14. You Are Not The Father
YOU ARE NOT THE FATHER
I’m regretting my ‘new me’ mindset around my tenth lap in the pool. I swam in high school; I loved it, but it’s clear my body isn’t the same as it used to be. I’m going to need to keep coming back if I want my muscles to not ache every time I get out of the pool.
Even though my arms feel like they might fall off, I feel accomplished as I grab the edge of the pool and toss off my swimming cap.
The ache feels good, granted, not as good as the remnants of the giant bruise on my ass from the other night.
I’m contemplating going back to Avalon tonight, but wonder if that would make me seem too needy.
Truly, someone needs to write a book on sex club etiquette, cause it feels like I have no clue what I’m doing.
We’re not dating, we don’t owe each other our time, but it’s also so fucking good.
Part of me almost wants to bypass the club itself.
Not a full-blown relationship, but an agreement of sorts.
It would be so much easier if I could text him and ask him if he wanted to fuck and get an idea of what type of night it would be.
Am I going to get bossy in charge Ben? Or am I going to get soft and sweet, compliant Ben?
It’s unreal how he can be whatever I need him to be, and I wonder if he feels the same about me.
God, now I sound like a girl with a crush, and I’m not a girl with a crush.
I’m a woman who’s getting the best sex of her life, and I won’t let feelings get in the mix. Nope, it’s simple, an agreement between our bodies and nothing else. Of course, there’s a level of trust in what we do, and small talk will happen, but friends small talk all the time.
Ben is my hot, very fucking hot, sex club friend, that’s it.
If I go to Avalon and he’s not there, am I willing to hook up with someone else? I’m honestly not sure. It would be the smart thing to do. We aren’t exclusive. Far from it, it would probably be a good idea to go and fuck someone else.
Yeah, I’ll do that. I’ll go to Avalon and see what else the club has to offer.
There’s splashing to my right and a cute toddler is kicking her feet in the water.
“Mommy won’t let go of you, just keep kicking your feet,” the pretty blonde woman says to her toddler. I smile as I watch the sweet moment, until I glance next to them and I feel my heart sink into my ass.
It’s Ben.
It’s Ben holding a baby that looks exactly like him, and when I glance at the little girl, she doesn’t look too far off, either. She probably favors her mother.
Guilt drips through me, which is replaced by absolute rage.
Does his wife have any idea what he does at night? What he does at the bar he owns?
I lift myself over the edge, hating myself, hating men even more.
Why? Why do they have to look so good when they’re all fucking evil? How can he have that at home, a wife and two kids, and do what we did behind closed doors at Avalon?
There’s a chance they have an agreement, but I doubt it. He fucked me without a condom and then went home to his wife, his devastatingly beautiful wife.
Why couldn’t I be into women? I tried. Really, I gave it my best, but it just goes to prove that sexuality isn’t a choice.
Cause as of right now, I want to swear off men.
I thought going to Avalon would be a safe place to find like-minded people.
That it was a sure thing, that I wouldn’t get hurt or have to deal with the ordeal of having feelings.
Well, I’m having feelings, big ones, and I fucking hate it.
He’s just some guy I fucked. I shouldn’t care. It’s not like I knew he had a wife. God, that poor woman. I know what that pain feels like and even if I was ignorant of what he was doing, this motherfucker made me cause harm.
I’m trying to get out of the pool so he doesn’t see me.
“Kate?”
Looks like I literally have zero luck.
“You’re her?” his wife asks in a shocked tone, making me shimmy out of the pool faster.
Did his wife find out what he’s been doing late at night, or do they have some sort of open relationship? Either way, I don’t like being lied to, and that’s how I feel right now.
“Fuck,” Ben hisses as I briskly walk to the locker room.
I’m about three feet from the door when a hand wraps around my bicep.
“Kate, give me a second,” he says, and I turn around to see a chunky, precious baby on his hip.
It isn’t that I didn’t like kids. In fact, I find them honest and sweet. It’s that I don’t have the desire to be a mother for many reasons. Seeing him hold his son makes me feel things, though. It makes me feel lied to. It makes me feel silly for romanticizing the nights we had together.
