Better Late Than Never

by Ghiselle St. James

  Grabbing onto the edge of the table we’re seated around, I stop myself from shivering. He’s been escalating the PDAs lately – lengthy hugs, kisses that come too close to my lips, brushing my collarbone, a possessive hand at the curve of my back lingering close to my ass…

  I’ve been home for a few months, but it hasn’t slipped my notice that Kyle hasn’t tried to take it further. Is he waiting for my go ahead? Does he need me to shout it over a megaphone? I mean, yeah, technically he still thinks I’m with Cam, but jeez, make a move already! I’ve been flicking the bean to memories of us together at Becky and Grayson’s bachelor/bachelorette party in Vegas ever since he picked me up from the airport, with Becky in tow. As of last night, my broken dildo tells me that it’s hardly enough.

  Kyle holds out his tattooed index finger, as we normally do when we see each other since we got them inked, and I wrap mine around his, centering our friendship; centering us.

  “I’m still mad at both of you for getting those tats without me,” Becky mumbles, shooting both of us icy glares.

  “It was two years ago, Becks, give it a rest,” Kyle answers with a chuckle, stretching an arm behind my seat and pulling me in a little closer.

  Of course, he’d do that. My best friend is possessive.

  “Besides, you were there for the next one,” he adds, dropping a kiss to the top of my head, making me feel gooey inside. This man…

  Becky rolls her eyes, but her lips twitch as she observes the action from Kyle. Since I’ve been back, she’s been trying – and failing, poor thing – to get me to just stop being “a scared little bitch” (her words, not mine), and make him mine already. As I’ve said to her many times before, Kyle and I have a lot of shit to wade through before we’re ever there.

  It’s a cop out, but it’s the only one I’ve got. We have been trying to fix some broken parts of our friendship since I’ve been back. While we don’t see each other as often as we’d like, we do try to text and call each other often. It’s been slow, but I think we’re finding our footing again.

  Though a huge part of me wants us to finally admit the truth to ourselves: we want more.

  Grayson comes back to join us and we continue our regular Saturday afternoon lunch date. The four of us talk and laugh while we order and subsequently eat our seafood. We are a rambunctious set, but it’s always fun and love when we’re in the same place.

  Becky and I get up to use the bathroom after we get through with the last bit of shrimp. We relieve ourselves then wash our hands and sneak bathroom selfies to send to the other girls. On our way out, I bump into a hard body. Strong arms steady me as the impact jostles me.

  “I’m so sorry,” the man says…and he’s all man, down to his inky black man bun and thick beard.

  The stranger, wearing denim jeans with a black V-neck shirt and black biker boots, stares at me with familiarity.

  “You,” he muses.

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen you around town with this unmistakable purple hair,” he explains, flicking said hair for emphasis and it makes me blush, hard. “You’re that event planner making a splash lately.”

  Ducking my head out of embarrassment, I can only nod in assent. The popularity never ceases to make me feel like crawling into a hole and hiding. I love what I do but hate the attention. I look up at that moment and decide that this guy’s attention isn’t so bad, as he stares at me with unconcealed interest.

  It’s not that I haven’t noticed guys, or they haven’t noticed me over the years. I’ve gone on a few dates in Florida, but I’ve just never had the time to really explore relationships. Yeah, that’s the reason, Savi.

  “I’m Horace,” he introduces, sticking his hand out. “Horace Lendl.”

  I take his hand and am mesmerized at how it feels on mine. His palm is warm and soft. A sense of comfort blankets me and when he smiles, I feel myself tumbling into this moment.

  “Savannah Carpenter,” I tell him, a little stunned. What’s going on here?

  “Savannah,” he sounds out in that deep timbre of his, and my libido peeks out from my uterus with a coquettish smile. We like…

  “Uh, I’m sorry if you think I’m too forward, but, I uh…” He hedges, looking nervous and unsure of himself.

