The Hot One(46)

I think about my mom and how strong she was after my father left. She was always a tough woman, but she had to shore up that foundation when she became a single parent, remaining sturdy for us. That’s change, too—it’s the kind that intensifies your core. I think of my brother and how easy it would have been for him to turn into a fuck-up, a messed-up teenage boy who skipped school after his daddy left. Instead, he doubled down on his studying and, like me, he won a scholarship to college.

We were forced to change.

But do we only change when we have no choice? A fault line had split our lives into before and after, and we had to shed our old selves. Can men and women, wanting to win back an old flame, choose to change in a deep and true way?

I don’t have the answers to that, but as I rewind to the morning, and the night before, and the massage table earlier in the week, and the phone calls, I know Tyler and I are more than two elements in a beaker that combust on contact.

We are more than the physical.

We combust for so many reasons. Because of history, of emotion, of connection, of respect, of need, of understanding.

Because of a once-great love.

And because of who he is now, the man I’m spending time with these days.

That’s why at the end of the night, after I find my way home and settle into bed, I write back to Trevor.



* * *



Dear Trevor,



* * *



Your trip sounds amazing, and I know you’re going to have a great time. I want you to know that while I’m confident we would have a fantastic date, I need to cancel before we even start. In the last few days, after we went out, someone has come back into my life, and I’m going to explore what’s there. It wouldn’t be fair to keep you both in play.

That’s why I need to send this email now, before I give it a go with him. Rather than hedge my bets, even though I know you’d be a great guy to bet on and you’ll make someone ridiculously happy, I should say thank you and good-bye.

My best,

Delaney



* * *



After I hit send, the stone in my heart shrinks, claiming less of my real estate. There’s more to say, and more to do, but I’ve taken one important step.

I was patently open with Trevor. I need to do the same with my ex.

The next morning, my phone dings with a jackpot full of notes. A sweet reply from Trevor, thanking me for my honesty. A Facebook message from Tyler, asking me if I’m free for lunch. And an email from Joe Thomas telling me my father now lives in Vancouver, Canada, that he’s still married, and he’ll have an email and a phone number for me shortly.

Do I want the address, he asks?

Nerves skate over my skin. I do, and I don’t. I don’t, and I do. But I also know if I have his address, I’ll just google it over and over.

I tell Joe I’ll wait. I’ve been waiting for years.

I make plans with Tyler, and I do the one thing that makes the most sense.

Since I want him desperately, I decide not to sleep with him yet.

To prove to myself that I can change.





18





Tyler



* * *



She says yes.

Hell fucking yeah.

She adds just lunch, and I send her a GIF of a cartwheeling eggplant, because I understand what she needs—just lunch. She needs to know that the heat of the mailroom encounter isn’t all we still have in common. The passion between us is incontrovertible, but she wants to know we’re more than that.

Over a pesto artichoke sandwich and fries at a sidewalk café in the Eighties, she gives me the details of her night out dancing with her friends.

“We could have entered a dance marathon, it seemed.”

“Did you do the Macarena?”

“All night long.”

“How about a conga line?” I ask, demonstrating the moves in my chair.

She nods. “And then we did a square dance.”

“Hope you wore your cowgirl boots.”

She shakes her head. “I wore silver heels,” she says, with a strangely shy little smile. Then she’s not so shy when she meets my eyes and says, “And I thought of you.”

Images flash before me that make my throat dry. I groan, then lean across the plate that holds my chicken sandwich and tell her in a rough voice, “I like hearing that. I thought of you last night, too, and then I did a lot more than think. And I’m also sure you’d look hot in cowgirl boots.”

The next day I get my reward.

She texts me a location for breakfast, and when I meet her there, she’s got on a short jean skirt, a red checked short-sleeve blouse, and cowgirl boots.

“Fuck me now,” I mumble as I give her a kiss on the cheek.

She laughs. “Maybe not right now . . .”

“But later?”

She shrugs, but the gesture comes complete with a wink that says we’ll see.

We sit down and I order eggs, but no bacon.

After the waiter leaves, Delaney tips her forehead in my direction. “No bacon?” She stretches across the table and places the back of her hand on my forehead. “You’re not feeling so hot today?”

I laugh. “Nope. I feel great. Just wanted to prove I can abstain.”