CHAPTER 9
Chris
I’m being a dick again. Why he’s still standing here after I just purged myself of that disgusting biopic is beyond me.
And after I told him about my aversion to self-pity the other day, nonetheless.
Now I get to add hypocrite to my long list of faults.
I just keep racking up the points with him, don’t I?
I need to move. To get off this sidewalk away from the freaking Weston.
Get far away from the stifling air of exhaust and swampy Riverwalk water.
And even farther from his stunned expression.
Fantastic. I broke his innocent face. That’s what I do.
I broke my innocence and have been stomping through life like a clumsy ogre, bumping into walls ever since.
Now, I’ve broken a person. I graduated from a drunk driver to a car crash on two legs.
Huffing against the tightness in my chest, I turn in the direction of my car. At least, I think it’s this way. I don’t care if I have to walk around the block at this point, as long as he’s not still out here with that crushed look on his face by the time I hobble back around.
“I’m a mess who’s been chasing fairy tales his entire life.”
His distraught voice calls out behind me like a skywriting message you catch when you didn’t even mean to look up. Both my fight and flight responses defuse, stopping my retreat. I turn back slowly, wondering if I imagined it.
He’s still there, looking more handsome than ever, but way overdressed in my opinion. I’m partial to the memory of Remy in a Panthers’ hoodie and sleep pants. Remy in just his boxers… or Remy without clothing, underneath me, looking up at me like I’m his North Star.
His Adam’s apple bobs, and he shifts in place. Eyes wide, his gaze pings all over my face. Is he scared of me, or of what he’s so clearly having difficulty saying?
“I don’t think I’ve ever really dated… Each time I’ve made out with a guy, I end up in a relationship with them that doesn’t work out.
It’s the first time I’ve lived on my own in almost fifteen years, and it still kind of terrifies me even though I know how pathetic that sounds.
I’m a grown man who stresses about everyday decisions,” he rambles like a list of self-grievances in quick succession, stopping momentarily to catch his breath.
“I…love my job. I’ve never been injured aside from a broken toe and a sprained ankle.
My idea of weekend entertainment is to try out a new recipe and binge-watch old TV series.
” Glancing down, he plays with a button on his jacket, half-muttering, Dawson’s Creek and The Vampire Diaries are impeccably timeless, just for the record. ”
Knowing more about him is so much worse than merely regretting that I didn’t before. God, I want to wrap him up in a blanket, throw him over my shoulder, and carry him home. I find myself inching forward, hoping it will encourage more of this emotional torment.
Glancing back up, he tries to square his shoulders as though he’s found some confidence or just doesn’t give a damn anymore now that he’s rolling.
“I’ve had the same best friend for seventeen years because even though he’s a pain in the ass and gives me terrible advice, it lets me know to do the opposite of whatever he suggests, and he’s loyal.
I jog every morning so I can eat whatever I want without feeling bad about it, and…
” he hesitates, looking away while he bites his lower lip.
“And I didn’t want to say no to you last week, but I didn’t trust myself to say yes.
I’m a weapon of mass destruction when it comes to my love life, and I don’t want to be anymore. ”
I want to tell him he won’t break me any worse than I already am or himself, and that I won’t break him, but I honestly don’t know if that’s true. Raising my hand, I reach to cup his face, hoping it will encourage him to find some miraculous answer to what we should do.
“Remy? Is everything all right?” a man’s voice calls near the doorway.
Fuck. This fucking guy…
Who the hell is he? Is this the date Remy mentioned last week?
I divert my hand’s intended path, resting my palm against the wall of the building instead.
Anyone who isn’t an arrogant prick might move away to defuse a potentially uncomfortable situation, but my pride won’t let me.
It won’t let me because even though Remy goes rigid, he doesn’t move away from me either.
That’s got to count for something. Plus, I may be broken, but I’m still bigger than Mr. Fancy Pants.
I could take him. Probably. Worst-case scenario, and slightly less gallant, I could sit on him with my Rice Krispies ass.
