Chapter 10
Having Penelope with me for the last few weeks has made me feel more human than I have in months.
I’m more connected to my work, actually excited to socialize, and I’ve finally agreed to talk to someone professional about what’s been going on in my head.
She’s been mothering me to death, making sure I’m eating and hydrating, and she dumped all my alcohol.
It’s amazing what a little self-care—and tough love from your bestie—will do for the body.
When I step into the bathroom, I peel off the compression leggings and top I wore for my run and look in the mirror.
I’m sweaty and gross, but at least the persistent dark circles under my eyes have faded.
The only thing I have adamantly refused to do is go out to a club.
Until now. Since it’s a Friday, and we’ve had a successful week at work, Penelope insisted we go out to celebrate, and I finally caved and said yes.
When I step under the water, an involuntary groan leaves me as the water hits my aching back.
My body is still adjusting to physical activity again.
“In the shower,” I shout. “I’ll be ready in half an hour.” I finish scrubbing my body and washing my hair, wishing I could stay under the warm water a bit longer.
I find my best friend sitting on my rumpled bed.
She’s dressed in a tiny black dress that looks like it barely covers her arse.
Her blonde hair is in a messy ponytail on top of her head.
It probably took her ages to get it to look that way.
I know the red heels she’s wearing will have her complaining later, but she looks hot.
“Have you even decided what you’re wearing tonight? ”
“I was going simple tonight. White cropped T-shirt and jeans? Maybe the ‘Feral Queer’ shirt you bought me? I don’t know.
Haven’t really thought about it, honestly.
” I shrug as I sit at the vanity to do a rushed version of my skincare routine.
After applying toner and moisturizer that cost far more than I would admit to most, I get to work on my eyeliner.
For the first time in months, I don’t hate the person looking back at me.
“Definitely going with the ‘Feral Queer’ shirt tonight.”
“Oooh, Harlan is looking for dick tonight. Good. You need it, bestie. Fix your hair and get dressed.” I do just that while Penny orders an Uber, and within twenty minutes, we’re on our way out the door.
It’s hot and humid in the club, and it smells of sweat and cheap perfume.
There’s barely room to walk as people dance and mingle, and the lights reflecting off the smoke from the fog machine make everything seem out of focus.
The vibrations from the music snake their way up my body as we navigate the crowd.
Pen grabs my hand, making a beeline toward the bar.
I decided before we arrived that I wasn't going to drink tonight, so I order a soda from the bartender. The soft look of approval on my best friend’s face makes me feel lighter.
With our drinks in hand, we weave our way to the dance floor.
It feels good to be sober and dance with Pen.
I’ve been a shit lately, and she’s been more patient than I deserve.
Working in London was never on my radar, but since Penelope arrived, it has felt good to go to the office.
Little by little, I’m starting to fall in love with work again.
It doesn’t stop me from thinking about Dare and being back home in New York.
I miss him like I’d miss a limb. The reminders of him are still plentiful, and they often hit me without warning.
I’m still struggling to forgive myself for what I did to him.
I don’t see a world where I will ever love anyone the way I love him.
More than that, I don’t see a world where someone will ever love me as well as he did.
Losing that—losing him—was my fault. And if the stars ever align again, and I find my way back to him, I need to work on being worthy of his love.
“Harlan, are you ok?” Penelope’s voice brings me back to the chaos of writhing bodies around us. “You spaced out.”
“Just thinking about how lucky I am that you love me,” I shout in her ear before kissing her temple.
“That’s what best friends do. They love you even when you’re hard to love.
” She hugs me before turning around to grind her barely covered arse against me.
After long moments of losing myself in the music with Penelope, I feel someone move in behind me and start to dance closely.
Too close to be friendly. A hand moves to my hip.
“Is this ok?” I turn my head to see a hot guy, definitely older, with brown hair and beautiful blue eyes.
I nod, and his grip on my hip tightens as he pulls me flush against him.
