I look toward the window I know is her bedroom; still dark. Still asleep. The living room windows are still lit; just as they were when I drove away earlier. Just as they were each time I woke overnight.
My best friend is scared of the dark. That fucking boogeyman has been tormenting her every day of her almost twenty-one years. For most of them, I’ve been able to hold that fucker at bay. But now she demands independence. She demands emancipation.
She kicked us out and allowed her fears to walk right on in.
Moving out of her street before Jon drives in and catches me, I continue running and head for Kit and Bobby’s house. Then I’ll cross to Main Street and look in on Tina.
Like every morning, my Nikes slap the pavement in a rhythmic beat that sends me into a meditative state. Run DMC pounds in my ears, and yet, Isabelle Hart’s voice is louder.
Her hurt, when she overheard me and Bobby talking about my date.
Her eyes, when she hugged Bobby last night and caught me staring.
Any other day, any other year, that would have been me holding her. If she had a problem, it would have been my arms she sought. My comfort. But that’s not us anymore.
Now, I’m just a guy who hurts her every time we’re in the same room. And I’m still a pathetic fucking virgin.
My plan was to find someone else to fall in love with, to get over Iz, but maybe I’m going about it all wrong. Maybe I just need to get laid, to get over that gaping hurdle; the metaphorical neon light flashing above my head.Loser. Loser. Loser.
Maybe after that, I won’t feel so pathetic.
Maybe after that, I can go to her as a man and she won’t ever have to know I pathetically waited for her.
I was stupid to think that other men wouldn’t try to seduce her. She’s beautiful; the most beautiful woman I know. She’s smart, and sexy, fierce, and confident. She’s a fucking fighter, a champion fighter. We train her up, put her on stage for show, then I get mad because, one: I don’t make a move and claim her as mine, and two: someone else does.
What the hell did I expect?
Of course someone else would step up.
Maybe after I get my shit done, get my life in order, rid myself of that neon sign, I can try again. I’ll go to her as a man and ask for something more.
I can love Bean.
I already do.
Izzy’s single.
Bean needs a father.
Why the fuck can’t I step in and take back what’s mine?
“Oh, sorry man.” I stop on a dime and weave around a guy on the sidewalk as he steps out of the bakery beside Tina’s studio.
Coffee cup in one hand, and pastry bag in the other. Dark cap pulled low over his eyes, he grins and steps into the street. “No harm done.”
I watch him cross the street and climb into a brown sedan. With a shrug, I turn on my heel and jog down the side of the studio for my security pass.