  Blowing out a breath, Horace licks his pouty lips, tucks some hair that fell from his bun behind his ear, and shifts from foot to foot. “I mean, it’s hardly the time to ask – you, coming out of the bathroom, and me going in.” He chuckles nervously and I’d find it adorable if I were not freaking out.

  This rugged, bearded hottie is talking to me and he’s nervous. Holy shit!

  “For the love of God, you two are too cute,” Becky groans with a smile. “Get your phone out, big man. Her number is…”

  Becky fires off my number when he pulls his phone out and he smiles broadly, thanking both of us.

  “What’re you thanking me for?” I ask.

  “Because, if you didn’t want me to have it, there was no way you’d let her give it to me.” He has a point.

  I bite my lip, a blush crawling to my cheeks with its heat. The moment is doused when Kyle walks in on us. Great timing, bestie!

  “What’s going on here?” he questions, curious eyes on Horace. “Was getting worried when we didn’t see you guys come back.”

  “Savi just gave this hottie her number,” Becky states before looping her hand in mine and walking me back to our table.

  “Don’t forget to call,” she throws over her shoulder in a singsong voice, leaving the possibility hanging between the two men.

  I’d strangle her if I weren’t so curious to see what my best friend’s reaction will be.

  When he returns to our table a few moments later, his face is shuttered and unreadable. He doesn’t bring up the exchange in the hallway, and when he mentions the date he has that night, I realize why.

  It’d had no effect on him.

  “A date, huh?” I comment, just to say something despite my thundering heart.

  “Yeah, I met her a week ago at one of our closing parties for this rookie we’d been courting,” he explains before launching into more details about his date.

  I want to crawl out of my skin. I want to scream and rage, but I sit and smile being the supportive best friend I need to be. When I head home that evening, I stalk Kyle’s social media pages, telling myself that it’s because I’m supporting him and not at all because I want to see if this woman is prettier than me.

  And when Horace doesn’t call that night or any time after our meeting in the restroom hallway, I tell myself that it’s for the best in spite of the utter disappointment I feel.

  Now

  Packing my things, I tell Kyle that I’m exhausted and need to get some shut eye before I start working on things for the wedding. After hearing him talk about his fiancée for the past few minutes I am exhausted, but more heart-weary than anything else.

  And a little bit betrayed.

  He helps me carry everything out to my car, a sleek red Audi that he insisted I buy last year when I was upgrading from the BMW I’d bought after my first year in Miami. My hand is on the door when he stops me.

  “Sav,” he calls.

  I turn back to him and the torture I see on his face is palpable. He’s warring with himself, opening his mouth to say something but closing it at the last minute. I want to go to him, to wipe away whatever it is that’s troubling him; but I steel myself.

  Self-preservation will be key if I am to come out of this unscathed.

  “Sav,” he says again, then sighs. “Thank you for doing this.”

  My heart sinks for the second time this evening and I respond with a sad smile and a, “Thank you for trusting me with it.”

  Jumping in my car, I push the start button and drive off. A minute later, the tears I have been holding back, finally break free in a torrent. I weep with loss; weep with a longing that will never be quenched so long as there is no Kyle and me. I thought that getting that invita
tion hurt.

  No, this hurts ten times worse.

  I slam my hands on my steering wheel over and over, a deep-seated frustration hollowing me out. The soft song in the background makes me want to rip the car stereo out, because the singer’s words ring so true – the heart wants what it wants. And I want my best friend desperately.

  I stab at the controls, switching to the nightly news, the reporter informing us of a suicide bombing gone awry, only killing the bomber. Serves him right. I grit my teeth, unable to stop the scalding tears falling down my cheeks. I just want to explode. Grief makes you angry. It makes you sad. It plunges you in denial and wracks you with so much guilt that it’s a wonder any of us ever come to acceptance. As I drive and cry, I realize that I have been losing Kyle little by little over the years.

  We fought – goddamn, we fought – every single element that was set up to tear us apart. It didn’t matter what or who had come between us, we wrestled against every odd and made it out alive with our friendship intact.

  But I’m not sure we can survive this.

