Chapter 8
Leo
My hand is on Vivian’s smooth, bare thigh, and I can’t seem to make myself remove it. I don’t know what’s come over me tonight. I can’t take my eyes off her. The urge to keep my hand on her leg is overwhelming. If we were alone, I’d be tempted to graze it along her thigh, sliding it up to discover what’s underneath that skirt that’s been driving me crazy. The thought sends a rush of heat through me, and an image of us in the bar bathroom flashes in my mind. Just then, she places her hand on top of mine, gently removing it as she reaches for her water. Well, that settles it then.
Dammit. I’m going to pay for this tomorrow if I don’t reel it in. Vivian is my friend, and I’ve made that very clear. I like her too much to do anything stupid to fuck it up. But keeping my feelings in check is proving harder than I thought.
“So, what kind of therapy do you specialize in?” I hear Vivian ask Meredith.
“I mostly see clients with substance abuse and trauma, and also specialize in EMDR, have you heard of that?” She responds as Vivian nods her head.
I knew they would like each other. The two women that I like the most in my life getting along fills me with gratification.
The conversation shifts to drunk stories, and Michael and I have our fair share, having gone through our twenties together .
Laughter erupts as we take turns sharing stories about each other. Meredith recounts the time I got so drunk I peed on her wall in the hallway and ended up sleeping next to it.
I share one about Michael waking up on the front lawn of an Airbnb in his underwear after a night out in Vegas.
Adam tells us that he slept with the maid of honor at his brother’s wedding.
It’s Stella that goes in for the kill.
“A few years ago, we went to Mexico—me, Michael, and Leo—for spring break. We went out for a night on the town. The nightclubs in Mexico are totally insane,” she says.
I know where this is going.
“We’re all on the dance floor, and all of a sudden, we can’t find Leo. We’re looking everywhere on the floor.” She starts to giggle. “We didn’t think to look up. We find Leo in a giant birdcage, elevated above the dance floor with one of the dancers. He’s lost his shirt and is dancing like a drunken fool!”
Vivian bursts out laughing.
“That’s not all,” Stella continues. “The next morning, we wake up and can’t find Leo anywhere! And I mean anywhere. We call his phone—it goes straight to voicemail. We knock on his door—no answer. We end up having to get a key to open his door. He’s not there. At this point, we’re starting to get a little nervous, but we think, Leo’s a big boy and can fend for himself. He’s fine. Well, noon comes around and still no Leo. Now we are actually worried. We go to the front desk to possibly file a missing person report, or whatever you do in Mexico, and as we’re approaching the front desk, he’s being escorted into the lobby by two police officers. He has no shirt, and is wearing someone else’s sweatpants that look like they came from the streets.” Everyone laughs.
“I’m lucky I wasn’t arrested that night,” I say, more to Vivian than anyone. “I was found sleeping on the beach in my underwear.”
“Shut up!” Vivian shouts in shock, slapping my knee and grinning at me with her bloody beautiful smile .
“It’s true,” I reply, forcing a smile. As everyone laughs at the story, I can’t help but feel a twinge of pain. It was one of the lower moments of my life. I’d had plenty of drunken moments as a teenager and young adult, but I got my shit together before I earned my PhD. But five years ago, the memory of that childhood torment was fresh, gnawing at the edges of my mind.
I find myself searching Vivian’s eyes. There’s a spark of joy in them from her laughter, but beyond that, a flood of calm washes over me as I look deeper, a respite from the grueling past that lingers in my thoughts.
“What about you, Vivian?” Stella asks.
“Oh, I don’t have anything very crazy to tell. Just peeing on a curb in a back alley, trying to sleep on a dance floor at a club, you know… the usual. If anything crazier has happened, I was too drunk to know about it,” she replies, her confidence radiating, and I find myself more and more attracted to her. She’s funny, attractive, athletic, and loyal… she’s the whole package.
The night starts to wind down. I pick up the bill, placing my credit card into the fold. Meredith and Vivian insist on splitting it with me, adding their credit cards as well.
Vivian and I walk home together, side by side, recounting the evening. She loved all my friends, but can’t stop talking about Meredith. It makes me happy. As we walk, the cool night air wraps around us, and our laughter echoes softly in the quiet streets.
We walk down the long row of townhouses and stop in front of mine.
“Thanks for coming tonight, Walker. My friends loved you!” I take both of her hands in mine and kiss her knuckles, making her giggle.
“What are you… like pretending to be a fuckin’ gentleman tonight?” She is buzzed for sure but stopped drinking well before I did.
“Well, we were just in the 1920s, love, and I wanted to kiss my lady’s hands,” I spout off, realizing that I’m more drunk than I thought.
“The fuck? Kiss my lady’s hands? That’s not the 1920s! How drunk are you?” She loses control of her laughter, doubling over and clutching her sides .
