Not Another Bad Boy(6)

"Fuck this. We're done. You're clearly not happy and I'm not going to  start doing weird shit just to hopefully keep you around. What happens  when you get bored again?"

Before anyone can say another word, Tom has slammed the apartment door closed behind him.

"Lo siento," Mauricio finally says, breaking the silence a couple  minutes later. "You can stay here as long as you need, of course. I feel  like this is partly my fault."

I growl at Mauricio. What an asshole! It is all entirely his fault. Sex  was boring, but if he hadn't made Tom and I talk about it, everything  would have stayed fine. Boring and fine. Just like most marriages as far  as I can tell.

Tom is gone by the time I run to the parking lot. I can't go home and I  can't go back to Mo and Frankie's. I walk until I find a cab that takes  me to a hotel for the night. After getting my key, I head straight for  the bar across the street.





Chapter 11





Three drinks later, a hand pats my shoulder.

"You should slow down a little, youngster."

"Don't wanna."

The hand spins my barstool, forcing me to face the stranger. He's  probably fifty years old, old enough to have gone to school with my dad  for sure. He's wearing a white t-shirt with a tattered collar. He has a  cigarette tucked behind his ear. He has a tattoo of what is probably a  wolf on his bicep, but it gets chopped off by his sleeve.

I almost reach out to lift the sleeve to see the rest.

"Don't want to slow down, eh? All right. Bartender. Another two of whatever he's drinking and two tequilas for me."

He slaps my back.

"If we're not going to slow down, might as well get fucked up for real. Know what I mean?"

I nod at the stranger.

"Name's Allen. How's it hanging today?"

"Hey, Allen. Parker. Shitty."

He sits on the barstool next to me.

"Ah, one of those kinds of days. Man, I had one of those a few weeks  back. My boyfriend of fifteen years up and decided to wreck my  motorcycle and get himself killed. Fucking bad day, that was."

I stop in the middle of my beer.

"Shit. So sorry."

"I've already cursed him out as much as I plan to. I've already cried  about as much as I reckon I'm gonna. I bought a new hog today and  decided to get back on the market. Life's short. Time to get back on the  horse, right?"







"Giddy-up."

I clink my bottle against his shot glass. We both finish before banging them back on the bar.

"I just got in town yesterday. I'm in the hotel across the road. Moved  up from Texas. Plan to start apartment shopping tomorrow. Some say I'm  running away from problems. I say I'm running toward opportunity. What  brings you to this dirty little bar?"

"My ex. We broke up about an hour ago."

"Sorry to hear that, my young friend."

His hand gently squeezes the back of my neck before pulling me in for a hug.

The bartender takes away our empties, shakes his head at us, and moves to the far end of the bar to watch the ball game on TV.

"So, what did your asshole do? Hopefully nothing as dramatic as throwing himself under a semi."

"No. He just, well, it's kind of personal."

A single, loud bark of a laugh escapes him. "Personal, that's a good  one. Son, we're strangers here. Probably never see each other after  tonight. I'm like a free therapist. A therapist who's buying you  drinks."

We clink drinks again. I take a swallow before continuing.

"I like it rough, and dirty, and in places where I might get caught."

His eyebrow arches in surprise and interest.

"You don't say. Today is your lucky day."

His hand slides up under my shirt and slowly rubs up from my belly  button to my nipple. He gives a firm pinch and says, "I like it rough  and dirty and wherever you want to do it. It wasn't coincidence that the  two of us ended up in this bar."

His hand drifts down. His fingers try to inch into my waistband.

I drop my drink. The glass doesn't break, but the beer spills all over the floor.

I know that I've lost Tom for good, but it is too soon to pick up this  man in a bar even if he sounds like everything I've been missing. Once  enough time passes, I'm sure I'll be begging guys like him to pay  attention to me, but for now, I just wish it were Tom touching me like  this and saying the words I want to hear.

His hand drops further and wraps around my erection. I moan. I really  want rough bar sex, but not this way. I want it with Tom, not some  stranger. I jump from the stool and run out the door.

Instead of returning to the hotel and risking meeting Allen again, I  flag another cab and ride back to Mauricio and Frankie's place, hoping  they will still take me in for the night.





