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There’s a bang on the door. If we’re not careful, we’re going to draw suspicion. So I unbolt the door as I stare at Hunter. He’s still waiting for an answer, but I have nothing for him. This part is on him.
“I don’t know,” I say as I open the door, and a man we don’t know passes me. “Just fix this.”
And with that, I leave the bathroom. Then, with a quick goodbye to the table—and a worried-looking Isabel—I leave the bar.
But it’s not far enough. Something tells me even getting a new apartment and a new job still wouldn’t be far enough to escape the damage we’ve done.
Rule #33: Fix it.
Hunter
The workshop is full.It filled up in minutes actually, and we already have requests for more, which is great, but as I stand at the back of the room and watch Drake talking to Silla, I find it hard to focus on the workshop. Instead, I’m brooding, wondering if I can offer Silla a place here at Salacious full-time, even if it means I have to watch her flirt with and befriend the man I love.
I know that even though he’s wearing that bright, flirtatious smile, he’s not happy. Not really.
Isabel keeps glancing my way. She’s watching my reaction. I don’t know, maybe she’s waiting for me to break.
Fuck, maybe I’m waiting for me to break.
Ever since the little fight in the bathroom on Thursday, Drake hasn’t spoken to me much. Nothing aside from work-related conversations about the workshop tonight.
Isabel hasn’t spoken to me much either. I’m single-handedly fucking up the two most important relationships in my life and I don’t know how to fix it. He just saidfix itas if it’s that easy. As if I know what the hell to do now. He wants me to come out as bisexual. Okay, will that really make things better? Isn’t that big step for me to decide? Am I really bisexual, though, because so far, he’s the only man I’ve ever wanted to put my mouth on. So what does it matter to him if I come out?
Except, I know that it matters. It matters because until I accept who I am, I can’t accept him. Until I can undo all the hateful, ignorant shit my father ingrained in me, Drake will never truly trust me.
Isabel glances my way again as if she can read my mind.
“Hey, Iz, come here,” Drake calls, pulling her attention away from me. She crosses the room, quietly discussing something with the other two while the room continues to fill up and the patrons start taking their places at the tables. The workshop is set to begin in just a few minutes.
Every few minutes, Isabel glances my way cautiously then back to them to continue their conversation. With a tight-lipped expression, she nods. I stand stoically as she leaves their conversation and heads toward me.
“Silla wants me to help demonstrate,” she whispers carefully.
“With Drake?”
She nods, watching me with a sheepish look in her eyes.
“Sure. I think that’s a great idea,” I lie. As if watching them on stage, again, is going to make this already tense situation any better.
“Okay.” Staying glued in her spot for a moment, I notice the way she chews her lip and watches me, as if she’s waiting for me to say more. “You know…if you want to come up there instead of Drake…”
“No,” I cut her off. “I’m terrible at it. Drake’s better.”
“It’s okay that you’re bad at it. We’re supposed to be learning.”
“You two look better together anyway,” I reply, and her breath hitches as she stares at me.
“Isabel, you ready?” Silla calls, but it takes my wife a few long moments to tear her eyes away from me. Finally, she rushes to the stage with Silla and Drake and plasters on the same fake smile that Drake is wearing.
From the back of the room, I stand silently, staring with a vacant expression. Unlike the last time, watching Drake and Isabel touch each other does nothing but make me feel empty. They’re not excluding me. I’m excluding myself.
In the midst of my internal pity party, a deep voice whispers from behind me. “I’d call this a success.” I turn to find Emerson Grant surveying the crowd. A sense of pride swells in my chest at his words.
“Yeah. People are asking for more too.”
“I bet they are. You somehow managed to put this together quickly. You should be proud, Hunter.”
“I am,” I reply, turning toward him, my words coming out flat.
