14 – Lame Lane
Casey
I am unbothered.
I breathe through my morning meditation and repeat the words, trying desperately to unclench my jaw as I say them out loud.
I, amunbothered.
Breathing again and repeating, trying to relax my muscles and my jaw.
“Iamunbothered.”
“It sounds like you might be bothered.”
My eyes snap open as Rosie’s voice pulls me from my relaxa— Oh, who am I kidding? I couldn’t mellow out even if I had weed gummies.
I am very bothered.
I grunt and stand up from my position on the floor of the lounge room and make my way into the kitchen. It’s 5:30am on Monday, so of course, Rosie and I are awake, and Addison is sleeping like the dead.
“I thought you got laid this weekend?” Rosie asks as she watches me stomp my way into the kitchen.
“I did.” Except it was horribly anti-climactic… or, at least, for me. The guy gave major BDE and yet… under performed. Way too much, ‘ Is this okay?’ and, ‘ Can I touch you here?’ Like, c’mon, man. I love consent as much as the next person but… for the love of God… TAKE CONTROL! Rip my clothes off, throw me on the bed, and tell me how you like it. Is it too much to ask for? Has the world gone insane? Am I being irrational?
“Okay, this is SUPER fun. I have never seen you like this. Can I have all the gooey details?”
“He crossed the finish line, and it was not a relay race. Instead, it was a one-man fucking marathon, and I was left at the water station,” I grunt out and Rosie audibly chokes on her cereal as she tries to get her laugh out. Grabbing my bend and flex yoga mug, I pour my second cup of coffee for the day and give Rosie a deadpan look.
“So many metaphors. Swearing from Casey Baker? My goodness, he did a number on you.”
“Want another? His name was Lane… should have been Lame. ” That gets me a full-on cackle from Rosie, and I can’t help myself. I join in.
The worst part is the lack of orgasm isn’t even the full reason I’m pissed. I went home and sorted myself out. No, I’m pissed because a certain someone else seems completely unbothered. And who the hell was that blonde?!
“It’s not really about Lame Lane, though, is it?” Rosie questions as she shovels more cereal into her mouth. I sit my mug on the counter and hang my head in my hands. Unable to hide anything anymore, I shake my head and mumble, “No.”
“It’s Jessie?”
“Yes.” I groan. “What is wrong with me, Rosie? I’ve haven’t been able to shake this stupid, stupid crush since I was a teen! I had a boyfriend in between, and yet, we spent one day together and it’s like I’m a dog in heat.”
“Maybe you guys need to like… bang one out.”
“Bang one out?” I ask, unsure if she is actually being serious.
“Yeah, you know, like, get it out of your system.” In theory, it sounds splendid. Practically speaking? Horrible disaster. I know for a fact I would just fall harder. And falling for someone completely unavailable is out of the question. Been there, done that. Really not interested in that again.
“He isn’t even interested in me. This is a one-way thing. Plus, he had a date on Saturday.”
“So did you.”
“But that wasn’t a real date.”
“Maybe his wasn’t either.” She winks at me when I narrow my eyes at her.
“No, he is the one hung up on his ex. He really does just need a friend and I’m happy to be his friend. I just…”
“Want him to pick you,” Rosie says softly.
I shrug and look down at my thumb, twisting the ring on my finger. Completely conflicted about the way he has acted in the past versus the version of him from Saturday night. Unaffected and completely unbothered. Making it abundantly clear that this is very one sided.
You’re exceptional.
“Yeah. I guess it’d be nice to be chased instead of doing the chasing. I spent four years in a relationship with a guy who never made an effort. Never showed his emotions, never had a real conversation. And now, I’m lusting after a man who is so beyond heart broken by his ex that he has no room for another love. Am I just destined to fall for emotionally unavailable men? Is that like… my trope?”
Rosie laughs and hops down from her position on the stool, stalking around to meet me in the kitchen. She puts her hands on my shoulders. “There is no such thing as a soulmate, Casey. I know that soft romantic heart of yours is waiting for your knight in shining armor to swoop in and manhandle you into a swoony love bubble, but that isn’t real life. You’re going to trip a few more times before you fall properly.”
“You can tell you’re a romance editor. You’re excellent at romantic declarations.” I smile down at her, and she pulls me into a hug.
“No more self-deprecation for men who don’t deserve it, okay?” She points her delicate fingers up at me. “Be a good feminist with a great sex life and you’ll live happy and fulfilled.” She nods and flicks my nose before she turns and struts back to her bowl of cereal.
I try to listen, except she says, ‘ great sex life,’ and I immediately wonder how great Jessie would be in bed.
I’m screwed.
I walk through the coffee shop and the door chime jingles, and for some reason, I was hoping to enter unannounced. Instead, my entrance gets his immediate attention, and it’s like a million and one emotions pass his face, and I can’t tell which one he lands on.
Plastering a smile on my face, I skip the rest of the way, reordering my emotions, shoving down everything that makes me horny and sad when it comes to this broody man. I am determined to hold my promise to him and be his person. That means showing up even when I really don’t want to. “Morning, Jay!” When I make it to the counter and hoist myself up so I sit, facing him, he straightens and there is a half-smile on his face before he shakes his head and leans back on the counter opposite the one I prop myself on.
“Good morning, Ace.” We stay staring at each other for a few seconds that feel like minutes. His eyes are intense as they hold my gaze, like he is trying to read my mind.
All the weirdness I thought would be there, isn’t. Instead, it’s like the sexual tension just exploded by a million. It’s like he knows that I spent the morning wondering if he would have let me leave without finishing the job properly. It makes me wonder how he’d rectify the situation if I told him.
