Idle Bloom

by Jewel E. Ann

  “She’s a nice girl. We have a good thing going. Didn’t you notice how she defended the doughnut chick from this morning?”

  “Shit.” I laugh and run my hands though my hair. “She is the doughnut chick from this morning, dickhead.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  I roll down my window and pull my Red Sox baseball cap on. “Vivian was the one on the subway who fell into me with her doughnut. Thanks to you, now I look like a real asshole because you had to run your mouth about the whole tail between the legs comment.”

  Chance laughs. “Damn, you lucky son of a bitch! I should start taking the T. I’m probably missing out on a huge untapped population of hot women. They’re wasting their time bumping into you, the one guy who won’t ever give them the time of day.”

  I sigh. “You’re right. I couldn’t care less.”

  *

  At the chance of risking what’s left of my manhood to some philosophical bullshit, I have to admit that digging in the dirt and being in the sun all day is somewhat therapeutic. I can’t help but mentally pat myself on the back for coming to that conclusion without the help of a psychiatrist. Lord knows in an effort to save one hundred and forty dollars an hour, I can ask myself how I’m feeling and why I think I’m feeling it with less resentment than I felt from those damn therapists in Portland.

  We’re adding raised-bed gardens to a hotel in the Seaport district so they can use the fresh vegetables and herbs in their restaurant. Just one of a million reasons I love this town.

  “Wanna go out tonight?” Chance asks while mixing the compost into the soil.

  “Nope.”

  “Tara is going to bring her sister. We’re going to some new Italian place by the wharf then to Mike’s for Cannoli.”

  “Who’s Tara?” I sit back on my heels and wipe the sweat from my brow with the bottom of my chocolate-stained shirt.

  “The girl I took to Mom’s birthday dinner.”

  “Not interested.”

  “Oliver, you need to get out.”

  “You don’t know what I need and I told you never to mention a fucking second of my past!”

  “Jeez, dude! I’m not talking about your past. I’m talking about now! Nothing more than dinner with a pretty woman. She just graduated from MIT and she’s brilliant. A nerdy scholar like yourself. It’s okay to let a nice piece of ass make your dick twitch every once in awhile. Gives your hand a break.”

  “Bite me!”

  “Nobody says that anymore, but whatever, your loss.”

  I hate that he’s right, but I’d rather gnaw off my own arm than admit it out loud.

  “Sorry, Chance, I’m just … shit, I’m just not ready. I’m not saying never, just not now.”

  He pats me on the shoulder. “Don’t sweat it, Bro.”

  With a deep sigh, I close my eyes and try to shake the image of the one person who does make my dick twitch. And when that fails, I decide to call it a day. It doesn’t appear that my hand will be getting a rest anytime soon.

  *

  I’ve been back for two months settling into my new life. I feel like a zombie most of the time. Food lacks taste, I see the sun but I can’t feel it touch my skin, comedy is void of humor, and the monotonous play of life in all its muted colors doesn’t catch my eye. At least that was the case until last week when I started working with my brother.

  Living in Cambridge, I take the Red Line to South Station. Every morning for the past week, I’ve sat across from this long-legged woman with raven hair falling in unruly waves around her slender shoulders and down her back. Soft green eyes peek through sexy long lashes, casting a spell on me, and I’ve found myself locked in a trance watching her eat her cream filled doughnut with chocolate frosting. She makes a complete mess of it, and by the time she’s done every guy in the subway car is sporting a boner from watching her lick her full lips and suck the sticky sweetness off her long fingers one at a time like a fucking Dunkin’ Donuts porn movie.

  So now the only thing I smell is a mixture of coffee and doughnuts. I can taste sweet cherry red lips that I will never kiss. It’s absurd I’m so fucking enthralled with her just the thought of the subway elicits a pathetic schmuck grin, and the vision of her lingers like a drunken haze even when I close my eyes. But most disturbing is the part of my body she awakens that I swore I’d never use again.

  I’m so screwed.

  Chapter Two

  The Welcome Wagon

  Vivian

  “Hey, bitches, it’s about time you showed up.” I give both Kai and Alex a big hug.

