Page 8 of The Jester and His Outlaw: Part 2

I tried that day when Jensen begged me to come to lunch. That was awkward and a big fucking mistake. If I’m going to erase her from my memory, that can’t happen again. Maybe it’s still early enough in the semester that I can get my schedule changed, save us both the heartache.

Who am I kidding? I’ll never erase her from my mind and as much as I tell myself I want to, I don’t want to forget being inside her, our skin touching, hot and heavy. The cries of pleasure that slipped from her when she let herself go. Cries of pleasure thatIgave her, the love I showed her when I couldn’t tell her how I felt.

My cock reminds me just how much we don’t want to forget after just a glimpse of the memory passing through my mind.

Like now. Riding a bike with a hard-on is not comfortable.

Needing a break and to stretch my limbs, shake her from my system, I pull into a gas station and cut the engine. I have no particular reason to stop here other than I don’t associate it with her. I’ve never seen her here, and it’s not nearly as painful as going to any of the cafes in town would be. Sure, I could go back home, but I don’t want to be there either. Maybe a part of me is hoping I’ll catch sight of her.

That’s a lie. I know a part of me is hoping. That’s why I drove to Bleudale subconsciously. Was it subconscious? I can blame it on habit, but it’s her. And seeing her will break me regardless if I need it or not.

Stuffing my key in my pocket, I leave my bike and head inside to grab a bottle of soda. Some sugar and caffeine might help keep my focus when I get back to study. The cashier’s scrutiny is rough. She stares at my face, my eyes, and I can see her noting the red rims and puffiness. Guys don’t cry, I get it, and if I were high, I’d blame it on that. But unfortunately, I’m not.

So I don’t blame her when she asks, “Rough day, sweetheart?”

“Something like that.” Her hard edge softens and the wrinkles around her lips remind me of Gramma’s. Her irises are warm, a dark honey color with little flecks of green around the edges. Crows-feet stretch from the corners of her eyes, but her skin still seems young. She’s likely old enough to be my mother, fifties maybe?

“It gets better, sugar. Promise.” Passing the scanner over the barcode on my soda, she pushes it back toward me when the machine beeps. I tap my card to the reader, then slip it back into the sleeve in my wallet. Wallet folded and back in my pocket, I look up at her. She would be shorter than me, but the store has the cashiers tucked away behind a high top counter, the floor raised. Plexiglass surrounds them so no one can reach for anything.

I chuff.Like I haven’t heard that before.“That’s what I’m hoping for.”

With a kind smile, she pulls a Snickers bar from an area on the other side of the register and hands it to me. “Chocolate always helps, but don’t tell anyone I told you. All the women in the world would turn on me for giving a man our secret.”

That earns her a smile and a light laugh, and I can’t say I hate it. Some light in my world brings a certain brightness that hasn’t been there in a while.

“On the house,” she says with a wink, and before I can protest, she calls the next customer to the counter, waving them over with weathered hands. Her gentle laugh reaches me as I make my way to the door, a little hope blooming in my chest. I fish for my phone, aiming my finger over Jensen’s number.

“Yo, you alright? What’s up?” His answer is frantic, worried, and I’m instantly bombarded with guilt. My mood has been such a nightmare… scratch that,I’vebeen such a nightmare, that he can’t answer the phone without worrying over me. Exactly what I don’t want him to do. That’s the whole point of keeping people farther than arm’s length. I don’t want them to worry about me. I may need to push Charley away, but Jensen has clarified that he will never leave me. My lack of belief in that notion is futile, because he won’t give it up.

Charley won’t either. She’s proven that point, hasn’t she? Why won’t you let her in? Why does she differ from J?

While my mind makes a great point, I have an excuse for that. Jensen isn’t a lover. He’s just a friend, a brother. He makes it hard to push him away, but I still can when I need time to myself, which is most of the time. Letting Charley in means I can’t do that. How do I explain to her that despite wanting to hold her all fucking night long and never letting her go, my demons are demanding I make her leave? My demons always win.

I can’t, and I won’t, do that to her. She’s too precious.

“Yeah, I’m good. You doing anything right now… other than the Fox?” Laughter tumbles through the phone’s connection, and I hear Foxy griping in the background.

“Naw, man.” He yawns, and it makes sense now why he was so distraught answering the phone. I must have woken him. I glance at the screen. It’s barely eight at night. What the hell was he doing asleep?

“Up for a ride?” I ask him anyway because if I don’t, he’ll force it on me, demanding I get out of the house. I always call with a purpose.Dick.I need to check on my brother more.

I’ll do better,I tell myself. Who knew a candy bar from a random person at a gas station would make me feel heaps better.

“Hell yeah, thought you’d never ask. Gotta work in those new boots,” he digs, goading me. I didn’t contact him specifically about paying my rent. I honestly didn’t have the energy to argue. Selfish, but yeah, I needed it at the time. I’ve spent the last however many years taking care of my sick grandmother, the last month in agony over both her impending death and a girl I love but can’t have. A selfish moment wouldn’t hurt. Not like I would be in the apartment much longer anyhow. What’s one month of missed rent for new boots?

Doesn’t matter anyway because in the end he paid it.

When I was told that it had been paid, I slipped the fact casually into our conversation and thanked him for paying it. He left the conversation that day with a look of suspicious surprise on his face, having expected an argument.

“Fuck you. They’re getting their use. Trust me. I’m in town, be there in five.”

“Yeah? Alright. See you in a minute.” I hang up and stuff my phone in my pocket. When I get to my bike, I organize my pack and put my drink in there. Street bikes don’t have cup holders, annoying, but what can I say?

“Well, well, well… looks like the garbage men forgot something.” I take a deep breath, ignoring the rage coiling in my guts. As one to avoid confrontation, I pick up my helmet. I don’t realize how close Jonas is to me, though, and he slaps it out of my hand with a crack. It’s not a super expensive helmet by any means, but it took me a lot of time and money to do the custom paint job that is now skidding across the cement. Fury penetrates my good mood.

I should have known it was too good to be true. Good things never last.

Giving him no reaction, I follow the trail my helmet took to retrieve it. Sure enough, the fall scuffed the clear coat, but luckily not too deep and I think I can repair it without having to paint the entire thing over again.

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