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The little shit smirks at me, and I want to flip him off, but that would be juvenile.
“Remind me again why I keep you around?”
“Bet it’s because her hair’s blond and not brown.”
“Chocolate.”
His brows pull together. “What?”
“It’s chocolate. Not brown.”
“Same thing.”
Closing my eyes, I rub my temple. “Andrew?”
“Yes?”
“Fuck off,” I say, deadpan.
He jumps up, grabs his beer, and retreats into the house, his laughter echoing behind him.
“And next time, bring your own damn beer,” I holler just before the front door slams.
It doesn’t happen often, but maybe Andrew’s onto something. Maybe it’s time I put myself out there and open myself to meeting new people. He’s only saying what I’ve been thinking. For so long, I thought my ability to feel died along with Josie, but then Bailey came along and blew everything I kept tightly locked up wide open.
I’m tired of being lonely. I miss all the intimacies that come with having someone special in your life. Being able to come home to your partner at the end of the day. Cooking dinner together. Brushing teeth side by side. Sex. Fuck, how I miss sex. Not shallow and empty sex—I can get that anywhere—but sex with someone I want to wake up next to. Falling asleep with someone in your arms.
I want to grow old with someone.
I try to picture that someone, and unbidden, it’s Bailey’s face I see, taking me by surprise. I can no more stop the stab of desire heating my body and making my dick hard than I can stop the sun from rising. I don’t know how, but I need to find a way to get over this insane desire I feel for her. I have to break this cycle of wanting something I can’t have.
CHAPTER NINE
BAILEY
SIGHING, Isettle on the bench, taking a deep breath of the briny scent of the ocean that hangs in the air. I love everything about the harbor, but my favorite time is early morning or late evening. When you can hear the creaks and groans emanating from moored boats swaying gently with the ebb and flow of the tide and the gentle, rhythmic lapping of waves against the docks. Or the lone cry of a seagull. There’s nothing quite like the sound of a seagull to let you know you’re at the ocean.
During the day, those gentle sounds are drowned out by harsher sounds. There’s the voices of fishermen calling out to each other, mingling with the piercing squaws of now ravenous seagulls looking out for an easy meal. You get the chatter and occasional burst of laughter from groups of people strolling up and down the waterfront, taking photos, or buying food from one of the many food carts dotted along the walkway.
But today, I’m not worried about any of that. I’m focused on the man sitting next to me.
We chew in silence while I sneak glances at him, trying to judge his reaction. But he’s wearing his usual Kallan face. Stoic. Eventually, I can’t stand it anymore.
“So what do you think?”
“Can I level with you?”
I nod for him to go ahead.
“I hate lobster. I don’t like its smell or taste. Hated it the first time I tried it and still hate it.”
My jaw drops. “Why didn’t you tell me you don’t like it?”
He shrugs. “You wanted me to try it, so I did.”
“So you were just trying to humor me?”
“No. You love it, so I thought not liking it must be a fluke. Now I can definitely say I don’t like it.”
