Chapter 14
MILES
The multipurpose room at West Valley Community Center is pretty dead, but I’m early.
Only one other group member is here—a guy I haven’t seen in months whose name I can’t quite remember…
Nick or Chris or Mike, maybe? I’m shit with names—and he’s out in the hall on his phone.
Needing to do something useful, I set up about ten chairs in a circle, taking a seat in the one closest to the window.
My knee bounces as I check my phone, waiting for everyone else to show up.
I try to ignore the way my heart rate picks up when I see her name.
Caroline
Hope I didn’t wake you up this morning when I left.
I guess we can add “walk of shame” to my list (and then cross it off)?
Walk of shame? Fuck.
A slight sting spreads through my chest. But maybe it’s just a saying, right? Last night there was no glimmer of anything like shame. Nerves, sure, but I’d put money on the fact that she had zero regrets about what we did. It was too good. Incredible, actually.
I’d found her list still on my coffee table this morning. When I picked it up for another perusal, I noticed she’d crossed off three items. The three exclamation points she’d added beside multiple orgasms had me grinning like a fool all through breakfast.
The little dots start jumping on my screen and I chew on my lip as I wait for her text.
Caroline
No actual shame though, for the record.
I had an amazing time with you. Thank you.
Relief has my shoulders sagging. Thank fuck. It wasn’t my imagination; it had been amazing.
Okay, I just need to keep this casual, because that’s what this is supposed to be. Casual.
Me
So… more like walk of fame?
And you’re welcome. 10/10 would do you again.
Caroline
That was very frat boy of you…
I smirk at the teasing dig. There’s nothing remotely frat boy about me, but I guess my attempt at casual worked out. Or… wait. Did I overshoot casual and hit dumbass? Now I can’t tell if she’s flirting with me or thinks I’m a turd.
Shit.
Attempting damage control, I type out another text, cursing myself for getting in my head about how I’m coming across.
So much for casual. Why do I have no chill?
Me
Hope you’re okay today. Not too sore or whatever?
Caroline
Is that a humblebrag?
Me
Damn, you caught me!
But seriously, we really… went for it.
Until we passed out, basically.
I used to think I needed to drink to loosen up and get in the mood, but sober sex is surprisingly wild.
Last night, I was so much more aware. So present.
I felt every touch, every gasp, every little clench of Caroline’s muscles.
The way her body responded. And I noticed the subtle stuff.
Checked in. Adjusted. Communicated. There was nothing sloppy or blurry about how we fucked.
It was intentional. And I felt more connected and in control than I’d ever been while drinking.
I was so in tune with my own body—and hers—that it lit me the hell up. And the pleasure was fucking unreal.
I think that’s why we couldn’t stop.
Neither of us had planned for Caroline to spend the night; it had kinda just happened.
She’d been so shaky and exhausted after all those orgasms that I’d joked about having to carry her to the shower, and then we hadn’t been able to keep our hands off each other once we got there.
It had been well after midnight by the time we finally collapsed onto my bed and, by then, I was blurry—in the best way.
I don’t remember much after that, other than pulling her against me.
She was so fucking cute all sleepy and disheveled.
And I fucking love being the big spoon. I was defenseless.
Cuddle puddle: 1, Miles: 0.
The door creaks open and that Nick-Chris-Mike guy gives me a small nod as he takes a seat across from me.
Caroline
I actually am a little… tender. I think that shower took a lot out of me.
Flashbacks to Caroline dripping wet thunder through me—how she’d clung to my neck, holding on with a death grip as she came on my hand. I have to cross my legs and discreetly adjust my half-hard dick as another few people file in for the meeting.
Not the time or the place.
Me
Look at me resisting that “I can put a lot into you” joke setup like an adult
Caroline
If you listen closely, you can hear my slow clapping.
Me
So that’s what that was!
Listen, I gotta run here, but uh… maybe I can help with any “tender” spots after our date tonight? I feel responsible.
Caroline
Looking forward to it, Mr. “I’m Good With My Hands.”
A broad grin splits my face as I pocket my phone. Glancing around, I realize how the room has filled up without me even realizing it, and my amusement falters.
Fuck.
This is exactly why I’m here.
Ever since Caroline showed up at my gym, I’ve been off my game. Distracted. And last night, incredible as it was, also left me feeling a bit thrown.
