by P. Dangelico
“So that’s it? You’re just––giving up?”
“She said to let her be.” Then he sighs…sighs like a little bitch.
Utter disgust takes over my face. “Justin––”
“Yeah.”
“I want you to pull down your pants.” Justin draws the beer bottle away from his lips and looks over at me, confusion marring his movie star good looks. “Stick your hand between your legs and check to see if you’re still in possession of your GODFORSAKEN chestnuts. I’ve listened to you cry about this girl for six months. Six months of whining! If she’s so special, you go down there and fight for her.”
“You’re right,” he says, slow nodding. “You’re right.”
“Are you a man, or mouse?!”
“I’m a man! I’m a man, dang it!” he shouts, slamming a large fist on the bar.
“Hey, man,” interrupts the crusty bartender. “Time to pay the bill. We closin’ in ten.”
Instantly subdued, Justin flips open his wallet and fishes out his credit card. “Yes, sir.”
Time to head home and face the piper. Or is it pay the piper? Fuck, I’m drunk. Time to go home.
With Justin’s arm hooked around my neck, we amble down the street until we reach the townhouse. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, he leans closer and I catch a strange twinkle in his eyes. “Wanna mess around?” After this beauty, he waggles his eyebrows.
“No.” I chuckle. I know it’s cold because I can see my breath. I can’t , however, feel much thanks to large consumption of a controlled substance. Head shaking, I swat him away. “That ship sailed.”
“Am I ever going to live that down?”
“Yes. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to sleep with you.”
The front door rips open and Ethan walks out, onto the front steps. His shirtsleeves are rolled up and his jacket and tie are gone. The stormy look on his face both confuses and amuses me.
“Woopsey. I think I broke curfew,” I whisper a little too loudly. Okay, maybe it’s closer to a shout.
“Harper, do I have to get you a cab?” Ethan snaps.
“Nah, dude. I’ve got a car waiting.” Justin motions to the Uber Black idling at the curb.
Ethan crosses his arms. He has yet to take his eyes off of me. “Good. Get in it.”
My eyebrows scramble up to my hairline. “Big Papa izzz mad.” Now I’m definitely shouting. Justin takes one look at me and we both break out in drunken giggles.
“Get in the car, Justin.”
After giving Ethan a slow two finger salute, Justin takes my hand and plants a kiss on the back of it. Then he turns and lopes to the car.
“Thanks for the drinks and the company, Dimples.” I blow my buddy an exaggerated kiss and he catches it in the air.
“My pleasure, Darlin’.”
Once alone, Ethan and I spend a good two minutes––that feel surprisingly like an eternity––playing the staring game. He wins. I trudge up the front steps and past Big Papa as his intense, reproachful gaze tracks every move I make.
“You’re drunk.”
“Brilliant observation, counselor. What tipped you off?” I walk a semi straight line to the kitchen with Ethan right on my unsteady heels.
“How much did you have to drink?”
I open the fridge and grab a bottle of water. “Enough to get me good and druuunk.” I sound churlish. I know I do, but I’m just too shitfaced and hurt to care. “Did you have a nice date?”
The silence weighs as heavy as a metric ton of snow. In simpler terms, it’s heavy. And goes on, and on, and on. Doubt pierces the fog of alcohol. Ugh, I may have given myself away. Turning to assess the damage, I find him wearing a decidedly uncomfortable expression.
Oh boy, he knows. He knows that I may be carrying a teenie tiny torch for him, and he’s trying to find a way to let me down gently.
“What?” I snap, the alcohol wreaking havoc with my impulse control––the little I actually possess, that is.
“Nothing, it’s that––” His jaw pulses with tension.
This is going to be bad. I can tell. Placing the water down on the island, I grip the edge of the granite counter and hang my head in defeat.
“Just say it. The suspense is killing me.” I can’t look at him when he cuts my heart out.
“It was with a guy.”
Huh?
