“One, when you said bachelorette party, you meant like a girls’ night out thing, right? Not a bunch of dicks swinging in my face?”
“Oh, honey, please say yes,” Leo says from behind her. “I want to see pictures of dicks hanging in her face.”
A literal cat snarl comes out of her mouth. “I was not referring to your OnlyFans page, Leo.”
I raise my eyebrow at him. He waves me off and says, “Oh, please. I wish.”
“If we’re lucky, dicks will slapsomeplaces at the end of the night, but no, there is no plan for strippers. Jack made me promise.” I roll my eyes, and Leo starts laughing.
Lenny nods. “Okay. Two, can I trust that you’ll keep an eye out for Gracie tonight too? I’m her mom, so I don’t want to crowd her. And I’m worried that she never goes out or has any fun when she’s in London, so I want her to enjoy tonight. But will you do that, just in case I’m too drunk?”
“Of course, Len. She’s my mini. I’ve got her back.” Lenny smiles at me. She knows that I’d do anything for Grace. The girl has helped me out of plenty of shit over the past few years when it comes to my shop. The funny part is, I don’t think her worry is warranted. I have a feeling Gracie goes out plenty when she’s away.
“That was only two,” I say.
“Three, I’m wearing my Crocs.”
“That’s not a question,” I tell her.
“I know it’s not. It’s a fact. You and Everly can go right the fuck off if you think I’m wearing high heels. The last time I wore heels, I was marrying a man and trying to convince everyone that I liked dick.”
“Jesus, Len.” I bark out a laugh. “Wear your Crocs.”
“That’s what I said.”
Vinny shuffles away, waving behind him. “I’ve reached my quota for the amount of times I’ve heard the word dick today. See you kids next week.”
The sound of keys and heavy boots move from behind me, accompanied by a snort of air. Many might think it’s a dragon dressed as a construction worker, but no, it’s Henry. I peer over my shoulder and catch a glimpse. Dark hair cut tight. Just the right amount of facial hair, a little more than scruff, but not a full beard meticulously trimmed. The smell of pine and leather mixed with that crisp, cold hint of snow on the horizon annihilates my brain whenever I catch a whiff. It’s ridiculous, really, that I can pinpoint those scents, but it’s him. He invades spaces either with his stature or smell. It’s annoying. Even now, his large frame moves toward the double doors, following out Vinny and Leo, and I have to look.
Henry manages to remain as delicious as ever. Granted, I can never say this out loud, but the man has improved with age. A few lines at the wings of his eyes and just a sprinkle of gray hairs that dance around his temples. Other than that, time hasn’t slapped him like it does to a lot of men. He’s still in great shape. I know he works out with Michael often, but I gather that most of his muscle comes from being so involved with his business. Perfecting outdoor excursions. Taking VIP groups on trails.
We’ve made good on our promise all of those years ago. When we do share time together, it’s laced with just enough hatred to keep us behind the enemies’ line, and never crossing over. It’s an effort.
“Leaving so soon, Hanky?”
“G, I’ve learned by now that when you start throwing the word dicks around, it’s my cue to leave,” he says back, without turning.
It took a year after that night in the alley with Henry for me to let the idea of being nothing more than someone that he used to know really sink in. I kept up with insignificant hook-ups, and the need to quell a sexual thirst that, for some reason, is never totally quenched. Even now, I hook up with plenty of men, a few women here and there, but I still keep kissing them to a minimum. I don’t want to forget how his lips felt on mine. I don’t want to water down the memory by adding others. I didn’t need therapy to tell me that I use sex as a way to feel close to people when I can’t be completely honest with any of the relationships. But I stopped slut shaming myself years ago and instead, live my life checking off kinks like a tickertape.
I also remember the first time I saw Henry with another woman. A brunette who clung to him at the Sugar Shack after the family had done a day’s worth of skiing and snowboarding. I did what I always do, meeting them for lunch mountainside and then drinks later. We all decided on a nightcap at the base of the mountain, and he went home with a brunette. That first time, it stung. Worse than I expected.
So, I stopped looking. He did too. There’s a part of me that thinks he’s still watching, even though it’s not obvious. All these years later, and I still wonder if it bothers him the way it does me. The way I hate the idea of someone else getting to kiss him the way that I crave to.
* * *
Every November, Henry and Law make a bet about who can grow the most obnoxious mustache. In addition, every year, all I think about is how badly I want to go for a mustache ride. Not just make the joke. Though I do that too. This year, Law beat me to it.
“What do you say, G,” Law says as he twirls the ends of his ’stache. “Save a horse, ride a mustache?”
Everly and Jack laugh uncontrollably, because we had just been talking about some of the new thoroughbreds that Asher brought home from his last trip out to Montana.
“Jesus,” Henry grits out, standing to clear his plate.
Asher chuckles as he tops off everyone’s glass of wine.
“Law, baby, all that chafing?” I nod toward his mouth and then look down at my lap. “The horse sounds like a smoother ride.” I give him a wink and the table erupts into laughter again.
I reach forward and grab my glass, but as I sit back, I’m met with a warm chest. “Sounds like you’ve been settling for boys, G.” Henry’s voice sounds low in my ear, tickling slightly as he breathes. I dart my eyes around the table to see if anyone is watching at how close he stands to where I’m sitting, leaning into my space. “You should know what it feels like for your thighs to burn from scruff and your lips to be swollen from being worked over properly. Not going to get that from a smooth ride.”