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My phone buzzes, and I reach to grab it from my bedside table. The sun isn’t up, but I’m wide awake. I knew he’d be back today, and I’ve been waiting on bated breath for his response to my texts and the package I sent last month.
As Stone’s date of arrival grew nearer, my longing only intensified, until it became an insatiable, tenacious growl of demand. One that robbed me of sleep. And one that I knew, if presented with opportunity for appeasement, would not be denied. I had to make sure he’d stay away, or at least not come too close.
I take a deep breath and compose myself before I open his text.
I got your letters and your text. And I understand why you feel that way. But I must, respectfully, say no. Because Venus, if I had the power to command blood and bone, mind and spirit, you are the very person I would have created. I told you I loved you. And I meant it. So, no fucking way am I moving on. I’ll see you soon.
Home
Stone
I step through the sliding automatic doors and inhale the warm petroleum-tinged air that is Houston’s calling card. I glance around until I see Tyson’s black Escalade down the row of cars. He sticks his hand out and waves, before the trunk flies open.
He offered to pick me up when I called to tell him I was coming home. I hoped it would be Regan. I’ve called her so many times that I’ve lost count.
She doesn’t answer her phone, and she’s only texted me back once to say, “I’m sorry.”
I’ve been caught between rage and despondency for the last two weeks.
I can’t eat.
I can’t think.
The only details I have are the few that Tyson’s given me. I don’t know what’s going on with her kids or her, and I hate that I’m just a bystander in a disaster I helped cause.
So, I’ve decided to tell him everything.
She’ll be pissed. But I can handle that. And I’m sick of lying to one of my best friends.
But, as I walk toward the car, my confidence that Tyson will understand and support me, flags. She’s his sister and her association with me has made her life exceedingly difficult.
He knows what kind of man I am. He’ll know that I wouldn’t dare move on his sister if I wasn’t serious. At least, I hope he does. If not, I hope he’ll give me a chance to explain before he goes off.
“Welcome back to Clutch City, Flintstone,” Tyson gives me a boisterous hug and a few hard slaps on the back that remind me how strong he is. They called him a pretty boy in college, and he killed himself in the gym to build his body enough that no one could mistake him for anything other than the badass he is.
“I see you’ve been slacking on your workouts without me around to kick your ass,” I tease him while he throws my suitcases in his trunk.
“Slacking? Man, are you nuts? If this line wasn’t so long, I’d race you down to that sign and back to show you what your eyes clearly can’t see.”
“Yeah, long line’s the reason,” I quip and pick up a box of Shipley’s donuts that’s sitting in my seat. The crumbs of sugar glaze from the dearly departed pastries cover every surface of his car.
“Man, you are a slob. I know you don’t drive women around in this heap,” I say as I look at the piles of empty water bottles, plastic bags, fast-food paper bags and books everywhere.
“This is my mobile office and I take the honeys out in my Aston Martin. And stop bitching and be glad I didn’t bring my Explorer.”
I make a show of dusting off my seat, before I sit down.
“So, where am I taking you?”
“Same place. Kirby and OST,” I buckle my seatbelt and turn the radio down.
“Aww, shit. I forgot you live in the cut. Now that you’re a doctor, doctor and not just a resident, you gotta move to a better neighborhood. Come to Rivers Wilde, man. The Ivy has everything, and we’ll be neighbors. And, now that your ass is legal, we can go cause mayhem. There’s this new strip joint off Montrose and, man… the pussy is outstanding. I am so glad to have a single friend in town. All my friends are being assholes and getting married. They don’t know about this bachelor life, right?” He slaps my shoulder and flashes a conspiratorial grin. It’s so much like Regan’s rare grins and it hits me square in the gut.
I clear my throat, uneasy and not sure that this is the right segue, but I decide to take it and tell him. “So,” I say and clear my throat.
His phone rings and his car announces, “Remi, calling”
He holds up a finger, hits the green button to answer it and says, “Hey, what’s up?”
