Only See You (Only Colorado Book 2)

by JD Chambers

  Shelby said she liked it when I would tell her that. It made her feel good to know that I loved her size. At the last divorce meeting just before the holidays hit, she seemed to be larger than normal, and I am wondering if she had work done. At this point, I wonder if she ever told me the truth, or just what she thought I wanted to hear.

  Maybe I’m only now considering this because I have been with Shelby since the not-so-tender age of nineteen. I never once strayed or checked anyone else out. One of my frat buddies had this obnoxious saying, “Just because you’re on a diet doesn’t mean you can’t look at the menu.” Not me.

  Is it wrong that thinking about how much Shelby would freak out over what I did last night makes me feel a little better about it? Like if Shelby would be horrified that I sucked dick, then I know I have nothing to feel ashamed of.

  Well, that and the fact that it was Mal. Yet another reason I need to fight whatever urge this is. Because I can’t go around developing feelings for anyone right now. I’m not even divorced yet. And Mal doesn’t deserve to be my weird experimental rebound.

  My legs wobble and I realize that I missed the break for my last interval and blew right past my ten-minute mark. I’ve been so distracted that I powered uphill for eighteen minutes straight. No wonder my legs are about to give out. I lower the angle and decrease the speed until I can walk to cool down. I have to hold on to the handles so I don’t stumble.

  I spend the rest of my morning on upper body in deference to my legs. I usually shower and change in the locker room, but after all the crazy thoughts going through my brain today, I am not about to risk it. Instead, I go straight home and find Ben with his face buried in an enormous mug of coffee like he’s using it as a personal steamer.

  “You’re alive.”

  He doesn’t lift his head, as though the caffeine will leach into his pores this way and cure his hangover. “Barely. Figured you went to the gym without me.”

  “Yeah, I wasn’t sure if you were going to be up for it or not,” I say, and head into the kitchen for a glass of water and a peanut butter and banana sandwich, my post-workout protein snack. “Do you even remember getting home last night?”

  Ben lifts his head at that, his eyes as wide as his coffee mug. “I didn’t drive, did I?”

  “Jesus, Ben. What has gotten into you lately?” I sit next to him at the table, and he ducks his head back down to his coffee. “And no, you didn’t drive. Mal brought you home.” He stays quiet, and I’m not sure if he is avoiding the question or if he’s just too hungover to converse. I can’t take it anymore, so I decide to ask the question that’s been on my mind for a week now. “I know this might be out of line, and I’m sorry if it is, but are you hung up on Zach or something?”

  I don’t need much more of an answer than the confused expression on his face as he jerks his head back up.

  “What?”

  “It’s obvious you miss him, but lately it seems more than that. I just thought maybe …”

  “No. I do miss Zach. I don’t think I realized how big a part of my life he was until he was gone. And coming home from a shitty Christmas to find him already gone didn’t help.”

  “You knew we were moving over the holidays,” I say before taking a bite of my sandwich.

  Ben finally takes a sip of his coffee instead of inhaling it. “I know. It just wasn’t real before.”

  It takes a moment for me to unstick my mouth from the peanut butter and a few swallows of water before I can speak. During that time, Ben’s misery only seems to deepen, and I wish I had Zach’s talent of chasing away his bad moods.

  “Do you want to talk about it? Whatever happened at Christmas?”

  “No!” Ben’s response isn’t loud, but it’s forceful.

  “Oh, thank god,” I say, wiping pretend sweat from my brow. “I asked because I felt it was the proper roommate thing to do, but I honestly don’t know what I would do with myself if you started sharing your feelings.” I fake a shudder and Ben cracks a smile. It’s a start.

  “I need a shower. It was too crowded at the gym this morning.” Sure, let’s go with that excuse. “Want to play a game after?”

  “As long as we can keep the sound turned down.”

  I stuff the last bit of sandwich into my mouth and get up from the table. Halfway to the bathroom, I remember something else and turn back to Ben.

