My First Love, My Pet Hate

Blond and his friend couldn’t have been a second over twenty, while I wasn’t exactly a spring chicken. Be that as it may, there I was—on all fours on the chesterfield in my office, mouth ready for Blond, ass in the air, hoping his friend would figure out which one of my one holes was the one.

This is what he did: fumbled with my balls and grundle, searching for I don’t think even he knew what, despite the light from the fixtures and the lightning illuminating the window wall.

But there was no such thing as inexperience to the horniness of a thirty-six-year-old guy who wasn’t exactly a spring chicken anymore. I opened myself even wider for him. “Can you see it now?”

“Yeah, hear me roar, baby.” He gripped my waist with an eagerness that made my breath hitch.

God’s nightgown, whoa, I thought. That’s how desirable the young old bag that was me clearly was.

Before I could fully revel in that, he thrust in, left me stupefied with the pleasure that surged through me.

But like the calm before the storm, I nearly launched him out of the chesterfield, throwing my ass back for more.

Earlier, in the gym, he and Blond had taken turns bench-pressing while I did back squats.

When their ogling caught my attention—and it was coming from faces and bodies that could have the hottest people anywhere, however they wanted them—it might’ve made me feel a little more special than they probably intended.

On the other hand, these guys were younger than me by all the years between us, so I pretended they weren’t there anymore.

Obviously, pretending for the first second was the easy part.

Then I remembered how sexy these children really were, and I just had to steal a glance at them.

Unfortunately, that glance caught Blond giggling, and it seemed they were debating whether the new guy in the room would be delirious in their twin-size bed or if the girl smiling back at the eyes they made at her was already jotting vows down in her head.

It bothered me that they’d moved on from the desirable old bag that was me so fast.

It was wrong.

With what little dignity I had left, I set the barbell down and headed for the stairs leading to the mezzanine, where my office waited—a space to lick my wounds.

The sound of a phone crashing to the ground behind me made me turn. It was Blond’s—a very expensive phone, and judging by the looks on his and his friend’s faces, the ‘accident’ hadn’t been accidental at all.

It was the kind of flattery a guy could easily get used to.

Still, that phone must’ve cost an arm, a leg, and maybe a few rolling heads. I asked, “What was that about?”

“Us wanting you,” Blond said sweetly.

What I, too, wanted.

But I had to at least pretend to be the adult in this situation. “You’re too young for me.”

“The whole point,” his friend replied with a sly smile.

“Meaning?” I wanted him to be cheeky, not confusing.

“We’re young, yes,” Blond answered. “Not in our teens anymore, yes, but still malleable. And bright enough to learn love and loyalty—things that guys your age are looking for.”

“Guys my age?” I laughed. As if thirty-six made me a dinosaur.

“But never mind that,” I also said. What I needed to know—what would put my mind at ease now that I might be interested in them and their jokes—was this: “Do you two read minds?”

They looked at each other and then at me like I’d said something outlandish.

It was a relief. “I’ll lead the way.”

Having closed the door behind us, I let them undress me, amused as Blond’s friend took far longer than necessary with my pants—looking for a zipper where there wasn’t any.

Then their clothes landed in a heap on the floor with mine.

With my mouth full of Blond  and my ass in the air for his friend, I moaned around him.

He hissed through his teeth, uninterested in hiding the intensity of his pleasure, and placed his hand on the back of my head—probably afraid I’d steer him wrong and end up somewhere medically unwise, given how tricky men’s bodies could be.

His friend gripped my waist tighter. “Now I don’t care if he’s got a will or not.”

Just as I was pulling Blond’s dick out of my mouth to ask why his friend would say something like that to another gay person, the sound of a man clearing his throat froze us all in place.

I could only close my eyes, ashamed of what I was doing with these man babies.

“Fuck!” Blond muttered, then, to whoever that was: “Dude, are you serious right now?”

I mustered the nerve to pull the rest of his dick out of my mouth and turn my face toward the door, where the throat clearing had come from, to see who that was.

I blinked in disbelief—a mother-of-god! moment.

That, to Blond’s friend, meant only two things: “Wow, so you’ve got a boyfriend after all,” and him pulling his dick out of my ass.

I grasped his arms to prevent them from leaving, still too shocked to say anything useful.

He threw my hands off him and unlubed himself with the wipes Blond handed him, like he was already over me and this was just another Tuesday.

“I don’t even know what a boyfriend is or how you eat it,” I finally said, frustrated with him. “If I do”—I glared at the wicked witch, leaning against the doorjamb, fascinated by us playing out in front of him—“then I’m a truck or the window or the lamp on the desk or whatever random thing you want me to be.”

They pulled on their clothes as if I hadn’t spoken.

Seeing futility in begging them to stay, I let them walk away from me without saying goodbye.

“At least bump him out of my doorway,” I said.

But the guy was as strong as he was good-looking.

I hurried into my clothes then, having already shown him more than enough of things a better man than him would’ve given up an arm, a leg, and even the head on his two shoulders for.

He, graceful as an actor in his movements, closed the gap between us.

In the very air that I breathed, he said, “It’s good to see you again, Corey.”

It didn’t feel right to say the same about him. An unfriendly stance—arms crossed tightly over my chest—felt like the most appropriate response here.

However, unfriendliness would take all the young and restless, sexy energy I still had. I sighed—because he was a real fun-killer—and said, “Good job, Julian Harrington Moreland the Eighth. You’ve scared off the only guys who didn’t go soft because I liked it too much.”

“Don’t mention it,” was his actual reply—seriously. “If they’re serious about you, they’ll be doing you in an even more unconventional place next.”

That was not the point, their being serious about me or not. “I don’t understand why you dredged yourself up after all these years.”

“I see now how badly I hurt you, and I want to make things right between us.”

“I don’t care, and there’s nothing wrong between us,” I said, to end an unhelpful conversation before it tired even him out.

He would not back down, however: “I treated you badly, Corey. That is what’s wrong between us.”

An admission of a wrong so sincere—honorable to be honest—it got my tongue a bit.

“I forgave you a long time ago,” I said, and I meant it.

“But I haven’t apologized.”

“You’d rather kiss my shoes?” Someone was on the edge of Annoying now.

