Chapter Seven
Darren
The french fry being unceremoniously dunked in my chocolate shake is gone a second later, but I finished all I wanted to eat a while ago. Sangria and tapas left very little room, and I’ve never minded sharing. Besides, there’s too much going on in my head for me to crack a joke about my favorite food thief, and I plant both elbows on the table and rest my chin in my hands.
“I almost kissed a man tonight.”
Sage snorts as she grabs another fry. “Oh, breaking news. Local gay stud nearly engages in an act favored by middle schoolers who spin bottles.”
“Hey now.”
“What? Why do you sound so surprised? And why did you onlyalmostkiss him? He’s not straight, is he?”
It’s my turn to snort, just as I fall back against the booth. “No, not straight. But also—he’s not someone I’m supposed to kissjust because I enjoyed sharing dinner with him. I’ll kiss him some other night, when we’re—”
I trail off and sip from a shake I don’t want anymore because it’s probably kinder than treating a 20-year-old to the story of another escapade—past, present, or future—even if she’s calmed my busy head a hundred times before. I’d met Sage her second night of working here as a teenager, and my habit of making people comfortable around me had meant she’d stopped shaking by the time she brought me carbs and ice cream that very first time. Then she'd turned around and mastered that same habit, and while I’ve never been as unsteady around her, Sage figured out how to keep me still better than when I was on my own, and quieter than I knew how to be anywhere else. Within weeks, our middle of the night conversations had turned to friendship, but it means we know each other well. She smiles now, too curious for her own good.
“So, you’re planning to fuck him.”
“I am.”
“But you went out to dinner with this guy tonight, had a great time, and couldn’t kiss him goodbye because you haven’t fucked himyet?”
“Come on, what’s with the filthy mouth?”
“Don’t baby me, Darren.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, kid,” I say with a wink. “And yeah, he and I—we weren’t on a date. I’ve known him for years, and recently we talked about fucking around together, but that’s it. I shouldn’t want to kiss him goodnight. Not like that.”
Sage slides out of the booth, other tables deserving of attention, too. “God forbid. It’s gotta be all or nothing, or else you’ll accidentally fall in love.”
I ball up one of my dozen napkins and throw it at her before she can walk away, knowing full well that she’s sassing me and ignoring the way my heart pounds in spite of it. For our own messy reasons, Jake and I don’t do love anymore, but Sage hasn’t experienced that kind of heartbreak, and I’d rather keep her belief in fairy tales intact.
Her belief in that one, at least.
For everything she knows about me, I’ve learned plenty about this young woman and her own story, and her faith in a happily ever after is one of the few things that motivates her day after day. Her parents have been married since about five months before she was born, and they’ve stayed together through another six babies after, and when Sage can forget how difficult her life has been, she wants little more than what her parents have. They’re all stretched too thin though, and she’s been working to help support the family for a long time. From what I understand, that’s also true of her closest sibling, River, though I’ve only met him once.
I hope he believes in love, too.
But I’ve been done with it since my divorce, and Jake’s been done with it since his wife died, and while kissing someone without being halfway to an orgasm is certainly a thing people do, I think tonight I would’ve been reaching for something that isn’t there, and I like to keep my hands free anyway.
For a moment, I consider waiting for Sage to return so I can make an argument on my behalf without hurting either of us. Instead, I leave too much cash on the table and give her a grateful wave on my way out the door. Even an incomplete conversation with her has relaxed me, and the short drive to my house is one I make without the restlessness I’d brought to the diner. Once I’m home, I’m comfortably sprawled on my bed within minutes. I do exactly what I told Jake I would, each familiar stroke of my cock made more interesting when I remember he got off thinking about me. His confession wasn’t one I expected, but I replay it over and over now. When I come, as unabashed about it as ever, I only wonder how much longer it will be before he can hear me.
The next day, we all receive texts with an official invite to Adrian’s gallery grand opening later in the month, and when V quickly agrees to cover Trailhead with Zach, it means Noah, Riley, and I can RSVP immediately. It takes Jake longer, probably because he’s in his office buried under work, or maybe on the phone with his daughter, but after another hour or so, the group text receives his yes, too.
I don’t actually talk to him until he’s back for trivia night again. He walks in wearing a leather jacket so similar to the one torn in the crash that I might not have known it was any different if I hadn’t seen the damage myself, and his jeans fit him as well asany pair I’ve admired before.
I’m shirtless, of course, and I hope he’s admiring me, too.
It's difficult to keep from going straight to him, but a line of bottles and drafts in front of me keeps me busy, and I nod a casual hello before I hand out the beer and move on to another couple of drinks. There’s always a rush of orders right before the host rouses the crowd, and I’m grateful for the chance to move with it tonight. Last week’s bachelor party meant I didn’t have to consider how Jake and I might have changed after his wreck, but our dinner only muddied friendly waters, and I think I’d underestimated the reaction I’d have to hanging out with him here. We’ll spend the next few hours in a space shared by people who know both of us well, and there’s a chance that a conversation with him could give too much away.
My friends can know about everyone else I fuck around with, but I don’t think I want them to know about Jake.
And really, I can’t imagine Jake would want everyone at Trailhead involved in his personal life. He’s always mostly kept to himself, and whatever his motorcycle crash knocked loose between the two of us, I’m guessing he’d prefer that it stay there. As much as I love everyone here, they’d have so many opinions, loud and uncensored, and I don’t—
I don’t want anyone to point out just how stupid it is to expect me to be good for anyone.
So, while I only sort of kinda meant to, I’ve somehow switched ends of the bar with Riley, giving them more time to talk to our friends for the second week in a row. I refill a few drinks forour liquor vendor and the friends he’s brought with him, and I monitor Zach's work around the room. Our spare bartender is still cute, and I’m still unsure he’ll last through the end of the year, but neither requires an intervention on my part, so I take inventory of the rest of the crowd. Most of the stools at the bar are full, as are the high-top tables scattered throughout Trailhead, so many people waiting with a pencil in one hand and alcohol in the other. I wink at one I followed home a year ago. I wink at another I think I’d follow home now. I spot two couples shooting pool, and both will tip incredibly well as long as Zach doesn’t fuck it up. Nobody is riding the bull, and that’s been true more often than not lately. I make a mental note to ask V about it, but then the host taps the mic, and I let my heart beat a little louder while I listen for question one.