Fahrenheit

by Alex Rosa

  “Happy?” I question, my face souring at the odd realization.

  He grunts. “As nice as it is to see you happy, I realized that I was the one who usually made you that kind of happy. The dopey smile kind. I didn’t know who this guy was, and he was taking something away from me I didn’t realize I cared so much about. You were never as carefree or smiley with Brian. Your boyfriends were always work for you, even if you liked the same things. You were always trying hard to make those relationships work. With this new guy, it almost seemed, I don’t know, effortless. Also, you clean up pretty nice when you want to, too.”

  “Oh, how I do love our chats.” I roll my eyes, soaking in his words.

  “Maybe I don’t know what it means when I say I love you, all right? I just happened to realize that I didn’t want some guy coming in, taking something I do love, because I do love you, even if it’s as friends. I understand that much about myself.”

  “But you’re not going to lose me, Garrett.”

  He nods. “I know. I saw all the ways you were distancing yourself from me, and it started to feel like the beginning of something—something bad. That’s what had me trying to figure out how I feel, and you know I don’t do to well with feelings.”

  I grin. “I’m aware.”

  “So, for the sake of all this awkwardness, can we both come to terms with the fact that I love you as a friend, and I’m not going to mess with your heart anymore?”

  I exhale. Happiness bubbles in my gut. It’s as if I drank a fizzy-lifting drink in Willy Wonka’s Factory. I could float away with the amount of satisfaction and happiness that fills me. “I love you, too, Garrett. As a friend. Nothing will ever change that.”

  “Perfect.” His shoulders slump in relief. “Now, to the real point here. I might’ve also realized all of this from reading—” He lifts up the magazine, waving it in his right hand. “—this. You fell for the guy pretty hard, huh?”

  My lips quiver. The smile I had dissolving. “Unfortunately.”

  “Are you okay?” he asks, his eyes dragging the length of my body like old times. Beautifully Platonic.

  I shake my head, my bottom lip trembling. This dam within myself breaks.

  “No,” I whimper.

  “Are you going to cry?” Garrett asks with an apprehensive squint.

  I suck hard on my bottom lip, holding my breath as an erratic shake of my whole body answers for me.

  “Oh, man, Lo …”

  Garrett tosses the magazine on the coffee table, and reaches for me. He’s not gentle, because I’ve never been one to accept help easily, but Garrett’s too strong to refuse. He grabs for my arm, then around my waist, yanking me to him, and my emotional wall bursts.

  I crawl into his lap and cry.

  “Why am I crying?” I welp. “I’ve got everything under control!”

  His laughter vibrates through his body as I cry into the crook of his neck, salty streams running down my cheeks. He rubs a circle on my back.

  “Under control is not a word I’d use for you right now,” he continues. “You wrote your heart out on a public platform, and then put the ball in someone else’s court, letting him choose your fate. Control? You’ve given it away.”

  I sniffle hard, trying to form a rebuttal, but he cuts me off, adding, “In a good way. You gave control away for a good reason. It’s for the right reasons, Lo. It’s just scary. It can’t be something you’re necessarily used to. You can be a control freak sometimes, and I’m kind of proud of this move you made.”

  There’s an insult in there somewhere, but I ignore it.

  “Don’t tell Becca I cried,” I snivel.

  He laughs, giving me another gentle squeeze. “I’d like to save this scene for some serious blackmail when I need it. So for now, you’re safe.”

  I curl further into his lap, fighting off laughter, and slap my palm against his chest, managing to fight off more sniffles.

  “I’m sorry I was such an idiot during our last conversation, too,” I confess.

  I feel him shrug rather than see it. “Don’t worry about it. It’s okay. We were both idiots. You were obviously distracted when Batman showed up, or so I gathered through our thin walls.”

  “Ugh. I’m so sorry,” I cringe guiltily. “I’m so stupid. That article! Of course you read it. He’s not going to show. He’d be crazy to after what I wrote.”

  “Are you insane? He’d be an idiot if he didn’t show up, and ya know what? If he doesn’t, he doesn’t deserve you. That article was awesome. You deserve everything. You know that, right? You deserve the promotion, the guy, and the happiness. You’re a package deal. It’s time you buck the fuck up and realize this.”

