AllFreeNovel
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“I’ll be waiting. Will you be kid free next weekend?”
“Probably not? Trevor already said he’s going out of town. I’ve got the texts saved.”
That shouldn’t be so disappointing. And I’ll still have them to myself in a week. I can wait a week to kiss them and come with them.
“Right, well, try to get some rest?”
“Yeah. With all my free time.” They laugh as they pull on their pants. “I’ll stay awake next time. You don’t have to walk me out.”
They leave before I can protest. That isn’t what I meant. Maybe it’s better to leave things as they stand. Let them pull away slowly instead of drawing them into complicated, messy feelings. I like them too much to let them think I resent the lack of sex, though, so I text them.
Saint:I had a nice nap with you. Thanks for spending your free time with me tonight.
I add and delete a heart emoji. That might come on too strong. Angel sends back a thumbs up. Well, they’re in a rush to get their kid. I shouldn’t expect a wall of text or anything.
Saint:You’re an amazing parent and you’re doing the best you can.
Angel:I guess. Doesn’t ever feel like enough for anyone.
I type:you’re exactly right for me. Stare at it. Delete the message. Type it again, in half a dozen reworded permutations. I settle on sending something more innocuous.
Saint:I’m sure your kids would tell you that you’re plenty.
The only reply I get to that is a laugh react, but Angel’s got to be driving, so I try not to read into their silence.
I care about Angel. As a friend, and as someone who I really enjoy fucking. That might look a lot like romance, but it doesn’t change the core of who I am, and I don’t want it to. Even with Carl, I’ve never had the sort of swoony squishes he gets on every new romantic interest. That internal giddy drive to pursue someone specific to be with them.
It just gets complicated because I enjoy sex and it’s even better with someone I like to be around after we both come. Much like how movies are better with friends. I love my friends, and I try to bring as much to my friendships as I take from them. Angel is just becoming areallygood friend, and most people don’t take it well if I reciprocate a romantic love declaration with caveats and declarations of undying friendship.
So when Carl gets home from running bingo night for his senior citizen charity, I’m waiting for him. I bring a bottle of wine I meant to share with Angel in the afterglow over to my bestie’s place. Carl will distract me from the growing emotions I’m not ready to face.
Carlgrinswhenhecatches sight of me lurking outside his door when he gets back from his bingo night. Days of Grace is the elder care charity he started and now runs. It’s his dream job, but the sweet bear of a man is also genuinely friends with most of his clients. His smile falls as his gaze flicks from my face to the bottle of wine cradled against my chest.
“You okay?”
“Oh. Yeah. It’s nothing. I just wanted some company to share this with.” I hold the bottle aloft.
Carl doesn’t bother checking the label since I’m the wine snob between the two of us. He likes his wine as sweet as he is and he trusts me to take his palate into account when I buy for us. He steps past me, pulling out his keys to let us into his half of our duplex.
The side by side two-story units share a mirrored layout, but we have very different styles. His place is a riot of bright colors and warm textures. Throw blankets on his overstuffed couch, a braided rag rug in the entryway, that sort of thing. He’ll change up the decor seasonally too, the big sap.
My place is elegant neutrals that looked nice in the showroom. Carl calls it austere, but I like things simple. I made sure the seating was comfortable and then sort of left it as a blank canvas. Not like I’m leaving room for a partner’s personal touches. I have no plans to share my space with someone as vibrant as Carl again some day.
Except the more Angel keeps coming around, the more I could maybe envision them leaving their mark on all my pristine neutrals. Which is absurd. The thought even crossing my mind should be a flashing neon exit sign to end this thing that’s been going on between us for the past while. With anyone else, it would be. But Angel is safe, because they don’t have the time to pick out throw pillows or paint my walls or whatever else.
We make a quick detour through the kitchen for a bottle opener and two stemless wine goblets. In contrast to my home’s starkness, Carl already has plenty of his own home decor. As evidenced by the fact he has to toss dainty throw pillows onto the floor to make room for us on the couch.
“Is that why they call them throw pillows?” I muse.
“Huh? You lost me, babe.” Carl reaches for the wine bottle. I hand it over so he can open it for us.
“You know.” I gesture at the pillows now littering his cushy area rug. “Because you throw them on the ground to actually use the furniture.”
Carl tsks at me. “Just because your home sense is inspired by Stay-Puft…”
“It’s not!” I shove at him. Although he’s not entirely wrong, shades of marshmallow would describe my home’s color palette. Sure, it can be a pain to keep it clean, but it looks nice as long as I keep up with my housework and it’s not like I have kids or pets around to stain the upholstery.
“Hey, watch the wine,” Carl warns as he pours us each a glass.