The sheepish smile in his eyes made him even more handsome.

If I stayed here with him a second longer, I might end up putting my two lips on his fancy mouth.

“I was about to go home.” I made to brush past him.

His arm blocked my way. His gaze was soft, almost pleading. His lips—saying, “I loved you more than I loved myself, Corey”—were really something that could make a guy forget grudges he couldn’t afford to let go of.

But they were also something I didn’t need, thank you very much. So, “Resist the urge to be ridiculous,” I said, sidestepping him to go take my backpack from the visitors’ chair.

Turning back toward the door, I almost collided with him—someone who must’ve come from a place where they lied to each other about patience, persistence, or whatever else they thought paid off.

I didn’t operate like that. I simply eased out of his way.

“Go on a date with me,” he said urgently.

“No,” I said simply.

“Please, I won’t waste your time.”

“Please, I won’t give you the chance to.”

He looked disappointed, but also nodded in understanding. “I get it, I was something of a monster. I deserve this.”

Of course, understanding was what quitters did.

Lucky for him, I liked doing what I did next—showing quitters the door.

He, instead of following the direction of my hand, chose to stay planted firmly where he was, like my gesture had turned into a dare he was determined to resist.

“You’re a free bird, Tanner,” I said, “spread your wings and fly far, far away.” Before I actually fell for him.

He came and stood face-to-face with me again. “Any chance you’ll change your mind before I leave?”

“No,” was my answer.

“That’s too bad. Guys like you aren’t exactly a dime a dozen.”

I could say the same about him. “Guys like the pure scum that you are are scarce, Tanner.”

His eyes crinkled with amusement. “Fair. Too fair, actually.”

This—his good-humored nature and unflappable charm—simply melted me.

“Still interested in taking small-town little me out on a date?” I asked.

“Hell, yeah,” he said with a grin that would’ve made even big-city guys jealous.

“In that case, I’ll be here again tomorrow.”

“And I’ll be here before you.”

“That remains to be seen.”

“Okay,” he said, doing that little bounce people who enjoy a challenge do on their toes. “In the meantime, want a ride home?”

“For some reason, I need to leave exactly five minutes after you.”

He chuckled. “See ya, Corey.”

“See ya, Tanner.”

He glided toward the door.

While this may sound a bit forward, my eyes might’ve savored the sporti-bitableness of his ass a little too much.

Then he was gone, and it was such a shame he wasn’t the guy from my teens, the guy who’d held me close at the top of a Ferris wheel under a starry sky, and put lips like his on mine—the whole thing so cheesy I actually paused the kiss to have a little laugh.

He had laughed too, and it had made his lips more attractive, pulled me right back into the kiss.

But, another shame—he wasn’t the man he could’ve grown into: the guy climbing out of our Wrangler after me in front of a one-story farmhouse with a for-sale sign, its garden alone enough to seal the deal.

The reality was, I had spent my first night in that house alone, stretched out on a mattress on the floor, the moon making the emptiness around me feel even more dramatic than necessary.

Cut to my great room, where I lay on the couch, trying to beat a Rubik’s Cube with nothing but the light of a muted TV show, and loneliness was still the reality.

A knock on the door startled me a bit.

“Could it be Tanner?” I wondered, and the thought was a delicious one.

But my not-so-silent prayer, as I walked to the door, was, “Lord, please, may it not be him. A man must be as scarce as my ex was before he became what he became if I’m to believe anything he says.”

On the other side of the door stood my friend, a woman beautiful with her almond skin tone, and some might even say tailpipe smokin’ with that boy-don’t-think-I-came-here-to-play look on her face and the angry kitten perched on her arm like the poster child for judgmental stares, its fur still damp from the storm that had just passed.

Me, more conservative and normal than these people—who would’ve oohed and aahed—tried not to shift my weight from one foot to the other, hoping she wouldn’t notice how much I was struggling not to collapse into a puddle of unease in front of a friend.

Failing miserably, I said, “Your pussy worries me, Mal. Every time you visit, you bring a friendly snake, even though it’s always in its grass, not an angry kitten. Must I be worried?”

“Not at all,” she replied with a smile so sugary it was sinister. “All I need is for you to step aside so I can barrel in and give you the confrontation of your life.”

Which meant I wasn’t being a sissy for being concerned after all.

“What is this about?” I asked.

“Don’t worry, I won’t confront you too much.”

So I stepped aside like the bestest friend in the world, let her in, and closed the door. By the time I turned around—a second later, mind you—she’d flicked on the light in the great room, flopped down on the couch I’d just vacated (minus the kitten), and was munching on popcorn I’d forgotten about, as though she’d completely forgotten why she was here in the first place.

I followed her and sat beside her. “So, what’s going on, Mal?”

“Victoria fucking Ashford’s going on,” she replied, getting angry again.

A catastrophe I hoped wasn’t too much of one, even though I didn’t feel myself go pale.

In a burst of optimism, I asked, “By Victoria fucking Ashford, you don’t mean ‘I’m here to make blood wash into neighborhood storm drains’ Victoria fucking Ashford, do you?”

“Of course, I do!” came the passionate reply.

“Oh my god, you’ve come here to destroy me,” I said, collapsing dramatically into the back of the couch, already drained at the mere thought of impending doom. “I’m not even one of the flamboyant ones she hates. What does she say I’ve done?”

“She’s blackmailing me. Says she’ll tell even the ones who won’t listen that my grandmother is a pet-eating immigrant unless I kill you.”

The craziness of it had me sitting up on the couch. “So you’re here to kill me, the only White guy interested in being your friend?”

“Not yet, silly,” she said. “First I need to ask why you, out of all the men in Odawa County, chose to sleep with her eighteen-year-old child.”

“Wait…” I blinked, trying to process this troubling news and her plan to murder me. “The child who boned me less than one hour ago is her son?”

“Yes, damn right, the child who boned you less than an hour ago is her son.”

“But eighteen-year-olds are legal adults,” I protested.

“Not according to Victoria, her husband, or me on days when it feels like even the smallest inanimate objects around me are conspiring to make my life difficult or undermine me—a good Black woman.”

I rubbed my face in frustration, wondering how someone as handsome and rich as me had gotten here. “So, that was her son.”

