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Please don’t open up to me, I beg silently.
I need to ease her guilt and give her enough confidence to walk away with her head held high with no regrets.
“We all have our reasons for our actions, whatever they may be. You’re young, beautiful, and whoever hurt you, he has what’s coming to him.” Reassuring her with a smile, I place my hand on top of hers.
Her lips curve upward, smiling innocently while taking some nuts from the bowl sitting on the countertop.
Oh no, not the urine nuts.
The number of hands that have touched that bowl—don’t go there.
Just remember your mouth will no longer touch hers.
“I had a fight with the guy I’m seeing,” she tells me. “I thought he’d spent the night trying to hook up with other women. We got into a fight, and then he tells me he loves me. I told him to back off, and the only reason he said that was because I told him it’s over.”
“Is it over?”
“I don’t know. I think I love him. And now I’ve ruined everything. I came here looking for him, and I’m walking away sleeping with you.” She painfully holds back her tears, shaking her head with guilt. “I practically bolted out of the room when he said he loved me. I was angry, hurt, and I couldn’t get over my jealousy. Women are always texting him.”
“That’s understandable. Love can do that to you,” I tell her.
Can you seriously hear yourself?
What the fuck do I know? I’ve never been in love, nor is it on my list of things to do. From my observations, emotions run high when you throw the word ‘love’ around. Nothing good can ever come out of laying your heart on the line only for it to get broken into a million pieces.
Maybe it could be compared to the time my mom washed my limited-edition Lakers jersey in the wash with her red shirt. I almost cried, and I didn’t speak to her for days. Every night, I’d go to bed hugging the damn thing, remembering all the good times we had.
The memory’s still painful.
“But here’s the thing, we’ve seen each other on the down-low, and I didn’t expect us to get this far, but we did. It’s been… fast… you know?”
“So, aside from that, what’s the problem? If you love him, then tell him,” I respond casually, brushing off her overdramatic problem. “So, we slept together, he doesn’t have to know.”
She’s clutching at the napkin, twisting it with a nervous jitter. I can see she’s tormented by her decision to have sex with me tonight. She foolishly assumed she could emotionally detach herself from her ex-lover.
“I’ve ruined it between us. He’s such a kind-hearted guy, and I ran looking for a rebound. You’re Mr. Rebound. Karma won’t let that one slide,” she openly wails. “I’ve hurt him. When I ran, I think he took it personally. He’s um… unique,” she quickly adds. “But that doesn’t change how I feel about him. I love his qualities, you know. He has such a big heart.”
“Big heart, huh?”
That’s usually code for a small dick. I laugh to myself.
“Unique like three-nipples unique?” I joke, thinking about Chandler in Friends and his ‘nubbin.’
Rose manages to half-smile. “He has a prosthetic leg. I don’t care, trust me, I love him for who he is inside and out.”
My stomach flips, slowly churning as the gut-wrenching pain followed by the urge to vomit teeters on edge. I clutch at the beer in front of me, drinking it in one go to calm the nervous energy building up inside. The sweat on my forehead builds, increasing my anxiety.
Please, please, let this be a coincidence.
“That’s… unusual.” I gulp.
“He lost it in a boating accident when he was five.” Bowing her head, she whispers in pain, “It’s so sad, but he never lets it get to him. He told me it’s because his best friends won’t allow it. They’re like brothers to him, and without them, he’d have probably killed himself.”
No, this can’t be happening.
Please, God, this can’t be happening.
A gust of wind rushes past as the door to the bar swings open.
