2. A STRANGE KIND OF LUCK
A STRANGE KIND OF LUCK
It’s been two weeks since I fucked that guy, and he kicked me out. Two weeks since I fucked anyone at all. The only thing that hasn’t changed is my dreams. Of course, those are still going as strong as ever, taking an immense amount of space in my brain during my waking hours as well.
I’ve decided to take a break from hooking up.
It’s clearly not working out for me, if the last few boring encounters have been any indication.
I haven’t even touched myself since the last time in the shower, either, and I wonder if this is me punishing myself for something I can’t control.
Either way, I’m trying to convince myself that I don’t need sex in my life.
I don’t think I’ve been successful at it, but I’m trying.
Emerson is sitting beside me at the bar and grill, sharing a basket of mozzarella sticks and drinking a beer.
I’m not a huge fan of beer, but I can drink it occasionally when I’m out with friends.
I prefer liquor, but we have a gallery we’re attending after this, and we need to be mostly sober.
At least not all the way drunk. We’re a little out of place, sitting here in our suits, but the event just started, and Em wants to be fashionably late, as he called it.
The hockey playoffs are playing on the television right in front of us, and I watch the screen as the Panthers score another goal.
It seems they’re taking the cup again this year, undefeated.
I gulp my beer and grab another mozzarella stick when Emerson’s hand stills mine.
I look over at him, and he has an eyebrow raised.
It makes me frown, and I turn toward him.
“I have a question,” he says, nose wrinkling as it does when he finds something amusing. “And don’t take it the wrong way.”
I snort. “That’s reassuring.”
“When was the last time you got laid?”
My eyes narrow on his face as I think about how I want to proceed.
Do I want to tell him about my predicament?
But no, I’d sound absolutely batshit crazy.
There’s no way I can tell him I can’t fuck anyone because of a man from a dream.
Well, dreams. I see him every night like clockwork. I just can’t seem to escape him.
“Why?” I ask him.
“Just answer the question, Conrad.” He grins. “Something tells me it’s been a while.”
“It’s been two weeks.” I roll my eyes. “That’s not even that long.”
Emerson’s brown eyes widen, his jaw drops, and his hand goes up to cover his mouth. “Not that long?” he practically shrieks. “You’re fucking kidding me.”
“Don’t be so fucking dramatic, Emerson,” I huff. “Sex has been boring lately, so it feels pointless.”
“Sounds like a you problem,” Em says, then takes a bite of his mozzarella stick and chews. “There’s no way it’s the fault of all the guys you fuck.”
I sigh. “It is a me problem. Maybe I’m just tired of being casual.”
“You?” he chokes. “You’re literally the king of casual.”
“Yeah, well, I can change my mind.”
Emerson raises an eyebrow. “Has someone made you change your mind?”
“No,” I deny immediately, a little too quickly. His eyes narrow in suspicion. “I haven’t met anyone yet. But I want to.”
“What are you looking for?” he asks, taking another bite of food.
“Someone completely opposite of me in every sense of the word.” I shrug. “Not married to his job, but still ambitious. Someone soft, sweet. A man who wants commitment, marriage even.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Em snorts, slapping his hand on the bar once. My face doesn’t change, and his jaw drops again. “Holy shit. You’re serious.”
“I am.” I shrug.
“Oh, this is too good.” He grins. “I’m so going to be your wingman. We’re going to get you your dream guy.”
“I don’t need—”
“Yes, you do.” Emerson grabs my arm and squeezes once. “Don’t shatter my dreams yet. I want to do this.”
“Fine.” I sigh, running a hand down my face. “But no blind dates. I can’t take it.”
Emerson looks giddy as he nods, a smile widening on his face. “Deal.”
He looks at the time on his phone and asks for the tab, then pays for both of us, even after I offer to pay for my half.
We leave the bar and grill, waiting for our Uber outside, and thankfully, it gets here fairly quickly.
The air conditioning blasting against my face is a welcome reprieve from the summer heat, and I watch the city pass me by as we drive toward our destination.
After a few minutes in the car, we finally pull up to the venue.
There’s a man at the door checking for tickets, and Emerson uses his phone to be scanned, and then we go inside.
The lighting is low, and there are lights above each photograph, illuminating them.
The photographers are clearly talented, and though I’m not much of a connoisseur, I can admit I’ve never seen any that are this breathtaking.
There’s one picture in particular that is drawing me in—a pair of hypnotic indigo-blue eyes.
