7. Hayworth
SEVEN
HAYWORTH
“Ugh. Every damn year!” Wells turns away from one of the lantern-holding cherubs dotted around town square with a disgusted face.
“Yeah. I know!” I shake my head. “It’s a plague. All of it.”
“And the worst part is how many people fall for it. You know, some of the same faces are bouncing around every damn year wishing on a star, or some bullshit, hoping they’ll find the one. You’d think they’d have got the message already but no! They celebrate it anew like amnesiac children who are too addicted to eating ice cream despite getting brain-freeze every time!”
I nod along with my friend’s speech until he bursts out in a long sigh and I pat him on the back, trying to ignore the veins popping on his temples.
“Are you okay there, bud?”
Wells takes a deep breath and smiles as if nothing even happened. “Yeah, why do you ask?”
I put my hands up and continue walking down the heart-infested street.
“Just making sure.”
Wells puts his hands up to his face and grimaces. “Are the veins back? They’re back, aren’t they?”
“Sure are.”
“Damn it. I owe my therapist thirty bucks.”
I wince and stare at my friend.
“Huh? Why?”
“He bet me that I couldn’t keep calm, cool and collected for a week. I proved him right.”
I wince even harder. “Isn’t your therapist supposed to believe in you? No, wait a minute. Aren’t you supposed to pay your therapist anyway? No. No. Hold on. Are therapists supposed to place bets on their patients?”
Wells shrugs. “Well, ‘therapist‘ might be an exaggeration. He’s more like a listener…” he says.
“Slash?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Bartender. Yeah, fine. I’m talking about Bobby.”
“There you go.” I pat him on the back again. “You had me worried there for a second. But don’t worry. The veins are going down and you look just as handsome as you always have.”
“Well, thanks bud.” He wiggles his thick, perfectly threaded eyebrows and I snort out a laugh.
Not that Wells is ugly. He’s the farthest thing from that. He’s tall, buff, and sexy as all hell. His skin is a smoky quartz tone that would hide any imperfection if he had one, and he wastes no opportunity showing it. For good reason. But it’s his eyes that could make any person, regardless of gender or orientation, fall head over heels for him. Many have. They’re a striking dark sapphire I’ve spent many days and nights gazing into. But just like me, Wells isn’t interested in love or relationships. Wells has a trail of broken hearts longer than the St. Lawrence river. We did try the fuck buddy thing once upon a time but we found ourselves incompatible. He’s a strict top and I’m too pretty to bottom every night.
“Oh stop that. I stopped falling for that after our first attempt at the horizontal tango.”
He blows raspberries and pushes me away.
“Still full of yourself, I see. I haven’t hit on you since you failed to part those pretty cheeks of yours for Daddy. You just think I do because you want to get into these pants.”
It was my turn to blow raspberries. “Puh-lease, Daddy ! Now who’s full of themselves? You loved my blowjob and you know it. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”
Wells grins. “That’s not the kind of cheeks I was talking about and you know it.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, love machine.”
He gasps and wags his finger at me. “Hey! Love machine? I didn’t insult you.”
“Move!” I push him. “I’m thirsty.”
“For deez nuts!” He laughs.
“Oh I’m sorry. When did you invent a time machine?”
“Huh?”
“Because you’re acting like a stupid teen so I presume you went back in time and your teenage self is possessing your body right now because only a spotty adolescent would say deez nuts like it’s the best damn joke ever,” I say and he all but snarls at me.
“Woah there bud. Someone needs a chill pill,” Wells says.
“No. I need coffee. Especially if I’m going to have to deal with all of this.”
“Oh baby you need a whole lot more than coffee to deal with all of this.”
I snort again.
Gosh, I missed him. Because of our jobs I don’t get to see him very often. I’m always travelling around offering people my services and he’s always knee-deep in hops. Or people. The time he’s not spending developing and brewing new craft beers, he spends in bars around town (and who are we kidding? Around Vermont too) pushing his product and his dick.
Jason calls him the sexier, worse version of me, a title I unequivocally reject, but he’s not wrong.
I used to get a lot more ass back in the day. I thought my job would offer me a steady stream of men to sleep around with—for jealousy purposes of course—but, I don’t know. These days I’m not as keen to dip my pen in the company ink, if you may. Something about lying, cheating bastards not doing it for me, I suppose.
“Fine. Coffee sounds good.”
I make a beeline for Sparky’s as usual when we pass by Special Blend, Old Mac’s place. It looks different than it used to. A lot more alive. The coffee bar looks vibrant and full of sweet treats. The back bar now displays a spanking new and shiny espresso machine and the tables and chairs look like they were built this century rather than the last.
It looks, for all intents and purposes, cozy. If not for one thing.
The spattering of hearts on every surface, the red roses on every table, and the twinkling red lights on every wall.
Okay those were several things. All as vomit-inducing as a warm beer and soggy chips.
“Uhm…” Wells says.
“I know.”
“Sparky’s sounds good.”
But as I’m about to agree and turn, I catch sight of pink curls swallowed by coats and bags and I stop in my tracks.
I haven’t seen him since that day at the gym when he turned down my offer to shake those maracas together. It had been a punch in the gut, but only for a millisecond before I composed myself and went on with my day, determinedly taking him out of my mind.
I’ve been very successful so far. Heck, I’ve even forgotten what he looks like. And yet when I see those signature curls it’s as if…as if…as if I’ve been fooling myself, because his image comes back to me full force as if he were standing right in front of me. His smile, his grin, his eyeroll. His butt. The way he bounces on my cock.
Oh wait. That last one was a fantasy.
And still, it feels just as real as anything.
“Come on. This is closer and everyone is raving about it. Even Mom.”
Wells raises an eyebrow and studies me for a moment.
“Mrs. H drinks here? Wow. That’s as high a compliment as anything. But I’ll still pass. I might throw up if I have to sit at a rose table.”
I chuckle.
“I know, dude. But…it’s the first of February now. Wherever we go will be the same. So we might as well try the new Old Mac’s place.”
I don’t know why I’m so dead set on defending my choice. If anything, going to Sparky’s is the better choice. Better the enemy you know. But I can’t help it. It’s as if my body is taking me into Special Blend without my consent.
Oh, who am I kidding. It’s got my full, unequivocal consent. I want to see him again. As long as I don’t say it out loud it doesn’t hurt anybody.
Wells sighs but follows me inside but softens when his gaze lands on the barista, Caspian. He leans over the bar and places our order in the most sensual way possible. Not that the other guy seems moved by my relentless friend.
I leave him to it though because I have a guy of my own to focus on. And I approach the table slowly, like a prey trying to avoid the eyes of its predator.
“Ah! There we go!” He sits up again, coats flying around him and he lifts a toy dog triumphantly pinched between his fingers.
His eyes widen as soon as he sees me and my breath catches. Yeah, still as stunning as I remember.
“Hey!” I wave at him and wait for his reaction, his words, his expression as if…as if my life depends on it.