Nodding once, he looks away.
As I reach for the set of glasses placed on the bar counter, the tipsy woman on my left stumbles, crashing into me. One of the drinks sloshes all over my hand as I bump into Chase.
“Oops! Sorry!” she apologizes, smacking her friend’s arm.
A warm palm presses to the small of my back, steadying me.
Gentle, a whisper of a touch.
The contact steals my breath.
It’s hardly anything, just a graze. But I’m so used to angry fingers curling around my wrist, hard hugs, kisses that bruise, and looks that burn holes through me. I’ve grown familiar with it.
“You okay?” he asks, his hand lingering.
No.
I inch away slightly, feeling his palm splay, warm fingers intimately coasting over my bare skin through the opening of my dress.
He doesn’t know how much I’ve craved this. Needed this. Something so simple.
He couldn’t.
I don’t think I knew.
My skin flushes warm, and I scratch at the back of my hand for no other reason than to remove the tickle racing through me. “Yeah. Sorry.” When my breathing evens out, I gesture toward the bartender. “Can I get some extra cherries?”
The man nods, filling a small bowl with a heap of maraschino cherries.
“Cherries?” Chase eyes the glossy fruit.
“I’m addicted. I could eat a whole jar in one sitting.” Popping one into my mouth, I grab the bowl and the mai tais and trek back to the table.
Alex watches me approach, gaze simmering with ominous things. Instinct has me picking up the pace, adding distance between me and Chase as he trails behind with the remaining drinks. The moment I sit, an arm envelops my shoulders, a sharp tug pulling me right. I barely manage to discard my hoard, ungracefully depositing the glasses and cherries on the table.
Nuzzling his nose against my neck, Alex whispers, “You look fucking sexy tonight.” He nips my earlobe. “Tell me when I can get you out of this dress.”
My throat tightens through a swallow, and I place my hand on Alex’s knee, giving it a small squeeze. Chase watches us as he takes his seat, grip firm around his whiskey glass. “Um, I just want to sing a song or two first.” I reach for the Jack and Coke and slide it over. “Have a drink. Enjoy yourself.”
“I’d be enjoying myself more if you were riding me.” He flicks his tongue against the mole below my ear. “Tell me I can have you tonight.”
Embarrassment prickles my skin. He’s not being subtle or quiet. The bar lights blaze from above, sluicing me in sweat. “Of course,” I whisper.
We haven’t had sex in over a month. I realize I’m to blame for that. My libido thrives on intimacy and emotional connection, and things with Alex have been so tense. A disjointed black hole. But I can’t help but wonder if that’s only adding to the disconnect, the chaos. Maybe I just need to block out the noise and suck it up. After all, men are wired differently. I can’t say Alex isn’t trying when I’m not putting in one hundred percent either.
I clear my throat, glancing across the table to where Kenna is doing her best to distract Chase from the aggressive PDA.
“Are you a plant daddy?” she asks him, stealing one of my cherries.
Alex scoffs, disentangling himself from me. “What the fuck is a plant daddy?”
“A man who appreciates the quiet dignity of houseplants,” Kenna snipes, low-key offended.
Chase takes a sip of his drink, masking the flickering smile. “I do have a rubber tree.”
“No shit?” She twirls back around to face him, eyes alight with enchantment. “Rubber trees represent resilience. I love that for you.”
I prop my chin in my hand, watching my friend ramble on about the history and symbolism of a rubber tree. I watch Chase too. He’s polite but uninterested. His attention sweeps to me every few beats, like we’re having our own silent conversation on the sidelines. I wonder if he’s writing poems and lyrics in his mind like I am. My fingers itch for a napkin and a pen.
