What He Really Feels (He Feels Trilogy)

by Lisa Suzanne

  “I was drunk, she was single. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “But it wasn’t.”

  “It wasn’t,” I confirmed.

  “So now what?”

  “Maybe San Diego?”

  “My roommate moved out last month. I’ve got room if you need somewhere to stay.”

  “I may take you up on that.”

  I went into work to get my mind off of shit, but it didn’t work. At least the fucking waterworks were over, and I was thankful for that. I threw myself into a new project and stayed late working on it. I was working on a hotel design. I preferred clean, sleek lines, and I was sketching out the building by hand first. A lot of architects went right to the computer, but I liked seeing my ideas on paper first. Once I was happy with the basic design, I moved over to the computer and fired up autoCAD for my 3D design.

  When I said I stayed late, I meant later than I’d ever stayed before in my career. It was a little after midnight when I got home, and I crashed, my friend sleep coming for a brief visit but not staying as long as usual. I may have gotten a good three hours that night.

  Friday was more of the same. I was in robot mode, trying everything I could to just put her out of my mind and focus on work.

  My work phone rang a little before lunchtime. “Travis Miller,” I answered automatically.

  “T, it’s dad. Are you free for lunch?”

  My dad had nearly retired, but he did occasionally do business on the golf course, and he still came in to check on his staff a few times a week. It wasn’t rare for him to take me out to lunch, but I wasn’t in a good frame of mind for sitting around shooting the shit.

  “I’m in the middle of a project, Pops.”

  “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

  “Why’d you bother asking, then?” I grumbled.

  He laughed. “Meet me in twenty minutes.”

  “The usual?” The usual was Denny’s. My mom hated Denny’s, so anytime my dad and I went out by ourselves, we hit up our favorite place. It didn’t hurt that it was a four minute walk from my office, either.

  “Yeah. See ya in twenty, kid.”

  I walked into the restaurant crowded with a lunch rush, my dad already having claimed a table. I spotted him and slid into the booth across from him.

  “Hey, Pops.”

  “Hey, kid.” He glanced up from the menu at me, and he held his gaze on me for a moment, studying me. “You okay?” The concern in his voice was evident, affection written across his features.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “You look tired.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You sure?”

  I blew out a frustrated breath and looked down at the menu. It was a charade for us both; we both always ordered the exact same meal when we went to Denny’s: a Grand Slam with scrambled eggs, bacon, hash browns, and pancakes, but looking at the menu gave me somewhere to look besides my dad’s prying eyes.

  “I’ll take that as a no. But I will also take it that you don’t want to talk about it.”

  I drummed my fingers on the table, a nervous habit that I had picked up from the very man sitting across from me. “Thanks.”

  The waitress came by, saving me from a conversation I didn’t want to have. It was hard enough dealing with it on my own, but Jules was like family to my family. Despite my anger, I still inexplicably felt the need to keep her reputation untarnished in the Miller household. And telling my dad that she had slept with me and then dumped me would certainly tarnish her squeaky-clean image.

  We ordered our usual, but I opted for a glass of orange juice instead of my usual coffee. I was already wired up on caffeine from a fitful night’s sleep and any more would’ve just made my hands shaky. Try designing a hotel with shaky hands; it’s not easy. But, unfortunately, any tiny deviation in my usual meal at Denny’s caught my dad’s concern.

  “Orange juice?” he asked after the waitress turned around. I studied her ass as she bounced away. She was cute. Maybe early forties – a little old for me, but I’d been with a handful of cougars. They were usually pretty wild in bed, but I wasn’t ready for sex. I couldn’t think about anyone except Jules as it was; I wasn’t sure what would happen if I got a woman in my bed. I’d probably break down in tears or some stupid shit.

  “Yeah. I didn’t sleep well last night and I’m already wired on caffeine.”

  “Understood. Mind if I ask why you didn’t sleep well?”

  “Yeah, I mind. But I have a feeling you’re not letting me out of it.”

