Chapter 22 #2
but that hubba is heartfelt, baby.”
Matthew said something in return, but Karl couldn’t hear it over the sound of his soul dying.
“Fine. I’ll think about your stupid suggestion,” he told his hands, loudly enough for his friends to hear. “Just stop whatever
obnoxious bit you’ve got happening, you dicks, before I shove you both in front of oncoming traffic, scrape up your remains,
and make smartass pancakes tomorrow’s daily goddamn special.”
“Made you laugh,” Athena noted, equally loudly. “Hard enough that you had to hide inside those meaty mitts.”
“Wasn’t laughter. More like spasms of fucking disgust.” Once he could keep a straight face, he dropped his arms. “Look. I get what you’re both saying.”
“Excellent.” Even through her smudged lenses, Athena’s eyes were sharp on him. “So you’re going to tell her what she needs
to know?”
“If necessary.”
Matthew’s shoulders drooped. “In other words, not if you can possibly help it.”
Well, duh.
Expressing himself through his actions? Paying attention, caring for her, and doing his best to make her happy? No problem.
Loved doing it. Considered it a privilege.
Expressing himself with his body? Fucking her like a man obsessed, then making love to her like a man who’d surrendered his
heart two damn decades ago? Risky—now that he’d had her, he’d never want anyone else in his bed, no matter what happened next—but
brain-meltingly pleasurable. Better yet: something he knew he could do and do damn well.
Expressing himself in words, though?
Too much risk, too little pleasure. Not enough natural skill or practice. If—no, when—he said the wrong thing, he’d drive her away. Become the roadkill under her rental car tires. Spend the rest of his godforsaken
life doomed to remember the moment he lost her for good, when he should’ve just kept his damn trap shut.
If a conversation about his damn feelings wasn’t necessary, it wasn’t happening. Period.
“Hear what you’re saying.” He stepped away from the wall and nodded toward the florist. His signal that the discussion was
definitely over. “Thanks.”
His closest friends exchanged another of those annoying glances, then both exhaled heavily in what sounded like surrender. Halle-fucking-lujah.
Matthew’s arm around Athena’s shoulders, they joined Karl in the center of the cobblestone sidewalk. Together, the three of
them resumed walking toward Fishwife Floral.
After a minute, Athena bumped her hip against Karl’s. “You two coming over tonight?”
Wasn’t his preference—his friends would harass him about Molly again, he knew it already—but strengthening Molly’s community
ties couldn’t hurt. Neither could another trust-building activity. Maybe she’d even announce her decision to stay tonight,
if everything went right?
“I’ll ask Molly.” He’d text her after ordering flowers. Which reminded him— “Listen. Before we go into the shop, I gotta know.
Morbid curiosity.”
The other two glanced over at him, brows raised in identical interest.
Karl halted in front of the florist, blocking the entrance. “What the hell is a marine-life-themed corsage?”
“The arrangements are supposed to be a surprise, so . . .” Matthew looked down at his wife. “Sweetheart, can I cover your
ears?” When Athena agreed, he cupped his hands over them like impromptu earmuffs, then turned back to Karl. “There are pearls.
Tiny, decorative shells. Cream-colored mini roses and aqua accents. Some sparkling net. There was talk of a bedazzled starfish.”
Athena perked right up, because apparently Matthew’s palms did fuck-all for noise-canceling. “That sounds amazing! Like something
straight out of Desire, Unfiltered!”
That woman was way too into Brazen’s story about a guppy-man with dick-fins.
“That sounds tacky as hell,” Karl countered.
“It’s both.” Dropping his useless hands, Matthew sighed deeply. “Somehow, simultaneously, it’s both.”
Athena beamed. “I can’t wait.”
Rising up on her tiptoes, she planted a smooch on her husband’s mouth. He returned the kiss with nauseating enthusiasm, drawing
her closer with the arm draped over her shoulders.
“Get a room, you horned-up assholes,” Karl told his friends, then stomped into the shop and directly toward the tall Black
woman stationed behind the customer service counter. “Whatever weird sea-related flower shit you have left? I want it. Need
it next Saturday afternoon.” He pointed at her, narrowing his eyes in menace. “And if there’s a stupid-ass starfish involved,
it better sparkle like an actual damn star, Latoria. Or else.”
His younger sister’s bestie tossed her long red braids over her shoulder, one dark eyebrow arched. “Fuck you, bro. You’ll
take whatever I give you and like it.”
Ten minutes later, the order was in. Latoria looked way too pleased with herself. His credit card should’ve been smoking.
And as he gathered his kiss-drunk friends and steered them toward the limo rental place—owned by another sibling’s still-friendly
ex, so an in-person visit might mean a steep discount—he could only hope Molly liked the flowers too, along with everything
else he was doing to make the reunion special. Special enough for her to stay, or at least come back ASA-goddamn-P.
No words necessary.
Please, for the love of Christ, no words necessary.