  When I get to my apartment complex in the city, I throw my car in park and lock up. Tiredly, I walk to the door, waving to my neighbor, Zondra, who is taking her trash out.

  “Hey, girl,” I greet her with a smile.

  “You look tired, my girl,” she observes in that Jamaican accent I love.

  Zondra is in her late thirties and comes to the States during the tourist high seasons to cook at various hotels. She set up roots here in North Carolina the past few years but returns to her home country after every contract break. She has no desire to become a citizen here, she once told me.

  “Jamaica too nice to stay away from,” she’d said. I love how she loves her country.

  “Look at the pot calling the kettle black,” I tease good-naturedly. She is still wearing her chef attire and looks about ready to topple over from exhaustion herself.

  Hers is bone tired. Mine is heart tired.

  “Have to do what we have to do to make a dollar in this country, muh girl,” she remarks, smiling, before passing me to head to the garbage house at the back.

  Fishing out my keys, I’m about to open my door when I notice that there’s a boot spur stuck in the center of it. Curious, I pull it out and turn it over in my hands, observing it. I roll my eyes when I remember the bimbo on our building who always wore cowboy boots. We’ve had our fair share of run-ins, especially those times she’s come home noisily drunk with different guys.

  I’m not one to judge, but she is a ho with a capital HO.

  Deciding to deal with Coralene when I have enough patience for her shit, I open the door and drag myself in. I have enough strength to kick my shoes off and jump in bed where more tears flow, the weight of my meeting with Kyle and the conversation with his British fiancé burdening me.

  I have to wrap my mind around the fact that Kyle and I are not meant to be together. How do we go back to being friends after this?

  We don’t.

  After an hour of fitful sleep, I wake up and get cracking on the Moxam wedding that is a mere three weeks away. I send the color swatches to my assistant for the North Carolina office and, luckily, she’s up.

  Last year, after getting some clients from here, I decided to set up a sub-office of Purple Prizm in NC. Things took off and I ended up hiring a full staff complement of twenty. While they can’t make any decisions without me, and I still go there at least twice a month, the Miami office is managing without me. I realized that there was no more need for me in Florida…

  And that it was time to come home.

  “Three weeks away?” she squeaks, shocked, when she calls me moments later.

  She knows I never take jobs with such short notice. If the wedding or event isn’t six months in advance, I usually decline. No matter how much I am being paid. It may seem strict, but it’s also why so many people clamor to get my services up to two years in advance.

  “He’s my best friend, Marla,” I answer. “I wasn’t going to let him down.”

  “Ohhhhh,” she drawls, and I can almost see the light bulb going off in her head. “The one you’re secretly in love with.”

  “I’m, pshh, I’m not,” I lie…I mean, deny.

  “Yeah, honey, you are.”

  There is a long pause between us where I concede. It’s been exhausting hiding my feelings.

  “It doesn’t matter now, Marla.”

  “Oh, honey.” I hate the pity I hear in her voice.

  “Just get things cracking as soon as you can. I’ll check in with you tomorrow afternoon. I’m going on a site visit in the morning,” I direct, business-like once again.

  My assistant, God bless her, notices the shift in my mood and answers back in the same business-like tone. We end our call with me hanging up amid her telling me goodnight.

  I’ll apologize to her in the morning.

  Opening my laptop, I queue up my virtual wedding story maker and start putting the plans together. It twists my stomach as I put the happily ever after touch to what should have been my dream wedding. Silent tears stream down my face as I push through the haze to finish their plans.

  There were no classes in high school that taught me how to deal with this; no three-credit college courses that equipped me with the tools to overcome heartbreak like this. I haven’t just lost the love of my life; I have lost my best friend.

  And there’s no pain deeper.

  A text from Bestie Boyd has me plotting his untimely demise:

  So…? How did it go??

  Not good, Boyd, my man…not good.

  Chapter Twenty Three – Attica! Attica!