My face must tell him something of what I’m thinking because he asks, “How was your weekend?” Except, with the way his voice sounds, it’s more like a dirty promise than anything else.
“Good—” I cough to clear the husk from my throat, which just makes him smile wider. “Good. You?” I twist the ring on my finger nervously and he tracks the twitch before he takes a few steps forward and comes to stand directly in front of me.
He places his hands on either side of my thighs that sit on the counter, his face level with mine, and his eyes land on my lips. “Could have been better.” Oh, and don’t I know it.
I force a swallow. “I came to try the new Baker’s Brew menu.” It comes out as a breath and his eyeline lifts from my lips and steals my gaze. Without looking, he uses his left hand to grab something and place it on my lap, but he doesn’t step away and doesn’t remove his arms from this cage. He just continues to watch my eyes. So many questions he wants to ask that he won’t. So many feelings he wants to feel, but won’t.
I look to my lap and see the menu sitting there. I grab it and flick my hair off my shoulder, trying to wrangle my pulse so as to appear unbothered. Jessie just stays where he is.
“Oooo, Cotton Candy! That could be yum.”
“It’s terrible.”
I look to him and narrow my eyes. “Is that an honest assessment or coming from someone who hates joy?” I raise my eyebrow in challenge, and he bites on the inside of his cheek to hide his smile, as those gold and blue eyes alight with amusement.
“Touché.” His voice is deep and rough and sounds dirty, and I hate loving it so damn much.
“Maybe…” I trail off and read the rest of the menu, trying my best not to be distracted by his proximity, by the smell of vanilla, books, and man, and the way he completely envelops my senses, especially from this close. “I’ll get Cotton Candy, with blue heaven and banana. Extra cream.” I slap the menu down and place my hands on the counter next to me, inside his embrace, and lean forward. I smile and bite my lip. “Delicious,” I whisper, repeating his taunt from that day in my kitchen.
Our faces are so close, I could lean forward a fraction and we would kiss. Our lips would touch, and I’d be lit on fire. Everything in me screams not to do it because it crosses the final line I’m trying to hold between us, but God do I want to know. He seems to sense my growing desire and takes one for the team as he steps back and toward the coffee machine.
“You are utterly insane, you know that?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you hear the order you just gave me? It is a toothache waiting to happen.”
“Nonsense. It sounds like every kid’s dream.” I plop down from the counter and move to the book stacks that line the wall opposite the coffee machine in an attempt to get some air as I try to find a way to casually ask about that blonde he was with, without crossing friendship lines and entering jealous girlfriend territory.
“You’re not a kid anymore, Ace.”
“No, but don’t you wish you could be again?”
He chuckles and nods his head.
“So…” I linger and turn away from him so he can’t see my blush. “What did you do this weekend?”
“Same as you.” Ugh, vague . “Went to Bozzelli’s for a drink,” he continues. I nod and try to pretend I am reading the titles of these books.
“Walk of shame, or did you stay for breakfast?” I put on my best teasing voice, so it sounds like a question from a friend and not me satisfying my own curiosity.
“Neither.” Dammit, that gave me nothing. I spin on a heel and see him looking at me, a shit-eating grin on his face.
“What is that look for?”
“Just amused,” he says before he puts his attention back on making my beverage.
“And what is so amusing?” Now I’m annoyed. I walk back to the counter but remain on the customer side and cross my arms as he leans on the counter and pushes my finished drink forward.
“Casey Baker, you’re jealous.” I steal the drink and scoff.
“Am not.” Are too. “I was simply being a friend and trying to see if you had as successful of a weekend as I did.” I throw Lane in his face and leave out the fact the guy couldn’t find a g-spot if I drew him a map.
“Well, for the sake of your curiosity, I dropped Chloe, my old college friend, home to her wife , at about 11pm.” Ohhhhhhh.
I internally slap myself and try my best not to wear my embarrassment on my face. Except, I must fail because Jessie’s face lights up, but when his gaze moves to my neck, the light drops, and he turns to busy himself at the counter. “Seems like you had a great night, though.” I raise a hand to cover the giant hickey Lame Lane left.
Friends, we’re being friends. And I need to bridge this weird gap I created with my misplaced jealousy. “Was great on the surface. Lane was pretty lame.” He turns his head over his shoulder and laughs.
“I could have told you that.”
“Mmm, but you didn’t.” Challenge set in his eyes as he turns.
“And what would you have done if I’d said something?”
“Well, what would you say?” I ask back, narrowing my eyes and biting on the straw of my drink.
“That you won’t find what you want with that pretty boy,” he says it low and deep, like a caress, as he stalks forward again.
“What exactly do I want?” The air in the café grows thicker and I feel like I’m a thousand degrees with no escape.
“That’s the million-dollar question, Casey.” His face sets in an emotion I can’t name, and his eyes snatch to my lips as his voice drops. “What do you want?”
For you to take me against these bookshelves and remind what it’s like to be desired by a man. “Extra chocolate,” I respond and wink at him, swallowing all the unspoken words. Because I can’t. I can’t sit here and want a man that probably, most likely, doesn’t even want me. He shakes his head and lets go of a soft chuckle before he grabs the chocolate shaker and leans to dust the chocolate over my drink. He does so without dropping eye contact, and I take a few steps toward the door. “Well, I should probably get going.” He nods and smiles at me softly, but when I go to pull out a note to cover the coffee he puts his hand over mine and shakes his head, that same soft smile in place.
“Okay,” I whisper. “See you later?” I ask and smile at him from the door.
“Yeah, I’ll see you.” Again, no goodbye, before he turns and busies himself, and I leave the shop.
I leave, feeling both empty and satisfied. Conflicted but content? What on earth does that even mean?