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ChapterTwenty-One
Skye
Chloeand I have been friends for so long, we finish each other’s sentences. We communicate with just a glance. Things that Gideon and I have been doing now for the last several days. I love that she’s here, and at first, the three of us have fun. We sit in a round black banquette together at The Golden Hoosier, a relatively new bar in South City. It was my idea to come here; I thought Gideon would like the vintage vibe and the art-deco bar.
Even though we weren’t hungry, we ended up sharing smoked tandoori wings and garlic parmesan fries. Chloe and I both drink fancy, silly cocktails, but Gideon does a bourbon flight. We did Uber to get here, so we could all enjoy ourselves. I’m glad now. But watching Gideon taste the bourbons, I think about his story about scotch and the leggy, well-endowed bartender named Natasha.
This isn’t going to last much longer. I know his friend Wamba called him the other day. He’s liking the desert, likes being near his kids and his grandkids. Part of me is thrilled that Gideon plans to buy Wamba out and put down some roots here. But I know once he leaves my place, the intimate part of our friendship will be over. He’ll be back to messing around with the intriguing, sexy women who populate his world, which is so different from mine.
We’re having fun, but I’ll never be the kind of woman to hold his attention for long.
That thought—the picture of Gideon with a blond jazz singer with pipes and tits like a centerfold—makes my eyes burn. Chloe says my name, so I blink before I look at her and see that she’s pointing to a guy who just walked in. He’s cute, yeah, but he’s not Gideon.
I can’t say that to her, though.
“What do you think?” she asks me.
When we were younger, during our college years, we would go out drinking with other friends, and we’d watch guys. Decide if we would date or do them. Probably not politically correct these days, but it was harmless fun for us, and now and then if we’re out together, one of us will point out some random guy and expect an answer.
“Date him,” I mumble, aware of Gideon’s eyes on me.
“Really?” Chloe leans into me. She’s sitting in the middle, and while I’m okay with looking at Gideon across the table, I wish I could sit close to him. “He’s pretty hot.”
“He’s okay,” I agree. I should go with it, play along, but I can’t. Not with Gideon watching me.
“I’d do him in a heartbeat,” she announces. She peeks at Gideon and snorts with laughter at the pinched expression on his face.
“Is this a regular pastime for you two?” he asks. As if he’s not invested in our answer, he picks up a Glencairn glass and studies the amber liquor.
“Yep.” Chloe’s grin is the wicked variety, saved for a sibling in a moment like this.
“That’s sexist,” he tells her.
“I know.” She flinches, like she thinks she’s really offended him. Gideon flicks his gaze to me for a second and then turns his attention back to his bourbon.
“That guy’s too…vanilla,” I tell Chloe. “Too pretty.”
“What? You’re into dark and dirty now?”
I snort softly when I see Gideon frown in my peripheral vision.
“Dark and broody, maybe,” I admit. “Not dirty.”
“Unless you’re talking about sex,” Chloe corrects me. Gideon, still leaning over his glasses, arches an eyebrow at me.
“Goes without saying,” I answer. Dirty sex with Gideon is mind-blowing, but my favorite way to be with him is when he’s slow and sultry and focused. Can’t tell her that, though.
“How about you, Gideon?” Chloe asks. I nearly swallow my tongue, wondering if she’s really going to ask him how he prefers sex. “Have you met anyone here?”
Not quite as bad, but the way she asks makes me want to defend him.
“Nope.” He shrugs. “I spend my time at The Hep Cat.”
When Chloe looks back at me, her eyes are still a little sad and troubled, like she’s worried about him.
“My parents are dying for a grandchild.” She rolls her eyes. “I swear Mom asks every time I talk to her if I’m seeing anyone. I finally told her I could book a date with a turkey baster at a fertility clinic.”
Gideon and I exchange another glance. I don’t know what he’s thinking. Probably that he doesn’t want kids. Ever. A guy who likes to roam the country and live life by his rules doesn’t want to be tied down with a kid.
In my mind, I see myself straddling his lap on that piano bench, pushing his pants open, and wanting to feel him inside me with no barriers.
I want to have children someday, and while I know I’m not ready yet, the thought of having Gideon’s baby to love once he’s out of my life strikes a pang of longing so deep, I excuse myself and slide out of the banquette to go to the restroom.
When I come back to the table, Chloe and Gideon are talking about their parents. Their dad hurt his back last year, and he’s still having some issues. Chloe talks about it all the time with me; Gideon rarely speaks about his parents. Chloe says their dad’s pain is getting worse. I check out of the conversation, Gideon’s music in my head. He’s played for me again. Some of his pieces are rousing and loud and furious; others are soft and light and happy. But none of them haunt me the way that first one did.
“Never Bliss.”
It strikes me while I sit there that even Chloe talks down to him. I know she doesn’t mean to; she doesn’t mean to hurt him. But she belittles him just the same. Maybe it’s partly his fault for not speaking up and telling her, telling his family, who he is and what he wants.
At the moment, I don’t want to coddle him or protect him. I want to prod him out of hiding and make him live out loud. Then again, he’s told me he lives how he wants. He doesn’t miss having a relationship with his dad. And his future looks so different than mine.
