He scoffed. “You don’t need an invitation. You know that.”
“Grant,” I sneered, “it’s been a decade since I’ve been on stage. I’m not just rusty, I’m corroded.”
“No you’re not. I’ve heard you sing at the lake, around the fire. You’re good.”
“I’m not good. You must have had too much to drink those nights.”
“Quit it. I’m serious,” he said. “You should start singing again. We could do a few songs together.”
I shook my head. I didn’t need to think about it.
“I have no desire to be on stage again. That part of my life is over,” I told him, and I meant it.
I was burnt out by the time I turned seventeen. Years of weekend traveling in a cramped van with my mom, dad, and Dylan, entertaining blue haired crowds with songs like “She’s Too Fat For Me” and “In Heaven There Is No Beer,” not exactly a teenagers idea of a rave weekend. I felt like a damn Partridge kid. I didn’t willingly giving up underage drinking and all night bonfires to travel every weekend with my bickering, semi-talented musical family. I did it because I was expected to and I was still bitter about it. I hadn’t plunked a key on the keyboard or bellowed a single note on stage since the day I walked away. The day I moved out of my parents’ house to get away from a life of music that I didn’t want to be a part of anymore.
Though when Grant asked me if I would come on stage with him, for the first time in more than a decade, I was secretly delighted at the thought. For the first time, I was thankful that I had that rare experience from my childhood. The pressure of continually having to learn new music, enduring the grind of endless practice sessions, and the wear that loading and unloading an entire stage of sound equipment had on your body, was something we had uniquely in common. It was an unusual life that I understood, a life he could tell me about, and I could relate. Music was a passion that ran through his blood, and he needed the right woman to share it with.
Then it happened again, like it always did when we were together, everyone in the room disappeared. Dylan’s friends eventually shuffled out and the noise died, leaving nothing but my beating heart pounding loud in my ears. Every word in our conversation turned awkward, like it was all just a diversion to mask the things we thought but couldn’t say.
Be brave.
I nudged myself, digging up the courage to say something meaningful. I leaned my elbows forward and rested my chin in my hands. Then I took a leap:
“I could stay up all night talking to you…it’s so easy with us.”
He hesitated, took a strained breath, and then nervously brushed his hand over his mouth as if to remind it to be cautious. “I feel the same way,” he said. Then he looked into my eyes in a way he hadn’t before. Finally, he was letting himself fall, he was about to let me in and show me his real feelings.
It’s now or never, keep going. Tell him how much you think about him!
He spoke before I could mobilize the courage to say something.
“I can’t believe how late it is, I’m tired. I think I’ll crash on the couch in the house for a while before I drive home.”
What?!
Disappointment slapped me across the face with an open palm—the mood between us changed instantly. Once again we were back to that place of familiar gray distance—and I was angry. He was holding back and I knew it. I felt it. It pissed me off. Everyone had left the party, Dylan was in the house, and we were finally alone. But instead of having an honest conversation about what ever this was between us, we tossed cans and bottles into the recycle bins and picked up the party trash without saying a word.
When the cleanup was done, I followed him to the door ready to leave. My heart pounded furiously with anger at his cowardly silence—a silence that rang shrill in my ears and made me feel like I was about to implode.
Grant please, say something! Do something!
“Ready?” he asked, “Are you sure you’re okay to drive home?”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m fine.”
Then he turned off the lights, reached for the door knob…and stopped.
He froze in place.
He wasn’t even breathing.
I wasn’t breathing.
The electricity between us seemed to ignite my skin. I cowered behind him in the darkness, waiting…
Why did he stop?
Shit!
Levi?
Grant turned around to face me with his head hung low. It wasn’t Levi he stopped for.
It was me.
My eyes were fixed on his silhouette, I could feel his reluctance fading. I stared, waiting and wondering…what is he going to do? He lifted his head and took a slow step toward me. Our bodies were illegally close and an immense tension throbbed between us. My senses became acutely aware of everything him; the faint smell of spearmint gum on his breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly now, and the dark shadow of his masculine form enveloping me. My mind raced.