“I repeat, she’s blackmailing me. Says I need to either kill you or she’ll destroy the pillar of the community that is my grandparent by… telling everyone the truth about her.”

“Wow”—at this point, this was psychosis, truth or not—“she’s really evil. She’s put you in a tough spot. I mean, it’s not every day we have to choose between our pet-eating immigrant grandparents and our gay friends.”

“I know, right?” Mal said, loosening her posture, probably mellowed by my appreciation of the mess I’d gotten her into. “I can’t believe I’ve already told her I need time to sharpen my knives.”

I shot her an incredulous look. “You’re seriously taking your illegal immigrant grandmother’s side over mine?”

“I’m not taking anyone’s side over anyone’s side, Corey,” she said patiently. “It’s the truth. If you’d just slept with her son and left it at that, she would’ve let it slide. But you had to go and make him think you want to marry him. Now she’s out for blood.”

So was I. It took real self-control not to flip the coffee table, which other people would have done over less.

“He’s eighteen, not a child, Mal,” I said. “And I was feeling old and lonely and ugly. Is that too a crime?”

“No. I have a way out for you if you’ll hear me out.”

“What’s your plan?” Now she had my attention.

“You need to show Victoria that you’re in a committed relationship. Something solid enough to make her think you could never be interested in her son.”

That was so clever, I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her on the mouth.

She wiped my kiss away with her sleeve, pretending to be grossed out.

I didn’t care—she had the brain of a hero.

“I’ll hire someone to pose as my boyfriend,” I said.

“Or you could use someone you’ve dated before. Someone you know, and someone who knows you well, for believability.”

“Whoa”—we were getting too creative there. “Believability won’t get me breaking anyone out of any prison or nuthouse, Mal.”

“I’m not asking for that, silly,” she said. “Just call Tanner. He’s back in town.”

I grimaced. “That’d be like saying, ‘Move over, bad—come in, worse.’”

“Yet you agreed to go out on a date with him.”

“Because going out on a date with someone and dating them are two different things.” And I shouldn’t have to teach a grown woman this. “You can just leave the table without even paying your share of the bill, but it’s hard leaving even someone bad for you.”

“Okay, I see it now,” she said grudgingly. “But on your other hand is Victoria Ashford, remember that.”

I imagined the woman beating the grown man that was me to death in the woods.

The picture made me shudder. And then again, just for good measure.

“Yeah, you should be afraid,” Mal said.

But a worse picture was of Tanner on live television, endorsing the Republican candidate for president—and in the same sentence—denying he ever knew “that gym-owning loser,” which, as I saw it, could only mean me.

It was the kind of situation that could make any grown man cry.

“How does Tanner still have that power over me?” I whined.

“You used to love him, and he loved you more than anyone else in the world. Now’s the time to use it to your advantage.”

She didn’t understand. “He broke my heart, loving me more than anyone else in the world. All it took for me to say yes to having dinner with him was him standing in front of me and making no sense. Forced to spend so much time with him, pretending to be boyfriends, I’m going to let him hurt me again.”

“Better that than you-know-what. You don’t wanna die by my hand—or worse, see how evil and unhinged Victoria can be, do you?”

“Of course not.” I was not that crazy.

“Then I’m done here.” She stood up. “Goodnight, Corey.”

I got up too and saw her to the door.

Once we were on the porch, where her kitten—now dry—was, I asked, “Do you think she’ll bite if I offer to pay her, to make all this go away?”

She made a face, doubtful about that.

I followed her onto the walkway. “I’m marching to her house like a band.”

“Hold up—wait for her to call you,” she said. “Or me, since I told her I needed to sharpen my knives first, hoping to buy us some time.”

The thing was, “Knife-sharpening doesn’t take a week.”

“I know. You need to quit your habit of worrying about bridges you haven’t reached.”

Her calmness nerved me. “Thank you, Mal. You’re a friend indeed.”

“Save the mushiness for the dessert tray you’ll dream about, also known as Silver-screen Moreland.”

“Shut your mouth, Mal”—though the idea made me grin like an idiot.

“Alright,” she said, leaving me for her Ford Ranger. “I’ll leave it all to your fertile imagination.”

I shook my head at how silly she could be. “Say hi to Raymond and Gavin, baby.”

She got into her car. “Careful what you dream about.”

“Anything’s fine, as long as I don’t wake up wondering how I ended up in Victoria Ashford’s basement garage.”

 

•

 

Contrary to what I’d feared, the following morning saw me wake up in my own bed, light filtering through the curtains—even if it was the muted light of a thundery summer day.

The day clearly blessed, I swung my legs over the side of the bed. Over the briefs I was wearing, I threw on the robe from the man’s valet, then pulled back the curtains and opened the window to let some fresh air in.

In the distance on the lake, someone was out on their dinghy, going about their dinghy business, as if the clouds hadn’t gathered and the rain was never going to happen.

They took me back to teenage Tanner and me—the two of us feeling like summer on that cabin cruiser, with him at the helm and me pressing a kiss to the top of his head while the boat glided through the water.

He treated me to the kind of boyish grin that could make a heart flutter.

I went for his lips this time, savored them just long enough before he pulled back, rising to his feet.

The twinkle in his eye told me he was far from done with me.

“Hold that thought,” he said as he moved to set the boat on autopilot.

“What are you doing that for in the middle of the lake?” I asked, half-curious, half-worried he was about to reenact a disaster movie.

He teased me with the beauty of his lips, brushing past me toward the sectional at the back of the boat, where his overnight bag lay.

“Close your eyes,” he—also known as the captain of the day—commanded.

I obeyed, but turned my face toward the water, afraid I’d open my eyes too soon and spoil the surprise.

The sound of him slowly unzipping the bag was a delicious form of torture. His footsteps, returning to me, made it seem like he was enjoying the suspense as much as I was.

With a gentle hand, he guided my body back toward him.

“Can I open them now?” I asked, practically bouncing on my toes.

“You can, baby.”

I blinked once, seeing what was in his hand, and then again, slower, to make sure I wasn’t imagining it.

Because I wasn’t, the love I had for him spilled out in the grin that spread across my face.

“I feared you’d think it’s a little, or even big, silly,” he said.