When I realized she’d snuck out on me before I woke up this morning, disappointment had percolated in the back of my mind.
But, instead of going down that rabbit hole, I reminded myself of the facts: this is fake dating and bonus sex.
Temporary. Nothing deeper and nothing long term.
I’m not ready for a relationship and neither is she.
Plus, we come from different worlds and we’re on completely different paths; she’s trying to let loose and I’m trying to rein it in.
Incredible sex or not, it would never work between us in the long run.
Forcing myself to stuff it and focus on things within my immediate control, I’d doubled down on all the shit I know supports my mental health; with all this change in my life, I need to use my fucking strategies now more than ever.
I’d hit the gym with Gus, put protein and vegetables in my face, drank a ton of water, scheduled an extra therapy session, and got my ass to this AA meeting.
I’ll prioritize sobriety like my life depends on it—because it fucking does.
Russell opens the meeting with the usual preamble explaining AA, followed by a moment of silence. Then he asks that Nick-Chris-Mike guy—who I learn is actually Trevor, cool, not even close—to read a passage from the Big Book, which is basically the AA Bible.
Trevor reads aloud about how those who succeed in AA are the ones who are capable of “grasping and developing a manner of living which demands rigorous honesty.” The wording in the Big Book is sorta old-fashioned, but the gist is clear: honesty is key.
It is, after all, essentially the first of the Twelve Steps; admitting you have a problem means being honest with yourself.
Facing that truth hadn’t been easy for me.
I’d fought it for a long time. Lied and denied it more times than I can count.
On some level, I’d fought it even after I first joined AA years ago.
Sure, I’d admitted I had a problem, stuck to the program, and managed to quit drinking for a stretch or two that I was proud of.
But some part of me had held back from fully committing—fully accepting I was an addict like the others.
I’d held onto this irrational belief that I was different—that I could drink in moderation if I only learned to manage it better.
And, well, I was a fucking fool.
Alcoholics are incapable of moderation when it comes to booze, and I’m more likely to sprout a tail than develop the ability to control my drinking.
It took breaking my arm after stumbling down the fucking interstate to make me realize I could never touch another drop of liquor for the rest of my life.
That next morning in the hospital, my addiction had slugged me in the face.
I couldn’t deny it any longer: I was powerless over alcohol and, unless I found a way to take that power back, it was gonna kill me.
As I listen to Trevor read, I realize honesty has been the game-changer for me this time.
Being honest with myself and with my friends and family has kept me accountable.
Kept me on track, in check. Sober. I guess I’ve managed—or, more accurately, am managing—to adopt that whole “manner of living” thing, even if it did take me a while to get here.
Fuck. There’s something else I need to be honest about—another uncomfortable truth I need to face.
I like Caroline. I really like Caroline.
That’s… not great. I can’t be in a relationship right now, full stop, and she doesn’t want one either. Ours is fake and it ends after the election, whether Senator Shithead wins or not.
Maybe it’s for the best. Caroline and her family are obviously complicated.
I’m not looking to stress-test my sobriety by tying myself to someone with a family under constant public scrutiny—and a manipulative prickstain of a father on top of that.
The guy’s blackmailing me, for Christ’s sake!
Between the addiction and the ADHD, I don’t need any help living life on hard mode.
Doesn’t matter if I like her. That I haven’t felt a connection like this in… ever. I can’t have her.
But fuck, curling up with her pressed against me last night had felt as natural as if we’d done it a hundred times before. She’d fit in my arms like she’d always been there.
Reminding myself not to get carried away, I straighten in my seat.
Trevor finishes reading, and Russell invites a woman named Tiffany to share about herself.
I blink a few times, rubbing my thighs.
Focus. Be present.
“Hey, everyone,” she says. “I’m Tiffany, and I’m an alcoholic.”
“Hi, Tiffany,” we all chorus together, the familiar call-and-response of it almost automatic to me now.
She starts to talk about her life, sharing a little about her recovery journey—and something about her new boyfriend, I think.
No matter how hard I try to stay present, Tiffany’s soft voice takes a backseat to the way my memories of Caroline are screaming to get front and center.
I make a mental note to call Barry on my way home from the meeting. Maybe he can help me get my head in the game so I can stick to my priorities.
But Caroline in that lacy red lingerie… The image flickers into focus. Her long legs in those fucking thigh-high stockings, her mess of blonde curls, and those nervous, whimpered sounds she made when I had her under me on my bed… Then the louder ones she made when she…
Shit, I can’t shake this off.
