Chapter 14
14
MALCOLM
“W hat the hell is this garbage?” I sneer as Ophelia and I lay on the couch watching some kind of reality TV show I’ve never heard of. We’ve watched several episodes by now and I’ve come to surmise that a group of random idiots who all share the same brain cell seemly agreed to live on an island for twelve weeks to see if they could find true love. Jokes on them because true love doesn’t exist and it definitely doesn’t exist on a clearly staged set where you’re only given alcohol to drink and there aren’t enough beds for the number of bodies that need them.
“What do you mean? Don’t tell me you’ve never seen this before?” She drops her chin into her shoulder and looks at me from her side of the couch. After she took a shower, she came out fresh faced with damp hair that had a slight curl to it. As she moved throughout the condo, I loved watching her curls bounce across her back. She slipped on a pair of leggings and a cream, off the shoulder sweater and had her feet tucked under herself as she sat as far away from me on the couch as she could possibly get. I wouldn’t mind it if she would scootch a little closer to me but I wasn’t going to push my luck. Having her ask me to stay was enough of a win for me already.
“Well seeing as how I don’t own a TV, no , I’ve never seen this show before,” I say flatly. “TVs rot your brain and make you stupid. Clearly the people in this show have watched too much because they’re all idiots,” I sniff.
“What are you, a Boomer?” she scoffs and the way her face pinches up makes me laugh. “Who doesn’t have a TV? What the hell do you do all day?”
“Well, if I’m not working at the bar then I’m training at the gym or with my friends. And if I’m not doing any of those things, I’m normally reading. Something I figured you would do more of seeing as how your place is full of overstuffed bookshelves.”
She looks around her space and with a contented smile. “I do love to read—a lot. That’s something Bailey and I connected over, our love of books. Sometimes I just need to turn my brain off though, hence the show.” With the remote in her hand, she flicks it towards the TV.
“And you choose this dumpster fire being masked as entertainment?” I joke.
She reaches over and shoves my leg and I love the way her hand feels there. “Hey, leave me and my show alone. I have a very stressful job and this helps me relax.”
“I’ll help you relax anytime you need,” I offer without a hint of sarcasm in my voice. She looks at me through squinted eyes before sitting up straight and shifting her weight.
“You know,” she starts, sucking on the inside of her lip as if she’s considering it. “I would let you help me relax right now, but you just insulted my show. So I guess we’ll both have to suffer.” Without giving me a chance to respond, she hits play on the show again and I suffer in silence as some drunken woman starts a fight and a guy with a totally made up name talks about how much he wishes he could find his soul mate.
Soul mates.
True love.
Two things that you only ever see in TV shows, movies, or books because they’re just that—fictional.
At the end of the episode, Ophelia pauses the TV again and stands from the couch with a stretch. With her arms above her head, her sweater lifts just enough to expose a strip of her soft stomance and I’m hit with the desire to press my lips to it. Or sink my teeth into it. Or fuck, maybe both? She looks at her phone to check the time before looking at me.
“I’m getting kinda hungry, do you want anything for lunch? Are you staying for lunch?” She doesn’t seem like she’s trying to insinuate that I should leave but I ask a question anyway just to see if I can get her to admit she wants me to stay twice in one day. She might not be ready to admit it yet, but I can tell she doesn’t totally hate having me around.
“Do you want me to stay for lunch?” I move my glasses from my eyes to the top of my head and love how her eyes focus in on my bicep as I do.
“I mean, I’d have to eat alone if you leave,” she scoffs, making her reason for wanting me to stay about her instead of what it’s really about—the fact that she wants me to stay.
“Well we wouldn’t want that, now would we?” I smile at her. She rolls her eyes and heads to the kitchen as I stand from the couch. She swings the door of the fridge open and bends at her waist to look inside, leaving me to happily take in the image of her ass on the other side of the bar.
“I probably should have checked the fridge before offering because I have absolutely no food here.”
“That’s okay, let me take you somewhere so we can get you fed.” She turns on her heels and studies me skeptically from the kitchen.
“This isn’t you trying to take me on a date, is it?” she questions. One of her eyebrows is lifted so high I’m surprised it hasn’t disappeared into her hairline.
“Not unless you find pastrami overly romantic,” I throw back, mirroring her accusatory tone. “The place I had in mind is a local deli. The guys who run it are good people, and the sandwiches they make are unreal.”
She wraps her lips around her teeth and pops her hip out to one side as she crosses her arms in front of her chest. “I do love a good sandwich.”
“Then put your shoes on and let’s go. We can take my truck.” We stare at each other for a beat before she starts to head towards her bedroom.