Am I going to cheat on Levi? Is this it?
Then a warm, unfamiliar hand slid across my bare neck and my head fell slowly into his palm. His fingers buried into my hair and I let out a pleasure filled Mmm…when he pulled me gently to him.
My breasts pressed hard against his chest. I wrapped my arms around the contours of his lean torso and he laid his head softly down on my shoulder.
He’d surrendered.
I vanished beneath him, filled with sensations of belonging, connectedness and finally, home. He warmed my body and my soul. Though one feeling trumped all the others. The one I’d been searching a lifetime for but had never felt. Contentment. With him, if only for a fleeting moment, I felt content.
No more searching, no more wondering, just absolute security and contentment. He was the one. It was the feeling I’d longed for, the one that always seemed just out of reach. Now, it was calling me home, he was calling me home. We held each other, consumed with one another for what felt like hours before I broke the silence.
“We should crash on the couch out here for a few hours.”
A swell of anxiety filled my chest as I waited for his reply. But he didn’t need to speak, his actions spoke louder than any words. He loosened his grip, let his hands fall away from my body, took a step back, and he was gone. Just like that. Where a warm shelter had just been now stood an empty shell, a body without emotion.
The man I longed for, the only man I’d ever felt fully alive with had just retreated, again.
Why did I suggest such a foolish thing? What a stupid thing to do! Maybe he thought I wanted sex? Or maybe he didn’t feel the same? Why would he want a cheater anyway, after what happened to him?
He was doing the right thing and I knew it. I was the dirty one who had just suggested an adulterous nap. I didn’t care, my heart needed him.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea…I’m sorry,” he said.
I don’t want your fucking pity.
Cold, emotionless, and not expecting to ever feel his hands on me again, I was breathless when he grabbed me with both arms and pulled me close, “Don’t you see!” he forced the words through gritted teeth, “I don’t want to leave you.”
“So don’t.” I carefully touched my forehead to his chest, breathing in his scent and absorbing his embrace.
“I have to,” he whispered. “You feel so good, what am I supposed to do?”
His words were laced with confusion and pain.
I was laced with confusion and pain.
Then I heard the click.
With one hand interlaced in mine and the other behind his back, he’d locked the door.
This is it. Is this what I really want? Oh shit, I don’t know, I don’t know. I don’t want to be a cheater, but…
I stumbled as he tugged me along behind him toward the couch. With his back pressed into the cushions, I took shelter in the space in front of him and nestled into his warm body. His masculine legs intertwined with mine, a strong hand gripped my hip, and the other he offered me as a pillow. H
is touch was foreign, everything about him new, yet somehow he felt more familiar than anything I’d ever known.
Sleeping was impossible and I feared the smallest movement might send him away. I laid still and silent and I could feel his heart beating wildly against my back. What occurred when we were together was undeniable and his racing pulse proved it. We had an unequivocal magnetism to each other. It was real, it was extraordinary, and we both knew it.
“I didn’t expect this,” I whispered into the darkness. “Being with you feels even better than I imagined.”
“I had a feeling it was you,” he whispered back.
What did he just say?!
I wanted to turn and kiss him—God how I wanted to kiss him.
“I need you to know I’ve never done this before—it’s just with you and me—”
“Shh…” He whispered then wrapped his whole self around me, “You don’t have to explain. I know. I feel it too.”
Then he stuttered like he was about to tell me something, but held it back before it came out. His lack of courage or sudden change of heart shattered our moment of bliss. When he finally spoke, the way he said it was kind, but his words tore me open and left me to bleed.
“We shouldn’t be out here like this. I’d better go in the house. You should wait a bit, then come inside so it doesn’t look like we were together.”
I couldn’t move or speak. I knew we felt the same way, how could he just ignore it? His hot and cold streaks were so erratic no meteorologist in the universe could have predicted what he might do next.
