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"Actually, I believe it's pronouncedarse…hole. You need to emphasise thermore."
"Not taking pronunciation lessons from someone who lives in a country where every second word is abbreviated."
"What can I say, shorta is betta," I say with a laugh.
He's quiet, and I wonder if he's pissed or trying to suppress a smile. I hope it's the latter.
"How'd you know I was here?"
"I figured something was up when you started texting me about rubbing your hole."
Two young surfer dudes walk past me. One of them smiles and makes a hang ten gesture. I chuckle.
"What's so funny?" Col asks.
"Some guy heard me say that. He approved."
"Aren't you even mildly embarrassed?"
"Haven't we spoken about you asking me questions you already know the answer to? You know I couldn't give a shit. I'll never see that dude again in my life."
Col breathes audibly. "We're digressing."
"We are. But I'm having fun."
"Are you? Really?"
I think about it. Maybe it's because I've spent the afternoon with Travis talking about the situation I'm in while downing six pints of beer. Maybe it's hearing about all the trials and tribulations he and his family have been through—and survived. Maybe it's the flippant way he saidWhen you find your person, you just know.
Whatever the fuck it is, standing against a wall with the faint waft of men's urinals in the air, sweat pouring out of me like a motherfucker, it hits me.
I know.
I'm falling in love with Co?—
"You there, Wilby?"
"Uh, yeah. I'm-I'm here."
My brain feels like it's being jackhammered, my thoughts splintering into a million different directions.
I lean deeper against the wall and drag a hand through my hair. "I need to see you, Col. Can I see you?Please."
Half an hour later, I'm standing at the door to Col's hotel room, sweaty, nervous, confused, sweaty, horny, a little tipsy, and sweaty… Have I mentioned that already?
I may also be talking to myself, rambling more like it, as I pace back and forth, working up the courage to knock on his door and…say what exactly? Do what exactly?
Yeah, I haven't got a clue about what comes next, and it fucking terrifies me.
I want to tell him what's bubbling inside me. That he's stirring up all sorts of emotions I'm not used to.
Some of them are nice. Like when I think about how much fun we have when we're together. How I love being around him. How special things are between us, and that I think he feels it, too, even if he tries to make it seem like he doesn't.
But some of the feelings aren't as pleasant. They're downright scary. I'm still hurt about the reason he came to Scuttlebutt. Yes, I realise he's just doing his job. But that's the thing. For him it might be work, but for me, it's my life. Once he finishes what he came to do, he'll jet off back to the States and leave.
Leaveme.
With nothing. Maybe a temporary roof over my head if I'm lucky and a broken heart that will be near impossible to fix.