  “We need to go get your car from Old Town later,” I mumble with my mouth full. Ben groans and plants his head on the table, barely missing his mug. “And you might want to apologize to Mal, too.”

  “Ugh, they were so boring. How can someone so hot be so boring?” he whines, though it’s muffled by the table. “I probably wouldn’t have drunk half as much if they hadn’t kept using the word ‘aesthetic.’ I took a shot every time they said it, and look what happened.”

  His words rankle, and if I had hackles, they would be up right now. Not a second I’ve spent with Mal has been boring. But there’s no point in arguing taste, especially when I’m still feeling guilty over what happened. A shower will cool down this irrational crankiness. Ben is my best mate, and Mal is just …

  Not helping to redirect my thoughts. The chubby I’ve been fighting all day reappears. I will not rub one out while thinking about Mal, and since I know thoughts of Mal will inevitably surface, I will not rub one out at all. I crank up the cold, and finish in a staggeringly short time.

  In the time it took for my shower, Ben barely made the move from the table to the couch. He shuffles back with controllers in hand before collapsing onto the cushions in a heap.

  Zach: Do you have plans next Saturday?

  Zach’s text comes in just as we’ve started a game. I see the name flash across the screen, but I don’t want to pause. Ben’s phone dings soon after mine, and I wonder if we are both getting texts from Zach. It doesn’t take long before my character dies, so I reach for my phone while Ben continues playing.

  Parker: I don’t think so. Why?

  Amidst all the negative things that came out of Shelby’s miscarriage last year and our pending divorce, getting to know Zach better was a definite positive. He was always my nice younger cousin, who was really smart but kind of snarky. Last summer, I began to understand his snark is something he really only employs around family as a defense mechanism. Shelby has always been a bitch to him, but when isn’t Shelby a bitch these days, so I didn’t really pay attention to the level of nastiness that had developed there. I think toward the end I had learned to tune out Shelby like Charlie Brown’s teacher. Once I started to pay attention after her miscarriage, I was flabbergasted that this was the woman I married. I filed for divorce less than a month later.

  Zach: Craig and I want to host our first dinner/housewarming party, and I think that date works for everyone if it will work for you?

  Parker: Yes, if you promise me a big fat knot :)

  Zach makes delicious bread products in the form of knots, and for years, I have begged for them any time I knew he would be at a family get-together. Now I know that “knots” are this inside joke between Zach and Ben that has something to do with gay shifter sex. Not too sure on the details, but I am happy to play along. It really is quite funny when you think about all the times I’ve asked Zach for his knots.

  Zach: Oh my god, you just made me spit coffee on my paperwork. Damn you!

  Zach: Did Ben put you up to that?

  I’m smirking as I text back, and Ben notices. His character died too, so he’s also on his phone with the game paused in the background.

  “What did he say to you? We’re both texting Zach about the dinner, right?”

  I nod, but hold up a finger so I can text Zach back first.

  Parker: I do have a sense of humor of my own, thank you.

  “Yep,” I tell Ben. “I was just telling him that I expected a big, fat knot at dinner.”

  “I’m rubbing off on you.” Ben tries to hold back his laugh, but it comes out his nose anyway.

  Zach: I’ve heard you
r engineering jokes. You really don’t.

  “Why, what is he saying to you?” I ask Ben.

  “Just that I have to be nice to Mal, if Craig can get them to show up. Apparently, they told Craig about our date already, and Zach isn’t happy with me. Don’t know why. It’s not like he’s a big fan of Mal or anything.”

  I should have guessed that Craig and Zach would invite Mal too. It’s too late to back out now, not that I would anyway. Supporting your cousin and his boyfriend is more important than your own sanity, right? Seven days until I see Mal again. With Ben. Let the countdown begin.

  The phone rings just as I walk through the door after work on Tuesday afternoon, displaying the word “Parents” for the first time in five months. I answer like there’s a snake about to come from their side through the airwaves and out of my speakers. It’s my mom that responds.

