Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
O n the flight home, I plug in the complimentary headphones and find an easy-listening music channel. Staring out the small oval window next to my seat, I replay my trip, from the interview to all things Butch. The potent combination of the two forces me to acknowledge blunt reality.
I need to move on…not just on , but forward.
And this job is my ticket. Moving across the country gives me distance, a fresh perspective, and a clean slate. I’ll no longer be haunted by memories forty miles down the peninsula. Rather, I’ll be stimulated by a new environment to explore, inspired to tell stories of the people and places I find.
There’s an undeniable spark and genuine excitement pumping through my system…and I’ve missed this innate inner joy. I’m disappointed it’s taken so long to admit I’ve been going through the motions.
Butch also awakened something dormant. My desires.
My sexuality. My body and its connection when intimate with another.
It shocked the hell out of me. I didn’t go looking for a hookup, it just happened…
but damn if it didn’t switch the light back on.
I’m not ready to risk getting my heart broken an y time soon.
I may never be. But I’m willing to own that I’m not dead yet, either, and if it’s not hurting me or anyone else, I’m staying open to…
opportunities. I pray there are more guys like Butch out there.
I shiver in remembrance of his greedy hands, spectacular mouth, and ginormous dick. Those gorgeous eyes. His dominating height. His sultry smell. Butch was all man. Lumberjack Man.
Shaking off the memory, I squeeze my thighs together and retrieve my paperback before I orgasm in my seat. Although reading Sidney Sheldon won’t help matters. He packs the heat in his novels (and the dudes are always hung), but it’s all I’ve got.
Kendra’s huge brown eyes light as I regale her with the details of my trip. I can’t contain my enthusiasm about my potential new job, obvious swooning over my dalliance with Butch, and renewed motivation to stop sulking, waiting, existing, and start living.
She wraps me in a hug. “This makes me so happy, pumpkin.” She pulls back, still holding my arms. “Your spark is back.”
I smile at her tenderly, my eyes stinging. Because now I know, after finally seeing it for myself.
Kendra purses her lips in her signature way. “Even if it means you moving across the damn country.”
We share a laugh.
“It would be major,” I say. “But a good thing.”
She nods, fighting her own tears. “I know, Jacqui, and I sincerely hope it works out for you.”
My grin broadens.
“And who knows? Maybe you’ll run into this Butch character again.” She gives me a devilish smile .
I wish.
The intercom buzzes with our Chinese food delivery. Kendra grants the person entry and waits at the door. I switch on the TV, landing on a Pirates vs. Cubs game and scouring the screen for our friend Terry, who was drafted by Pittsburgh after college.
Kendra returns, pulling out white cartons filled with steaming, aromatic dishes and setting them on the coffee table.
“This okay?” I ask, knowing her breakup with Terry still hurts, even years later. She loved him deeply…and if anyone understands, it’s me.
She nods, and we settle in to watch Terrence Walker play Major League Baseball.
I snag two pork dumplings and put a heaping spoonful of rice topped with Szechuan chicken on my plate.
Terry comes up to bat with two outs and no men on base. The Pirates are behind by one run. He takes a strike, narrowly avoids getting pegged by a wayward pitch, ignores a ball, then hits a fastball, sending that sucker into left field near the foul line. We squeal as he makes it to second.
There’s nothing more beautiful than watching Terry steal bases. I chant, “Get a hit, get a hit, get a hit” under my breath as the next player steps into the batter’s box.
He singles, advancing our boy to third.
Tension’s high now, and I can’t eat one bite until this inning plays out.
“Damn that man for looking so good,” Kendra murmurs as Terry crosses home plate.
I chuckle. “Always was a handsome motherfucker.”
She rubs her palms against her thighs with a forceful exhalation.
“I miss him. Still. Which is just stupid. I doubt he gives me a second’s thought, and he’s probably been with a thousand women by now.
Being a baseball star as fine as that ”—she waves her hand at the TV—“has surely opened a lot of legs.”
She’s right, but I don’t confirm it aloud, settling for giving her forearm a squeeze.
“I really thought we’d get married,” she whispers, her eyes glassing.
“Your grand love story has yet to be revealed, my friend. You’re not only a stunningly gorgeous woman, but you are the kindest soul I’ve ever met. Fuck Terry for squandering that. He doesn’t deserve you.”
Just like Mick Callahan doesn’t deserve me.
Kendra casts me a grateful glance.
We both may understand the heavy toll of loving our respective men, but it’s another matter for the heart to let them go.