Chapter 12





Mauricio and Frankie say nothing when they let me into the apartment. I  accept the hug from Mauricio while Frankie gets linens for the couch. I  excuse myself for a quick shower to get a few private minutes to cry. I  pretend to sleep on the couch until they go to bed. Sleep eventually  overtakes me.

The next few days pass with very few words exchanged. I go to work and  take comfort grinding through the isolated routine. Every time my phone  beeps, my heart pounds with excitement that it might be Tom, but it  never is.

He's moved on.

I'll have to do the same eventually once I figure out how something like that works when you're really in love.

It's easy to move on from a one night stand, but Tom is no one night  stand. He has been there for all of my problems since the day we got  together. I'm half-tempted to call him to discuss this new problem of  getting dumped by my boyfriend because I don't have anyone else I trust  to lean on in these situations.

Mauricio wakes me on Thursday by ripping the blankets off of me.

"Vamanos."

I grunt and roll away from him. He will not be denied, though. With a tug on my shoulder, he dumps me to the floor.

"Is there a fire?"

"No, amigo. I'm just tired of watching you mope about all day. You need  to get your body moving. Let those endorphins run free in your body.  We're going to the gym."

"What time is it?"

"Five."

"Morning, Parker," Frankie says, chipper as hell, but he does hand me a travel mug of coffee, so I let it go.

A deep sniff from the mug goes a long way toward waking me up for real.

"Fine. That's a good idea. Gym. Let's go lift some weights."

"Now you're talking," Mauricio says.

He helps me to my feet and shoves me toward the door before I can change  my mind. Frankie hands me a duffel bag with my workout gear in it and  gives me a peck on the cheek on our way out.

At the gym, I push and pull on the weights, quickly breaking into a  sweat that starts to flush away the bad mojo that I've been drowning in.  Mauricio spots me when we are at the bench press, but otherwise leaves  me to my silent thoughts. My mind empties. I even start to dance to the  gym's techno music during my rest breaks.

A little over an hour later, we are back at the front door of the apartment. Mauricio stops me from grabbing the doorknob.

"Hold on. I need to tell you something. It might make you mad, but it's  something I need to get off my chest. Why don't you sit down?"







He points to a nearby bench.

He sits next to me and starts a nearly silent ramble of Spanish as he tries to get his thoughts in order.

"Bueno. You are a good man. So is Tom. You are both clearly very good  for each other. Because of him, you are no longer banging random  strangers. Because of you, he is much more spontaneous. Anyone can see  that the two of you love each other very much, too."

We watch a bus stop, pick up passengers across the street, and drive off again before he continues.

"You need to talk to him. He needs to talk to you. You are both being  stupid right now. The longer you stay stupid, the harder it will be to  fix, until the wall is so tall and so deep that you will be blocked from  each other forever. Es todo."

Mauricio gives me a brief hug before disappearing inside the apartment,  leaving me alone with my thoughts that start with, What an asshole, and  eventually fade to, I wonder what Tom's doing today.





Chapter 13





The farmer's market opens at ten, but I'm wandering the street at nine. I  need to find Tom, but I can't handle the thought of having the  conversation at our apartment. The weight of our past and my silence,  reflected in every familiar painting and pillow, would smother me.

In the fresh air of the farmer's market, maybe I'll have a better chance of not chickening out.

Tom is nowhere to be seen, though. I buy two churros and a coffee when  the market opens. I eat the first and hold on to the second as a peace  offering to give Tom if I see him. There are still no men wearing  cardigans to be found in the sparse crowd, though.

Out of habit, I check my phone to see if Tom has texted. No new  messages. In fact, I have to scroll down to even see the last time we  texted. It was from back before the concert.

I swallow my pride and start typing a new one.

<At the market. Can you come? I want to talk.>

I can't send it, though. Instead, I take a tentative sip from the coffee  to see if it is cool enough to drink. Right as the coffee tips into my  mouth, two hands grab my shoulders. Startled, I spill the coffee on my  chest. I jump to my feet and drop the cup to the ground as if I can flee  the scalding water, but it is everywhere. I pull the shirt over my head  to escape the hot, wet mess.