  “Are you pep talking me right now?” I sit back to gift him my stunned bemusement.

  “I’m good for some solid advice now and then. This happens to be one of those things I know for sure. You’re a catch in so many different ways, and I think if you owned your self-worth, you’d stop choosing poorly. This guy you wrote about, does he make you happy? Does he know how great you are?”

  I nod. “For the brief time I’ve known him, I’m pretty sure the answer is yes. The article says what the problem is.”

  Garrett blows out a breath, his chest deflating against me as he mulls over a thought. “Some dudes need a chance to get their shit together. Sometimes when amazing girls enter our lives, it freaks us the fuck out. The difference between a boy and a man is whether we run or not.”

  My brows pull together. “Wow, our conversation really did a number on you.”

  He rubs the back of his neck. “You have no idea. What I’m saying is, whatever happens Friday night, happens for a reason. If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be. If it is, then you can try for your happily ever after of fetishes and fun. If not, then I’ll be sitting here ready to binge watch movies with you on Netflix.”

  “No more superhero movies.”

  He chuckles. “That’s fair considering the circumstances. I’ll be here for you, Lo. No matter what. Though, if he turns out not to be an idiot, I might have to let you go.”

  I suck in a breath, and he laughs. “What I mean is, I’m going to have to set you free. I don’t want you feeling tied to me like that anymore. I’ve done the romantic damage, and I want to make us right. I want to support you like the best friend you need when it comes to your relationships, and I’d expect the same when I find a girl.”

  My brows rise. “Are you implying you’re in the market for a serious girl, and not someone to fill for a weekend?”

  He grunts a curse word I can’t decipher. “I don’t know. I’m realizing I’m not as satisfied as I once was. I’m looking for something a little grander now, but I don’t know what that means yet.”

  I chuff, giving him tight smile. “I’m proud of you.”

  “Don’t jinx me. For now, it’s just an idea. A curiosity, if you will. I’m going to be open to other possibilities than what I’m used to.”

  This time I grin, knowing full well where curiosity can get someone, and I’m hopeful for him in the non-sex-club kind of way. “I like this plan a lot.”

  “Good, now let’s get you cleaned up.”

  I shriek, wrapping my arms around his neck as he rises from the couch with me in his arms. “Garrett! What are you doing?”

  “Being a good friend.”

  “Are we cool?” I exhale, looking up at him.

  He shrugs. “Yeah, Lo. We’re cool. We’re always going to be cool.”

  I laugh, squeezing my arms around him in a haphazard hug of thanks and happiness, this time fighting back a deep sniffle of joy and relief as I nuzzle into his chest.

  “What the fuck? Did you just wipe your snotty nose all over my sweater?”

  I nod, giving him a dopily, guilty grin. “Maybe.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Always such a lady.”

  I belt out loud laugher as he carries me across the living room, making it to my room in no time. He throws me onto my bed. My ass bounces a fe
w times as I try to catch myself from rolling off the other side.

  “Heeeey!” I squeal.

  He walks back to the doorway, slapping his hands together, and swiping them back and forth. “Now, it’s time to get a grip on yourself.” He turns around in the doorframe to retort, “And as your best friend, I’m speaking from the heart when I say, please, for the love of God, shower. You smell like Doritos.”

  My stare flat lines. I grab for a pillow, and chuck it hard at him, but it hits nothing but air, landing in the living room, because he’s already strutting back to his room, laughing his ass off.

  “Forget what I said. I hate you!” I shout.

  “You wish! Now pull yourself together. You gotta be a whole human to face your troubled hero soon.”

  Okay, maybe I don’t hate him at all.

  I didn’t think I’d regret telling Garrett not to come with me, but I do. Especially now since I’ve got a terrible case of deja vu and embarrassment standing between rainbow vibrators, and what I now know as anal beads.

  My top lip won’t stop sweating, and I can’t think of an unsexier look in this shop as I countdown to heartbreak.

  I’m out of my element, even if I do have some intense experience in the underworld of a sex nightclub. Unfortunately, that still gets me nowhere when I peer up at the same sex doll from weeks ago floating above my head, its multiple holes for his pleasure are making me more nauseous than I’d like.