My head snaps up so fast I may have pulled a muscle in my neck. My chin’s hanging loose and I’m pretty sure a little spittle ran out the corner of my mouth. His eyes flicker to mine and away.
“Did you say…a guy, as in male?” I must be drunker than I thought I was.
“Yeah, there was a guy waiting for me at the restaurant.”
For once in my life, I’m having a real hard time finding the right words. “I…I’m sorry. I’m just…in shock.” Never in a million years did I think…why didn’t I consider it? Because I’m a bloody idiot, that’s why. I’m a self-absorbed fuckwit. He’s never with a woman. For the love of penis, he even has me chase them off. If that’s not a clear indication, I don’t know what is. “Are you bisexual, or full on gay?”
Don’t be full on gay. Please do not be full on gay. I beg you, God. I will never ask for anything else…and I mean it this time.
I didn’t think anything could make me feel worse than watching him walk out the door to go on a date, but this just did it. If he says full on gay, there’s a ninety-nine point nine percent chance I’ll start to cry.
“I’m not gay.”
The breath I’m holding hisses out slowly. “Okay,” I say, nodding. “Okay, so you’re bisexual. That’s good news.”
His head tilts and his brows lower. “I’m not gay, or bisexual––and why would it be good news?”
Why would that be good news? Good question. I blink. I blink some more. Thinking on my feet is nearly impossible. “Never mind. Never mind. Do not mind me.”
“Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” he quickly adds. Exhaling loudly, he does a thorough inspection of the kitchen ceiling while he repeatedly runs a hand through his hair, turning it into a disheveled mess.
Not for other men. I enjoy man on man action as much as the next girl, except when it involves the man I’m currently lusting after.
“It’s Norma. She thinks I’m gay. She set me up with her Pilates instructor.”
Again––speechless. Now is not a good time for me to be drunk. I need all my faculties intact to find my way around this labyrinth of a story.
“Your grandmother thinks you’re gay?”
“Apparently,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “Otherwise she wouldn’t have insisted I go on a date with Daryl.”
“Why would you agree to a date with Daryl?”
He blasts me with a squinty eyed glare that has me taking a step back. “I wasn’t informed whom I was meeting.”
“Whom? Seriously? You’re using good grammar at this hour?” I get a subtle hitch of an eyebrow and I’m immediately chastened. “Right. Sorry. Your nana thinks you’re gay.”
“Which means that you’re coming with me to my grandmother’s birthday party.”
“Nooooo,” I say, head shaking. “Sorry. No-can-do.”
“Yeah, you can and you will.” From the look on his face, I don’t stand a chance of talking my way out of this. “Don’t make me call in my favor.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“You owe me, Jones. And this is how you’re going to repay me.”
Chapter Thirteen
It’s days away from March, and the weather continues to be as hideous as ever, no end to the cold in sight. One loathsome word has been bandied about all week––the dreaded N word, Nor’easter. Also known as mayhem accompanied by blizzard like conditions that tend to dump a ridiculous amount of snow in a very short amount of time. Possibly the only thing capable of bringing this city to its knees. Not even a couple of psychos and some planes could accomplish it.
My phone chimes with an incoming text.
He’s been on the road for the last two and half weeks––Dallas, El Paso, Charlotte, Miami––and seems to be racking up enough frequent flyer miles for a free trip to the moon. I’ve been getting a lot of calls and texts, usually at night and typically under the guise of checking in on the status of the construction. Which has been progressing at an accelerated pace since the day Morrison got his ass chewed out. Although that portion of the conversation usually lasts about a minute and then we’re on to the next topic.
Me: Tough choice. Where are you and why are you still awake?
Every time I get a text or the phone rings and the picture of his sweet bubble butt appears on screen with McButterpants stamped across it, my heart beats a little quicker. It is downright horrible how eager I am for even a scrap of his attention. I’d love to say something poetic and liken it to a flower being drawn to the sun, but in reality I’m a crackhead looking for her next fix.
