“No, no, it’s not like that.” God, this was embarrassing. “It’s just, he’s going to want to talk to me, and I don’t want to hear it. He needs to drop off my book and leave, and I don’t want to . . . cave.”
Brad’s mouth rounded into an ‘oh.’ “You need to stay strong about kicking his ass to the curb.”
“Yes. If you guys are with me, he won’t push as hard for a conversation.” Because Grant wouldn’t talk about the contents of my journal or the blindfold club in front of strangers, would he? “I’m sorry to spring this on you, but he’s going to be here soon, and my friend isn’t available.”
Elena was with her mother, whose church was across town. I didn’t see the point in her coming all the way here for something that would hopefully take two minutes.
Brad hung his arm around Hector’s neck, who responded by putting his hand on top of his partner. It was a loving gesture, wordlessly communicating they were a united front.
Hector’s voice was full of understanding. “Of course.”
The silver lining to the whole terrible situation was I got to know my neighbors while we waited for Grant’s arrival, and they were the nicest guys. They didn’t pry for details, but also didn’t shy away when I got emotional. We were strangers to each other, but it didn’t feel that way.
Maybe it was because we’d all heard each other’s orgasms.
“What are you doing tonight?” Brad asked, sipping the coffee I’d brought him. He was lounging on my couch while Hector perused the titles on my bookshelf. “We’re going over to our friend’s place to watch the Bears game. You should come.”
“Oh, thank you, but I’m not a football fan.” American football wasn’t rugby, but it was close, and I didn’t want the reminder.
“I don’t watch the ‘sports ball’ either,” he said with a grin. “I usually end up playing Beerio Kart with the other people who got dragged there by their partners.”
I gave a dubious look. “Beerio Kart?”
“Mario Kart with beer,” Hector said, reading the dust jacket of one of the books.
Brad shrugged off his partner’s flat tone. “Everyone has a can of beer, and you have to be done with it before you cross the finish line. But drinking and driving is illegal, so you can’t race while you’re drinking.”
“Yes,” Hector said, “he’s in his forties and still plays drinking games.”
Brad scoffed. “Whatever. He’s just mad because I always beat him.”
Hanging out with Hector and Brad’s friends was better than being alone. “That sounds fun,” I said. “You’ve convinced me.”
“Awesome. I’ll text Shawn and let him—”
The knock on my front door sucked the warmth from the room.
I was standing near the dining table, and as Brad got up to answer th
e door, Hector moved beside me. I couldn’t tell if it was protective, or supportive, or both. I curled my hands around the back of a chair, using it to keep me steady.
Grant looked like hell.
There were dark circles beneath his eyes, announcing he’d probably gotten as much sleep as I had. He hadn’t shaved. He’d showered and changed clothes, but he couldn’t wash off what he’d done. He was coated in guilt and misery.
He’d been expecting me to answer the door, and when he came face to face with Brad, the first thing he did was check the number on my apartment. Slow realization dawned in him as he understood I didn’t want to be alone with him.
It hurt to see him looking so distraught, but then there was my journal in his hands, and that made everything hurt. Needles stabbed at my eyes, filling them with tears. A hive of angry bees swarmed in my stomach. I couldn’t stand to look at him and turned my head away.
“Tara.” Hearing my name in his broken, defeated voice was a punch to my gut.
Brad’s tone was firm. “You have something for her? I’ll take it, and you can go.”
“What? No, I’m not giving this to you.” He sounded horrified. “I need to talk to her.”
“No, man. That’s not going to happen.”
“Tara,” Grant pleaded. “Please. Look at me.”