The Redemption(33)

I finish my drink in three gulps and set the glass down on the table before going inside. Up the stairs to my room I go, opening the door, and closing it behind me. I walk into the bathroom and turn on the shower, debating if it should be hot or cold; I have a good argument for each right now. I decide on hot, wanting to relieve some pressure. Stripping down, I then move under the water. My muscles not relaxing like I hoped.

My body is tense. I want to f*ck. I want to f*ck hard. I want to f*ck and come and not wonder what the f*ck I’m doing chasing Rochelle. I have a phone full of numbers I could call. I don’t want them. They are a thousand numbers that are meaningless to me. They aren’t her and my hand is a better option than a poor substitute.

Leaning my head against the slate wall, I close my eyes, remembering her body on top of mine, and how it was wrapped around my cock like a warm blanket. My grip tightens. She was so f*cking wet, wet for me. Kisses to her neck became licks of ecstasy. I tasted her sweat, her sweetness before wanting her to come so I could taste all of her.

But Cory’s name shocks me back to reality just like it did that day and my dick goes soft. “Fuck!” I slam the shower off and get out, dripping across the floor while walking to the cabinet and retrieving a towel.

After drying off, I get into bed angry. I sit up and punch the f*ck out the pillow next to me before throwing it across the room and hearing it hit the door with a thud when it falls. So f*cking anticlimactic for how I’m feeling.

Getting out of bed, I grab boxer brief from my dresser and pull them on. I go outside onto my balcony and sit down. The lighter and pack of cigarettes are on the table. I light up, resisting the urge for another drink. I look out over the city of Los Angeles all lit up in the distance frustrated that the best thing that ever happened to me sometimes feels like the worst.





I reach for my journal, but stop when I realize what I want to write is not what I’m ready to share with Cory. I grab my laptop instead. I write to get it out, to help unburden my heart.

Love finds most of us fast and unexpectedly, but when it came to me and Dex, it was slow and calculated as if it knew to hold on and wait. I’m caught in the middle of developing feelings for a man that has shown me more than his heart. He’s shown me his soul.

Feeling much like lyrics, I title it ‘Dex’ and save the document in my Songs folder. The one thing I’ve learned about giving a part of yourself away is that you may not get it back. Love is a risk and I’m finding that I’m more willing to take it with him. I’m still left questioning if I’m as ready as I think I am, if I’m prepared to have someone in my life that is also a regular fixture in the boys’ lives. I have no room for casual when it comes to them, so I need to be sure before jumping into something that could leave us devastated again.

Me: Hi.

Thirty minutes go by on this Friday evening before he replies: Hi.

What to say? What to say? Me: How are you?

Dex: Good. You?

I’m not feeling very liked right now. Me: I’m fine. What are you up to?

Dex: I’m out. You want to join us?

Me: Us?

Dex: Some friends of mine. You should come.

“Beth?” I call from my office.

The boys’ nanny comes in. “Yes?”

“Can you work late tonight?”

A sly smile works its way across her face. “You going out?”

“I’m thinking I might.”

She’s always supportive of me. “I’ll stay. I could use the extra money and I owe CJ a foot race in the backyard. He’s convinced he can outrun me just because I’m a girl.”

“Make sure to win big. We can’t have them growing up thinking women are the weaker sex.”

With a laugh, she says, “Nope, we can’t have that. Now you get ready and I’ll go tell the boys we get to make ice cream sundaes.”

“Thanks for staying.”

“No problem at all.”

I close my email and shut down my computer before going into my bedroom, phone in hand. Me: Text me where you’ll be in an hour.

Dex: I’m glad you’re coming out. It’s been too long since I’ve seen you.

Me: You saw me yesterday.

Dex: Like I said, it’s been too long.

And I swoon, holding the phone to my chest as the happy emotions bubble up inside.

Just over an hour later, I’m walking into the outside patio of a restaurant that’s located at the back of a well-known hotel. It’s a private place that’s hard to get into unless you’re famous or you’re with someone famous, so celebrities like to hang out here.

Dex is seated at a table on the far side of the garden. There are four other people with him—three guys and a girl. With a cigarette in his mouth, he turns my way and a smile appears. Smoke fills the air above his head as he exhales, then stubs out the butt. Standing up, his chair is pushed back. He takes my hand and kisses my cheek, then whispers, “Glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” I reply.

“Sit here. I’ll get another chair.”

When I sit, the conversation ceases, so I lift my hand awkwardly, and say, “Hi, I’m Rochelle.” I recognize two of the guys from parties or somewhere in the past. But the other man and the woman I don’t.

She smiles, but it’s tight-lipped while she scopes me out to see if I’m competition for whomever she has her eye on at the table. This happens a lot in LA. Men hold all the cards here and too many women indulge that power by presenting it on a silver platter to them. “Enchante,” she says, putting her hand toward me like I should kiss it. I take the limp hand, dropping it as quickly as I can.