“Enjoy your stress dreams.”
“I fully intend to.”
But walking out of Keller’s house, I finally allow myself a moment to process what the hell went down tonight. The excitement over meeting Ford for our … well, I was joking when I called it a date, but that’s exactly what it was. A date. With a man. Who cooked me dinner and made me smile and gave me all of his time and attention. A man whose body I couldn’t stop eyeing. A man who made me feelalive, whose deep tone and steady eye contact and overwhelming presence made me hard. So hard I’d wanted to tease him, and deny it all I like, I knew where I wanted that teasing to end up.
I’dwantedto make him come. And somehow, I beat him to the line.
My thoughts cycle back around to Keller’s genuine surprise over me still thinking of myself as straight.
I guess in the most clinical sense of the word, I’m not, am I? The whole notion makes my head spin. Sure, I’d wondered about all the different versions of me, but this is one I never would have seen coming until very recently, and even when I’d questioned it, the going through with things felt way too big to ever attempt. But I did. Almost without question. As I sat there at Ford’s table, inhaling his scent, letting his voice drift over me, I’d been wrestling with how to close the distance between us. At that moment, him being a man didn’t register, him being my friend did. And even with all the flirting between us, I couldn’t convince myself that he wouldn’t turn me down. Not having sex for years can fuck with your head, apparently.
Not that it mattered in that moment. In that moment, I felt it. Bone-deep. A desperate need to have his hands on me. To drag my body over his. To look into his face as he came.
I didn’t get to do the last one, but as Meatloaf said, two out of three ain’t bad. I’m also torn on whether that would have made things better or worse. In the moment, better of course, but now? After? It’s probably a good thing I missed something so … intimate.
Giving someone a lap dance has always made me feel powerful, but tonight was next-level. Taking a man like Ford to the edge … just by using my body. A shiver races through me.
Oh yeah, I’ve never felt so high in all my life.
My mind tugs at that thought, disrupts it, tries to lay the guilt on thick.Don’t forget about Tara.
I wrestle the horrible feelings down. Somehow, getting off with someone I like feels more disrespectful to her memory than all the sleeping around I did right after she died.
That had been a grief-filled spiral. A way of punishing myself. Of increasing the pain. And there wasso muchpain.
This … whether Ford writes me off as a fun time or not, this was calculated. Consensual.Wanted.
I had sex with Ford because he made me feelgood. She would have wanted me to move on. To feel happy again.
Logically, I know that.
Emotionally, I’m conflicted.
But there’s no point stressing about it all now. I remind myself to be patient. To go with the flow. Take it as it comes.
I don’t think that mentality has ever been harder.
14
Ford
I clutchthe coffees I’m carrying maybe too hard as I cross the street, but fuck me, I’m nervous. I’ve never been this nervous in my life. I don’tgetnervous, so it’s easy enough for me to compare.
But messing around or not, Orson’s special. I’ve already decided. There’s no way I’m letting him run off scared because of a little friendly fire, and if I know him at all, that means me taking the first step.
If we’re keeping on with a platonic friendship, I’ll selfishly take it and make more of an effort to stamp out all these sexy thoughts. Which won’t be all that easy when I’ve spent the past twenty-four hours replaying that lap dance instead of sleeping.
Orson opens the shop early on a Saturday, so even though I should still have my lazy ass in bed, I push through Oopsie Daisies’ door just past seven. He must be out back, and I hope like hell that he’s busy and didn’t see me and bolt.
It seems like a waste that I’ve never been in here before this all started. The shop is welcoming, calming. Timber floorboards, stark white walls. A brown leather couch with blue cushions on one wall and rows and rows of flowers literally everywhere else. The door behind the long counter leads out back, so rather than hang about here waiting, I let myself back there.
Orson is standing at a long counter, hunched over something, every line of his body looking tense. It doesn’t fill me with confidence over my visit.
“Morning,” I say as chipper as I can make it.
Orson almost jumps out of his skin. He glances around like he’s forgotten where he is, then lets out a long breath. “Hey, I didn’t hear you come in.”
Thank fuck for that. I step close enough to hand over his coffee and inspect his face for any sign of discomfort.