  “Smart kid.”

  “Jules and I are over.”

  A flicker of shock passed across his face, but he masked it well. “Didn’t that just start?”

  I nodded. “It’s a long story. Suffice it to say, it didn’t end well and I already miss her like crazy.”

  “I’m sorry, kid.”

  I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “Thanks. Can we, uh, talk about something else?”

  “Sure thing. This actually may work out better than I first thought.”

  I glanced up at him. “What might?”

  “I have some openings in San Diego. I haven’t told anybody this yet, but things are about to explode down there. We’ve got new structures left and right, lots of redesign and some new builds. A lot of retail, some hotels, and a multi-tainment center. I was going to ask your opinion on a few different projects, and I had planned on using Dan as a key in hiring some new people, but what if you two worked together?”

  “Like via Skype?”

  “No. Like via the same office.”

  “You want me to move to San Diego?”

  “The thought just occurred to me. I know you’ve always wanted to stay here for a lot of different reasons, but what if one of those reasons just gave you the motivation to spread your wings a little?”

  “Huh,” was all I could muster. This was too weird.

  “Think about it this weekend. The hours will be a little firmer than the freedom I’ve given you here, but you’ll also have a little independence from your father.”

  I stared at him, thinking how weirdly coincidental it was that I had literally just spoken to Dan about this same possibility.

  “I’ll need to know by Monday.”

  “I can give you my answer now.”

  The waitress dropped off our drinks, and my dad poured two creamers into his coffee, stirred it, and took a sip before looking me in the eye. “Well?”

  “I’m in.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I nodded. “Sign me up. I need to get the hell out of this town for awhile.”

  “Your mother is going to kill me.”

  I shrugged. “She’ll be okay.”

  Sometimes it’s best to just start over.

  That was the guiding thought that led me to click “Check Out” on the U-Haul website, confirming my rental of a fourteen foot truck that I would pick up the following Saturday.

  I randomly told Dan that I was thinking about moving to San Diego, and then my dad told me about an opportunity for a job there? Sounded meant to be to me. The stars aligned or some sappy shit like that. The “why” didn’t matter; what did matter was that I was ready just to be there.

  My next move was to hit up Home Depot for boxes and packing tape. I would be starting my new job in San Diego in a couple of weeks, so I didn’t have much time to kill.

  I was listening to a CD that Jules had made for me as I packed up my kitchen. Ironic, I know. It had all of her favorite songs from 2007 on it.

  I had already packed my iPod docking station and all of my CDs (yes, I still had CDs), so I was forced to listen to the only CD that I could find, the one that was already in the CD player of my under-the-counter stereo in my kitchen that I hadn’t disassembled yet. Emerson Hart belted out, “I Wish the Best for You.”

  I liked Emerson’s sentiment, but I wasn’t sure I shared it.

  Maroon 5’s “Makes Me Wonder” came on next, and the lyric, “And it really makes me
wonder if I ever gave a fuck about you” hit a little too close to home for my comfort. I thought about that from her perspective. Did she ever give a fuck about me? Or had she used me to get the comfort she needed?

  With a friendship that went back as far as ours did, I had to believe that she cared about me and that she was just confused. I knew I had hit her with my confession of feelings at a low point for her, but I had hoped that she would be so overcome with the realization that she loved me, too, that she would just forget about what’s-his-name.

  Turns out that didn’t happen.

  I pulled my plates off of a shelf and separated them with packing paper, wondering why I was torturing myself even more with this CD.

  The next song was Justin Timberlake’s “What Goes Around Comes Around.” I chuckled to myself, the first sign of laughter I had felt in days. It would serve both of them right. I wasn’t malicious, but I was hurting.

  And the CD was like a goddamn soundtrack of my life. They kept coming: Avril Lavigne’s “Keep Holding On” (no thanks… done with that shit), Hinder’s “Lips of an Angel” (Jules did have some amazing lips), Kelly Clarkson’s “Never Again” (damn right, Kelly), and finally, Nickelback’s “Rockstar.”