I took the leather-bound COUPLES’ ADVENTURE BOOK with a grateful flourish. When I opened it to the first page, the blank space made me smile, and I said, “I like your silly, Captain Moreland. In here will be all the rules you’re about to make me break.”

“You know the captain best,” he said. “Tell me again, how and why are we still not married to each other?”

“Maybe it’s because we’re still teenagers, I don’t know?”

“Don’t worry.” He put his hands on my waist and pulled me closer to the strength of his body, the promise of his lips.

Against mine, he murmured, “Someday I’ll marry you, and I’ll make up for lost time.”

“I’d hate to hold a grown man to things.”

“Not this grown man.”

“You mean you?” I didn’t wanna laugh.

“No, this.” His kiss.

Back to the present: today was someday. Today I was still on my own.

I wasn’t happy with that.

But he had also made me feel special on that boat, on that spot—kissing me and pouring all his love and care into it.

Maybe I could open my heart up to him again without getting too burned.

I turned away from the window, feeling invigorated and not just by the fresh air. Next, I stripped down and stepped into the shower. Enjoyed the lather of Whirlwind, a body wash by a designer whose name had somehow been scrubbed off, and the rush of cool water. Afterward I dressed in tailored joggers, a button-down, and leather sneakers, all for his male gaze.

First things first, though: I knocked on the door of the Tudor Revival at the end of my street, despite my fear of Victoria Ashford and Mal’s advice. Bullies respected people who took initiative and challenged them.

But when dressing gown-clad Victoria answered the knock and she was not terribly pretty with only half her face made up, the pretty words I’d planned to say in apology tied my tongue.

I would’ve backtracked, had the angry look on her face not convinced me that doing so would be even worse.

“I’ve never met a bigger fool than you,” she said. “And I am married to a man like my husband, am a mother to a boy like my son, whose head you’ve filled with all sorts of absurd ideas.”

I dropped my gaze, giving her the shame she probably wanted to see on my face. “Words can’t begin to describe how sorry I am.”

“Nothing can begin to describe the damage you caused,” she retorted.

A neighbor power-walking down the street made her open the door wider, saying, “Quickly, I don’t want the neighborhood hearing about your evil.”

It virtually jolted me into her foyer. “Thank you for letting me in anyway.”

As she closed the door behind us, I scanned the parts of her home visible from here, checking to see if there was anyone she would embarrass me in front of.

There was no one she would embarrass me in front of.

But instead of ushering me into the living room, she crowded my space, planting her feet firmly on the ground and crossing her arms over her chest in a way that felt more confrontational than defensive.

I felt beads of sweat forming on my forehead.

My fear and discomfort put a satisfied glimmer in her eye. “I take it that bitch came and told you I wanted you dead instead of killing you?”

“Mal’s my only friend, Victoria,” I said carefully. “She couldn’t have killed me.”

“She disobeyed me.”

“She can be an idiot sometimes,” I said, trying to smooth things over. “Please forgive her. Besides”—and this was what had actually brought me here—“I’m in a highly committed relationship with someone else. You’ve got nothing to worry about in terms of your son bringing home a son-in-law.”

“Don’t tell me what I can and cannot worry about,” she snapped. “My husband and son were my only friends too until you did what you did. One left, and the other one I had to ship off to his uncle, who’s a priest.”

“I’m so sorry, Victoria,” was all I could say at this point.

“You don’t get to do that after ruining my life,” she snapped again.

I braced myself for either a slap to the face or a punch to my genitalia.

But her face crumpled, her eyes filled with tears, and a sob escaped her lips.

This wasn’t anger anymore.

I didn’t know what to do with her.

“Hug me, you did this to me,” she said, almost like a command.

Thinking it might change her mind about killing me, I rushed forward, wrapped my arms around her, and even stroked her back—said, “Would you like a cup of… whatever distressed people drink in this house?”

“It won’t bring my husband back,” she sniveled. “He says I’ve been a big girl and a bully.”

A truth she’d long needed to hear. What I said, however, was, “Good riddance, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

She stepped away from me. “Don’t make me angry by insulting my intelligence.”

“Okay, okay,” I surrendered. “You’re a bully, and Sasquatch looks pale standing next to you.”

“That’s better,” she said with a smile—one that was wan and tinged with sad undertones.

It looked wrong on the bully she was. It made me uneasy.

Genuinely this time, I said, “You may be a horrible, hateful little witch who doesn’t deserve nice things, Victoria Ashford, but you’re also the best thing that has ever happened to our HOA.”

She, a whole Victoria Ashford, chuckled at something I’d said.

“Okay, I’m not interested in killing you anymore,” she said.

“Really, Victoria?” I searched her face, looking for any hint of a casually cruel joke.

“Really, Corey.”

But this was a big decision. “Are you sure?”

“My husband’s gone,” she said. “I’m done destroying other people’s lives.”

I doubted it.

But if it was like that, it redeemed her.

With my freedom back, I offered, “I can talk to him for you if you like.”

She shook her head and wiped away what was left of her tears. “You don’t have to. He told me to stop killing people if I want him to come back.”

“So everyone wins,” I dared to say.

“Yes.” Then, more unexpected, unnatural vulnerability: “I’m so sorry all the same.”

“It’s okay, Victoria.” I touched her shoulder in understanding. “We all make mistakes, and”—I hoped my faith in people wouldn’t be destroyed—“we all change.”

“Leave before I relapse,” she joked.

“Of course.” I sprang into action, not needing to be told twice.

Something I should’ve said made me pause. “A word of advice before I go?”

“Yes?”

“Take back your boy. He can’t be any better off with the priest than he is with you.”

“I know. My reasoning was, if he wants to go down that road, it’d be better if he did it with a priest.”

Somehow, it made sense. “Okay, I’ll leave you to get dressed.”

“Goodbye, see you at the next meeting.”

I stepped out onto the porch and breathed in the cool air. I had made it out of her bad books.

Driving my Audi Q5 to downtown Little Lakes, I replayed the moment Tanner had said, “I see now how badly I hurt you, and I want to make things right between us.”

His words made it a good morning. Whether we dated again or not, that was entirely my choice.