I feel used again, and I hate that I let someone do that to me again.
“He’s my nephew. That’s my niece, and that’s my sister-in-law,” he says quickly.
My cheeks are flaming fire engine red; I feel like an asshole jumping to the worst-case scenario.
“You’re not the father?” I ask.
“Definitely not. Lincoln and my brothers all look pretty similar. That’s why this guy is so handsome,” he says, bouncing the baby on his hip.
I wrap my arms around my waist, feeling like a complete idiot
“I’m sorry?—”
“Hey, don’t apologize. I don’t blame you for thinking that. My brother had a work emergency, and Penny asked me to join so she had a helping hand.”
Great, so I assumed he was a married cheating asshole, and he’s the kind of guy who wakes up early to help his sister-in-law with the kids in the pool.
“I think we’re going to the diner after this. Do you want to come?” he asks.
His gaze is hopeful, and after being such a judgy jerk, I feel like I have no other choice but to agree. Which is probably equally stupid.
This man left a palm shaped bruise on my ass, and I’m about to park that same ass in a booth and eat pancakes with his family?
“Please, Kate. Let me buy you breakfast.”
I tilt my head at him and he grabs the baby’s fist and waves it at me as he speaks in the wildest baby voice ever. “Please, Kate. Take mercy on my Uncle Benny. Have pancakes with us.”
“That’s just…wrong.”
Ben grins at me. “So, is that a yes?”
“Fine. Let me shower. I’ll meet you all there. Posey’s?” I confirm, with it being the next block over from the gym, I knew that was likely where they were going.
“That’s the one. Let me go tell Penny, and we’ll head that way. You won’t regret it,” he says, like he can read my mind and knows I’m already second guessing having said yes.
I go back into the locker room and get into the shower, rinsing the chlorine off and trying to get my wits about me. It honestly feels like I’m being haunted everywhere I go in Tampa lately.
If it’s not my ex I’m bumping into, it’s my sex club buddy.
Maybe this is a sign to never leave my house again.
I scrub the shit out of my hair, maybe hoping that I’ll grow a single brain cell in the process.
When that doesn’t work, I step out of the shower and dry myself off.
I blot my hair with a towel and detangle it with a brush, knowing it’s going to look like an absolute disaster, so, instead, I toss it into a messy bun.
I didn’t bring any makeup, and I blink into the mirror taking in my simple shorts and T-shirt. Well, this is as good as it’s going to get.
What the fuck are you doing, Kate? Going to get breakfast with the guy who started your sexual revelation, along with his niece and nephew. Christ.
Instead of going home like a normal ass person with common sense and self preservation, I walk over to the diner.
As soon as I reach the entrance, Ben’s waiting—alone.
I glance around and Ben laughs.
“Penny thought it would be too much for her and the kids to tag along. I hope that’s okay?” he asks.
Now I feel really bad for thinking she was his wife.
“Yeah, more than okay,” I say. Relief fills me immediately as we walk inside and take a booth by the window.
The server, with very large hair tucked behind a headband and over dramatic eyeliner, takes a rag and wipes down the linoleum countertop before handing us menus that are way too big for this kind of establishment.
“Can I get y’all something to drink?” she says, taking out the pad and paper.
“Coffee, with cream please,” I say.
“I’ll do the same.”
“Great, I’ll be back to take your order in a minute,” she says, walking away in her Keds.
I flip open the menu, even though I don’t need to look through it, knowing exactly what I want. Ben doesn’t open his, just plants his elbow on the table and rests his head on his hand.
So it looks like I have sweet Ben today. I’m not sure which side of Ben is more appealing to me. Both have me absolutely fucked up.
“You already know what you want?” I ask him.
“I’m in no rush,” he says, taking out his phone and shooting off a text, placing it face down on the table.
“I’m sorry that I assumed you were married with kids and a piece of shit,” I say, hiding my face with the menu I’m currently not reading. It’s at least useful as an emotional shield right now.
“I don’t blame you. I can see how it might have looked. I would imagine with your history, it would have been triggering.”
