Chapter Eight
Graham
I’m not sure there are words for how much I don’t want to be here right now. Immensely, desperately, immeasurably are a few. I would quite literally rather be anywhere else. Swimming in that nasty fucking lake, working a double Saturday shift alone, prison- anywhere other than at this counter.
Ripping off another bite of my breakfast burrito, I wash it down with, admittedly, too much coffee. And I start choking, loudly. Embarrassingly loud.
Rowan thumps me hard on the back a few times before I shake him off. “Estás bien, asere?”
“Yeah,” I choke out, reaching for my iced coffee again. “Solo estoy intentando matarme antes de que lo haga la arpía.”
Cristian snorts, throwing a subtle glance past me to the table where the girls are sitting with Elias. “Those talons are pretty sharp.”
"No one is killing anyone,” Rowan mutters in Spanish. Then throws me a glare. “Least of all themselves. Do I need to go through your shit again?”
“You literally picked me up from the airport.” I take another sip of coffee, tiling the cup toward him as I raise a brow. “Unless you wanted to do a cavity search- Ow!”
Rowan smacks me in the back of the head, going back to his sandwich with a roll of his eyes. “Suck my dick.”
“Ask nicely.” He glares at me as he wrenches a bite off his sandwich and I blow him a kiss. Then I turn to Cristian to beg for the third time, “Switch beds with me.”
Instead of answering- because his mouth is full and he’s polite- he gives me the finger.
“Come on,” I plead. “I can’t sleep down here, she’s going to smother me in my sleep.”
Luckily, Elias’s son and Naomi have been at odds since middle school, so he finds absolutely nothing absurd about my anxiety. In fact, he finds it completely valid, maybe even mildly amusing.
Without question, Cristian sets his sandwich down. “Uno,” he takes a sip of coffee. “She won’t smother you. The cabin came with a knife block. She’d definitely stab you to death—”
“Chico—”
“Dos,” Cristian chuckles, leaning his arms on the counter. “My being up there might be the only thing keeping them from fucking.” He nods to Poppy now sitting in his dad’s lap. “You think if you’re up there that they’ll bother to keep the noise down?”
Glancing at my friend and his beautiful bride, I concede with a shrug to his son, “I am okay with that.”
“Estás bien bellaco.”
“No one is switching sleeping arrangements,” Elias chimes in. I groan and lay my forehead on the counter. “You either sleep on that couch or on Rowan’s couch—”
I lift pleading eyes to my last remaining friend. “Rowan, por favor—”
“Absolutely not.”
“I have no friends.” I shove the last bite of burrito in my mouth, balling up the tin foil it came in.
“Nor do I it seems,” Naomi mutters.
The sound of her voice- the first words she’s spoken since she arrived with breakfast- hit me like a fucking freight train.
It’s slow and sultry and I fucking hate the way my body responds as if it hasn’t been well over a year since I last saw her.
I hate the way I immediately want nothing more than for her shove me down, put her boot on chest, overpower me, possess me—
FUCKING STOP!
I suck down the rest of my coffee in one deep gulp as everyone gets up to go enjoy the breezy Vermont weather out on the porch.
Standing I cross to the trashcan, throwing out my cup and tin foil ball.
Reaching for the soap, my fingers tingle when they brush along the familiar, ebony elegance of Naomi’s pinky.
Jerking back, I take a step away from the sink, gesturing for her to go first. She does, not looking at me as she scrubs and then dries her hands on a spare kitchen towel.
I try so hard not to look at her. I try desperately not to notice how her jeans are practically painted on or how soft her cashmere sweater might be beneath my fingers. Her hair is different than I last saw her, long tight coils falling down her back. It’s perfect, regal even.
“You’re starting.”
Fuck. “No, I’m not,” I lie, averting my gaze back to the sink, washing my hands as originally intended.
I can feel her roll her eyes. She tosses the towel on the counter, her boots clicking on the wood flooring as she walks behind me.
For a moment I imagine her stopping, turning back to me and saying something like, “It’s okay for you to look. I’ve missed you. I’m sorry about how things ended.”
Then I can say, “I’m sorry too. I regret how I spoke to you that morning. You’re a queen, a goddess. I fucking love you…”
But none of that happens of course. The only sound that follows her boots is the slide of the back door as it opens and the click as it closes. Dropping my head beneath the spray of the faucet, I let the cold water soak my hair and neck.
“Verga, verga, cono… no joda…”
“Wow.”
I look sideways through the spray, water sluicing over my eyes and nose to find Cristian watching me, sipping at his coffee with a pitying look.
“Just when I thought two you couldn’t get any more pathetic.” He begins to slow clap against his cup.
