And it was tremendously distressing, knowing he grew up with that, and knowing they didn’t seem inclined to let him go.
But he was here.
They were wherever they were.
And he’d chosen his path, and it didn’t include them.
So it might not all be good.
But it wasn’t as bad as it could be.
I thought that then.
Which meant I had no idea what would happen in the future.
And just how very much was missing.
And how that would blow up in both of our faces.
So, I was a wuss.
After Knox dropped the bomb about not sleeping with Cheyenne in all the time they were together, I texted him that morning to say I wasn’t dropping by, and I’d see him after work for our chat.
I expected him to call me on my wuss-hood, but he just replied, Okay, baby. You pick for dinner. You know I’ll eat whatever you bring.
I did know this.
And like every little detail about Knox, I treasured it and it gutted me.
Knox wasn’t a picky eater; he was an adventurous one. In our short time together, we’d done Korean barbeque and he’d introduced me to Lucky Boy, even if I’d grown up in Phoenix and never heard of this tiny place that served delicious burgers and shakes, and all good things fried, like corn dogs, mushrooms and hot poppers, and had been doing so for decades.
And Lucky Boy was what I’d decided we’d have for dinner.
I was able to live through my wussiness during the day when I was busy earning a living, and my mind was busier with fretting about my upcoming conversation with Knox.
The one meaningful thing I’d accomplished all day was giving Byron my sister’s number, which made him smile such a huge, loopy, happy smile, it temporarily lifted the confusion in my head and made me happy too. I was hopeful, since about five seconds after I walked away from his table, he seemed to be sending and receiving a ton of texts all day—all of which brought the return of his cute, dopey smile—that wasn’t going to go directly south.
Reminders of my wussiness didn’t come back when it was close to quitting time either.
This was due to the text I received from Knox, which made me feel a far different feeling.
Forget food. Just get your ass to my house after your shift.
I wasn’t fond of this turn in tone, or his order, so I returned, What’s your deal?
Just get here, was his reply.
Did something happen? I asked.
We’ll talk when you get here.
I was rethinking our chat, mostly the fact that I didn’t want to work all day, fret all day, simmer in my wussiness all day, and then walk in on a cranky hot guy.
Maybe he was cooped-up cranky. Just one dinner out in a full week didn’t top up a guy like Knox.
Maybe he’d stewed about me dissing him on a morning visit and bringing over Jacques, and he was wound-up-about-that cranky.
Either way, I didn’t want him to take that out on me.