 

•

 

There was still a spring in my step when I walked into the reception-slash-café of the fitness center.

None of the receptionists were at the desk. The girl was at the café, her hand reaching for an aggressively green smoothie from the counter attendant.

As she rushed back to her station—having seen me—her eyes sparkled, and she said, “You look really good today, Mr. McFadden.”

I feigned modesty. “Do I? Every man looks and smells good to you, Miss Adams.”

“Maybe.” She sat down and took a cautious sip of her aggressively green smoothie.

Judging by her face, it wasn’t sinister or whatever.

“But you’re giving ‘main character energy’ today,” she added.

I stopped playing hard to compliment. “Thank you, Lena.”

And, still on men who looked and smelled good, I said, “If a Tanner Moreland comes looking for me, please let him in.”

“Sorry, I may have already done it.”

“He’s here already?” That was very early.

“I meant yesterday,” she clarified. “Figured you knew him, since everywhere he goes, everyone asks him for everything from innocent little kisses on the lips to him naming their unborn babies.”

I grimaced.

It might be true, though. “He was popular even in high school. We were best friends.”

Her eyes shone with a mix of awe and disbelief. “You were best friends with Tanner Moreland?”

“Not easy to believe, but yes.”

She leaned back in her chair, giving me a who-are-you-Mr.-McFadden look.

I replied with an it-is-what-it-is shrug.

“Seriously, Mr. McFadden,” she said, “you’re a lucky man. This man has tens of millions of followers on social media, but follows no more than one hundred himself.”

“That’s impressive,” I admitted, surprised at how big he’d become. Then, to correct her a little bit: “We were friends before he became famous, Lena.”

“Still.”

“Let him in again, and he might be yours too.” I left her desk.

When I settled down behind mine, I found myself worrying. Worrying that I was not the heartthrob he now was. One night, I might slip out of his arms to pee and come back to not just an empty bed but a made bed. Which would fast-track my descent into madness—also known as rummaging inside the nightstand drawers and checking even the pair of shoes under the bed.

To take my mind off this scary thought, I gave my head a shake. Took my notebook out of the bag and flipped it open to today’s to-dos. First up was, New Diet & Workout Plan for Malika Norman.

I got into it.

Moving through the center—from the gym to the yoga and Pilates studios, then to the turf area, checking that everything was in order and everyone was happy—I had no time to think about anything outside of work.

As I reviewed the month’s sales report, a knock on the door interrupted my thoughts.

It had to be him.

Oh boy, this wasn’t going to end well, and I needed to hide under the desk.

But wait a second, he was making good on his first promise to me since he came back.

I could not, in good conscience, let a man like that knock twice. “Come in!”

He did, bearing a paper bag that probably contained a bottle of wine in addition to whatever lunch he’d brought.

Saying no to him would be even harder now. I gestured toward the visitors’ chair.

Before sitting, he extended the bag to me. “Lunch since the hard worker I know you to be definitely hasn’t had any.”

I couldn’t stop myself from smiling as I unpacked the food—a large box with a sticker proclaiming it ‘eco-friendly biodegradable,’ telling us all what a good place it came from—and the Chardonnay, which was definitely not a cheap bottle.

The bottle made me tease him: “Are you trying to win me over, Tanner?”

“I prefer doing it with my good looks and charisma, thank you very much.”

“Mm, okay, build a fire under my interest, sir,” I said.

Rising from the desk, I went to the storage cabinet and took out the proper glasses for this kind of wine.

With the proper glasses for this kind of wine on the desk and the wine poured into them, I  opened his box. Inside were lobster rolls—the kind that could turn good people into gluttons.

I gave him the not-so-big one and took my seat.

“Happy eating.” He sipped his wine.

A bite of the roll had me asking, “Is this what you meant by dinner yesterday?”

“Do I look like I play when it comes to dinners?”

I leaned in, intrigued. “Sounds like a dinner I’ll annoy my friends with, talking and talking about it.”

“It’ll be that special, start sharpening your teeth.”

If the rolls were anything to go by, then the dinner would be as he said. But before I daydreamed too far, I still had a doubt or two that I needed to put to rest.

I asked, “What brings you back to Lakes after all these years?”

He sipped his wine, since it was already on his lips.

Setting it down, he answered my question: “My father’s dying, Corey.”

It didn’t shock or move me in any particular way, since people died everyday. His priorities, however, were a dangerous game he was trying to play with me. I asked, “So you came to see me only after seeing your father—the man who rejected not only your dreams but also you, and for what? The things you wanted to do in your own bedroom with other consenting sixteen-year-olds?”

“No, it’s just that…” He looked away in regret or hesitation or whatever.

When he came back to me, he sighed. “I was afraid I’d come back and find that you’d moved on.”

I could understand and even forgive his cowardice, feeling flattered. “Our little Corey has turned into something special, hasn’t he?”

“Something special, and then some.”

I wiped dust off my flattered guns of steel.

His tone tinged with vulnerability, he said, “So when my father told me he had reached his ‘eat-by date’ and wanted us to make peace, I couldn’t stay away.”

“I hope you’ve made peace.” Because sometimes blood really was thicker, and I wasn’t about to begrudge him his.

“We have, thanks.” After a mouthful and a sip, he also said, “When I found out from Mal and Raymond that you’re single, it made me hope…”

“Hope what?” I needed to hear him say what I already knew he wanted to say.

“Hope that we could try again,” he said, moving closer with those hopeful eyes.

The earnestness in them matched the earnestness in his voice.

To see if his heart was just as earnest, I tested him, saying, “Don’t bet on me, sir. I’ve become breathtakingly picky and maybe even hard-boiled.”

“It doesn’t faze me. I’ve never been this ready for everything, from cohabitation to shopping around for wedding bands.”

With all his exaggeration, he had nothing to worry about. “We deserve each other, Tanner.”

“One hundred percent.” Then he joked, “The word ‘cohabitation’ really has a ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“It was made to roll off our tongues alright.”

He giggled. “Now you’ve taken me back to the night at the theater.”

The memory was too funny not to make me smile. “You almost got us caught, forgetting you were in disguise.”

He shook his head. “I forgot I wasn’t just supposed to not want to be an actor but also to hate everything about movies.”