  “Sorry, Flower. Sean and Kai were late.” Alex pins Kai with a gimlet-eyed stare before hugging me.

  “I hate when you call her that,” Kai clenches his jaw.

  “She calls us her bitches, yet you think calling her flower, like we both don’t know what’s tattooed on her back, is somehow what? Disrespectful?”

  I link my pinkie to Kai’s then playfully nudge him in the shoulder. “I can think of worse things to be called.”

  The scowl on Kai’s face refuses to fade. Alex thinks she knows everything about the events that led to my inked backside, but she doesn’t. Kai was there and as much as he would like to forget how that night forever changed my life, he can’t. I hope someday we can remember what we were and not what we’ve become.

  “I hate that fucking tattoo,” he says.

  “Well good thing it’s mine and not yours. Besides, Kate has an infinity symbol tattooed on her ankle.”

  “Ah, Kai and Kate. It’s bad enough that you two look like Ken and Barbie, but seriously, hearing your names together is just too much.” Alex mock gags with her finger in her mouth.

  “I don’t look like Ken.”

  “Maybe not blond Ken, but you could pass for the pretty boy dark-haired doll, and Kate is definitely Barbie. I’ve never seen her in anything but heels. Are her feet permanently molded to that shape? Does she walk on her toes even when she’s barefoot?” Alex laughs.

  “Suck me, Alex.”

  “Afraid not, babe. Sean’s idea of a threesome is with me and Flower.”

  “Timeout, you two!” I make a T with my hands. “I’m going home while you two help Maggie close up. Try to play nice.”

  “I won’t be home tonight,” Alex says as I sling my bag over my shoulder.

  “You never are. Tell Barbie … I mean Kate, I said hi.” I giggle, giving Kai a wink.

  He scans the crowd for onlookers, then waves goodbye with his lone middle finger.

  *

  I stick in my earbuds and float away with Ed Sheeran as I take the Red Line back to Harvard Square. At South Station an all too familiar face steps through the doors. We make eye contact, sharing mirrored grins.

  “You’re haunting me today,” I tug my earbuds out.

  Oliver takes the seat next to me. “I could say the same about you.”

  “Your obnoxious brother let you off early?”

  Oliver laughs. “I didn’t ask. I pretty much decide when I’m done. What’s he going to do? Fire me?” His gaze dips, heating my skin. “So why are you going home so early?”

  “Wasn’t really my day to work so I left my friends to clean up the mess and close up shop. Besides, I skipped lunch and I’m starving.”

  “You think it’s because you skipped lunch? Or maybe it’s because you left half of your breakfast with me.” Oliver pulls at his chocolate-stained shirt.

  “Funny guy, huh? I’m starting to feel less and less badly about this morning’s little incident.”

  We both stand as the train stops at Harvard Station. “Come on.” He signals with his head as we step off. “I owe you a doughnut.”

  I hesitate as commuters shuffle past us. “That’s a ridiculous comment, but I’m starving so yeah, I’ll let you buy me a doughnut.”

  We navigate up the stairs and make our way out to Harvard Square. I hold up a finger and duck into the corner shop returning just a few minutes later. “Here, we’re even.” I to
ss him a Harvard T-shirt. “Now you can pretend you went to an Ivy League school.”

  He shrugs off his shirt leaving me with a gaped-mouth stare as I look around to see if anyone else is watching. Drool-worthy, carved muscles hug his lean frame, and I can’t hide the blush that creeps up my neck as he slips on the new shirt before tossing the old one in the trash.

  “What makes you think I didn’t go to Harvard?”

  I shrug. “Well, probably the leather work boots. Why? Did you go to Harvard?”

  Oliver cruises ahead toward Dunkin’ Donuts. “It’s possible.”

  I can feel his smirk as I roll my eyes and jog to catch up.

  “After you.” Smirking, Oliver holds open the door.

  “Why thank you, Mr. Konrad.”

  We order doughnuts and iced coffee then take a seat by the window.

  “So, are you?”

  “Am I what?” He arches a sly brow.

