau?"
"That make you feel better?" He asks me calmly.
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