Page 4 of Something to Someone

I laughed and scooted the pickles in her direction as she pushed the olives in mine.

“I think you had more fun with it when you were living vicariously through me. Now, you have your own stories.”

“You’re deflecting,” she stated.

I sighed and popped an olive in my mouth. “Yes, but I thought I was doing it quite well.” The band at the front of the bar was doing a soundcheck, and in the short time we’d been sitting there, the crowd around us had doubled.

“I know you better than that, and I love you enough not to let you deflect,” she said above the noise of the bar and with her eyebrows expectantly raised.

Pursing my lips, I decided to tell her the truth, knowing that she’d get it out of me one way or another. “I’ve had a bit of a dry spell.”

“You’vehad a dry spell?” she repeated back to me. There was surprise laced in her tone, and I shrugged. I was a woman who enjoyed sex, and I was unapologetic about it.

Which was harder for people to understand coming from a woman than from a man. Because what was worse than a successful woman who didn’t want her entire life to be settling down and procreating? If I was going to do that, it needed to be with an exceptional man who made my life better. And nothing less. And the likelihood of finding someone so exceptional was growing less and less by the second.

“A self-inflicted dry spell?”

I pursed my lips and tried to hide my expression behind my wineglass.

“Somewhat, I guess. No one has really interested me recently. I just want to focus on myself.”

She nodded, and I could see she wanted to pry further, but she refrained. “That’s never a bad thing.”

“Nope,” I said, popping the “p.” “So, tell me about work. You said you had someone quit recently? Without telling you? Did they just stop showing up?”

She dove into the story, and I was more than happy to change subjects. Not only because I wanted to hear about my friend’s life, but because I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to tell her that the reason I was going through a dry spell was because I couldn’t stop thinking about her son.

After our encounter in my kitchen almost a year and a half ago, I hadn’t been able to shake the feelings he’d stirred awake within me.

I’d known about his crush—I would have had to be completely oblivious tonotnotice his occasional flirting and long looks—but he was that way with a lot of people. He was outgoing and charismatic toward everyone. But his confirmation that it was more than that, it sparked something inside me.

And I hated him for it.

If he hadn’t brought it up, I would have continued living my normal life, and I wouldn’t be plagued with questions of “what if”? Or the idea that, God forbid, he was actually right, and I would change my mind no matter the very real, horrible consequences that would come with it.

After that afternoon in my kitchen, he’d toned it down. Only flirting casually and keeping most of his feelings locked down. There was nothing too out of the ordinary—just the random text or wink when we saw one another. Maybe a reason to touch my hair or be close to me. But he hadn’t tried anything so forward again. He was so casual for so long that I thought maybe he’dchangedhismind. Until recently, when, for whatever reason, something had changed again.

He was no longer shy or quiet about how much he still wanted me. And every day it was getting harder to ignore.

“…since it’s Ryder’s birthday.”

Realizing I was a crappy friend, and I’d stopped listening for a second, I peered up from my bowl of olives in surprise when I heard her say his name. But I knew it was Ryder’s twenty-third birthday.

“Right, yeah,” I said, trying to recover, but Natalie didn’t buy it for a second.

“When did you stop listening?”

“Sorry, just say the last sentence again. I was lost in thought.”

She took a deep breath and repeated, “Theo is out of the house since it’s Ryder’s birthday, so if you want to come over later, we can watch that movie you were talking about the other day. The one with the blond guy?”

I didn’t have to respond, apparently my expression told Natalie how I felt about the offer without me having to open my mouth.

“Or not, that’s okay,” she said.

She sounded a little dejected, and I immediately felt awful. “Not because I don’t want to spend more time with you,” I reasoned. “It’s just been a long week, and I kind of want to go home and take a bath. Can we do it on Sunday instead?”

“I totally understand. And Sunday should work for me. Also, do you want real food?”

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