“Love you more.” Then she’s gone, and I place the phone against my chest.
In the beginning, I tried to get better for Janelle and the kids. Now, I try for myself. I try so hard to have a good life, not necessarily an amazing one.
I’m not sure I’ll ever be one of those ecstatically happy people, like that Wes guy. He seems like someone who goes through life with an ever-present smile glued to their lips. Everyone has bad days or days when they want to shout at the world, but overall, Wes seems like a ‘glass-half-full’ kind of guy. Well, I managed to put a frown on his face. I’m sure he hates my ass. No more ‘Mr. Amazing.’
I cringe at how I keep calling him Wilson. Of course, I remembered his name was Wes. I can’t explain why I did it. I just felt like… I don’t know, digging at him. He seems like he’s got it all together, which annoys the shit out of me. For some people, it’s a front, and you can tell it is, but with Wes… I don’t think it’s fake. He really seems genuinely happy and…nice, I guess. It was a shit move calling him that.
Maybe I should explain, so Wes isn’t so annoyed with me, that Wilson is actually a compliment, and not me being a dick, which I was.
Wilson Kipketer. My hero. The Kenyan-born 800-meter runner who won gold for both Kenya and later Denmark. He was a two-time Olympic medalist. He broke the world record multiple times and is considered one of the greatest sprinters in history.
But that’s not the only reason Wilson is my hero. He was always so fucking humble about his own achievements. A good sportsman. A good person. Always had that huge fucking smile on his face, just like Wes. The kind that reaches the eyes and makes the person glow.
Wes is exactly the kind of guy I used to be attracted to when I still had a libido. He’s got that disarming boy-next-door look. He’s charming, but in a dorky kind of way. He seems like a flirt, but I’m not sure yet how deep that smoothness goes. Mostly, he reminds mewaytoo much of my ex.
If there ever was a person who had his shit together, it was my ex-fiancé, Anthony. That’s why Mom and Dad loved him, worshiped him, actually, despite not quite being on board with me being gay. They were, however, very sold on my Stanford Law graduate fiancé. Image-wise, he was just the right fit for me. A successful Black man headed for a future as a district attorney or private practice lawyer. Together we could’ve been the ‘itcouple’if I hadn’t fucked everything up.
I met Anthony at Stanford, where I was studying Kinesiology and Physical Education. We met through friends, and within six months, we were engaged. He swept me away; there’s no other word for it. I’d never been in love before. Looking back, I think it was more infatuation than love, but at the time, Anthony was everything.
He was three years older than me and taught me everything there was to know about being with another man. I’d always known I was gay, but Anthony became my sexual awakening, and my entire life outside of running.
I get up from the couch and head into the kitchen to prepare a quick dinner of salmon, pasta, and a salad.
Anthony is in the past where he belongs. I’m in no hurry to meet someone or fall in love. Am I attracted to Wes? Sure, but I’m not ready, which is why I didnotstalk hisInstagramlast night before I went to bed. Or browseYouTubefor a video of that 8:31.8 run Jenny was fangirling over. Absolutely not, I didn’t. If I’d done that, I would’ve noticed how good he was and how happy he looked when he threw himself at that other guy, Dennis, after he won. I would’ve noticed the thrill of running,and not just of winning, painted all over Wes’ face. A thrill I lost over the years, and I’m not sure I’ll ever get it back.
After dinner, I watch a random action movie, and it’s not until I get ready for bed that Janelle’s voice pops into my head.‘Go check your mail.’Shit. I’m in a pair of basketball shorts, but I quickly swipe a T-shirt from the floor, sniff it, then throw it on.
I take the elevator down to the lobby. It’s nearly deserted aside from a familiar figure leaning against the mailboxes.Wes.He’s in shorts, cutting mid-thigh, revealing his toned runner’s legs. He’s barefoot in a pair of those uglyAdidaspool slides, but somehow they look perfect on him. His white T-shirt is wrinkled just like mine, like he was also getting ready for bed before he remembered to check the mail.
He’s hunched over a book, reading. As I approach him, I clear my throat, and he looks up with a smile that soon turns into a frown as soon as he recognizes me.
“Hi,” I say, waving awkwardly.
“You live here?” He tilts his head and furrows his brow.
“No, I just randomly walk around lobbies at night, looking at mailboxes.”
He huffs. “Right.”
“I was just gonna…” I motion toward the mailboxes, and he steps aside.
“Sure.” His glare transforms into a slow smile, and his striking blue eyes twinkle. “Sorry. I just went down a rabbit hole.” He holds up the book and turns it around to show me the cover.Love in Overtime.
“I don’t know that one,” I blurt lamely, taking in the colorful cover picturing a soccer field. “It looks…” I search my brain for something that won’t sound like I’m trying to be an ass, because I’m not, and I settle on “interesting.”
Something sparks in Wes’ eyes, and then his lips start moving at a rapid pace. “It really is! I mean, I know fuck all aboutsoccer, but so far I love it. I’m only halfway through the third chapter, but it issogood.” His eyes almost roll into his head, and it looks…sexy. His enthusiasm is fucking sexy.
“You’ve read three chapters in the lobby?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs and bites his lower lip, which just adds more fuel to theI’m fuckedfire. “I was just gonna read the first paragraph, but it sucked me right in and then… you know…” He chuckles low in his throat, then looks at me expectantly.
“Yeah…” I scratch the back of my neck as the silence builds between us. I can’t remember the last time I read a book just for fun. Maybe I should.
“So, aren’t you gonna check your mail?” Wes asks.
“Oh, yeah, sure. Of course.” I open the mailbox and pull out a stack of envelopes and junk mail. It’s all boring stuff, like bank statements and car loan payments. The letter from Mia and Mason isn’t there. I don’t know when they sent it, but I hope it didn’t get lost. I can’t shake the disappointment.
“What’s wrong?”