  I got here too early. A full fifteen minutes loitering in one spot in a sex shop is all sorts of suspicious and strange. The same creeper from before won’t stop staring at me from behind the counter, as if worried I’m going to shoplift a flesh light at any moment.

  If the sweating isn’t awful, the burning red color I’m turning in the face must meet the mark.

  I’ve had so much time to think that I wish I could shut my brain off for this experience. I’ve run through every outcome in my head, and no, I don’t mean whether Nate will show up. What I mean is, when I realize he isn’t going to, because honestly, someone as smart and attractive, and whose schedule consists of taking patients for psychological evaluations, to his free time finding someone more willing and less demanding to spank, it seems silly for him to take the time to glance at my stupid magazine.

  I’ve come to terms with the fact I’m probably a fleeting thought in his world, and possibly a girl among many others who wanted too much from Nathan Sanders.

  So, the outcomes that plague my mind are more along the lines of: which alcohol will I purchase when I leave? Tequila or whiskey? Will I take it to the beach to drink alone? Or will I let Garrett wallow with me one chug at a time? And do I want to purchase a vibrator in my favorite color to take home with me, because only God knows the next time a man will be getting into my panties?

  Decisions, decisions.

  I guess that’s the reason I didn’t want Garrett here. So I didn’t have anyone to witness my walk of shame. The idea of confessing the potential disaster and heartbreak that could ensue makes this entire debacle seem not worth it.

  When I turned in the article to Rebecca, I was high on words and hope, thinking failure wasn’t an option. I’ve always been too much of an optimist for my own good.

  Standing here now is the most foolish thing I’ve ever attempted. I could’ve been subtle, like looked Nate up online and stalked him at work or something. Okay, so subtle hasn’t necessarily been my thing. Still, I ache standing here. I told myself that I won’t wait more than five minutes past eight o’clock to save my dignity. That’s until I choose to lose it at the bottom of a bottle, like the class act that I am.

  To distract myself, I flick the leather tassel to a flogger on the opposite shelf, thinking how strange these items are categorically across from something as unrelated as personal pleasure devices, but what the hell do I know? I’m still on the freshman team of sexual sports, but let me tell you, I was thoroughly excited for the potential to earn that varsity letter in sexscapades. Too bad I won’t get the chance, and I hope vanilla sex does it for me from this point on. I snicker and flick at the leather again before smacking the wooden beads next to it, making them clunk together like a 70’s wind chime.

  “So, do you like anal?”

  I gasp, bolting upright. I was musing over sex toys when I should be paying attention. I didn’t see or hear anyone come into the shop.

  I wipe my upper lip in case there’s a miracle standing behind me. I should be embarrassed, but instead, I grin so extremely that the smile hurts my face. Deja vu hits me hard. Same first line.

  “I thought I had an answer for that once, but now I’d say I’m up for anything,” I respond with my back to him.

  I suck in a sharp breath as I smack my forehead, finding the reflexive confidence exhausting once I utter the last word.

  I swivel around. My black chucks squeaking on the linoleum, nearly slipping when I catch sight of the one thing I thought I might never see again. I had come to terms with this fact on the drive here, telling myself that I should be so lucky I got a glimpse of Batman before he disappeared back into the shadows. But now he’s here, and I can’t breathe in the best suffocating way imaginable, like choking on sugar and spice and everything nice.

  He’s here.

  Nate’s dark stubble frames his half smile. It shouldn’t make me feel like a bowl of Jell-O, but it does.

  His eyes are luminous as he dissects me. His right eyebrow lifts to match the right side of his glorious mouth.

  I gasp, trying to remember I need oxygen, but don’t feel much relief.

  I spit out the only thing on my mind, tossing eloquence and poise to the back burner. “Y-you read my article.”

  His tongue peeks out, wetting his lips. “It was hard to ignore.”

  I gulp. He grins wider, running a hand through his midnight hair that’s in beautiful disarray. I clench my fists, feeling this burning tingle in my fingers, knowing I want to run them through his hair, drag them across his five o’clock shadow, and down his lean body to make sure he isn’t a figment of my imagination.