“Fast-forward to the present and magazines  call you the greatest of all time. It must feel good.”

“I thank you for it.”

“Me?” The compliment had me bending forward from the back of my chair.

He savored the wine he’d been sipping. “If it weren’t for you, I would’ve quit.”

Come to think of it, that was true.

Come to think of it, he wouldn’t have left town.

But I was happy for the star he had become. “I’m glad you went out and chased your dreams.”

“Let’s hear what you’ll say when I tell you the girl at reception asked and begged for ‘just a handful of your hair, Tan.’”

Right when you thought you’d  heard all the absurd things there were… “Huh?”

“‘Please,’” he mimicked, “‘I’ll treat it right and not leave it out in the rain for too long.’”

“Stop it,” I said, trying to contain my rising laughter.

Stop it he didn’t: “She’s not the only one. There are more stories like hers where that came from.”

“So, brings us back to dinner?”

“Absolutely. The questions now are when and where.”

“But the answers…” Grimace-grimace. “They might make you think I want this too much.”

“No, they won’t,” he said with another delicious giggle. “In fact, I want you to be as eager for it as I am.”

I could do that. “What about tonight?”

“Tonight sounds perfect.”

“At my house, since we aren’t strangers anymore?”

“At your house, since we aren’t strangers anymore.”

It didn’t get more perfect than that.

“In the meantime”—I returned to my roll—“we shouldn’t let the food you bought for us go to waste.”

“Mm-hmm. Besides, you’re the only guy I know who looks good even when making these weird little chewing noises.”

I warned him, “Don’t tempt me, Julian Harrington Moreland the Eighth.”

 

•

 

The clock above the door read 5:40 when I finally looked up from my laptop and the papers scattered across the desk. It was way past time to pack up, go home, and start preparing for a dinner that would be another first step toward another chance at happiness, which was, in plain English, delicious foolishness.

So, when I got home, I dumped my bag on the couch, headed straight to the kitchen, fueled by anticipation, excitement, and the boundless energy of a thirty-six-year-old who was still a spring chicken after all.

Unsure of where to start—because there was no such thing as a third second chance and so this needed to be perfect—I took everything in the fridge and cupboards, from meats to vegetables to herbs to sauces, and laid it all on the island.

That’s when inspiration struck. I felt like Gordon Ramsay’s nepo baby, tossing salmon fillets in hot olive oil, seasoning them with salt and pepper, and whisking honey, soy sauce, lemon juice, and red pepper flakes into a sauce as the salmon cooked.

 When the fillets were done and the sauce on them had thickened, I basted them with the remaining sauce, covered the skillet with foil, and slid it into the warming drawer.

Next, I moved on to making me half as good as my Michelin-star business with the shower I took and the button-down I paired with tailored shorts and leather sandals. A look that might say to the guy who’d come here, hoping for a second attempt at happiness: The second time, you don’t get a clotheshorse, sir—you get the guy you want to settle down with.

As I seasoned the chili-oil cucumber salad with salt, a knock sounded on the door.

It could only be the guy all this was for, and boy, wasn’t he Mr. Right, arriving right on time.

Excitement mingled with nerves. I took a deep breath, steadying myself before finishing the dish and rushing to the door.

His handsome face was the one on the other side, no surprise. It was his lips—maybe tinted with color, but definitely soft-looking—that held my gaze. Especially when they curled into a smile, and it promised some mischief, and he said, “So, this is your nest, Corey. Thank you for honoring me.”

“No, thank you.” He was Hollywood royalty and I was just a rube, standing next to him.

Before the chicken got cold, I opened the door wider. “Come in, Tanner.”

“Coming in, Corey.”

But he lingered in the doorway, not to drink in my lips—shame on him—but to take in the inside of my house.

His body, so close, so present, made it a bit hard for me to breathe.

Breathing right made a bit hard for me, and because his lips were now on, “It’s even better inside, I bet your winters aren’t as cold as the rest of ours,” I couldn’t move.

I chuckled the nerves off. “Lead the way to the dining.”

As he freed my breath doing that, I closed the door and locked in the mild, comfortable summer he had brought with him.

“Dude, tonight’s a big night for you, but even a modicum of grip wouldn’t hurt,” I muttered to myself, transferring the salmon to a platter.

Meanwhile, he’d made himself at home at the table, pouring Riesling into glasses for both of us as if we’d been married for years.

Poof! My nerves disappeared, giving way to quiet confidence and a love that’d always been there, as I carried the platter and salad bowl over to him.

The aroma of the food reached his nostrils, which twitched in appreciation, before the dishes reached him.

“You really outdid yourself, Corey,” he said as I set my masterpieces down like I really was a chef and ‘pièce de résistance’ was the name of the game.

“All this for a certified heartbreaker—can you imagine that?”

“Careful, where I come from, that’s a big compliment.”

“I’m glad you aren’t where you come from anymore,” I said, sitting down.

Serving myself, I chose to not to be greedy this time.

When it was his turn, I paused him, saying, “This is already the best evening I’ve had in two years.”

“Same here.” Then he raised his glass. “To more evenings like these.”

I clinked my glass against his in agreement.

When he took his first forkful, his enjoyment was evident in the little nods he gave me.

It felt good.

It tasted better than the wine I sipped.

“You were going to tell me about the people in the photo on your desk before the phone call interrupted,” he said.

“That was my ex-husband and our daughter.”

“That big girl is your daughter?”

“Also known as the charming little girl we adopted.”

“How old is she now?”

“Big-City-college old.”

“It must be lonely without her.”

He had no idea. “That’s how I ended up diddling with our homeowners association president’s son, and nearly got my life evicted out of my body for it.”

“Corey, that’s awful,” he said with concern.

“Thank God she came to her senses. I heard she said I’m not worth it or something meaner.”

He tutted in friendly disapproval. “You live a dangerous life.”

It was unfortunate, yes. “I know.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that.”

I looked up from the salmon and met his gaze.

He really was putting his heart on the table—possibly with no idea how much I wanted a quiet life with him.

To keep things light and to keep us out of Heartbreak City, I adopted a tone of mock formality and said, “I’ll think about your proposition, sir.”

His eyes twinkled in amusement. “Don’t take too long.”

