Chapter 8
Midnight Margaritas
“And then he just, what? He drove you home?”
I nodded in answer, feeling like I was completely losing it.
I obviously knew not spending the night with a guy and leaving Briar with the niblings was a smart move since I was their temporary guardian.
The kids were struggling in their own ways and Dolly and Declan were effectively missing, probably frozen without even a dead Tauntaun to crawl into for warmth.
I was supposed to be getting their perfect house everyone in town was obsessed with ready for this fucking Carew House Haunted Spectacular Shit Show or whatever they called it.
Then there were the glowing facts that I was homeless and jobless and floating around like a teenager leaving home for the first time instead of a grown-ass adult who should have had her shit together.
I was self-aware enough to know I was spiraling. I knew better than anyone that rejection of any kind did this to me. Someone online called it Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria. It’s apparently common with an ADHD diagnosis.
Instead of spiraling alone—which was always worse while off my fucking medication, which also reminded me I should have already called the local pharmacies to see about a discount card or something if I could get my regular doctor to call in my prescription—I was unpacking the situation over several glasses of sangria on the front porch swing with my best friend.
“Yes,” I answered finally. “And I just, I mean I can’t. Like—”
“Oh, I’d be fucking pissed.”
I sighed at her validation. “Really?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely, dude. But I also handle rejection like a toddler with no emotional regulation capabilities.”
“This was rejection, wasn’t it? I keep telling myself that maybe I’m overreacting.
But no, he went down on me, tasted the kitty, then said ‘nah, I’m good homie.
’ That’s what happened.” I felt my insecurities flaring up, another sign that I wasn’t regulating my emotions well at all.
Living in a bigger body wasn’t the constant narrative of rejection and woe that the media often made it out to be.
I’d had plenty of sexual and romantic partners in my thirty-one years on this planet to know I was desirable.
But there were also a ton of assholes out there who made it seem like existing with extra fat under my skin was somehow an affront to everything good in the world.
Fatness isn’t evil, or bad, or ugly, or disgusting, or any other negative word often applied by dickholes in social media comments.
It just is.
I’d done enough work on my relationship with how I thought about my body to know that my worth isn’t defined by a number on a scale; it’s so much more.
I knew I loved my overly pronounced curves.
I also knew that no matter how much work I did on my inner-narrative that the ’90s-diet-fueled-culture-narrative would still creep its way into my head at the idea of someone not liking me because of my body shape.
“Rejected, sure. Rejected forever?” Briar continued.
“No. Obviously not if the dude ate you out on the side of the road because he couldn’t wait to get down.
He literally climbed over the top of his truck to get to your goods, Stevie.
Did he turn you down for a fun night tonight?
Yes. Should you make him sweat at the sheer audacity?
Yes. Is he a male and therefore the root of all evil?
Also, yes. I also have the benefit of knowing Thrakh.
He is pragmatic and responsible, so despite him wanting to eat you for a whole ass meal, he was able to think beyond the needs of his physical body.
Which, due to my excellent reasoning skills, means he cares about you more than a first-date hookup he never calls again. ”
I giggled as Briar took another sip of her sangria. The dull orange glow of the Halloween decor we’d set up earlier that week provided a nice ambiance for the girl talk. Despite the spiral that kept creeping in, my body felt more relaxed than I had in days.
The life-altering orgasm from jerk-face-McGee probably helped, but I knew it was girl talk while covered in blankets and listening to the leaves rustle on the porch that had me feeling complete this cozy energy.
Tears sprang to my eyes thinking of Dolly and how she’d have been right here with Briar and I if she weren’t trapped in lands unknown. The main solace I had in her missing was knowing that Declan would sacrifice his own life before allowing any actual harm to come to her.
I knew she’d be home soon.
That’s what I kept telling myself.
Briar grabbed my free hand, squeezing lightly like she could feel my anxiety about my stranded sister and brother-in-law. I didn’t deserve her, or her kindness, but I relished it all the same.
“Why do I feel like a monster for being upset at that? Like I agree, Briar. I didn’t plan on going back to his place at all, but after he, well, you know—”
“Gave you the best head of your life? Chowed down on your vagina like a first, second, and third plate at Thanksgiving? Ate you like a starving man seeing food for the first time in weeks? Licked you like a lolli—”
“Yes,” I interrupted, blushing. “After that, I assumed he’d want me to reciprocate, you know?
But then again, if he’d expected me to return the favor I’d have been pissed at the entitlement.
Ugh. Why am I like this? I don’t want to overthink this shit.
Why can’t I be easy, breezy like one of those cool girls who are like…
cool and shit.” Yeah, the sangria was definitely flowing.
I swallowed the rest of my glass, enjoying the warmth spreading throughout my limbs, before Briar filled it anew again.
“Look. I get it. Maybe tomorrow he’ll give you a different explanation, but that doesn’t make tonight feel any less like a shit show.”
I nodded, having nothing else to add. We sat in silence, enjoying the scenery until my phone vibrated on the table.
I glared at the offensive object.
“You think it’s him?” Briar asked, staring at it right along with me while keeping our backs against the wicker loveseat.
It buzzed again.
“I mean, I don’t know who else it could be since everyone who texts me is either surviving snowmageddonpocalypse or in the house asleep, unless they’re eavesdropping on an incredibly adult conversat—OHMYGAHHHH, brIAR!
” I hissed. “What if the niblings can hear us, and I’m just out here spreading my business for everyone to hear like some kind of hussy? ”
“Hussy? Girl.” Briar scoffed and shook her head.
“Remember who you’re talking to.” She pointed to her ears.
“I’d hear those little crotch goblins if they were awake and moving about.
And we haven’t been that loud. The sangria is tricking you; I got your back.
No one will know how much of a kinky little hussy my best friend is. ”
Before I could stop her, Briar snatched the phone unnaturally fast with her wolf-like reflexes and began reading the message out loud in an absurdly deep voice I knew she meant to be Thrakh’s.
“I feel like I fucked up at the end there. I can explain, but not right now. Please know I had a really good night, peaches. I hope you let me take you out again.”
I blinked, letting his words sink in.
“Was that both of the texts?”
“No.” Briar smiled before looking at me and clearing her throat. “The second message just says ‘Soon.’”