Margin note: I took that picture surreptitiously. He has no idea.
Fancy: Indy. had a bad day. can’t sleep.
The last leg of his trip ends in Indianapolis for the NFL scouting combine, a week long event for his young guys that have declared for the draft to showcase their mental and physical abilities.
The smart choice would be to pretend I never got that text. It’s midnight. I can always say I fell asleep.
Me: Wanna talk about it?
Repeat after me, my pride whispers. I am a weak, pathetic excuse for my gender. A moment later my phone rings. There’s no guessing who it is because I’ve assigned the song from the movie Arthur called Arthur’s Theme (The Best That You Can Do) by Christopher Cross, to Ethan. Seems only fitting since he’s so worried about disappointing his nana that he agreed to be set up on a blind date.
The chorus plays…When you get caught between the moon and New York City…
“Hey.” His voice is low, the edges rough from overuse.
“You sound like shit.”
He chuckles and I instantly feel my spirits lift. After a deep sigh, he grumbles, “One of my guys tested positive for PEDs today.”
One of the things I respect most about him is how much he genuinely cares about his clients.
“It’s going to effect how he’s drafted?”
“Yeah.”
I can feel the weight he carries around in his voice, in the tired way he exhales. “I know how hard you work to help them be successful but you can’t save them all, Fancy Pants. They’re grown men.”
“He’s a twenty one year old kid with too much responsibility.”
“I’m sure you warned him.”
“I did.” He’s back to grumbling his responses. A stretch of silence follows. I can almost hear him thinking on the other end of the line.
An irrational urge to take all his worries away, to soothe every hurt comes over me––and that’s just plain stupid. This man does not need me to kiss his boo-boos. He’s beautiful and successful and has friends and family. He doesn’t need anything from me.
“Alien,” I say. “Night, Vaughn.” I hang up before he can say another word, before this craving becomes a full blown addiction. I’m out of the boo-boo kissing business.
I warned Morrison to hook up a generator. I warned him repeatedly. Ethan agreed it was only wise considering the state of the ancient electric wiring in this behemoth of a house and Morrison said he would take care of it. But did he? No. Of course not. Hence, here I am alone, since Fancy has yet to return from his trip to Indianapolis, stuck in a house with too much open space, no electricity, and no heat.
Wrapped in my down blanket, I glance outside the living room window and see nothing other than a sheet of continuously falling snow. It’s whiteout conditions. Traffic hasn’t come to a complete halt yet but I give it another half hour until the streets look like a scene out of The Day After Tomorrow. Thank God I had the foresight to buy a couple of candles at the market when I went food shopping. Though a couple of candles aren’t going to do jack to keep the frostbite away.
A noise at the front door gets my wary attention. The lock clicks open and a large hooded figure blows in with the cold wind and snow. Under the cover of the inky darkness, I stand there paralyzed, my heart hammering away.
Who the hell else has the keys to this place? One of the construction guys?
In nanoseconds I’m calculating how quickly I can reach a solid object and what my chances are of surviving outside in only my pajamas, and I suck at math. Amazing what the human mind can do when pumped up on adrenaline and life is at stake.
The intruder pulls his snow covered hood down and my knees almost buckle.
“What are you doing here?!” I screech.
“I live here,” the intruder answers flatly. Angry stomping, I stalk up to the jackass and hit him squarely in the chest, and in the process drop the blanket. I may as well be standing in an icebox. No problem, my anger’s keeping me toasty. Catching my wrists as I flail against him, the jackass chuckles.
“This is how you thank me for walking twenty city blocks in a blizzard for you?” I rip my hands out of his hold and plant them on my hips. He drops his snow covered down puffer jacket by his feet and looks down with a heart-stopping grin.