The man’s face is obscured in shadow, but his golden hair falls over his eyebrows in a way that has my breath getting caught in my throat.
I look to my right, and there, a few feet away, stands a man staring intently at a picture.
I take him in from head to toe, admiring his golden curls, the way his suit fits him perfectly.
His nose is slightly upturned, his profile beautiful, his lips full.
He looks to be around five foot ten, roughly three or so inches shorter than me, clearly muscular, though not as big as me.
If I weren’t on a hookup ban, he’d be in my bed tonight. That’s for damn sure.
He fidgets with his hands, and my eyes are drawn to them, just for my breath to punch out of my lungs.
Because there, between his thumb and forefinger, is an infinity tattoo.
I take a step back, my eyes locked on his hand.
What the fuck? There’s no way this is happening.
The man from my dreams isn’t real. This isn’t him.
It can’t be, right? That would make no sense.
I stumble back a step, and Emerson steadies me, but when I look up, I make eye contact with the most beautiful pair of indigo-blue eyes I’ve ever seen.
The same ones from the picture. We stare at each other for a beat, and he gives me a soft smile before I gulp and look away.
I need to get the fuck out of here.
I walk briskly to the exit, tripping over my feet a few times too many, and gasp when I finally make it outside.
I brace my hands on my knees and bend at the waist, gulping in air as if I’ve just run a marathon.
It makes no sense—none of this shit makes any sense.
How is it possible to dream of someone you’ve never seen before, just to meet them in real life?
Am I even awake right now, or is this a dream too?
For fuck’s sake.
A hand lands on my shoulder and squeezes, then Emerson comes to stand at my side.
There’s a look of concern on his face when I look up at him, his brows furrowed and lips tipping down.
I shake my head and straighten, just to realize that my body is shaking.
I’m literally trembling. I don’t think I’ve ever been this affected by anyone before, and it makes me wonder if it’s because of the man himself or just the predicament I’ve found myself in.
Because how do you explain the unexplainable?
God, Emerson is going to think I’ve gone insane.
“I need to go.” My voice sounds rough, and I clear my throat.
“Is something the matter?” Emerson’s frown has stuck around, and I shake my head, trying to reassure him. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I have. “I’m fine,” I tell him, and I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince him or myself. Maybe a little bit of both. “I just want to leave.”
“Con, we’ve been here for ten minutes.”
“Yeah, I know.” I smile shakily, “That’s okay. You can stay.”
“No way in hell am I leaving you until you tell me what the hell that was about.” He drops his hand from my shoulder and pulls up the Uber app, ordering a car and entering his address. “Come. You can spend the night.”
I blow out a big breath. “Don’t you have a girl to impress?”
“Another time,” he says, smiling. “We have a date set up for tomorrow night.”
“Look at you go.” I grin, my body finally relaxing a bit.
Our Uber pulls up, and we get in, going back toward the bar and grill.
Emerson’s apartment is just around the corner from there, and mine is a couple of blocks further.
I could really use a friend right now, which is the only reason I’m going with him.
But can I really tell him what’s on my mind?
I’m not sure how crazy he’ll deem me to be, but it sounds crazy even to me, and I’m the one going through it.
We finally pull up to his high-rise and get out of the car, going straight for the elevator.
My foot taps an impatient rhythm as we wait for the door to open, and once we reach his floor, I practically sprint to his door.
It’s at the very end of the hallway, and if I thought I looked crazy before, it definitely has nothing on now.
I have officially lost all my fucking marbles.
Emerson finally reaches me after a minute, and I know because I’ve literally stared at my watch the entire time.
He raises an eyebrow at me and takes out his key, putting it in the lock and turning it.
The door is pushed open a second later, and he goes in and turns on the light.
Once inside, he turns around and stares at me with his arms crossed over his chest as I close the door behind me.
I gulp, looking down at my feet and then back up at him.
“Spill,” he says, tipping his chin toward the couch. “Now.”
I follow him to the living room, sitting on the sofa and kicking off my shoes, then folding my legs under me. If I’m going to pour my heart out, I’m going to do it while I’m comfortable. I have a feeling we’re going to be here a while. He sits on the armchair across from me, watching me intently.
“Something happened,” I say softly, barely audible. “And I’m going to sound fucking insane. But I swear it’s real, and it freaked me out.”
“That’s why you ran out?”
“I didn’t run—”
“Oh, you did.” I look at Emerson now, whose brows are raised all the way up to his hairline. “Tell me what made you freak out.”