  Okay, the last one didn’t have any significance to my situation with Jules, but I wanted to be a rockstar, too. Who didn’t?

  The irony wasn’t lost on me, and I finally decided to turn the damn CD off. It’d be easier packing in fucking silence than listening to all of the songs that reminded me of her. The whole point of this exercise in packing and moving was to get her off of my mind, anyway. It was time for a fresh start and something new, and getting the hell out of Arizona seemed like my only option. After the long history I shared with Jules, there were just too many reminders around me of what broke my heart and of what I could never have.

  My phone rang, and I picked it up when I saw who it was. “Hey, Mom.”

  “Dad filled me in. How are you doing, T?”

  I wondered briefly what exactly my dad had told her. I had confided in him certain details about my sex life, in particular that Jules and I had slept together. My mom, not so much. She was too… motherly to share those details with. I assumed he just shared the details about Jules and me breaking it off and the whole moving to San Diego thing. “I’m okay,” I answered, scrubbing my hand down my face. I hated lying to my mom, but I didn’t want her to worry.

  “It’s not like her.”

  “No, it’s not. But she was hurting. She did what she thought was right.” I realized that I was defending her. I was defending her decision to fuck me and then dump me to go back to Nick. What kind of idiot was I?

  “I guess. I’m just so sorry.”

  “Thanks, mom.”

  “So you’re really moving?” she asked.

  “Yeah. I just need to get away.” That damn lump was back in my throat.

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll see how San Diego works out for me. Maybe a few weeks or a month, or maybe a year. Years. I don’t know.”

  “I’ll miss you.”

  “I know, Mom. I’ll miss you, too.”

  “Call me every day.”

  I chuckled. “We’ll see.”

  “Then text me every day.”

  “You’re such a mom.”

  “Yes, I am. Your mom. And I love you and just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I will be. Thanks for calling. I love you.”

  “Love you, Travie.”

  I fucking hated the name “Travie,” but she was my mom. She was the only person in the world allowed to use that nickname.

  I hung up with my mom and finished packing my kitchen, leaving out a few random items for last-minute supplies. I headed to bed, still completely crushed by Julianne’s betrayal, but feeling the tiniest spark of hope knowing that I was moving to San Diego, a place that would provide me with a fresh start.

  CHAPTER 2

  I packed all weekend. I had lived in the same apartment since I had graduated from college nearly four years earlier, and for a dude, I was amazed at the amount of shit I had accumulated.

  Saturday night found me at my favorite bar with two of my best friends from work, Bill and Mike. I can’t exactly judge how good looking guys are, but we must not have been ugly based on the female attention we were receiving.

  Mike drove, knowing I needed a night out without worrying about driving, and the guys picked me up from my apartment a little after nine. I wanted to go somewhere where we could play pool, so we headed to the place closest to my apartment.

  The problem was that Saturday was Karaoke night.

  Kill. Me. Now.

  My buddies and I always bet money on our pool games, and I was one shot away from taking a hundred bucks from Bill when some chick got on the microphone and screeched Leona Lewis’s “Bleeding Love,” totally fucking up my shot and setting Bill up perfectly. Ultimately he won, so I sat there with not only a broken heart, but a hundred fewer dollars in my pocket. Plus the bleeding ears and the cringe on my face as I listened to the song.

  I was on my fourth whiskey and coke when a cute redhead came over to make conversation. I was a beer drinker. Almost exclusively. But on occasion, I partook in whiskey, usually just the nights I wanted to get real fucked up. I was succeeding, and then the redhead showed up while I was sitting on a barstool as Mike and Bill played pool.

  “Hi. I’m Shannon.”

  “Hi Shannon. I’m Travis.”

  “You’re cute.”

  “You look smoking hot in those little pants.”