The contact feels foreign but not unwelcome.
“What’s your name?” His accent is distinctly American, causing my stomach to flip.
Penelope has moved away from us a bit, getting absorbed into the group that had been dancing near us.
“Harlan,” I say into his ear as we move in time to the music.
“That’s a beautiful name. I’m Oliver. Are you here with anyone?” His voice is a caress, and I have to stop myself from grinding into him.
“Just my best friend.” I point in Pen’s general direction, and she winks at me. “I’m very unattached if that’s the real question.”
“I didn’t want to assume anything. You’re beautiful, Harlan.
” It feels so good to have intimate contact like this, even if it goes nowhere.
I’ve not been anywhere near a man since my last night with Dare.
My hand, a few toys, and an excessive amount of porn have been my only bedmates.
It’s been a matter of biology as opposed to genuine arousal.
“You’re American,” I observe. “I’m guessing West Coast?
” It didn’t take long once I arrived in the States to pick up on the regional accents.
Despite being born in Miami, Dare sounds like he’s from New York.
Between uni, the team, and my line of work, I was immersed in the vast differences between states.
I’ve always found the sheer size of America fascinating, if a bit overwhelming.
I feel him chuckle more than hear it. “I am American. I was born in Seattle but lived most of my life in California. San Francisco area. Are you from London?”
“Close. I grew up in Buckinghamshire. I went to uni in New York and moved back here for work a few months ago.” A body bumping into me makes me realize we’ve stopped dancing. I turn to face him completely, but his hands remain on my hips, keeping me close.
“Would you like to grab a drink and find somewhere to talk?” His expression is warm and open.
I feel a barely noticeable flutter of eager anticipation in my belly.
I’m even more grateful I decided not to drink tonight.
Any decisions I make will not be influenced by alcohol, and it feels amazing to be fully present.
“Yeah, I think I’d like that.” I offer him a small smile, and he takes my hand.
I look over my shoulder to check for Penelope, but she waves me off.
Briefly, I’m reminded of the night in New York where I ruined my life.
I was being led off the dance floor by another gorgeous man, and one stupid decision changed everything for me.
I freeze, pulling my hand away from Oliver’s when he gets up to the bar.
“Are you ok? Did I make you uncomfortable?” The look of concern on his face eases some of my anxiety.
I remind myself that this is different. A different club, a different man, extremely different circumstances. I’m sober. I’m single.
“Yes. I mean, yes, I’m ok. No, you didn’t make me uncomfortable.” Words are apparently hard. He’ll think I’m an absolute idiot if I keep talking. I feel myself blush with embarrassment, and he smiles softly.
“Ok, if you’re sure. Do you want to go to the café down the road, where it’s less crowded?
We can get coffee.” The invitation to talk rather than find a dark corner helps eliminate the last of my nerves.
I had planned to get fucked tonight, but the thought of doing that suddenly feels less exciting than what I had in mind earlier.
“Yes, that sounds perfect,” I offer him a genuine smile. “I’m just going to let my friend know where I’m going.”
After locating Penelope to let her know what I’m up to and confirming she is ok with finding her way back to my flat, I find Oliver by the exit. As we walk to the café, we chat about the differences between the UK and the US, and I find myself laughing and feeling lighter than I have in months.
The café is blessedly quiet and mostly empty when we step inside.
The lighting is dim, with exposed bulbs hanging from the ceiling, offering a soft glow over the booths.
At the counter, I opt for hot chocolate while Oliver gets black coffee and a pastry.
With a hand placed gently on my lower back, he leads me to a corner booth next to a window overlooking the street.
“Tell me more about yourself, Harlan. What do you do for work?” Everything about Oliver’s demeanor oozes charm and kindness.
I wonder if he realizes how attractive he is.
Oliver is not my normal type. I love bigger guys—muscles, tattoos.
Oliver is lean, with more of a swimmer’s build.
His dark blue eyes seem bottomless, and openly curious as he waits for me to talk.