He fumbled over my lifeless body then stood over me as I lay despondent.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
I don’t need your fucking sympathy, don’t pity me, coward.
I didn’t speak. I kept my wounded mouth shut since I too was a coward, and afraid to tell him the truth about how I felt.
A gust of freezing snow invaded the warm darkness as he walked out and slammed the ice crusted door shut behind him. Humiliation groped me like an unwelcome intruder in the night. I wanted to suffocate myself in the couch cushions, I contemplated it.
I laid there lonely and embarrassed, wounded by rejection and disappointed by my lack of self-control. Our friendship would never be the same, how could it be? And now I had a secret to keep, an actual secret. Not just a phantom emotional affair, but a real live secret. I’d crossed the line of fidelity. Snuggling, confessing, and wanting another man like I wanted him is cheating, right?
I once heard there are two types of people. Those motivated by success and those motivated by failure. I was neither. I was motivated by anger. For me, it was anger that released a massive store house of energy and motivation. I slammed the garage door shut behind me, hoping he would hear me leave.
I will never do this again. I swear. I will never do this again.
I was done with him. Done. Done. Done.
I was done with this self-inflicted sadism.
Chapter 13
“I GAVE HIM MY HEART, AND HE TOOK AND PINCHED IT TO DEATH;
AND FLUNG IT BACK TO ME. PEOPLE FEEL WITH THEIR HEARTS, ELLEN,
AND SINCE HE HAS DESTROYED MINE, I HAVE NOT POWER TO FEEL FOR HIM.”
―EMILY BRONTË, WUTHERING HEIGHTS
He sat on the barstool, twisting the pool cue between his palms as I strutted past. My heart almost stopped beating when he wrapped his hands around my hips and pulled me down hard onto his lap.
6 Hours Earlier
Another sizzling summer was underway and Grant and I were instantly back to where we’d always been. My promise to be done with him lasted only as long as the remaining winter months. With Levi an hour away at home every weekend, and Heidi (the girl Grant had moved on to after Molly, who turned out not to be the one) in Australia, we immediately re-kindled our extra-curricular flirting.
It was a sunny, reggae Saturday as I dangled my legs off the side of the boat, skimming my toes on top the water and singing along with Marley’s greatest hits—still on repeat. The absence of our significant others, several Apricot Brandi slushies, and a handful of bloody beers was the perfect cocktail mix to ignite our smoldering flame.
We were punch drunk and frolicking around the lake in the Moomba. Lissy was our sober chaperon and clearly annoyed with our unchaste behavior. Grant pushed the limits of her patience.
“Stay there,” He motioned to me and I was expected to be his accomplice. It was a skit we’d done a handful of times on unsuspecting victims.
Undetected, he slipped off the bow and into the water, then swam lengthwise underneath the boat. His disappearance was my cue.
Lissy was sitting on the platform, sloshing her legs in the water when I hollered out to her. “Lissy, you should stay tonight, we can build a fire.” I was employed to be her distraction. I swam toward her holding my drink in the air with one hand, treading water with the other. “Come on,” I said, “let’s hang out this evening.”
“Nope. And when you’re done with that beer, you can take me back.” I felt bad for what had already happened and was about to happen, she might never come back.
A terrified scream bellowed from her mouth and she clutched her hands across her chest holding in her frightened heart. Grant yanked her ankles so hard he nearly pulled her off the platform.
“I’m sorry,” He said laughing—not actually sorry at all.
Grant’s energy was contagious, his laughter charming, and he was quickly forgiven for his prank. He pulled himself onto the platform dragging a large swampy bog of green gunk covered in slimy algae. It reeked of some rank unidentifiable funk.
“Let’s play with it!” He clamored.
“Swamp thing?” I crinkled my face. “Gross, get that thing away from me.”
I swam to the front of the boat, out of his throwing range but he dove in and raced toward me with his muck in tow.
“Get that stinky thing away from me, you play with it.” I pulled myself back into the boat escaping whatever he was about to do.