  “Sexual vigilante, huh?” he asks.

  I exhale with a smile. “Clever, right?”

  He rolls his eyes, sticking his hands in his pockets. My smile grows, seeing that Nate can’t stop fidgeting.

  “Batman, really?” he asks again.

  I chew my bottom lip to hold back my snicker. “But you’re here, aren’t you? Are you going to tell me you’re still the villain, or are you going to be my hero?” I choke on another breath, getting ahead of myself. I wipe that nervous sweat again. I’m assuming too much. I’m an idiot. “What I mean is, you technically don’t have to be here for what—uh, I— It was a stupid article. You don’t have to be here for me, or anything; you can just say goodbye—”

  “I am here for you,” he interrupts, watching me for a reaction, as if trying to determine his behavior from watching mine.

  Now I know what Nate meant when we first met, because I’m learning fast I like Nate nervous way too much.

  A sandpaper gulp slides down my throat as my heartbeat sounds off like a bass drum between my ears. “For me?”

  He rubs his face, speaking through muffled hands and gargled chuckles. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I tried figuring it out, but I all I could conclude is that I knew I had to show.”

  “Had to show?”

  His hands fall from his face, and hit his sides. “Is there an echo in the room? Yeah. I’m here for you, and I knew I had to see you. I didn’t read the article wrong, right? You’re my damsel in distress, professing a need for her hero?”

  My brows pull together. “I did not call myself a damsel in distress.”

  He takes one stalking step forward, popping my personal bubble like he always does, and I welcome the warm sensation sizzling through my body.

  “Oh, you were most definitely implying you were. It was a cry for help, wasn’t it?” he prods, drawing me in.

  I huff, chewing my lip raw, finding that even a
mong all my bubbling nerves, and the undeniable rising sexual tension, I can still level my stare to his amber ones in defiance. “Depends. Are you here to save me?”

  He raises a brow and replies without hesitation, “Yes.”

  I get the chills, and release another long exhale.

  I’m too stunned to speak, trying to wrap my head around what’s happening. Like how sometimes ridiculous, elaborate, romantic gestures, like posting an article in a national women’s magazine can actually win you the guy. Or how about the fact that sometimes when you go in for a little research to get you by that you can come out with some seriously unexpected results, like finding yourself or a person you connect with in a way you don’t understand, but adore.

  All of it was such a risk, and the sparkler igniting in my chest is proof that everything was worth it, even the riddling fear and doubt that was there until about ten minutes ago.

  He’s here.

  His chortle draws me out of reverie.

  “I think I reread the last text you sent me a billion times, looking for hidden meaning, or hope, or for some sign between the words to tell me how to handle this weird feeling gnawing inside me. Even if I was mute when you called or texted, I savored each attempt, wishing I had the same amount of confidence you had. I knew I was being an asshole, but I couldn’t move. I had no idea what to say, or how to fix it. I didn’t know what to do. So instead, I did what you told me to do. I bought the magazine the day it came out.”

  “You gave me control without me being present?” I hum, the irony igniting another firecracker in my gut.

  He shrugs. “I was in uncharted territory. I definitely wasn’t on my turf, and I couldn’t tell if we were on yours. Although, I didn’t read the article when I got it.”

  “Am I supposed to call this discipline or stupidity?”

  Luckily, he laughs, poking me in my stomach. The playfulness thaws the nerves that sit frigidly under my skin, contradicting the lava in my core.

  “Wait for it. I’m here, aren’t I?”

  I nod.

  “I took the magazine with me to work, but still couldn’t face it. I wasn’t ready. I ended up tossing it on my coffee table, attempting to ignore it, and took my first client. Every patient I talked with, I could barely listen to as the magazine sat on the table between us, taunting me. Then something bizarre happened. In the middle of my fourth appointment, I was about to grab for the magazine to put away in my desk, because I couldn’t stand the thing glaring at me during sessions. When I reached for it, the newly divorced woman I was treating stopped me. She pointed at the magazine in my hands, and asked me what I thought of the article about Batman. I didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. I didn’t know that was your article. I had bought the magazine in such a hurry, and had only stared at the bathing suit model on the cover before heading to work.”