“Don’t smile at me like that!” I snap. “And let’s get one thing clear, I am immune to that bullshit.” On a roll now, my arm slashes through the air. “You’re not supposed to be back ‘til tomorrow! I thought you were one of the construction guys trying to break in. I was about to go Crouching Tiger on your ass––”
“Wait, what?” His smile falters. He blinks, blinks again in comprehension, which turns into a bark of laughter, which turns into deep belly laughing. Jerk.
“I’d rather you go Hidden Dragon,” he barely manages to get out.
“You’re laughing? I amuse you? You’re not gonna be laughing when I sock you in the coin purse.”
He quickly covers his privates. Smart man because I am flat out furious right now. I get a little testy after an adrenaline rush. I don’t like to be scared, and it happens almost never, but when it does I get mad dog angry. With that, I grab my blanket and stomp upstairs.
Fifteen minutes later my temper has cooled considerably, along with my body temperature. It’s freezing in my bedroom. Even buried under a mountain of my clothes and a down duvet.
“Joooooones. I have a nice fire going downstairs. I have a pallet all set up for us in the den. Come downstairs.”
I push the duvet off my face and find him leaning against the doorframe in his Harvard sweats, a wool beanie, and gloves.
“You scared the shit out of me.”
“I meant to text you that I was on my way, but Cedric called and drained my battery.”
“Freaking Cedric.”
“Freaking Cedric. Come on, let’s get you warmed up.”
Downstairs, the fireplace in the den is blazing, the room glowing from the warmth and light radiating from it. There’s a pallet made up of blankets and pillows and sheets I recognize as his set up right in front.
The snow is still steadily falling. I can see it out the floor to ceiling window. As I take in the scene, it’s not just the snow that’s falling, something inside of me feels like it’s falling as well. Probably my stomach because it’s one of the most romantic settings I’ve ever witnessed.
After I hung up on him two nights ago, I promised myself I’d put some breathing room between us. This unlikely friendship is on the verge of…affection? Yeah, affection––or something in the same emotional family. At least, for me it is. Point is, it’s running away with me, and I need to herd it back into a space where I can manage it and not let it manage me. You don’t hang out at your favorite bar if you’re a recovering alcoholic for shit’s sake! That’s not a sign of good judgement.
Minutes pass silently as I stand there frozen, feeling awkward––something I haven’t felt around him since that night in jail.
“Look at the bright s
ide,” he finally says, breaching the heavy silence. “At least Morrison finished renovating this room. No more drafty windows.” He walks past me. Grabbing the fireplace poker, he fiddles with the logs.
My heartbeat quickens as I walk over to the pallet. Slipping under the covers, I pull the blankets up to my chin, and stare at the ceiling while he gets in next to me.
“I’m starving. Do we have any food in the house?”
“If by food you mean that nasty almond milk you like, and that cereal that tastes like wood shavings, then yeah. I went to the store earlier.”
Ethan gets up on an elbow, staring down at me with one of his killer smiles.
I glare back. “I was already there, getting my fix on. It’s not like I went out of my way for you.”
“You kind of did.”
“No, I didn’t,” I insist, narrowed eyes directed at the man cheerfully smirking down at me.
“You did, admit it. You thought about me and little cartoon hearts appeared in your eyes like one of those emojis you love and you thought, what can I do for Ethan?”
“Are you stroking out?”
“And then you said to yourself, I know. I’ll make sure he has all his favorite foods.”
“You’ve lost your ever loving mind,” I continue, talking over him.
“Whole Foods is a hike. You really, really went out of your way.”
“That’s not how it went at all.”
“Agree to disagree,” he says, arching an eyebrow.
My smile cuts loose against my will. Somebody revoke my badass card. I’ve turned into a trained seal with this guy.
“Save my spot while I get the food you bought me out of your deep, deep desire to please me.”
“If you value your future children, Vaughn, you will never utter that sentence to me again.”
On his way to the kitchen, he steps over me and I try to smack his hip but he nimbly moves out of the way in time.
“You want some,” he shouts from the kitchen.
“No, thanks. I’m not a termite.”