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“I’m sorry, Lyla. I wanted that to go so differently. I never wanted to hurt Marcus or make it seem like you were just a lay. You know you’re not, right? I’ve been far from perfect; I won’t ever lie to you. He is right about that. He’s never seen me with the same girl twice. I was married, and it didn’t end well so for the last two years I’ve been with more women than I want to admit.”
He looks so ashamed, but I understand. “I get it. It’s not a deal breaker.” I don’t know what else to say. I’m crushed with the weight of Marcus’ temper and disappointment. “Can we just go back to bed and back to our little bubble and never leave?”
This gets a smile out of him. “I would love to never leave bed if you’re in it, but the world will still go on. I’ll find a way to make this right with Marcus. I promise.”
“As hard as that is to believe, I somehow believe you anyway,” I say, and he scoops me up off the counter, and we head back upstairs, no longer hungry. He runs us a hot shower and slowly unbuttons his shirt I’m still wearing. It’s intimate and full of affection but no heat. The fight with Marcus put out the fire that usually burns between us, but something is still there. Something more.
I step in under the relaxing spray and let the water wash over me and take all the negative with it. I soon feel Cole behind me, but he doesn’t say anything, so I don’t either. He takes my loofah and squeezes a generous amount of my vanilla-scented body wash and lathers it until it bubbles. I turn to face him, still not knowing what to say. He seems to understand and just washes my shoulder and arm, and stepping closer, he crosses my breasts gently but moves on to my other arm and then my stomach and lower.
This huge giant of a man gets on his knees just to wash my body; how in the world could my best friend not want this kind of devotion for me? Somehow, he has to forgive us.
Cole climbs back up and in an eclipsing bear hug he moves my hair over my shoulder, his mouth to my ear, and washes my back and even my butt, then just holds me, letting the loofah fall to my feet. We stay in the comforting embrace for a few long moments, and then I wash him.
We dry off and spend the day in his bed just talking. He tells me more about his marriage and what a godawful cunt of a wife Whitney was—my words not his; the fact he doesn’t say anything cruel about her speaks volumes to his character. Something I can’t help but wish Marcus could see, but then I think maybe it’s more about me. I don’t deserve Cole. He’s a good man and I’ve only ever blown it. Not cock, I mean I can’t hold a man’s attention, nor have I ever wanted to. I want this though. More than anything I want to deserve this man, so I open up. I let my walls down.
I tell Cole all about my whore of a mother who cared more about partying with assholes than providing food and necessities for her daughter. How I was so hungry as a kid I taught myself how to hustle. The real reason Taco Stan seems like family because he fed me when no one else would. How I met Charlie and Marcus at my first real job, Record 39, and how I loved it. How I spent all my money on food, learning how to cook differently and fed them and Stan all my concoctions. I told him story after story. Bad, ugly, and unflattering too. I told him my dreams and when I reached them and they were taken, it left me wondering why I worked so hard for such an empty life.
He told me he felt the same way about his empty marriage. He had wanted her for so long, it was completely superficial, but he was too young to realize it. How his parents demanded perfection and disowned him when he filed for divorce.
We ordered takeout and ate in his room, staying in our bubble. We laughed and ate greasy burgers and drank milkshakes all while half naked and totally content. It was an amazing day with an incredible man, and although my life is all kinds of fucked up, I find this bubble to be my happy place.