Remy clears his throat. “Yeah. I’ll be there in a minute.”
The guy either doesn’t believe him or doesn’t like being dismissed while I’m around.
I cock an eyebrow at him, glad that Remy can’t see.
At least my tackle face still works. He lets out a little huff, nods, and heads back inside, but takes his sweet-ass time.
If my foot were closer, I could help him hurry that along.
Once he’s no longer an eyesore, I glance down at Remy, wondering what he sees in the man. Why does that guy get a yes, and I get a no?
I might be blunt, but at least what you see is what you get. And I sure as shit wouldn’t walk away and leave my date out on the street with someone else. It doesn’t seem fair that he gets to spend time with my…
Pushing off the wall, I drop my hand. He’s not yours, I remind myself. You just insisted you don’t even know each other. Remember?
But we did once, I tell that voice. Or at least I wish we had. God, this is hopeless. Isn’t it?
“I guess you’d better get back to your date,” I mumble, the words painful to say.
“It’s not a date.” He shakes his head, sounding drained.
I broke my back, not my eyes. Maybe it’s not a date to Remy, but it’s definitely a date to the other guy. Just the thought of them finishing their evening after I piss off back to my house to curl up alone with Gale has a torrent of unfounded jealousy flooding my system.
Is Remy going to tell him how he binges old TV shows?
Will he look at him the way he used to look at me?
I’ve suddenly never felt more inadequate.
Inadequate, and like I’m losing something I just found.
I want it back. Want him back. I want a do-over where I tell football to fuck off and stay in that room with Remy.
Maybe we can go out and celebrate graduation together, and then take a cross-country road trip, laughing, fucking, and exploring like in the movies.
Helpless against the pull of his presence, I crowd into him, chest to chest, my palm back on the wall.
The way his face goes flush and his gaze flicks to my mouth has me wanting to rub my scent on him like an animal so everyone else will stay away from him.
His breath mingles with mine, and it’s all I can do not to lean forward the remaining inch.
“Can he make you moan the way I used to?”
It’s bold talk I can barely get out. I know I can’t fuck him, but I hope like hell that guy can’t either. I don’t want anyone else to even touch him but me.
His breath ghosts my lips. He leans in a fraction, mouth parting. I hold as still as possible, understanding that something from his speech earlier means he needs to be the one to initiate, or I’m in danger of crashing and burning again.
Like a wind snuffing out a flame, he sucks in a breath and draws back. My heart plummets to the pit of my stomach. Lines of conflict etch his face as though he’s discovering something about me for the first time.
“I don’t want a guy who used to crawl in through my window. I want one who comes to the front door.”
The testosterone and adrenaline I was flying on burn out, coughing clouds of black smoke.
If it weren’t for the apologetic tone in his words, I’d take them to mean he’s choosing Fancy Pants over me.
Maybe I took too many hits to the head back in the day, but I think he’s casting a generalization for what he deemed his destructive dating behavior.
There’s regret in his eyes, but there’s fear too.
I tried to see what I wanted the other night, but I can’t miss it now.
I’m still a stranger to him. He liked parts of the ghost of college past, but the ghost of dumpster fire present is a little too precarious to bet on. I can’t hold that against him.
Drawing back, I give him space. It wasn’t a no, but it wasn’t a yes either. It’s a murky and terrifying space in between. As much as I’m dying inside, I’m also grateful that it puts me somewhere still in his orbit.
Hell, I could be reading him all wrong, but I think I have a new window to crawl through, one of opportunity. If I don’t, I’m going to have to find a way to shove my foot in it to keep it open.
I nod a silent goodnight and stuff my hands into my pockets so I won’t look like a horny, threatening heathen.
“Good thing I know where you live now, so I don’t get them mixed up.”
Turning, I start down the sidewalk to head for the comfort of home, my chair, Gale, and my books.
As the darkness and sounds of downtown swallow me, I silently hope that there’s at least one book on my shelf about how to be a better man.
If not, I’ll have to buy a very strong crowbar, metaphorically speaking.