28. Felix
TWENTY-EIGHT
FELIX
He put his hand on his ear and it caused a ripple effect the likes of which Rocky had never felt. He knew this was special. This bond between them. It was so unique and special and he revered it as such but he also wanted more. He didn’t just want to be respected, he wanted to be ravished too. And he made that known by leaning in to kiss him with the passion that was bursting at the seams inside him.
I pull away from my laptop and rub my eyes. I have been at it all morning and I can’t find it in me to stop. Even though I’ve got client jobs to complete. It’s become a sort of routine as of late. Working on the book during the day, while the girls are at school and the house is peaceful and safe from innocent eyes, and working on client jobs in the evenings, after they’ve gone to bed. It’s a little out of the ordinary for me, but I think I can get used to this kind of work schedule. Especially if it means I have a book by the end of the month. And at this rate, I will.
At least one thing is going well in my life.
I push my chair back and walk up to the coffee maker so I can refill my cup then I mix in some milk and sugar. The hit of caffeine is just enough to wake me up and rev my engines to keep going for more, but I can’t resist checking my phone. It’s still silent. Empty of all notifications I care about.
He hasn’t messaged. He hasn’t messaged for three whole days, going on four. It’s driving me crazy and what’s driving me crazier is the fact it’s driving me crazy.
It’s not as if we’re more than a hookup, right? A very persistent booty-call with a side of fun outings. And yet…
I can’t take Saturday night out of my mind. The way we held each other. The way we kissed or the way we touched one another. It was almost like…like making love, not just doing the deed. And then to top it all off, Sunday lunch at Red’s had been…so normal. So wonderful. We clicked together. He clicked with the girls. We all fit.
But it’s this exact kind of thinking I’ve been trying to avoid. It’s this exact reason I wanted to fake date Hayworth so the girls stop trying to find me a boyfriend at every corner, and look where that got me.
I got myself a complication instead.
And what a complication. This whole thing is ridiculous. I ’m being ridiculous. I’ve lost my freaking mind.
This was supposed to be me—us—starting over. Making a home here. Keeping ourselves safe and rebuilding our lives after Mark destroyed our family. And this was supposed to be a break from drama. And what have I done?
Walked myself right into one of my romance novels. Only there’s no guarantee of a happily ever after in real life. If there was, Mark and I would still be together, although the very idea makes my skin crawl, which didn’t used to happen before. I guess Hayworth was good for one thing among others, and that was to make me let go of the image of Mark I’ve been holding on to all these years. It’s as if ever since we divorced I created these two different images of the man I used to love and I let the image of the past man hold me back and trapped in my memories of him but now…it’s pretty clear to me they’re both one and the same. And I may never get the answers as to why he turned so hard on me—on us—but I no longer care.
No.
I couldn’t care about Mark one bit and hopefully I won’t have to if he leaves us well and truly alone.
But Hayworth. I care about him too much and I don’t know how that happened.
When did we go from “let’s scratch each other’s itch” to “ every moment away from you feels like torture” because I sure as hell didn’t sign up for the second part.
I can’t take this anymore.
I unlock my phone and shoot him a message. I’m not going to be one of those people. One of those people who play games and only get themselves deeper in the hole while the other party is oblivious to any angst they cause.
Felix:
Hey! I haven’t heard from you in a few days. Are you doing something tonight?
There. It’s done. I’ve been the adult. I’m not waiting for the other guy to message me so I can dissect every letter of his text. I’ve been open. If he wants to meet me, the ball is in his court. If he doesn’t, I’ll know where we stand.
I leave my phone by the coffee maker so I can resist the urge to check it every two seconds and return to my manuscript that’s growing by the day.
It might be Hayworth who got me out of the creative block I’ve had all my life but it doesn’t mean he, or my obsession with him, gets to control what I do with this newfound inspiration.
I return to Rocky and Hart and continue the chapter I’m working on. At least they’re reliable. Pliable to my own will with a predetermined fate.
At two-thirty, I put everything aside and make my way to school, early for a change, and pick up the girls and we head straight home so I can get dinner started.
“When is Hayworth coming home for dinner, Poppy?” Elsa asks, raising her head from where it’s buried in her schoolwork.
I let out a sigh and turn it into a cough to cover it up and smile before I face her.
“I don’t know, sweetie. Hayworth is a busy man.”
“But you have invited him over for dinner, right?”