  Kyle – Present

  KICKING THE DOOR closed to my apartment, I step over yet another love note that was shoved under my door. There is a pile of them gathered in the corner, next to the coat rack; all of them unread and untouched. Unless you call sweeping them to the side with my shoe touching…

  Tonight was painful, but more so for Savi. I could see the hurt play over her features as the night wore on. Yet, I couldn’t stop it. I knew it had to play out like this. Doesn’t stop me from wanting to kick my ass for it, though.

  I could feel her disappointment when she realized that I’d known for the last few years that her relationship with Cam was fake. I continued to feed her ruse over the years because, honestly, I still don’t believe I deserve her. Changing our dynamic still scares me. What if we suck at being together? There is so much more at stake now than ever before. How would we go back to normal if a relationship between us went sour? We couldn’t.

  I shake off my ever-present doubts and strip out of my clothes. The grime and stress of the day seems to be weighing me down, and I just need to scrub myself clean and drown myself in some much-needed sleep. As soon as I step into the shower and turn the jets on, my body relaxes, sinking into the warmth of the spray.

  I stand there with my hands braced against the wall in front of me, with my head bowed, and allow the warm water to hit me from all directions. Eyes closed, it’s easy to remember how Savi looked tonight. She doesn’t wear it often, but I wonder why she wore that fitted dress today. If it was to drive me crazy, I’d say she succeeded.

  There aren’t many times in the past few years that I’ve allowed the way Savi looked to cloud my judgment. But as I wrap my fingers around my now hardened dick, I can’t help but replay the last time I jerked off to my best friend; or what she wore; or what it all led to…

  Kyle – Past

  Two Years Ago

  Grayson is drunk. To be clear, we all are.

  It’s a week to his and Becky’s nuptials, and the gang is here for their weekend-long Bachelor/Bachelorette celebration in Las Vegas. We’re supposed to be meeting up with the girls in a short while, but I don’t think my cousin is up to it. Neither are we, but he insisted on it since he hasn’t seen his bride-to-be in “five long hours”, according to him.

  I don’t think he can see clearly moreover to see her, but I won’t be the one
to burst his bubble.

  We stumble along the strip, laughing at our drunkenness. No one looks at us strangely, seeing as they’re either equally drunk, drunker, or high off the fun Sin City fumes. We’re all in a world of our own – like a debauched kind of Narnia. We even spot a faun making out with a druid.

  See? Normal shit.

  “Where’s my bride?” Grayson slurs as we weave in and out of people. I’ve got my arms around him, my cousin barely able to walk.

  “We’ll see them soon,” I answer, feeling myself stagger a bit. This fucker is heavy and the alcohol we’ve consumed doesn’t help.

  We’ve split our gang up with the guys taking up one suite and the girls taking up the other. Aside from having meals together, we’ve been doing our own Bachelor/Bachelorette thing since we got here. Tonight is our last night in Sin City and our only activity together.

  We’re going to a strip club.

  The thought of seeing Savi in a setting that pulsates sex and depravity is enough to make my pants tight in the front. I can’t wait.

  We get to D’Base, the hottest and most depraved strip club located on the fringes of Vegas. There’s a line filled with people waiting to get in but, because I booked us a special section of the club for our party of ten, I walk up to the bouncer, flash my ID and he waves us in; much to the chagrin of the others waiting in line. I just hope the girls are already in.

  Inside looks like the darkest, most sinful part of heaven. It’s a barely lit club with lights of red, purple and amber flashing, giving the room a decadent feel. The furniture on the main floor is fluorescent. Each corner of the club has a stage with a stripper on it and patrons “making it rain”. There is a cordoned-off section that leads to the nightclub, which I’m half positive most people outside are in line to go to. I make a mental note to check it out if I can pull myself away from Savi tonight.

  A hostess – yes, a fucking hostess – comes up to us with a salacious smile on her red lips. Her dark hair is in a sleek ponytail and she’s wearing a short black skirt that leaves nothing to the imagination, a white button-down blouse with her breasts fighting to break free, and sky-high heels that I’m certain every man in here has fantasized about fucking her in.