Chapter 11
Getting angry texts when you’re hungover is worse than the headache and throwing up.
I have no energy or want to argue with Charlie about the fact that I’ve had sex with another man.
When he cuffs me, then we can have a conversation about who I shouldn’t sleep with, but right now, no one can tell me what to do.
Finding that I’m ignoring him, he shows up at my door.
“I literally can’t,” I say, wobbling back to the couch.
“I’m not here to fight. I figured from your mumbled text that you probably need greasy food and a Gatorade.”
I perk up a little at the smell of the barbecue sauce. The bag tells me it’s likely Ray’s pulled pork sandwich.
“Bless you,” I say, taking the bag from him.
He plops down next to me and puts his arm around my shoulder. Too hungry to pay any attention to what he is doing, I scarf down the food and chug the drink the way I did green beer last night.
“Feeling better?”
I nod and curl into him. The food has me forgiving him. Or maybe it’s just the same old pattern we always fall into.
“Good. Do you mind if we spend the day together?”
Self-conscious about my now messed-up slicked-back ponytail and smeared makeup, I don’t want him to see me like this for the next twelve hours.
“I need to shower first.”
“Can I join you?”
“Absolutely.”
We race to the bathroom, a competition in who can strip faster. When we emerge an hour later, my hair is in its naturally coily state and I’m refreshed.
“I was thinking we could bake together and maybe cuddle and watch movies,” he says.
“Really?”
“Yes.” He wraps his arms around me and squeezes.
Together we walk to my room, and I give him some of my sweats.
When we find ourselves in the kitchen throwing together our favorite brownies, it feels like things are finally back to normal. Too bad that when they are in the oven, he ruins the peaceful place we have found.
“So did you sleep with him?”
I throw my hands up in the air, spinning around, looking for some sort of escape from this conversation.
“I just want to know.” He makes no effort to look at me, his eyes staring at the ground. His fingers flex and his jaw twitches as he waits for me to answer.
“Not that it matters, but yes, I did.”
“Why?”
“Do I need a reason?”
He rubs his hands up and down his face, and I want to do the same. I don’t know who this conversation is more frustrating for. When he slams his hand down on the counter, I have to say it’s him.
“I thought we were trying this out.” He finally looks at me, his eyes hard and pointed.
“We are, but in the meantime, I’m open to seeing other people.”
“So you’re seeing him?”
I look to see if the brownies are almost done, needing something to bring the conversation to an end. At least the chocolate would have made it easier to sit through this.
Technically, no, I’m not seeing Callahan, but how do I explain that being around him makes that decision hard? If I had to choose, I would pick Charlie hands down. But I’m not in the place to be with him and him alone.
“Not actively, but we hang out in the same group, so I will see him.”
He throws his head back and takes a big breath. The way he is biting his lips, I know he is trying to hold something in. Shaking his head, he paces back and forth for what feels like forever.
“Charlie?’
Holding up his left hand, he pinches the bridge of his nose with his right. Then he sighs. His shoulders sag, and the tension in his face eases.
“Okay,” he says, before looking at the ground.
“I thought I made it clear that I don’t owe you anything.”
“After everything we have been through, we both owe each other a lot.” His words are more bark than bite, but I still feel the impact of them.
“Maybe grace and understanding, but definitely not fidelity.”
He walks over to me and pulls me into his arms.
“I just want you, Monty. I love you, and I know you love me too.” He squeezes like he will never let go, and the idea is both comforting and suffocating.
Despite the years of bullshit, some part of me does still love him.
But I do want Callahan, I just won’t let myself have him.
And even though I feel this way about Charlie, he hasn’t shown me that he is ready for a real relationship.
So now I somehow have to show both of them that right now what I want is to have the freedom to wait and see.
I try to explain this to Charlie, but he just starts kissing my neck, and soon I give in to the sensation. We end up burning the brownies, and not caring as we do what we do best in my bed.
With the surgery five days away, everything feels tense.
Each person around me seems to be holding their breath waiting for the moment that I go in.
I don’t know if I have taken a steady one since I found out, and I’m tired of counting theirs.
So when Callahan offers to take my mind off of it all, I say yes.
He invited me to his new garage, and I’m impressed by how quickly he was able to set all of this up. The name O’Connor proudly sits above the opening, letting you know who it belongs to.