Maybe I’m just touch-starved? Keeping to my little routine, I don’t have a lot of physical touch in my life.
Jude shoving me in the shoulder for being a dumbass probably doesn’t count.
The most physical affection I get these days is probably cuddling up with Lumpy on Gus’ couch.
He’s like a weighted blanket. A heavy one.
Which reminds me, I need to figure out what kind of unhinged Halloween costume to get for Lumpy. That lobster getup was hilarious, but I gotta get him something for spooky season…
Fuck, focus on Tiffany, you ass.
I straighten in my seat, willing myself to pay attention—as if that’s ever worked.
“Anyway,” she’s saying, “I think maybe it’s, like, infatuation? I dunno. I’m not sure, but… I’m working so hard to control one addiction, so I don’t wanna just replace that with a new one, like being addicted to him, right?”
It takes a moment for Tiffany’s words to land.
Is that what’s happening here?
No, it can’t be. At first, I’d thought my interest in Caroline was just my ADHD seeking a dopamine hit, but there’s something real between us. I can feel in my bones it’s more than the high of attraction or novelty or even mind-blowing sex.
Then again, that’s all this can be. So I’ll have to keep a lid on it and power through. Yeah, maybe it’ll suck when this fake relationship ends, but at least I can go back to keeping my head down.
Gym, work, home, repeat.
My small, shrunken fucking life.
Shit.
Movement snaps me back into the room when everyone around me stands and begins stacking their chairs.
I rarely hang around for the social chat part of AA meetings, but, after barely hearing more than a couple sentences of what Tiffany said, I feel like I should make the effort.
I’m filling a paper cup at the water cooler in the corner when Russell appears at my side.
“Miles, how ya holdin’ up?”
I nod. “Good, fine, yeah. I’m good.”
Russell gives me a long look. “You sure?”
“Yeah!” I say through a chuckle. “Why?”
“You just seemed… somewhere else during the meeting today.”
“Shit, sorry.” Guilt swirls in my stomach for being a crappy listener. “Guess I’m kinda distracted.”
“Anything you wanna talk about?”
I hesitate. Any explanation about Caroline and our situation would probably sound ridiculous but, before I make up some white lie about being busy with work, Trevor’s passage about honesty snags in my memory. Guess I wasn’t totally out to lunch after all. “Uh, actually… I met someone.”
God, that line is such a cliché.
“Oh?”
It’s such a simple response. No judgment, no pressure, but it reminds me of my therapist’s way of letting the silence hang so I’ll be compelled to fill it. It always fucking works.
“She’s…” I trail off, blowing a breath through my lips.
How do I describe Caroline? How do I describe this feeling? I barely understand it myself.
“That good, huh?” Russell smirks.
Dropping my gaze to my feet, I work my jaw. “Doesn’t matter, I guess.” I stuff my free hand in my hoodie pocket and fidget with the seam inside. “I’m not ready to date yet.”
Russell frowns in thought. “Remind me, you’re, what, nine months sober?”
“Ten now.”
He contemplates me for a moment and crosses his arms over his chest. “Y’know, the advice from AA about dating that first year… It’s more of a guideline than a hard rule.”
“It’s a hard rule for me.” I take a sip of water and swallow, letting a cool sensation spread through my chest. “Has to be.”
“Oh?” He lifts his eyebrows.
Again with the oh? Damn Russell and his trickery. Is he secretly a therapist?
“Didn’t work out for me last time when I rushed it.”
He nods slowly. “Well, if it’s something real, it’ll be worth waiting for. Or worth going for when the time is right, anyway. When it’s healthy. You don’t wanna risk all the progress you’ve made on something—or someone—who isn’t worth it.”
“Exactly.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “So, I guess, the question is: is this girl a distraction? Or is she your future?”
“Oof,” I say with a half smile, trying to hide the way his words hit me in the solar plexus. “Heavy shit for a Saturday afternoon, Russ.”
He laughs and claps me on the back, like he didn’t just take all my swirling thoughts about Caroline and sum them up in one pithy question. “What can I say? I’m dropping truth bombs here. You take it easy, alright?”
“Yeah, you too.” I hold up my cup in a little paper cheers as Russell walks off, then drain the last of the water and toss it in the trash.
Take it easy.
As if anything about this is easy.