Page 99 of If It Can't Be Us

I smile to myself.

Hell yeah! I am a great shag.

I toss the condom and its wrapper in the trash, pee, and reflect on what just happened. It was wild and fun. And Leo’s right, we’ll deal with the condom situation in the morning. I’m not going to let anything spoil my birthday buzz. This is a tomorrow-Vivian problem.

Trying to look as composed as possible after such a wild encounter and our moment of stupidity, I step into the hallway and make my way back to the dance floor. I’m greeted by friends, laughter, and a Nelly song.

The rest of the night is a blur of laughter, shots, and dancing. The music pulses in the background, and I let myself get completely lost in the rhythm, laughing with friends who are just as caught up in the evening. Each shot adds to the buzz, and the worries from earlier seem like a distant memory. When it’s time to leave, I’m on a high, feeling euphoric and satisfied. The night was a whirlwind of pure, unfiltered fun—a perfect way to enter my thirties.

Chapter 30

LEO

Three Weeks Later

Wrapping up my lecture, I drum my fingers on the podium, glancing at the clock for what feels like the hundredth time. Fridays always seem to drag, with my last class ending around seven. Normally, I savor these moments, engaging with students and diving into the intricacies of psychology. But tonight is different. Vivian and I have plans to meet at Craft’s, our usual Friday evening spot, a tradition that’s grown into something I genuinely cherish.

“Alright, everyone,” I say, closing my laptop with a sense of finality. “That’s all for today. Have a great weekend, and don’t forget to review chapter six for Monday.” I try to sound casual, but my mind is already on the evening ahead.

As students start packing up, I silently pray no one approaches me with last-minute questions.

I’ve settled into a new routine over the last few months, and honestly, I’ve never been happier.

I’m on autopilot as I drive home, change my clothes, and walk to Craft’s. I’m meeting Vivian here at eight, and I arrive a few minutes early. She planned to work late tonight, as she’s been swamped with new clients lately. The stress has been getting to her.

Lucky for me, a naked massage always helps her unwind, and it usually leads to some incredible sex. It’s a win-win for both of us.

I slide into our usual spot at the end of the bar, where Noah has already set out an old fashioned and a Manhattan, just as we like them. Vivian texted me while I was on my way here, saying she’d be running a few minutes late.

At 8:15, Hurricane Vivian sweeps in, sliding into the seat next to me. “Oh my God,” she says, exasperated, tossing her purse onto the bar, taking a hefty sip of her drink. “Sorry I’m late.” She leans in, pressing her lips to mine, the taste of whiskey lingering on her lips, and it’s bloody delicious. She takes a deep breath, exhaling audibly, “What are we having tonight?” she asks, glancing at the menu before looking back at me, taking another large sip.

“Whoa, Viv… babe, slow down, yeah? You alright?” I squeeze her thigh gently and offer a reassuring smile.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she begins, her voice tight with frustration. “I just had a real shitty day at work. I’m super stressed, babe. I’ve taken on too many clients at once, and I feel like I can’t catch up.” She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers trembling slightly as they linger at her temple. “Then today, I had to go on site for my final walk-through at the Johnsons’ house—you know, the one I mentioned,” she says, her brow furrowing deeply. “And Nick was just making it so fucking awkward. Then we discovered this issue with one of the cabinets—it was made incorrectly. Now we have to rip it out and have it remade. Ugh, it’s going to push their move-in date back by a week because our cabinet guy is backed up.” She runs her hand through her hair, pausing to pick at the ends, a nervous habit of hers. “This delays the maximum time allotted for the home’s completion, which is going to cost the company money… I’m going to have to work all weekend.” She lets out a frustrated sigh, her fingers still fidgeting with her hair. “I just feel like I’m drowning, you know?”

She takes another large sip of her drink, her eyes glassy, hinting at tears she’s struggling to hold back.

“Babe,” I say gently, reaching for her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze, “I’m really sorry. That sounds like a shit day, and Nick makingit awkward doesn’t help. But you’ll sort it out—I know you will. You’re amazing at your job, and sometimes shit just happens.”

Vivian nods, her gaze distant. “I know… it just sucks.”

“It does suck,” I agree, my voice steady. “What do you need right now to unwind, love, so we can make the most of tonight?”

She smiles warmly. “This right here is all I need,” she says, squeezing my hand. “Just you.” She finishes her drink with a long sip and then waves to Noah for a refill, which makes me chuckle.

* * * * ** * * * *

Something I love about Vivian is that she is really fucking fun. Despite starting the evening stressed and frustrated, here we are, laughing our asses off and having a fantastic time.

“Okay, quick! You’ve got ten seconds to find someone in this room to sleep with. Who are you taking home?” Vivian challenges, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Ten, nine, eight,” she counts down as I scan the room, trying to catch sight of someone appealing. “Five, four…” She starts tapping the counter, making it more urgent. I struggle to find a woman I’m attracted to. “Three, come on, Leo! Two,” she’s practically shouting now.

“I guess the blonde woman over there, the one in the black shirt,” I say, pointing toward a woman who seems vaguely attractive.

“You mean the sixty-something-year-old who might be a grandma?” Vivian laughs heartily, tipping her head back. “Come on! What about that girl in the red shirt?” She gestures toward a younger brunette who’s definitely a better choice.

“Hey, in my defense, she’s a good-looking older woman. I’m not opposed to a hot grandmother,” I retort with a grin. “She’s probably great in the sack, loads of experience.” I chuckle. This is the game Vivian came up with after downing two Manhattans in less than thirty minutes.

“Okay, your turn,” I say. “Ten, nine…”

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