“This conversation is a lot ironic by the way. The last thing I told him is I have eggs if he needs any.”
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” she teases. “Sharing eggs?”
“You and Dalton with your code words. I think I’m a little more straight-forward than that. Now stop. I don’t even know how we got started talking about sharing old eggs.”
“Back to this neighbor,” she says. The girl’s got tenacity, that’s for sure. “You say he’s a model?”
“Was.”
“Are we quibbling about was or is a model? Does it matter? He was an underwear model. Holy hotness. And why didn’t you invite me to this party?”
“I thought you were busy with Adam.”
She snorts and shoots the second shot before ordering another round for us by twirling her finger in the air. She might be drunk. “I don’t want to talk about me and Adam.”
So instead of Adam, I tell her about the models and how Danny is ‘more or less friends’ with them. That makes her giggle but I think the vodka is helping the sillies along as well.
When she stops laughing, she asks, “And Johnny? How’s the tour and that going?”
“Life feels like I’m peeking at it through a looking glass, so surreal. It is normal to fall into a funk after someone you like leaves?”
“It’s surreal because you hooked up with a rock star. As for the latter, I’ve been in a funk too, so I’m thinking it’s normal.”
I’m starting to giggle, the booze affecting me. Fortunately, I biked here. “Good to know I’m not crazy.”
“You still might be a little crazy—crazy over a guy named Johnny Outlaw.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I reply with a sigh.
We leave after another round of mimosas, both of us in better moods. As I bike home, my mind goes to Dalton, like it always does. I can finally admit to myself that I am crazy—crazy in love with Jack Dalton and crazy in lust with Johnny Outlaw.
“A lost soul doesn’t have to wander forever.” ~Johnny Outlaw
Weeks later, Tracy and I repeat our brunch date, vodka and mimosas and all. She hasn’t made up with Adam and he hasn’t stopped begging for forgiveness.
Unlike what I thought would happen in my own relationship, I’m not missing Dalton less, but more. Things between us are good, really good, and mostly effortless. A simple phone call to say hi usually turns into a two-hour conversation, but weeks of touring Europe is wearing on him. I can tell by how rundown he’s starting to sound. We miss a few calls when he’s too exhausted after a show. It doesn’t bother me, not like I thought it would. Despite the newness of our relationship and the distance separating us, I trust him. I don’t know when I developed this new found comfort and faith, but I like it. I like me better because of it too. The stresses that past relationships caused don’t seem to exist between Dalton and me. I wonder if I should I be worried?
I slow down as I approach my place, my bike coming to a stop on the sidewalk out front. When I look up, I see I have a visitor sitting on my stoop and my heart momentarily stops. Sight for sore eyes doesn’t define how happy I am to see him.
Dalton stands, shifts his weight and smiles. “I had an unexpected wanderlust.”
Putting the kickstand down with a flirty smile on my face, I say, “You have the heart of a poet, Mr. Dalton. So were you just in the neighborhood?”
“I was nowhere near your neighborhood.”
I walk up the steps and he walks down a few and we meet in the middle. Our lips and bodies coming together. I roam over his shoulders and back up again, testing to make sure he’s real and I’m not dreaming. “I like your surprises.” Taking him by the hand, I invite him in. As soon as the door closes, he presses me to the wall, showing me how much he missed me, a feeling I’m becoming all too familiar with.
“I missed you, too.” I lean against his chest and listen to his racing heart as it syncs with mine. “Stopping in for the day or do I get you longer this time?”
His chest move as he chuckles. “Only one day.”
“That’s why you’re traveling so light,” I say, referencing the backpack.
“I sent my luggage to Mexico City. I’ve got a free day. Wanna spend it with me?”
Tilting my head in confusion, I ask, “No meetings?”
“No meetings.”
“Just a random free day?”
“Just a random free day I’d rather spend with you then cooped up in a hotel in Mexico.” He shrugs like this isn’t the most romantic gesture ever.