“I—” I stutter, then close my eyes and breathe in deeply. I can’t look at him while I say this, so instead, I focus on my hands once I open my eyes. “I’ve been dreaming of someone.”
“Okay…” he trails off. “What kind of dreams?”
“Weird dreams.” I sigh. “We’re a couple, him and I, and we’re living life and having sex and—”
“So you’re having wet dreams?” Emerson snickers.
I look up at him with narrowed eyes. “Em, be fucking serious for once.”
“Oh, got it.” He mimes zipping his lips and throwing away the key.
“I’m not having wet dreams,” I affirm. “I’m—I can’t even have sex with anyone else without comparing them to him.
A fucking man who I thought didn’t exist. That’s why I haven’t had sex in weeks.
But I think… I think he actually is real.
” My voice trails off into a whisper. “I don’t know. But I think I saw him tonight.”
Emerson frowns now, tilting his head to the side. “So you’ve been dreaming of someone for a while now—someone you’ve never seen or met before—and now you saw him tonight? Am I getting this right?”
I nod slowly. “Yes…”
“What makes you think it was the same person?”
“He—in my dreams—has an infinity tattoo on his hand, between his thumb and forefinger. And tonight, there was a guy with the same tattoo, in the same exact spot. I can’t explain it. I—”
“Did they look the same?”
“I don’t know. The guy in my dreams—his face is never visible.” I sigh. “I can’t know for sure. But you can’t tell me it’s not weird. That they have the same tattoo in the exact same spot on their hand. And it looks the same. Their hands…”
“Their hands what?”
I look into his eyes. “I think it’s him, Em. Even their hands are the same.”
He nods slowly. “Okay.” I run a hand down my face and look away. “So what are you gonna do about it?”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“You said you think they’re the same person.” My breath comes a little quicker as I feel his stare burn my skin. “And that in your dreams you’re a couple. So are you going to go after him and make your dreams come true? Or are you going to wonder for the rest of your life if he’s your person?”
Well, when he puts it that way…
“I don’t know what to do,” I admit. “He’ll probably think I’m a crazy person now if I approach him after running out.”
“Sometimes crazy is good.” Em smirks. “He’ll be intrigued by you.”
“Em—”
“Maybe this is fate, Conrad.” Emerson’s smirk turns into a grin. “You get your dream guy after all. The literal man of your dreams.”
“I don’t believe in fate,” I state firmly. “Don’t feed me that bullshit.”
“Then how do you explain this?” he asks me, and I purse my lips.
“I can’t really explain the unexplainable.”
“Exactly.” He shrugs, grinning. “It’s definitely fate.”
“I thought I was crazy,” I huff. “I should’ve known you’d be worse.”
“Oh, fuck off.” Em laughs. “I just want you to be happy.”
“How am I even going to find him?” I sigh. “He’s long gone by now, and I don’t even know his name.”
“We’ll find him,” Emerson says, sounding way more confident than I feel. “You’ll see.”
“I don’t know…”
“You’re meant to be.” He gets up from the chair and sits next to me instead, then squeezes my shoulder. “I know it.”
“How?” I frown.
“I’ve never seen you like this before.” He smiles softly. “You look head over heels in love, and you’ve never even properly met him. I know once you do, you’ll be obsessed.”
“I don’t want to be obsessed,” I groan.
“I think it’s a little late for that, bud.” My head drops back against the couch at his words, and I close my eyes. “Guest room is ready for you when you’re ready for bed. Towels are in the linen closet if you need a shower.”
“Are you going to bed?” I ask him.
“Yeah, gotta get my beauty sleep for my date tomorrow.”
I laugh, appreciating the break from the heavy talk. “Alright, good night.”
“Night.” He grins. “Will you be here in the morning?”
“Yeah, I think I want to go back to that exhibit. Maybe give them my information.”
“Oh, you got it bad, don’t you?”
“Shut up,” I groan again. “I’m not down bad for him. Haven’t even met him.”
“Sure, sure.” He chuckles. “See you in the morning.”
Emerson gets up from the armchair and walks away, his footsteps getting fainter the closer he gets to his room, and then the door clicks shut.
I stay in place for a long, long time, unsure how to proceed.
I need to get some sleep, but at the same time, I’m scared to dream of him again.
What if I see his face this time? What if they’re the same person? How do you explain that?
I’m not sure I’m ready for answers.