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Rolling onto my stomach, I groan into the pillow. “Goddamn fool,” I mumble.
I push up on my forearms and reach for my phone on the nightstand. Going through my typical morning routine, I open my email, delete almost all without reading, and respond to one from Dad. Instead of sending texts, Dad sends emails more often than not. It isn’t a generational thing. He just spends more time on his laptop than his phone and typing out a quick email is more convenient.
Good morning, son,
Hope the first week conjured up more of your magic. Let me know when you’ll be back and we’ll have dinner at the house.
Love you,
Dad
I type out a brief reply and hit send.
Morning Dad,
I’ll call when I head home. Love you too.
The next hour goes by in a blur of social media posts. Procrastination at its finest and the perfect form of avoidance. But I can’t put off the fact I asked Alessandra to have dinner with me tonight. Details need to be sorted out. Messages need to be exchanged.
Dragging myself out of bed, I shuffle across the room and grab the town brochures off the desk. Parking myself in the chair near the fireplace, I sift through the pages and scour over the local food establishments. Familiar with some, I skip the places I’ve already dined in.
Three places stand out when I reach the end of the list. J’s Sushi Bar, Trixie’s Thai House, and Black Silk. Although I was in Black Silk’s upstairs club last night, I hadn’t dined downstairs. Maybe I should just throw all three options in a message to Alessandra and see which one sticks.
Opening the messaging app, I type out a text and stare at it for three breaths, thumb hovering over the send arrow before tapping the screen.
Braydon
Morning. Looking at places to meet up. Japanese, Thai or Black Silk?
I stare at the screen, my eyes losing focus as I wait for her to read and respond. The screen dims and I close my eyes. Mentally shake my head at the attachment already forming.
Don’t get attached. Attachment leads to serious. And serious equals heartache.
I toss the phone on the table and push out of the chair. Amble toward the bathroom and crank the hot water in the shower. Strip out of my boxers and step under the spray. Press a palm to the tile while the other wraps around my thickening cock and tugs.
My morning routine hasn’t changed much since my relationship with Gabby. If male virginity could be restored, mine would have in the year after we split. Not only had I not been with another woman, I’d also not touched myself. The idea of feeling pleasure after the person I loved rejected me seemed beyond wrong.
We were in love. Shelovedme. And then she broke me in a way no one else could.
Finishing in the shower, I cut the water, step out and dry off. I fetch a graphic tee and pair of jeans from the dresser. Slipping my glasses on, I brush my teeth and hair before putting on socks and shoes.
Today is a lazy day. No work and no agenda other than seeing Alessandra. Part of me wants to hole up in the room and watch meaningless television or read the book I purchased. But I doubt I’ll be able to stay put all day.
I pick my phone up and tap the screen. No notifications.
A pang twists beneath my diaphragm and I immediately despise the sensation.
“She’s working. Just stop.”
Unable to bear another bad cup of coffee, I slip my phone, wallet, and keys in my pockets, grab a hoodie, and exit my room. I dash down the stairs and out the front door of the B&B. One foot in front of the other, I pull my hoodie on and head for Main Street. To the one place I’ve avoided all week. Toward the one person I’ve tried my damnedest to stay away from but keep running into.
As I bite down on my breakfast sandwich, Alessandra sidles up to the table, hands on her hips.
“The Hook Up, huh?”
I chew the bite in my mouth, trying not to laugh, then swallow and chase it with coffee. I lift a napkin to my mouth and wipe.
“Pretty damn good.” I shrug and cock a brow. “I’m not the one who named the menu items. Don’t want people hooking up in your restaurant, don’t make it so easy.”
