Page 58 of Your Only Fan
But what happened last time I took Linc’s advice? I ended up hurting Ezra and myself.
Just fuck him out of your system.
I’m a fucking idiot for even thinking that was possible.
I walk out of the Arts Department building and just mindlessly go back to my car, trying to think of a way, any way, to tell him my version of events.
“Dude, I’m so ready for the summer. Hot sun, hot chicks, hot sex. I can’t wait,” some student says a few feet away.
Of course. The cruise.
I get into my car, crank the A/C up, and get to work on my phone. I’ll find all the details if it kills me.
Hell, I’ll even go to that fucking cruise if I have to.
Anything. Anything to make him see me. The real me.
* * *
New Harlow Airportis a mayhem of people readying for their vacation and businesspeople going about their business.
There are flip-flops and straw hats galore and sweaty foreheads, musky, hairy men, and sunburnt arms all around me.
It’s still early, but I can’t stop my head from snapping in any direction, searching, looking, recognizing him in strangers only to be disappointed.
It’s a small airport. I can’t miss him. Yet the thought that I might scares me. It depresses me.
I can’t go an entire summer without seeing him. Without explaining. I can’t go an entire summer without looking at him, talking to him, kissing him.
A cab pulls over to the entrance and out he comes. He stretches out his tall body to its full glory. A loose-fitted, white tank top gives everyone a full view of his guns and his pecs from the side. A pair of short, tight jeans hugs his thighs, and a pair of pink sneakers with liner socks make his feet stand out.
Shades cover his eyes, but there’s no denying when he sees me.
The cab driver hands him two gym bags, and he power walks as far away from me as possible.
“Ezra,” I call after him.
He doesn’t turn. He mixes in with a group of people and weaves past them until he’s gained distance and I’m left chasing his back.
“Ezra,” I call again.
I try to run around people, and I get plenty of dirty looks. Ezra pretends he can’t hear me when pretty much the rest of the airport can.
Fuck!
I see a gap between two vacationers and make a run for it before they close it. It’s my only way of getting to him. He’s so close.
“Ezra, please!” I try again.
This time I manage to touch the back of his arm.
He stops mid-step and I crash into him, almost toppling us both over.
“What?” he asks in a cold tone that could make me freeze even in this Virginian heat.
“Please let me explain. You didn’t let me explain.” I try to sound composed, strong, anything that doesn’t make me sound pathetic, but I fail. Miserably.
“There’s no need,” he says and turns around.
