Supermarket(34)

“This is beautiful, Flynn, what is it?” she asked. She went from using my chest as a pillow to resting her chin on it staring up at me, our lips inches apart.

“This one’s called ‘Happiness,’ by Rex Orange County,” I told her.

“Mm, it’s fitting,” she said with that smile I knew all too well.

“And why’s that?” I asked.

“Because I’m the happiest I’ve ever been when I’m with you,” she said.

Just as I tried to utter something romantic, she kissed me. And the world stopped. With her there was no derealization, no anxiety, no book, no Frank. Just . . . us.

The rest of the night seemed to consist of her in my arms, perfect music, and laughter. It was a night I’d never forget.

That night I knew I loved her.





CHAPTER 9


CURRENTS


In the following weeks Mia and I grew closer than ever. I even introduced her to my mother. My mom and I hadn’t seen a whole lot of each other since I moved out, but not because we didn’t want to. Outside of Bennett and Mia, my mom was my rock. Always had been. I told her I needed to engulf myself in work and knock out the book, which she completely understood. I also needed some space and independence after living with her into my twenties. She wasn’t the happiest about not seeing me as often . . . but she was happy when I broke the rule one evening by bringing Mia over to meet her.

The two naturally took to each other. And after a long night of endless baby pictures, Mia fell asleep on my mom’s couch. That was when my mom told me she had a very special feeling about her and not to “fuck it up,” as she put it. Honestly, Mia was my only hope for humanity. She was so sweet.

All in all, things were great, aside from the unfortunate fact that Bennett hadn’t returned. I stapled posters around my neighborhood with the only picture of us, the one we took together outside the dog shelter. Staring at the picture of my hand on his head, his tongue sticking out, made me sad. It was so strange that he had just disappeared. Even stranger was the look on people’s faces when I showed them the picture. They looked at me like I was some asshole bothering them about nothing. One guy even said, “Are you fucking kidding me, buddy?” How could people be such dicks about a lost dog? I still had hope he’d return. I called the Humane Society and told all my neighbors. Bennett was too smart to just leave like that. He was certainly smarter than Frank.

Back at the store Frank elaborated on his hypothetical scheme to rob it. He said he knew all the entrances and exits to avoid detection. He knew the blind spots, the security codes, and the sequence for the safe. He was pretty cocky about the whole thing. It was great for me because he was giving me the details for the biggest scene in my book.

In the same monologue he told me about his time with Rachel—especially the sex they’d had. I felt a little uncomfortable knowing all this private stuff about Rachel, but I was intrigued, as one naturally is. He said she was a freak who was into roleplaying and restraints. Landlord and tenant, boss and employee. Handcuffs, chokers, whips. Apparently she would throw on a black leather latex catsuit! Real Fifty Shades of Grey shit. Frank must have been an all right lover, because every time I saw Rachel she no longer had that permanent resting bitch face. She was all perky and smiling now. I remember the first day Frank told me he had had sex with her. We were walking down aisle seven and, sure enough, there she was, walking in our direction. “Hi, Frank,” she said, giving a wink as she passed by. It was pretty weird to see her with this new insider knowledge. I guess I could see it.

It had been three weeks since that amazing night at my place listening to music with Mia. Wait . . . oh shit!

How could I have left out the fact we had sex?!

It was amazing. It happened the week after that night. We had another great date and wound up back at my crib. At her request we put on Toro Y Moi. One thing led to another and we were making out heavy on my couch. She took her shirt off and to my surprise wasn’t wearing a bra. She was stunning. She had perfect B-cup breasts. It made me feel good that she felt comfortable enough with me to do that. Things were getting hot. I was kissing her neck and she grabbed my hands and pressed them into her breasts. I asked her if I could go down on her and she nodded yes. After several intense minutes of that she told me she wanted me. I asked her if she wanted to have sex and she said yes. She took off her jeans and grabbed my face, kissing me. She arched her waist and straddled me, slowly sitting down. I’ll leave it at that, but, shit, it was really incredible. She was so sweet and cute and into it. She told me what she wanted and asked me what I wanted. She satisfied all my needs, and assuming she wasn’t lying when I asked, I satisfied hers as well. It was mind-blowing. And that wasn’t the last time that night either. Things couldn’t have been going any better between us.

And to top all that off, it was like I’d never known what writer’s block was. I was in a groove with my novel like never before. It was coming out of me with total ease, like breathing. I’d pace around my room, bouncing my red rubber ball. The neighbors underneath me must have hated my guts. But the words were just flowing out of me. It almost felt manic. Because the setting of Muldoon’s was a fictionalized version of the real Muldoon’s, the whole thing felt like second nature. They say write what you know. Couldn’t have been any truer in this case. I was weaving Ronda and Ted and Rachel and Frank and Kurtis and the whole gang into the book, under different names, of course. Because I lived it, my novel felt incredibly real to me. Art imitates life. Life imitates art? Was my novel too close to reality? I was a little concerned about what all my coworkers would think when they read the book and they encountered thinly veiled versions of themselves.