As if anyone would.

Two forkfuls of our salads later, I turned the conversation to him: “Ever find yourself in dangerous situations?”

“Never.”

I tilted my head (and the neck it was on) back in disbelief.

He set down his glass, sincere. “I never met someone like you.”

“Because…” I gave his pretty face a duh look. “You can’t leave a guy for a diluted version of him, Tanner.”

“I left you because I was scared, Corey.”

“Scared, you?” That was rich. I almost laughed.

He asked a question of his own: “Remember ‘Fruity Mick’?”

“Yeah?” Even though his question hadn’t answered mine.

“I’m the one who saved him.”

I still didn’t see where he was going with this. “Spell it out for me like I’m five, please.”

“Mick would’ve been bludgeoned to death had it not been for me, Corey,” he said. “I saw it happen, and it was his own brother harming him. A guy we all thought was too handsome to have such troubling views. What do you think that did to me, who was never brave like you?”

That gave me pause. Finally, I understood. “You were never brave like me, but that’s because our families were different. The adults in your family insisted on all leftovers being saved, even if it was just one forkful of mashed potatoes. It shouldn’t surprise me that y’all were a nest of homophobes.”

“Yeah.” His face softened with gratitude and affection. “Thank you for understanding.”

“Understanding each other is what we’ve always done.”

He nodded and sipped his wine. “I like to think what we had was like love or money or smoke. Things you can never hide.”

“Mm”—that was interesting. Deep. “Our little Tanner turned into a poet after he left, didn’t he?”

“Not at all, I was scared for you too, Corey.”

Scared for me too when I’d thought him a coward. It called for some soul-searching on my part.

I said, “You might not have been as brave as you wanted to be, but you were never selfish.”

“I learned from the best,” he said with a soft smile, words he accompanied with the kiss he pressed to my cheek.

Another reminder of what a mensch he was.

Toward the end of the meal, he said, “Cooking was your thing even back then. Your ex-husband must’ve hated restaurants and ordering in.”

“They were ‘what’s wrong with society, destroying the family.’”

“Lord, where’s he now?”

“Africa.”

“Africa?”

“Making sandwiches for orphans and beds for distraught widows,” I said with a frown.

“His loss—forget about him.” He cut his meat with a touch of finality. “Had I been him, and I was married to a guy like you, I would’ve never left you even for all the cheese in the world.”

“Damn”—he was the definition of a confidence boost.

Bucked up, I took a gamble: “You won’t leave this time, even though you’ll go back to work, will you?”

“Never ever.” His grin practically glowed. “I wish we were married already.”

“Whoa, where’s the brake pedal,” I teased.

He refilled his glass, enjoying my reaction.

I stacked my empty plate on top of his and carried them, along with the platter and bowl, to the kitchen.

“Don’t put them in the dishwasher,” he said.

“I don’t have the hands for washing dishes, Tanner, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“I noticed. Just thought we could bond over it, you know, awkwardly scrubbing side by side.”

“We can bond over a cake”—I placed the plates in the dishwasher without hesitation. “Everyone likes cake, yeah?”

“I am everyone and I have a child’s sweet tooth.”

“My favorite deli has these amazing chocolate lava cakes.”

Speaking of the devils, a knock sounded at the door. Before going to answer it, I placed fudge sauce in a bowl and heated it in the microwave.

The cakes, when I took them from the delivery guy and out of their foil containers, were still warm.

I plated them, topped them with vanilla ice cream and drizzled the fudge sauce over each.

Sliding the larger one toward Tanner, I said, “For a grown man’s sweet tooth.”

As he cut into it, I went back to the kitchen for the wine cooler, which was at the end of the island, and the bottle of port I took out of said wine cooler.

It felt like the kind of montage you’d see in a feel-good movie—time flying by unnoticed as we ate, sipped, laughed, and probably over-complimented me on my culinary genius.

Then the cakes, once fat and gooey on our plates, were nowhere to be seen.

“Thank you for this,” he said. “For a while, I forgot about my father’s illness.”

“What’s he suffering from?” Showing interest was at the top of the cheat sheet.

“I keep forgetting its name. But it’s the most aggressive cancer I’ve ever seen.”

“I can only imagine what you’re going through.” Blood was blood.

“This is the guy who said he’d outlive me.” He shook his head, a wry smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“It seems he’s changed his mind about forgetting you in the iron maiden.”

“This morning he couldn’t stop kissing me with his pale lips and telling me how proud of me he is.”

“See? I told you he’d see the light in the end.”

“Are you sure you don’t have a little crystal ball hidden somewhere in here?”

“In my eyes you’ve always been any father’s pride.”

He ducked his head, smiling with mock shyness. “Don’t ruin me with compliments.”

“I’m just trying to get inside your pants, that’s all,” I joked.

His face glowed with amusement, a glow that also suggested he was looking forward to me getting inside his pants.

But it didn’t last—a worried crease formed on his forehead.

“What is it?” I asked. “Don’t tell me it starts with ‘E’ for some existential crisis.”

 “It starts with, ‘I’ve been thinking, Corey,’” he said.

I  took a long, hard sip of my wine, what with his words sounding like I might still need some liquid fortification. “What have you been thinking about?”

“In which box do we put us?”

To me, it was simple: “We’ve just had our first date in a line of many after all these years. I’m too emotional, too needy, and too foolish to just float away.”

He seemed reassured by that.

Only for a moment, though, because he said, “What if we have sex for the first time after all these years and find out we’re no longer compatible? I’d hate to lose you again.”

The good news was, he wouldn’t. “You’re my friend before everything else, Tanner. We’ve shared one bed before and didn’t rip each other’s clothes off, haven’t we?”

“We have.”

“So, I’ll put these in the dishwasher, then we’ll go to my bedroom, cuddle, talk, and I’ll remind you just how huge even a little of my love for you is. Sound good?”

“You’re a highly persuasive, attractive man, sir.”

In that case, I pointed him toward the nook that smoothed the transition from the great room to my bedroom and said, “In there, go inside the closet, not out to the porch. There are pajamas if you want to change. Impose all you want and make yourself comfortable.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, leaving me to clear the table, “I already feel like I own the place.”

Exactly what I wanted to hear. “Thank you.”