  “Hi sweetie,” she says. “How are things going?”

  This is not what I was expecting, for her to act like nothing happened.

  “Good?”

  I didn’t intend for it to come out as a question. I nod to Ben, passing him in the hallway as he exits the kitchen with a napkin piled with Hot Pockets. I target my room so I can hold this sure-to-be-awkward call in private. My hands clutch at my tie, trying to yank it loose, as if this conversation is already strangling me. It lands on my bed and my button-down follows soon after.

  “Wonderful. I’m sure you’re doing great things at work.”

  My thoughts drift to whether we’ve even had enough contact since the separation for her to know I have a new job. I think it came up when we were all arguing about the divorce, but they might have been so preoccupied with other news that they didn’t listen.

  “I was calling about your father’s upcoming birthday. Sharon and I have been talking about putting together a little party since it’s the big six-oh.” Sharon is my aunt on my father’s side. She’s a few years younger than dad, and loves to taunt him for it, so I am not surprised she and Mom are working together on this.

  “When are you thinking?” I put my phone on speaker and bring it down to open up my calendar. Dad’s birthday is toward the beginning of February, which does not give me much notice. The drive home to Oklahoma takes about ten hours, but I can crank it out in a day if I am well-prepared. “I could probably take some time off. When do you want me there?”

  “The party is on the first Saturday in February. We’re hosting it at the house. Your father wanted something simple.”

  Damn it, Mom. Her planning skills have always been her tour de force. Everyone always assumes I got my brains from my father, the big-shot dentist, but it is Mom that gifted me with the ability to organize and see how everything fits together in neat, tidy packages. But this time, she really dropped the ball. That’s less than three weeks away. I continue talking while typing out an email requesting the Friday before the party off.

  “I wish you had given me more notice. I’ll probably only be able to come down the day before and leave the day after.”

  “That’s fine. As long as you and Shelby can make it for the big day, that’s all that matters.”

  My fingers freeze mid-sentence. I’m glad my tie is already off or I would have just choked.

  “Mom, I am not bringing Shelby.”

  “Why on earth not?” Mom scoffs, a blast of air cuffing my ear like a fist through the phone. “It feels like ages since I’ve seen you both.”

  I will not grind my teeth. I will not react. “Because we are getting a divorce.”

  “It’s not funny to joke about something like that, Parker.” I start to argue, but she’s too quick. “I have to go start dinner for your father. He’ll be home from work soon. I love you.”

  I feel like the walls are closing in on me. She refuses to speak to me for five months, and then acts like our blowup never happened. I had thought I owed them the courtesy of informing them about the divorce myself. I still remember Mom’s wails about how Shelby and I were perfect together and I was making a terrible mistake. And my father telling me how, for the first time in my life, I was disappointing him. Then, despite my asking her not to, Mom shared my new number with Aunt Bonnie. The very next phone call I received was a lecture about how God frowns on divorce and how Shelby needed me to get her through this trying and emotional time.

  “I have faith that you’ll make the right choice, Parker,” she had said.

  After that torture, I cut myself off from them. I did it to save my sanity, and to find myself. I wanted to find out who I thought I was, not who everyone else kept telling me I was. But maybe the radio silence gave them the wrong impression, and led them to believe I had taken their advice, when nothing could be further from the truth.

  Torture by party. That is what the future holds for me.

  “Are you alright in here?” Ben pokes his head through the open doorway. “It sounds like someone’s flogging a cat.”

  Hmm, maybe I can bring some backup.

  5

  Mal

  On Wednesday, I awake to a light dusting of snow on the ground. Unfortunately not enough for a snow day, either kid or adult version, since today Jackson Daugherty, owner of the Frontier Hotel Experience, is coming in for a meeting. I’d hoped since he has to drive from Wyoming that somehow, somewhere along the way would be too treacherous for him to risk the drive. Alas not.