  “A Harvard graduate.”

  “Ah, piqued your curiosity, have I?”

  “A little.” I remove the lid from my coffee.

  He stares into his drink as if he’s waiting for his next words to float to the top. “Yes, I went to Harvard.”

  “Cool,” I reply, sticking my finger into the cream-filled hole then licking it off.

  With cow eyes, Oliver watches me suck the filling off my finger. He clears his throat. “Yes, I guess it is cool.”

  Sticking my finger back in the hole to scoop out more filling, I laugh. “I don’t mean it dismissively, I’m just trying to not make a big deal of it. You’re obviously not using your degree, that is if you received one, so I don’t want to make you feel bad for doing something else in life.”

  Sliding my tongue along my cream-covered finger, I wait for his response. He’s staring at my mouth again with his lips parted and he takes an exaggerated swallow when his eyes meet mine.

  “Uh, that’s um, an interesting way to eat a doughnut.”

  I lick my lips and grin. “I like to savor it. You know, the way some people lick the frosting from the center of an Oreo before eating the cookie part?”

  He nods and clears his throat. “I graduated with a degree in Law.”

  “Really? Did you ever practice?”

  His forehead tenses into valleys of lines, almost looking pained. “For a short while, but … life became too demanding so I had to give it up.” He says each word with slow calculated precision.

  “Do you think you’ll ever start practicing again?”

  He keeps eye contact, but his gaze becomes glazed. “A few years ago I would have said no, but now I hope I find my way back.”

  “Sounds like you’re lost.”

  Oliver leans back and laces his fingers behind his head. “I think I am.”

  I pull the straw from my cup and chew on the end giving thought to his comment. “Lost is a state of mind. You’ll find yourself when you acknowledge you’re exactly where you need to be in this moment.”

  He laughs. “At Dunkin’ Donuts?”

  “Nope, just alive.” I smile but it falters as I watch the color drain from Oliver’s face. “Did I say something wrong?”

  The legs of his chair screech along the floor as he stands. “No, I just should get going.”

  I grab my drink, shoving the straw back into it, and stand. “Okay, well, thanks for the late afternoon treat.”

  “Yeah, sure. So I’ll see you around.” He doesn’t wait for me and before I can say anymore he’s out the door.

  *

  Now who’s scampering away with their tail between their legs? What the hell just happened? How can Chance be so transparent, as in, “I’d do you in the back of my pickup,” but Oliver such an enigma? I climb the front stairs to my building while fetching my keys.

  “Hey, Oliver, how’s it going?”

  I whip around and see Oliver waving toward an open window of a condo across the street, then he digs his keys out of one pocket while holding a paper grocery sack with the other. He unlocks the door next to the one with the open window, enters, and closes it without a single glance in my direction.

  No way! Oliver is my neighbor?

  I have nothing to offer this tall sexy man, yet I feel compelled to march across the street like the welcome wagon with a chip on her shoulder.

  Knock knock knock!

  He opens his door and his brows sink into a scowl. “Did you follow me?”

  I make a fist and point my thumb over my shoulder. “See that red door?”

  He nods.

  “That’s where I live. I heard your neighbor greet you as I was getting ready to unlock my door. How long have you lived here and why did you drop me like burnt toast then run out of the doughnut joint?”

  He jerks his head back. “Um, two months and I didn’t drop you like burnt toast, I had to get going.”

  Crossing my arms over my chest I widen my stance, jutting my hip out. “How have I not seen you coming or going? And yes, you did drop me like burnt toast, and then you ran out the door with your tail between your legs.”

  He rests his free hand on his hip and bends down to my eye level. “I don’t exactly have a front yard or porch swing to lounge in, so it’s not a big surprise that we haven’t run into each other. And I didn’t run out with my tail between my legs.”

  “Well … whatever. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

  Turning on my heels, I sally forth down the stairs.

  “Wait!”

  I stop, keeping my back to him.

  “Thank you for the shirt. You said something that hit a little too close to home and I didn’t know how to react so … I left. It was a dick move and … I’m sorry.”