Loading the dishwasher, I set it up, nimble in my movements. Because, sure, cuddling and talking was all we’d agreed on, but tonight still felt like a step toward something deeper.

Then, my phone rang from the entertainment center.

I walked over, thinking, I’ll turn it off even if it’s the doctor calling to inform me about the AIDS I might’ve gotten from those boys.

But when I saw a picture of my daughter, along with her nickname, LIV, glowing on the screen, I pretended I hadn’t thought anything and picked it up.

“Liv’s Dad, hi,” she said brightly. In the background, I could hear what sounded like a drunken party.

“Daddy’s Liv, how are you?” I replied, my love for her as strong as hers for me.

“I’m so fine, I don’t know what to do with myself, to be honest.”

“Dad has a few ideas.”

“If you can hear the party in the background, try not to be a dad about it.”

That’s not how it worked, but alright. “Where’s Gavin?”

“By the pool. Not doing what you wouldn’t approve of, I promise.”

“Thank you for reading my mind.” Then, in my best dad tone: “You said you loved him when you left for college. Do you still love him?”

“We did that blood lovers thing when he came back from home.”

“He’s a good boy.”

“Yeah, every now and then, he lets me wear the pants.”

A quality man right there. “Never let him out of your sight.”

She said, “But sometimes my happiness makes me feel guilty. I bet you’re on the verge of infamy, thanks to a murder-suicide born of loneliness.”

“Mm-hmm, nobody knows your dad like you do,” I said. “Sometimes I think of good things and the loneliness fades.”

“Glad to know I’m still top of your thoughts.”

“You know I’ve started wars in your name, baby,” I said.

“I know. And tell you what, sometimes I really wish I’d strangled Dad Number Two in his sleep to stop him from leaving—you’re a good man.”

“Yeah, that I very much am. Sadly…” I sighed dramatically and, hoping Tanner was listening, said, “It’s the good men who get lonely.”

“No, Dad, don’t speak negativity over your life. I’ll send you a picture of one of my professors. He’s your type, guaranteed.”

“No, Liv, he’s not my type,” I said loudly enough for Tanner to hear. “Don’t send me pictures of your professor, even if he’s the most attractive man on earth, alright?”

“Fine, suit yourself, Dad. As for me, who has a life worth calling home about, I’ll go back to it. As for you, will you be alright?”

As long as Tanner was here with me—swiping my bedside clock down to the floor and exclaiming, “Shit!” like he just did—I’d be alright.

“I’ll be fine, baby,” I said. “I’ll call you again tomorrow morning.”

She ended the call with a cute kiss.

I left my phone here and headed to the bedroom, now glowing softly with the bedside lamps. What for? I forgot entirely when Tanner walked out of the closet—not in pajamas, but in Calvin Klein briefs that made the room feel like a scene out of my naughtiest daydream.

I gave my head a little shake, testing to see if my brain was still functioning.

My swallowing so easily at the sight of his nakedness assured me that it absolutely was.

Since I’d promised him no sex and absolutely no awkwardness that could lead to it, I lightened up and said, “Monkeys and fruit pajamas aren’t everyone’s style, I get it. I only wear them when I’m feeling adventurous.”

His gaze wandered south briefly—where I imagined my crotch to be—before coming back up to mine with a cheeky little smile.

“The big, fat, banana in your pants is more my speed,” he smirked.

I stepped closer to him to get to the bottom of this weird, sudden change of mind.

Doing my best to keep my voice steady—despite his everything (and I do mean everything, all for the grabbing and biting)—I asked, “So, what exactly changed your mind? Was it the monkeys, their tight little mouths crammed with all that big, fat, juicy banana?”

“My imagination’s not very fertile,” he said. “But when I was in your closet, it hit me and I thought, ‘The guy’s a gym owner, Tanner, and you’ve never tasted that before.’ So, this is me wanting a piece of that, Corey.”

Which was a plausible reason. And I got it. Gym owners cashing in on people’s body issues were definitely a type of sexy.

“But,” I countered, “you told me your fears and I respected them because I want another chance with you. Aren’t you afraid of losing me anymore?”

“Well…” He closed what was left of the gap between us. His breath, brushing against the softness of my lips, parted them. “It isn’t fun if hearts aren’t on the line, don’t you think?”

He might be right about that, seeing as he was the worldlier one between us.

I shrugged, let him take off my shirt, and pulled him into a kiss.

But just as I was beginning to lose myself and get handsy,  he pulled back like someone who remembered he’d left the oven on.

“Too much teeth, too much tongue?” I asked, trying not to panic, and hoping that was the worst case scenario here.

“No, it’s just that with my father dying, I feel confused, vulnerable, and like you’re one of those predators out there, swooping in to take advantage of a good man’s moment of weakness.”

“Wow.” There was a low blow, but a low blow from a guy whose lips you still wanted to kiss felt personal.

“Just trying to be honest”—he shrugged.

“Fair enough. Sorry for kissing you, Tanner. I’ll try to water down the predatory vibes next time.”

“Don’t worry, I’d let you off any hook any time. Honestly, I’m glad you did what you did—it feels good to be the one forgiving for a change.”

Be that as it may, the air between us was now tippy-wobbly-ish with awkwardness. “I can’t see us spending the night together and enjoying it without one of us trying something. I think it’s best you went to a motel. ”

“I agree. Hard but right.”

“Can I get your clothes for you?” To prevent him from going back inside the closet—God forbid.

“That’d be nice.”

I did it with a smile. “Here you go.”

“Thanks. Don’t help me put them on though. You’re too much of a temptation.”

I nodded with total understanding and acted accordingly, turning my shiny, greedy hillbilly eyes away from a Hollywood heartthrob.

Done, he said, “Done, come walk me to the door.”

I followed.

At the bedroom door, he turned around and blocked me from passing. “Despite everything, I still want you and your food and maybe your monkeys and fruits. So no catching a cold, okay?”

“No catching a cold, okay.”

He pressed a soft kiss to my cheek. “See ya, Corey.”

“See ya, Moreland.”

He grinned at that. Left at that.

Alone, I pouted my lips and stomped my feet like a kid. “He’s cruel for making me spend the night alone.”