“This isn’t a date you know,” she calls out from her bedroom before coming back out holding a pair of white sneakers in her hand. “I don’t date people, not like this at least.”
“Who said anything about this being a date?” I challenge. My feet move towards her front door and slip into my shoes before waiting for her to join me.
“I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me asking you to stay or to have lunch. This”—she waves her hand between us as she moves towards the door with her shoes now on—“is just sex . ”
“Who are you trying to convince, princess? Me or you?” Her brown eyes scowl at me before she tosses her purse over her shoulder a little more aggressively than needed.
“Let’s go, pretty boy,” she scoffs, pulling her front door open and stepping out. Once she locks the front door, we head for the elevator and walk side by side without saying anything. The desire to grab her hand and hold it as we walk to my truck nags me, but I know that wouldn’t be allowed.
People only hold hands when they are going on a date.
And she had made it clear that this definitely isn’t a date.
* * *
“Malcolm, long time no see, boy.” Darryl’s warm voice booms through the tiny deli stand that has been in his family for generations. It’s a hole in the wall, mom and pop shop that’s off the beaten path in an older part of Charleston. Its ancient vinyl flooring was around when Nixon was in office and the outside hasn’t been painted since the original Woodstock took place. I only know about it because Marshall had brought me here a few times in the early days of my recovery as he and Darryl are old friends. He, Reese, and Marshall are what I hope to have with my own friends when we reach their age.
“How’s it going, Darryl? How’s Julia? And the grandkids?” I ask about his wife and family as Ophelia looks around the worn down establishment next to me. We drove here in my truck in near silence, the only sound in the cab coming from the radio I’d tuned to the local country station.
“They’re good, they’re good.” He nods his head at me with a kind smile. “And who’s this you brought with you? Your girlfriend?”
Ophelia’s head whips around and looks at Darryl with wide eyes. His question is innocent but the assumption that we’re anything more than what we are puts her on edge.
“No, no, we’re just friends,” I hurry, waving my hands in front of me.
“We’re sleeping together. It’s just sex,” she deadpans as if it’s a totally casual thing to admit to a complete stranger. I look at her with a stunned expression as the air becomes ripe with discomfort.
“Uhm, okay then, how nice,” Darryl sputters, the apples of his cheeks turning a slight shade of pink due to her forthcomingness. “What can I get for ya?”
We both order our sandwiches and I ask to get them to go. She doesn’t know it yet, but I’m going to take her to one of my favorite spots to eat. After arguing about who is going to pay—me, because I’m not an animal—she finally relents and lets me swipe my card.
Darryl chuckles from behind the register. “You know, you two argue like an old married couple.”
This gets Ophelia to shut up and snatch her sandwich off the counter. “I’ll meet you at the truck. Nice meeting you,” she says with a curt smile.
“Just sex, huh?” he asks with raised brows as the door closes behind her, causing the small bell above it to ring.
“Darryl,” I sigh.
He raises his hands at me as if I’m threatening him and smirks. “Hey, don’t get mad at me. I’m not the one who looks at her like a lovesick kid.”
I roll my eyes at him and toss a few dollars in the tip jar. “Goodbye, Darryl.”
“Bye, son, you and your friend come back soon now,” he calls out with a laugh.
She’s leaning against the truck waiting for me, staring down at her sandwich with heavy eyes. She looks like she’s lost in a thought or a memory and doesn’t look at me right away when I reach her.
“Something on your mind?” I ask and take one step closer to her than I’m sure is allowed for two people who are only having sex.
“I’m not the marrying type,” she says after a moment with a sigh, finally bringing her eyes to mine. The way she looks at me is almost as if she expects this to upset me.
“Okay? Who said anything about getting married? This isn’t even a date, I just took you to get a sandwich,” I tease.
“I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea about who I am. I have no interest in getting married. Ever.” She enunciates ‘ever’ as if it were underlined and bolded. I bring my face closer to hers before speaking.
“Neither do I,” I admit, shaking my head a little as I do. Her face blooms into surprise as I open her door and wait for her to get in. Once inside the cab of the truck, she buckles her seatbelt and looks at me once I take my place in the driver’s seat.
“You don’t want to get married?” Her voice borders on the line of curiosity and surprise.
My hand turns the key of the ignition and I listen as the engine roars to life. “Nope. I’ve never been one for formal displays of love.” I swing my head to look at her and give her a coy smile. “I much prefer the spontaneous, physical type of love, if you know what I mean.” She studies me from the passenger seat as we pull away from the curb and make our way down the road.