I keep trying to form a sentence, but can’t between the fits of laughter and my drunken state. The more I try, the funnier it seems, and we both end up laughing uncontrollably on the sidewalk.
She suddenly sobers, a haunted look crossing her face, as if she’s seen a ghost.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, trying to calm myself while taking deep breaths.
“Nothing. I, um…” She shakes her head back and forth, scowling, “I just had a flashback, a déjà vu type of thing, you know what I mean?”
I search her eyes, still holding her hands, feeling a surge of lust. “Jesus, Walker… you’re stunning,” I say, suddenly dropping her hands, aware of my escalating thoughts and body’s response. “I should go now, before I do something we’ll both regret. See you tomorrow,” I say, turning to walk inside—cock hard—leaving her stunned on the sidewalk.
As I close the door behind me, I lean against it, breathing heavily. This is becoming a pattern, walking away from her, only to end up finishing myself off later. It’s either that or face the consequences of blue balls. Dammit. What is she doing to me? The intensity of my feelings for her is overwhelming, and I know I need to get a grip before things get out of hand.
What the hell was that? I’m going to owe her an apology tomorrow. My hand goes to my forehead, pressing hard as I groan, remembering all the things I did tonight. I completely crossed a line.
I stumble into the dark kitchen, ramming my thigh into the countertop. “Shit!” I make my way to the fridge and manage to whip up a concoction of coconut water and egg yolks, my hangover cure. The taste is vile, but I chug it down and head upstairs to my bedroom, shaking my head in disbelief.
I told her she was fucking sexy.
I put my hand on her thigh.
I stroked her thigh with my thumb.
I thought about what it would be like to fuck her at the bar.
I stared. All night long, I stared at her.
And I just told her I needed to go before I did something we’d regret .
I stare at my ceiling, feeling the weight of my mistakes settle in.
Shit. I’m a bloody idiot.
* * * * * * * * * *
Wednesday, October 25
Four Days Later
“There you are.” I hear Meredith’s voice echo through the break room. “I looked in your office, and you weren’t there. How have I not seen you yet today?”
“Hey, Mer,” I say, standing to meet her as she crosses the break room for a hug. “Busy day today. How are ya?”
“I’m good, how are you?” she asks, giving me a squeeze.
“I’m great. I’ve got one more session, and then I’ll wrap things up for today,” I say, sitting down and taking a bite of my steak. I purchased an indoor steak griller a few months back for the break room because I hate microwaved food—it tastes like shit. The aroma of freshly grilled steak fills the room, adding a touch of comfort to the hectic day.
Wednesdays are my therapy days, and I have one more couple that comes in at six.
The break room is homey, carpeted with two round tables and chairs. There’s a kitchenette area with a small fridge and microwave, a couch and coffee table, and large windows that let in plenty of natural light. It’s a cozy space that provides a much-needed respite.
Meredith takes a seat, crossing her legs casually. “So… Vivian is sweet…” She pauses, watching me as I eat. “I like her a lot.”
“Yeah, she’s great. I knew you’d like each other.”
She continues to watch me, her eyes twinkling with curiosity. “And she’s smart, and beautiful, and cool, and fun…”
I drop my fork. “Stop. I know what you’re doing. ”
“What? What did I say?” she asks, giving me an innocent look and smiling sweetly.
My eyes narrow and my jaw tightens slightly. “I know you, Meredith. It’s not about what you’re saying, it’s about what you’re not saying; so just fuckin’ say it.”
She rolls her eyes. “Come on, Leo, you’re not fooling anyone. You couldn’t keep your eyes off her the entire night.”
“Oh, bloody hell. She’s my friend. We see each other a lot; she lives right next door…” I take a swig of my water. “And yes, Vivian is gorgeous. I’m not in denial about that. There, you done?”
“You sure about that? Because it looked like you were gonna pounce a few times there, Tiger.”
“May I ask what your point is?” My patience is wearing thin.
“My point is, the way you were looking at her wasn’t just about her being beautiful, Leo. Hell, it’s no secret you can fuck a beautiful girl. You were looking at her with admiration. Different than I’ve ever seen you look at someone before.”
“I admire you,” I say, taking another bite. “Does that mean I wanna fuck you, Mer?” I smirk.
“Just be careful… For her sake. I know you. You’re stubborn…” She pauses, drumming her fingers on the table, her eyes watching me with intent. Like a goddamn therapist.
I stay silent. I’m not giving her the satisfaction right now.
She continues, “However, if you do ever stop being such a stubborn ass, she’s great, and I approve.” She smiles as she stands and strides toward the door.
“Thanks for your concern, Meredith!” I yell, while flipping her the bird.
Christ. Sometimes I hate how insightful she is. She reads people better than a bestselling novel. Having therapists as friends is one thing, but having Meredith, who specializes in substance abuse, is another. She deals with professional bullshitters all day, so there’s no point in ever trying to bullshit her.
Shit —was I that transparent with Vivian?