  She did. She was wearing some tight black stretchy things, and I could make out the exact shape of her tight little ass. She wasn’t hard to look at, but I realized that something was suddenly getting hard as my erection strained against my pants. It felt good that Travis Junior, or “TJ,” as I liked to call him, was awake again after being on lockdown for a few days.

  Julianne Becker was suddenly the furthest thing from my mind.

  Okay, that’s not entirely true. The fact that my mind actually told me that Julianne was far from my mind was proof that she wasn’t.

  Bill was trying to catch my eye to make sure I was okay, but I was too focused on Shannon to realize it.

  Shannon leaned forward and kissed me. It was very forward of her, and it was also very weird. She wasn’t Jules, but she was drunk and I was, too. I grasped her hips and pulled her closer to me, so she was standing between my legs as I sat on the barstool.

  My aggressiveness took her by surprise, and I used her gasp as my entrance into her mouth. I kissed her long and hard, my tongue exploring every curve of her mouth. I felt her softening into me, and her hands curled around my neck as she did things with her tongue that were probably illegal in at least seven states. She sucked on my lip, and I imagined her sucking on other parts of my body. Suddenly we were making out like two teenagers who snuck out of the house for some alone time. Only we weren’t teenagers, and we most certainly weren’t alone in the middle of the bar.

  It hadn’t been long since my last random bar kiss, but suddenly an image of Jules entered my mind. Whenever I pictured someone in my mind, I always saw the same picture of that person. The image of Jules that was burned in my mind was from nearly eight years earlier. It was the day after our senior prom, and she was in a black bikini as we went tubing down the Salt River. The wind was in her hair, and she was grinning with a lighthearted, happy smile. I loved that image of her in my mind, and that’s what popped into my mind as I kissed someone else.

  She was never, ever far from my thoughts.

  I moaned, thinking of Julianne, but Shannon mistook it for passion, and her hands started working wildly all over me.

  I knew it would be a total dick move to let her do what she wanted to me, but I was four drinks in and brokenhearted, so I didn’t have the proper mindset not to be a douche bag.

  She took my hand and pulled me up from my stool. I grinned as she led me back
toward the bathroom.

  “Not in here,” I murmured.

  “No?” she asked.

  “Bathrooms aren’t very classy,” I said. I’m not saying it never happened in a bathroom, but there had to be somewhere cleaner and classier to have a quick grope.

  I let her lead me outside and around a corner. There was a doorway there, quiet and private and hidden from view. She kissed me and then shimmied down my body slowly. She got down on her knees and pulled TJ out, and then her lips wrapped around me she proceeded to give me the best head I’d had in a long time. Despite the abandoned pleasure of getting head in an alley, I couldn’t help but think she’d done this before.

  It was quick and clean, and she swallowed it down with gusto. I briefly thought that I’d like that to happen again, but my heart wasn’t anywhere near it, and besides, I was moving to San Diego.

  I zipped up and we returned to the pool tables. I bought her a drink along with my fifth. It was the least I could do after what she had done for me. We kissed a little more, and then we parted ways.

  I doubted I would remember her name in the morning.

  And I didn’t. I remembered very little of that night, actually. Mike informed me that I had consumed a total of seven whiskey and cokes, and he said I talked the whole way home about what I had dubbed my “Blow Job in the Alley.”

  I passed out when I got home and woke up a few hours later. I made it to the toilet in time to puke my guts out, and then I passed out again, this time on the bathroom floor. When I woke up again on Sunday morning, I realized how disgusting my bathroom floor was. And then I vowed that I was never drinking again. Ever.

  I was what my ex-girlfriend Brooke would call a “hot mess.” Sunday morning through afternoon was awful. I was more hung over than I’d been in years, and I felt guilty and a little embarrassed about my BJ in the A and not even exchanging numbers with the girl who did it. My actions were shameful, and I knew it.

  The few minutes of pleasure the night before hadn’t been worth the self-disgust I felt that morning.

  It was time to start turning things around, and I knew that San Diego would allow me to do just that.