I bite my lip and shake my head. “Actually, I don’t think I have.”
“You should!” Arya shouts from her corner where she’s playing with her dolls and racecars.
“I…I’ll think about it,” I tell them and go back to searing the chicken but of course now I’m thinking of him again.
Would he say yes if I asked him and would it be genuine if he accepted or part of the ruse we’ve created that I can’t even remember why right now.
How have I fucked things up so much so quickly? What happened to me-time? What happened to taking a break from men?
No, it’s that thinking that got me into trouble in the first place. I’ve denied myself my sexuality and kept myself prisoner of my own responsibilities. Of course it would all come spilling out the first time I got some attention from a man.
I need to do something. I need…to get over him. I need to quit him while I’m ahead.
Am I ahead though?
And if popular belief is to be presumed true, there’s one way to get over someone. It’s by getting under someone else.
“Hey, girls.” I turn back to them. “I think I might go out tonight?—”
“With Hayworth?”
I press my lips together and nod. “Do you mind if I call Cheyenne, see if she’s available?”
“No. We love Cheyenne,” Arya says and I get to work.
I dial Cheyenne and check she can pop by, after first reassuring her I don’t need her to stay the night, and finish up dinner.
Cheyenne arrives just as I’ve set the table and the girls drag her to the dinner table with them while I get ready. I might be hungry but I’m also determined and I need to act now.
I put on a floral blouse with long loose sleeves and a deep neckline, a pair of painted-on black jeans and apply a thick line of eyeliner and black lipstick to match and I’m on my way.
I don’t even know where I’m going. I don’t know what I’m doing. I just know I need to do something .
And right on time I pass the Forbidden Maple. A big sign outside makes me pull over and find solace in the speakeasy full of people for the Valentine’s Tag Event.
If you’re tagged with a heart you have to kiss, or hug the person who tagged you. Always ask for permission. Keep the heart moving. Sounds simple. And just what I need. A bar full of single eligible men to take my pick from. Yeah, as with most other events it’s non-sexuality specific so there are also a lot of straight people in the mix, but I don’t care. Maplewood is a queer town. I’m sure there are plenty of available people I can get over Hayworth with.
But first things first.
“Beer please. And lots of it,” I tell the bartender.
“What kind? I’ve got our local brew Doctor Hop, which is an American IPA, Doctor Light, a pilsner, and Doctor Maple, our maple lager.”
“Doctor Maple please. Two.”
The bartender gives me the thumbs-up, pours my beers and I go hunting.
The place is buzzing with good spirits and entertainment. Every so often I hear a cheer as another person gets tagged and the tagged kisses the tagger. It adds a little thrill to the whole night, wondering when or where the next tag will come from and whether I’ll be next.
Even so, the tag passes me by even after I have my two beers and I return to the bar for another one but there are so many people waiting to be served I quickly lose hope it will happen this century.
“Hey,” someone says and I turn my attention from the struggling bartenders to the guy next to me.
He’s wearing a suit and tie and his hair is slicked back with gel as if he woke up in the wrong decade, and his cologne is strong and overpowering. Even if he were handsome, he would so not be my type. He reeks sleazy and desperate and that only becomes more obvious when he lifts his hand and attaches the pink heart to my chest.
“You’re sexy,” he says and before I can even say or do anything he grabs me by the back of the neck and kisses me.
Or tries to anyway.
“What the fuck?” a familiar voice says and the man stops merely an inch from my lips and we both turn to find Hayworth staring at us in utter disbelief.
“Hayworth,” I say and reach for him but he backs away from me.
“I should have known,” he says and even though it’s loud and chaotic around I can hear the hurt in his voice. “You’re just like the others.”
He spins around and runs out of the bar before I can stop him and even when I try, the man grabs me by the arm and wiggles his eyebrows.
“Don’t go before I get my kiss,” he says in a voice he probably thinks is sensual but is just creepy as fuck.
“Dude, fuck right off,” I shout at his face and knee him in the groin. “Ever heard of consent, asshole?”
I push him back as he tends to his injured manhood and rush out of the Forbidden Maple wondering, once again, how the hell I’ve gotten myself into this drama.
I catch Hayworth’s car just as it speeds out of the parking lot, heading east and stop to catch my breath.
Fuck.
This is such a mess.
But it’s a mess I have to fix.
I don’t care if Hayworth can never love me back but I’ll be damned if I let him think I’m like the men who broke his heart.