I dug out my camera and started filming. He stuffed swamp thing down the back of his shorts and swam across the top of the water displaying it like tail feathers. Then he moved it from his shorts to his head and wore it like a wig. He displayed it on his chin as if it was a five foot beard, then hid behind it as if it was a bush. I was thoroughly entertained by his uninhibited antics, but I was pretty sure Lissy had had enough.
He tossed the green slime aside, climbed to the top of the tower then catapulted himself into a backward somersault. He was larger than life, exuberant every moment of the day, bursting with delicious male potential. It was impossible for me not to fall in love with him.
I set down the camera, slipped back into the water and swam to him, leaving Lissy in the boat alone again.
“Happy birthday Grant,” I said, pumping my legs to stay afloat while holding my beer bottle above the water as he did the same. “I hope this is an okay Birthday for you.”
“This is a great birthday. I get to spend it with you.”
It was cruel of him to say that.
Lissy looked over the edge of the Moomba, “Hey lovebirds—”
Ohshitohshitohshit…
“When you guys are done down there you can take me back to the cabin, I need to go home.” Her face said what she didn’t dare say out loud: what the fuck are you doing! You’re married!
Numerous intoxicating drinks, hours of immature behavior, and a plethora of sexual innuendos would have been disturbing for any sober friend to tolerate. Grant and I had enjoyed a full day of cannon balls, back flips, and a one legged water-treading contest while Lissy looked on and made sure we didn’t drown. Our naughty chemistry was unstoppable and my friendship to Lissy unbreakable. No matter what happened, I knew she’d be on my team.
Lissy waved goodbye then disappeared down the winding lake road. As soon as her shimmering silver car was out of sight, I felt his breath behind me.
“Let’s go to Willy’s.” He was so close to my skin the hair o
n the back of my neck stood up.
“Sure,” I shrugged. “I’ll sober up, have dinner, and hang out with Dani for a bit. I’ll pick you up at your place?”
I turned around and found his meandering eyes looking over my exposed shivering body. I opened my mouth wide as if to be offended but was actually delighted when he flashed me a naughty little smile and quick raise of his brow. The un-said was ever present between us.
“My place?” He smiled. “I can’t wait.”
I didn’t want that day to end, and I got the feeling neither did he.
Debonair and delicious, he sauntered toward my car. He was freshly showered and wearing clean, fashionable clothes. He carried himself like a dashing, modern gent. The neighbors had often speculated about his sexual orientation, because surely such an intelligent, well dressed, and talented gentlemen couldn’t be straight.
His clean appearance made me look like I’d just gotten out of the ocean. I was an air-dried, wavy haired, beach bum. Though we shared the same ruddy glow from the sun, the same overly white Visine eyes, and the same unspoken hunger.
His masculine scent filled my car as he slid into the passenger seat and once again I was forced to fantasize about wearing his shirt, nothing but his shirt.
Unable to control myself, I burst out, “You smell so good.”
“I do? Oh…stop it.” He looked away, bashful, ignoring my compliment.
“No. Actually you really stink because you’re so old now. I forgot to ask, how old are you today?” I fidgeted with the stick, grinding the gears into reverse.
“Twenty-nine.” He grumbled.
“Twenty-nine. Single. No kids. Hot.” I flashed a you-know-you-are grin. “And your girlfriend? Is she the one like Molly was the one?” I kept my eyes forward on the winding road and glaring sunset.
“I thought so right away.”
“And now?”
He hummed, “not so sure.”
“That means no. Well, I’m glad she’s not here. This way, I get to take you out for your birthday.”
Willy’s was a lakeside bar perched on the top of a steep hill overlooking our small, pristine lake. A regular gathering place for passing bikers and weekend beach bums. It was Dylan’s favorite place to go, but on this weekend Dylan was a hundred miles away gigging at a small town street dance. The cosmos had aligned perfectly so that Grant and I could spend time alone together. A reddish cloud of summer dust circled my car as we pulled into the gravel parking lot.
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