AllFreeNovel
Share Us
None.
We’re much better best friends than we were people who saw each other naked twice a week or so. We accept that. We got to a point where we both understood and acted upon it. This weirded out all of the other couples we associated with during that time in our lives because we were civil in our splitting versus the shit they like to watch on shitty television. They wanted and expected over the top drama. Us fighting for time with them. Demanding they pick sides. None of that shit happened and truth be told, I don’t see any of those people anymore. Fact of the matter is…our breakup was very simple. We were two people with different priorities that were ready to move forward with their lives.
Him onto a loan lending secretary – who he proposed to – …a scuba instructor…an environmental lawyer…and the most recent one worth noting – which was the second one he proposed to – a park ranger. He makes up and breaks up so frequently that unless I physically meet her, she doesn’t even register as a real person. And while he’s out there, busy dating half the state, I…simply…lie in bed most nights that I’m not on call wondering am I too picky?
Don’t I deserve to be picky?
Hell, I’ve made it this far in life – in a lot of ways on my own – shouldn’t I get to be a bit choosier than committing to the first dude who mentions wanting to put another ring on my finger?
For fucks sake, I don’t even know if I want another ring on my toffee-skinned finger.
What I do know is that this restaurant is like a safe haven in some ways and good crabcakes are a comfort food I haven’t had in far too long.
“And there is a lovely face I have absolutely missed,” Tate O’Clery, my old favorite waiter, warmly greets upon his arrival at my table.
Green eyes too green for their own good sparkle down at me forcing me to push my thighs together in the most unobvious way I possibly can.
Lord have mercy on my poor Mrs. Robinson soul.
The guy is at least ten years younger and ten times dreamier than anyone else I’ve ever met.
He’s the type of beautiful man that talent agents give their card to with a cheeky “if you ever think about modeling, call me”. The type that gets on set as an extra yet somehow ends up in a speaking role and trending the day after the movie is out. His light brown skin – so light people often question what his background is until they hear him speak – is fucking flawless. We’re talking, please tell me your secret nighttime moisturizing routine type of perfect. Perhaps it’s because he’s still young and hopeful and stressless without the weight of a mortgage or maybe it’s simply that he takes great care of himself. All of himself. It’s easy to see he’s not allergic to the gym by the way his biceps bulge in his white waiter shirt, the same shirt that would be so easy to rip off and listen to the buttons clink across the ground as I drag a finger down the six pack, I know in my horniest of hearts he’s working with.
Or maybe it’s an eight pack?
Twelve?
Sixteen…?
Is a sixteen pack a real thing or are my underworked lady parts getting the better of me again?
Nonetheless, whatever he’s packing under that material, is chiseled, but it isn’t what gets to me the most, and not just because I don’t know if it’s really there or not. No. What I love most about him next to his Irish accent – which is from him living his first few years of life there according to a conversation we had when we first met – is his smile. God help me, when the man smiles, I not only forget what I’m ordering, where I came from, what I’m doing with my life, but my own fucking name.
He smiles – just like he is now – and it rewires my soul.
This I know is not good.
Not good at all.
He’s just a boy still trying to figure out how to be a man, and I’m a full-fledged woman trying to figure out how not to die the sad, old, lonely hermit who has more alpacas than friends.
And I know I’m headed that fucking direction.
I’ve even started looking at the cost to get my first one.
I also like the name Al for him.
It’s far from creative, but I never once mentioned creative being my strong suit.
“You are even more stunning than I bloody remember,” Tate compliments while adjusting my water glass on the table. Once he’s finished, he sets his green gaze on me. “Daniel running late again?”
“Um…,” my ass uncomfortably wiggles in the seat, “Daniel won’t be coming.”
“Oh.”
“Like ever again.”
“Deceased?” His dark eyebrows launch into the air. “But he was so young.”