  I nod once and continue across the street.

  “Hey! Do you want to come in for a drink or something?”

  “Not today.”

  “Are we good?” he yells.

  Unlocking my door without looking back, I flash him the A-OK sign with my left hand.

  *

  Oliver

  I pour myself a scotch and collapse on my back deck. Normally I wouldn’t turn to hard liquor before five o’clock, but the black magic my new neighbor across the street weaves requires something stronger than a Sam Adams. I had the upper hand when she nearly choked on her own saliva as I shrugged off my shirt in the middle of Harvard Square. It was completely unnecessary, but I wanted to see how she’d react. I’m not sure why, since I have no intention of acting on any of my dick brain impulses. The impulses she feeds like blood to sharks. The crazy part is I honestly don’t think she has a clue what she does to me and probably every other straight guy she encounters. Seriously, what was that today? Finger fucking her doughnut then sucking it off like she was giving a tutorial on blow jobs?

  I don’t even recognize the voice in my head. I’m depressed, agitated, lost, starving, and horny as hell. It’s been over three years since I’ve had sex. Three. Years! Chance thinks I need to get laid, but I’ve never been the guy who easily indulges in one night stands. However, a relationship is not an option, so I guess I’ll keep my Playboy subscription and hand lotion to save the poor women of Boston from falling prey to my selfish needs and lack of ability to ever commit again.

  The scotch is numbing, infiltrating my blood with the ease of molasses. In moments like this I feel outside of my body, a stranger observing the mere shell of the man he used to be. I miss that Oliver Konrad. He was full of life, confident, kind, aspiring, and driven. But mostly he was connected, rooted in this world and thriving in his environment, taking all life had to give.

  Lost. I’m lost in this moment. I’m lost in every moment, floundering around as one day blurs into the next. I won’t look back, but I can’t see forward. Stuck—that’s it—I’m stuck. Am I waiting to be rescued? Will I dig my own way out and move forward? Or, will I perish in this dark hole?

  *

  I haven’t missed many sunrises in my adult life. It’s my favorite time of the day. It used to be symbolic of living to see another day, b
ut now it’s the reminder I need that time isn’t standing still. For a brief moment I actually feel the earth moving beneath my feet, inching me away from my past.

  Several months ago I agreed to move back home under one condition—my family would never mention my time in Portland. It’s asking a lot of my mom, who is a psychiatrist, to pretend her son is not fucked-up in the head, almost to the point of insanity. My dad, however, is a cardiologist and he openly admits the only matters of the heart he cares to deal with are the ones behind the closed doors of a sterile OR.

  “Are we still on for dinner, sweetie? Your brother is bringing a ‘friend’ so feel free to do the same. Love you!”

  I delete the voice message off my phone with a deep sigh. My family is the best, really. Growing up in Boston our house was the gathering point for all our friends, and when it wasn’t overrun with kids, my parents hosted dinner parties and wine tastings. Now the once Leave it to Beaver house is haunted by the ghosts of my past and the only thing more awkward than the impersonal and random dinner conversation is the blinding pain in their eyes. It says so much more than words ever could.

  Me: I’ll be there, no plus one for me. Love you.

  I send off a quick text and head to Harvard Square. Leaning against a concrete post in the underground transportation dungeon, I see the doughnut queen come down the stairs. Curious eyes find me as she masks her smile behind the lid of her coffee cup. It should be illegal for someone with legs that long to wear shorts that short. I wait for her to make her usual navigation in my direction, but instead she stares at the MBTA map like she hasn’t seen it a million times before.

  Worming my way through the growing crowd, I stand behind her without saying anything.

  “Hey, neighbor,” she says, and I think I can hear the grin on her face.

  “No doughnut today?”

  She turns, both hands cupping her coffee inches from her mouth. “I already ate it. Thought it was in all the other commuters’ best interest.”

  I grin and nod. I’m sure I won’t be the only guy disappointed that the 7:30 a.m. doughnut porn show has been cancelled.

  We board the subway and stand facing each other again. I look at her coffee with a single raised brow, then at her eyes.