“Did you really move your whole business here?” I ask while walking in.
He is next to a car, a wrench in his hands, with only a tight tee on. Clearly not finding our spring to be chilly, sweat glistens on his neck.
“No, I started a second location here. My best friend and business partner, Tanner, is manning the other one.”
That devil may care smirk lights up his face as his eyes trail up and down my body. In a snug sweater with thick leggings, I can’t imagine what is making him adjust himself.
“So why did you want me to meet you here?”
Bigger than any garage I have ever been to, there is a line of nice cars parked behind all the equipment. There is also an exit behind them that is big enough to fit a truck.
I know he said he went clean, but this sure does look like the place where a crew of dragracers would come to hang out.
“I want to take you for a ride.” He points to this black, shiny Cadillac. If I knew anything about vehicles, I would probably be impressed with it. All I know is that it’s probably expensive by the look of it.
“A drive? That’s it?”
“What? Not distracting enough?”
“I don’t know,” I say, crossing my arms.
“Just wait.” He walks over and opens the door for me, helping me slide in.
When the leather seat cools me through my clothes, the goosebumps he gave me intensify. With one last look in my direction, he pulls out onto the road. The first few minutes of the drive are quiet, and despite what he said, my mind keeps going back to the surgery.
“Callahan,” I sigh out.
“Just wait.” He silently drives until we are out of the city. When we hit a back road, he shifts gears, gives me a wink, and takes off at a speed that is absolutely illegal.
“Callahan!” I scream, clutching onto his arm. That just makes him laugh and go even faster. “Oh my god!” Too excited to close my eyes, and too scared to let him go, I grip him hard enough to leave bruises as he takes turns like he is on a track.
Removing his hand from the stick shift, he moves it down my body until it is at the edge of my pants. Locking eyes with me, he asks a question I never thought I would get.
“Isn’t the car manual?” I ask.
“It can be automatic, too.”
With that answer, I nod and agree to something crazy. Before I can change my mind, two fingers are sliding in and out of me.
Switching his eyes between me and the road, he doesn’t slow down as he adds a third one in. I’m pushed back into my seat by my panic and pleasure as we toy with our lives.
“Fuck,” I cry out, as the next turn shifts his fingers and me. Unfazed, he keeps a steady movement while keeping the same pace on the road.
When we catch up to a car, he goes around it all while still looking in my direction. I switch between alarm and arousal in a way that takes things to a whole new level.
When he blows through a stop sign, he pushes me past my last reservation.
I find myself grinding on his fingers, trying to get him as deep as possible.
The racing of my heart comes from both of the things he is doing.
I don’t care anymore, I trust him to get me off and get me home.
Lifting up, and slamming down, I help him bring me to that point.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Give in to the sensations.”
Letting in all the surges of fear and joy, I work to come while speeding down a road. When we practically fly down a hill, I’m lifted by the force and by my orgasm. Hitting the bottom, I tap into a scream that is adrenaline meeting satisfaction. I don’t stop crying out until he starts to slow down.
Removing his hand he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks on them. The image of my wetness sliding against his lips has me ready to go again.
“I thought you were a reformed bad boy,” I say, pushing my braids out of my face.
“I never said that. I just said I don’t race.”
I cackle while wiping the sweat off my neck and sinking into my seat. Now that it’s said and done, a tiredness overtakes me.
“Well, that was one hell of a ride,’ I say,
“You should try it on my lap.”
I slap his arm, and he brings my fingers to his mouth. Giving them a gentle peck, he puts them on his lap.
We return to the silence we had before, only this one peppered with our heavy breathing. I don’t calm down until we’re back at the garage.
“Thank you,” I say really meaning it.
This is the first time in a long time that I have felt something other than worry. For an hour, I was my old self, completely unbidden by my struggles.
“No, thank you.” He closes the door for me and leads me back to the front.
I can see in his eyes that he wants to ask me to stay, and I battle with wishing that he does.
Respecting the fact that we want different things, I feel like I have led him on enough.
“Next time, let’s just get coffee or something,” I say.
“Only if it’s a date.”
I shake my head, but he looks unbothered by another rejection. I wave to him, knowing that I’m going home to masturbate to the look in his eye as he watched me come on his hand.