47. Idiots In Love
FORTY-SEVEN
idiots in love
Dahlia
Our weekend at the farm flies by and before I know it, it’s midweek again. The semester is at a fever pitch, the stress building as I prepare for my last few weeks of school. Not to mention, my thesis deadline is looming.
I head to the library with high hopes to crank out a couple pages of work, praying the isolation of the musky building will be enough to keep me focused. My email dings notifying me of an incoming message from Mental Health Marvels with a meeting invitation.
Monday, November 23 3:00 PM EST
Mental Health Marvels
Grant Acceptance and Onboarding Meeting
The invitation populates to my calendar, just a few days away from my final thesis submission the same week, on that Wednesday. That week might be a nightmare, but it’ll be the last big hurdle before graduation the following week.
I push the panic from my mind in favor of burying myself in writing.
My desk is littered with academic papers, research recommendations, and a litany of crumpled papers.
The quiet hum of fluorescent lights soundtracks my work, the only other sounds are muffled coughs and typing from the students around me.
Thankfully, I won’t have to complete a defense or dissertation on my paper, it’s more like a gigantic research paper.
The beginning was tough, but once I laid the outline, the ideas flowed out of me.
Meeting Wes helped in an obvious way—he was the inspiration for the program and dropped the perfect location in my lap.
The mere mention of Wes warms my heart and I think how differently my life was six months ago, a year ago.
I’ve come a long way, there’s no doubt, but I know there is so much further to go.
Hours have passed by, somehow achingly slowly and at light speed, when I leave the library the sky is darkened.
I’m ready to start the walk to the subway when there’s a low whistle to my right.
My eyes widen as I take in my handsome man, leaned up against his truck, backwards hat and what appears to be a cropped T-shirt.
“Do my eyes deceive me? Is that a sexy cowboy in a slutty crop top?” I yell toward him.
“I’m looking for a tutor, maybe some hands-on work?
You interested?” His eyes twinkle with mischief as I get closer.
The hem of his shirt brushes below his navel, showing off his firm stomach and the trail I want to trace with my tongue, a direct line to his cock.
Before I fully reach him, he loops his fingers through my belt loops and yanks me towards him.
“Very interested. Though I think I’ll need payment for my services upfront,” I tease. He leans down brushing his lips over mine in a sensual kiss.
“Can do. I can think of a few ways to pay you.” He takes two handfuls of my ass and pulls me flush to him. “Fuck. I promise I came here with wholesome intentions, and I’m humping you in the parking lot.” Begrudgingly, he moves his hands up to my hips.
“Daphne told me you were here. I wanted to buy you dinner. Plus, I missed you, so meeting your basic needs was a great reason to drive down here. Now get in the truck before we get arrested for public indecency. I’m but a mere man in the presence of perfection and you look far too beautiful for me to keep my hands to myself. ”
“I’m starting to see why they call you lover boy, Wes.”
Wes suggested somewhere nicer for dinner, but I really wanted greasy diner food, so we went to Moon Palace.
The difference between tonight and the last time we were here is stark.
“Last time we were here was after the first time you came to Cunting Season. I got so unbelievably drunk because I was nervous to be around you. I wanted you so bad, but I couldn’t let myself dream of acting on my feelings. I couldn’t stop staring at you.”
“You’re one to talk. Do you know how many times I’ve jerked off thinking of your performance? That night watching you on the stage—” The server chooses the exact moment to ask what we’d like to drink and Wes blushes. “She’s a great dancer, okay!”
We place our orders and the server doesn’t make eye contact with me as he takes away the menus. “Wes,” I hiss, “now the good people of Moon Palace are going to think we’re deviants.”
His response is an attempt at hiding a laugh.
“Baby, we are deviants. Have you heard the shit we say to each other in the bedroom? And the dressing room, for that matter…” He trails off, with a shit-eating grin.
“That night I watched you dance on stage, the crowd falling for you right alongside me. You went off dancing with some other people and I stood there like an idiot trying to work up the courage to get close to you.”
“Ah, yes. That would be fifty-percent me dancing with others to avoid my feelings for you and fifty-percent trying to make you jealous so you’d force my hand,” I admit.
“Idiots in love?”
“Idiots in love, indeed,” I agree. Our food comes out and I’m hungrier than I realized because I’m ready to inhale this plate of fries.
“I’ve been thinking,” I start, “maybe I can start therapy after graduation. Once the stress of school and my thesis is behind me, it might be nice to have someone to talk to. Especially with all the changes coming up. I think I’ve put this off for too long now, and I deserve to be happy. ”
Wes’ eyes soften. “You more than deserve to be happy, baby. I’m so proud of you.
Remember what you said about Second Chance?
You just have to try. One foot in front of the other, one day at a time.
” He reaches over to hold my hand. “I love you, and I can’t wait to be by your side while you rule the world. ”
“Quite the jump, no? Let’s start small—one therapy appointment first, then maybe later world domination.” We attempt serious looks at each other before we burst out laughing. “One day at a time.”
“One day at a time.”