  I arrive early to work at Metro, Loveland’s premier (and only) marketing firm, so that I can spend the first few hours getting the mock-ups finalized. Thank god Nicole, Metro’s account executive for Frontier, is running this show. I just have to sit in on the meeting and answer any questions about the actual design work. Nicole hates Jackson as much as I do, but she’s much better at hiding it.

  We spend the hour before the meeting in the conference room, hooking up her laptop to the screen, setting out water bottles, and giving each other pep talks. I know she was here late last night, working on the proposal and media plan. If this were any other client, it would be a fun meeting. Talking strategy and creative ideas is what Nicole lives for, and she’s one of the best I’ve ever worked with.

  “Right this way, Mr. Daugherty,” we hear our receptionist say before she appears in the doorway, escorting an older man wearing a cowboy hat and a bolo tie into the room.

  “Jackson,” Nicole greets the walking cliché that is our client, and while her voice remains friendly, I know the fact that she only uses his first name is deliberate. “Won’t you have a seat? I hope the drive wasn’t too bad.”

  Jackson sits at the head of the table and cracks open the bottle of water. “Pity you can’t have scotch in the boardroom these days. Curse of political correctness.”

  Only a fool would believe Nicole agreed with the statement, but she plays her part well, forcing out a laugh. “Well, that, and the fact that we might wind up with some truly bizarre advertising for you, Jackson.”

  He grunts and mutters something about pussies not holding their liquor.

  Nicole ignores his comments and presses on with her presentation, organized in three parts. The first part covers the overall strategy and goals she has developed for the Frontier Hotel Experience, which unfortunately does not include a new name.

  I get to keep my mouth shut and blend into the background for this portion of the meeting. Thank god. Jackson hasn’t spared me a second glance. I dressed conservatively this morning in a navy turtleneck and grey slacks, with my hair pulled into a topknot. The most risqué thing about me today are my heels and my lace thong, that last item which he will never see. And most importantly, I’ve kept my mouth zipped. When the second part of the presentation begins, showing off the actual designs, I’m up.

  I created three different versions of the same advertisement, mounted onto foam board for display. They use the same photo, but each has a slightly different feel to it. Nicole also has a family of coordinating materials mocked in photos on screen.

  “This first one is a modern take on country,” Nicole says as I un
veil the first board. “It says you’re getting a country experience, but you’ll be doing so with the very finest of modern comforts and amenities.”

  Jackson sits forward in his chair and pounds the table with his fist. “Ah, see, Chase was a much better model than those pansy-ass pretty boys your designer had before. I was right to suggest it.”

  When we first put together our ideas, I used a stock photo, much like I always do, as a placeholder. Jackson was not happy with the masculinity, or in his opinion the lack thereof, displayed by the model. He recommended we use Chase Matthews, last year’s Frontier Rodeo bull-riding champion.

  Oh, how badly I want to tell him that his prize-winning archetype of manly perfection showed me exactly how he won those titles after the photo shoot. I bucked and I bucked, but that cowboy rode me to completion.

  Other than to crow over his suggestion, Jackson has no opinions on the options we present him, and Nicole finishes up by showing him the recommended advertising schedule.

  If it weren’t for the weather, I’d happily suggest we play hooky and celebrate surviving the meeting with margaritas.

  “Thank god that’s over. Further proof that all men are assholes,” Nicole says, tapping the tip of her water bottle against mine in a toast.

  My brain zings to Parker with the thought, not all men, but I keep that to myself. It would be like begging Nicole to ask me about my personal life, and that’s the last thing I want. Especially when I know last Friday night was the most I’ll be getting from Parker McWilliams. Funny how it’s the straight guy that makes me want what I can’t have.

  The rest of the day passes without incident after the Frontier meeting, and after work, I decide that instead of getting a drive-through salad, I’ll make my mom’s white bean soup. The grocery store is as packed as ever since most of last night’s snow melted by midday. I get the necessary ingredients and get out as quickly as I can.