“So I assume you’re not working at the bar today?” she asks after a few minutes, keeping her eyes on the road. I guess we’re moving on from the conversation of marriage.
“Not today, no. I got today off because I closed last night and organized the charity event. I open tomorrow, though.”
“You seem to like it there. At least it always looks like you’re having a good time while you’re working.” She flips her hair over her shoulder and I’m intoxicated with the scent of her lavender shampoo. I inhale deeply, trying to soak in every last drop of it.
“Have you been watching me, little fox?” I joke with a laugh and she clicks her tongue at me. I take a breath before continuing. “I love it there. Butcher and Block saved me, gave me a purpose, and gave me something to put my energy into.”
This causes her to look at me again. “What do you mean, it ‘saved you?’”
I hesitate for a minute, glancing at her and then setting my eyes back on the road. Am I really going to tell her? I don’t normally share this part of my life with the women I’m sleeping with. The only people who know my whole story are my friends, my parents, and Marshall. Yet again I’m surprised by the way she makes me feel and in this moment she’s making me want to be honest with her. To tell her my truth. All of it.
“A lot of people don’t know this, but Butcher and Block is a place of healing.” My eyes flick to her quickly as we make our way towards the water. “It’s owned by a good friend of mine, Marshall, who also happens to be my sponsor.” I pause and wait for her to say something and I look at her when she doesn’t. When I catch the image of her, I see that her mouth has fallen open into a small O and her eyes have filled with a sad knowing. When she doesn’t say anything after a beat, I continue.
“He opened the bar to give recovering addicts a space to heal and get back on their feet. Everyone who works there has some kind of addiction; drugs, alcohol, you name it, we have it,” I chuckle, trying to make light of what I’m telling her. She doesn’t laugh or even crack a smile. “I’ve worked there for the last five years ever since getting sober. The people there are like my family. Behind the guys, of course.” I nod and press my lips together.
We pull off the main road and head down a dirt path that’s been forged by tires driving down it over and over again. When the truck wavers as we go from pavement to dirt, she looks around to see where we are. We drive down the road for half a mile before I pull off to the side and back in so the tail of the truck is facing the water.
“Where are we?” She leans over the dash to look around as I turn the engine off. The river moves downstream behind us, the sound of it seeping in through the closed windows.
“We’re in my favorite spot,” I answer with a smile as I reach to unbuckle my seatbelt to hop out. My hand pushes the door open but before I can get out, she reaches over and grabs my arm to stop me.
“Malcolm, wait.” I turn to look at her and she’s worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. “Can I ask you something?”
I close the door gently and turn to face her. “Of course you can, as long as it’s not to marry you. We’ve already established we aren’t into that kind of thing.”
“Would you stop trying to be cute?” she sighs.
“Weren’t you the one who said we aren’t supposed to use that word?”
“Malcolm.” Her shoulders droop as her head falls to one side.
“Okay, okay. I’m done. What’s your question?”
She takes her bottom lip between her teeth and blows out a breath. “You can tell me if this is too personal but…can I ask what you’re sober from? It can’t be alcohol, I’ve seen you drink before…I mean, I guess it could be but…” her voice trails off and I can tell she’s trying to be delicate.
“I got into some trouble with Adderall in college and it started to become a bigger issue. I started to dabble in other types of amphetamines to the point where I couldn’t operate without them.” Guilt wracks my core as I think about how far gone I was. It’s never easy for me to talk about this time of my life, but I want to be honest with her. “I got mixed up with some bad people, did some pretty stupid shit. Almost got hooked on way harder stuff plenty of times. But, my friends helped me get back on my feet. They saved me from myself, really.”
“That’s why you guys are so close,” she says almost as a question.
“We’re close for a lot of reasons. But they were there for me when I needed them. Got me the help I needed. I met Marshall at my first N.A. meeting and he took me under his wing. I’m where I am now because of all of them.”
She nods her head at me and swallows hard. The air in the truck has grown heavy and I want nothing more than to try and lighten the mood again. “Can we eat now? I’m starving and about to eat my own arm off.”
She snuffs out a laugh through her nose and a smile breaks across her lips. “Yes, we can eat now.”
My hand pushes open the door again and I’m halfway out when she says my name.
“Hey, Malcolm.”
“Yeah?” I turn around to see her looking at me from the passenger seat.
“Thanks for sharing that with me.” Her eyes flit to the floor before they land on me again. Her face is reserved but full of what I can only describe as appreciation.
“I promise to always be honest with you, princess,” I say. She rolls her eyes at the use of the nickname and steps out of the truck, carrying her sandwich in her hand.
“I swear to god if you keep calling me ‘princess,’ I’m going to be sick.”