“Fuck off,” I grumble, turning off the water and shaking out my hair like a dog. I grab a dishcloth to dry my face, but keep my head bowed over the counter.
My back just doesn’t feel like straightening right now. If I do then I’ll be able to look out one of the many cabin windows and… Yeah, I’m just going to stay hunched over for now. Maybe forever.
“They’re gone by the way.”
My eyes pop open, glancing toward Cristian’s insanely bright sneakers. “Qué?”
“The girls left.” He takes a sip of coffee, nodding toward the door behind him. “Something about picking flowers and making bouquets? Rowan and Dad drove them to the flower farm.”
“Have something against flowers, Cristian?” I raise a brow, pushing away from the counter.
He shrugs. “They’re pointless?”
“Women tend to like receiving them.”
The kid rolls his eyes. “Yeah, so I’ve heard.”
Chuckling, I scrub a hand down my cheek. “Sorry I’m so- Wait, did you say you two couldn’t get any more pathetic?”
Cristian sucks on his straw loudly. “Yep.”
When he doesn’t elaborate I groan, gesturing for him to say something, anything. He just smirks. “Marico, qué cono?!”
“She and I were stuck on a plane together for about three hours,.”
I blink. “And?”
He shrugs. “And I’m observant.”
“Verga,” I squeeze the bridge of my nose. “Did she—”
“No.” Cristian tosses his now empty cup.
“She didn’t say anything about you, for you, against you.
She didn’t even mention your name. Which,” he turns back to me, taking a seat in a dining chair backwards.
“I found rather weird since she mentioned just about everybody else. There was also her weird relief when I mentioned you wouldn’t be arriving until today.
” Leaning his chin on his crossed hands he asks, “Care to explain, Tío?”
“To you?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. “Not particularly.”
“Okay,” he shrugs.
I blink. “Qué?”
He stands, putting his chair back. “I don’t think it’s news that I don’t really give two shits about Naomi or who she fucks.”
“I never said we—”
“Tío,” he rolls his eyes. “Come on. You’re telling me you’re this cracked over a woman you didn’t sleep with? I know your tragic, but even for you that’s dramatic.”
Sucking at my teeth, I shake my head, pushing past him to my bag on the couch. “I’m going for a run.” I grab some workout clothes I packed. “Where’s the bathroom?”
“Right before your girlfriend’s room on the left.”
“She’s not my girlfriend!” I snap a little too forcefully. It makes Cristian raise his hands in mock surrender, heading for the stairs.
“Care if I join you on your run?”
“If you can keep up.”
He stops on the stairs, glaring down at me. “Really? You want to compete against me? I run for a living, old man.”
“You run for fun, Crissy,” I mock. “We both know you don’t have to work for shit.”
Cristian’s eyes flare and then he turns, heading up the stairs with a, “Fuck you,” over his shoulder.
Overall, it’s a nice cabin. I was being bitter when I shit all over Elias and Poppy’s destination week.
I just don’t like leaving my comfort zone.
But this is nice, a cool place for a relaxing vacation, and a really fucking nice present.
I think the best thing I ever bought a girlfriend- or someone I was hooking up with- was maybe a puzzle of her and her cat? It was certainly no cabin retreat.
The view of the lake is phenomenal, the décor is… Well, it’s got its charm. The wrap around porch will be a peaceful place to drink coffee in the morning, maybe finally write the speech I’ve been putting off?
Heading down the hall, I try to ignore Naomi’s room as I reach for the bathroom door.
But her door is cracked, I can see her suitcase sitting open on the bench in front of her bed, her bridesmaid’s dress hanging from the curtain rod.
Would it be crossing a line just to peek?
Just to see how much better her accommodations are than mine?
What does she have hidden in the drawers of her dresser?
I’m reaching to push the door open just a little further when the cabin’s sliding door opens and Rowan and Elias come laughing inside. Quickly, I draw my hand back and open the bathroom instead.
“Going for a run, Graham?” Rowan asks in Spanish, noting the t-shirt and shorts in my hand. “Good idea,” he pats Elias on the shoulder. “We’ll join you.”
“Fuck you, it’s my wedding week—”
“And you have a suit to fit into,” Rowan reminds him. “I’ll meet you guys at my cabin.”
He leaves and perhaps I linger outside the bathroom too long because Elias asks, “You good, Graham?”
Blinking, I nod. “Yeah, of course.” I force a smile. “Long flight.”
Nodding he smiles, heading toward the stairs. “I’m glad you’re here, amigo.”
“Sí…” I mutter, listening to the floorboards as he goes up to his own room upstairs. I glance at the still cracked door, reaching out to close it over. "Me too..."
???
"How’s your sister doing, Graham?” Elias asks as we walk back to the cabin after our run.