“The idea of being lied to is a soft spot for me,” I say, glancing over the menu and he swallows thickly, his eyes flicking back down at his phone.
Our server comes back and we place our orders, my figurative shield being carried away with her, but at least I have coffee now. I add two packets of sugar and a splash of cream.
Ben just adds cream as we both take sips, staring at each other on opposite sides of the table.
Okay, so, I can tell him what to do when we’re naked and he can blindfold and spank me, but we can’t have a normal conversation.
“How has your summer been so far? Do you have any trips planned?” he asks.
“It’s been good. I’ve spent time with friends.
I started painting again,” I say, but don’t mention that he was the muse for the piece I’ve been working on.
“As far as travel goes, not really. I usually wind up tired and with a stomach ache,” I say.
I’m relatively independent, though the idea of traveling alone scares me.
Will never wanted to go to the places I wanted to, either. “What about you? Any trips?”
“I’ll probably head down to the Bahamas once or twice. My family has a place down there. But getting the club up and running has been a lot lately, so not much time for much else.”
“Do you have a timeframe on when it’ll be done?”
“Hoping for mid-August. When do you go back to work?”
“August twentieth.”
“Are you looking forward to it? Do you like teaching?”
I smile, taking a sip of my coffee. “I actually really enjoy it. Having tenure and only working at one university makes it more enjoyable.”
“People teach at multiple? Sorry, I got through three semesters and realized it wasn’t for me.”
He seems shy or embarrassed by telling me that, and I just shake my head.
“Yeah, a lot of teachers are adjunct, making shit money and working their asses off. Others are staff professors and are working their way to tenure or headed in another direction.”
“So, what exactly do you teach?” His neck is blushing red.
“I don’t teach the process of creation. Like my friend Savannah, she’s in the photography department.
I teach the study of art, the social and cultural impact of art throughout history.
I have a few classes I teach that start from the Renaissance to the twentieth century, another that is solely contemporary art.
I also teach a class about women in art starting from the sixteenth century and beyond. ”
“You love what you do,” he says softly. It’s not a question.
“I do. I love my students. Besides the few classes that meet the art requirement to graduate, they’re all very passionate.”
“Did you always know this is what you wanted to do?” he asks.
I take another sip of coffee and think over my answer.
“Not always. When I moved here to live with my aunt, it became clear. She was brilliant, a research professor in biochemistry. She had so many patents, she made a ton of money, but more than anything, she was passionate. She showed me art, introduced me to a world beyond my own. I’m sure she would have preferred if I became a scientist, but if she was disappointed, she never showed it.
When she saw art was my passion, she fed it.
She was my greatest teacher, and I wanted to be just like her,” I say, my eyes watering slightly and I blot them with a napkin.
Ben looks down at his phone, his brows furrowing, before looking back up at me.
“She sounds like she was pretty amazing.”
“She was. What about you? Did you always want to be an entrepreneur?”
He smiles, that cute little dimple in his chin deepening.
“Honestly, yeah. I always knew I wanted to work with my brother. I knew I didn’t want a boss, that I wanted something that was mine.
The marina wasn’t in the plans, but it worked.
I’m glad we stayed in Tampa to be around family.
Do you have any family in the area?” he asks, as his phone buzzes frantically on the table. “I’m so sorry. Let me take this.”
He picks up the phone and I drink my coffee, loving that the conversation is going easier than I imagined. But I almost fear that it’s crossing a boundary. Blurring the lines between fuck friends and real friends. Does there need to be a line between the two?
“Fuck, are you okay? You need to go to the hospital? Fuck. Okay, okay. I can be there in twenty minutes. You’re sure you’re okay?” he says, his eyes going wide.
He ends the call, grabbing some cash out of his wallet and placing it on the table.
“I’m so sorry. My brother was in a car accident. I have to go…fuck. I’ve got to go,” he says frantically.
“Do you want me to drive you?” I ask him and he swallows, shaking his head.
“Sorry to run out on you like this. I’ll see you around,” he says in a rush, as he rushes out of the restaurant.
I feel like I have whiplash from the encounter and I realize I don’t have his number to check on him later and see how his brother is doing.
Shit.