Folsom (End of Men, #1)(14)

“If I am pregnant, Folsom, all I have are a couple of cells soaking in your come. It won’t hurt anything yet. Besides, I had a hell of a day, didn’t you?”

“Same as any other day.” He folds in his lips and nods. I find the expression endearing.

Just another day for him—meanwhile, my entire world has shifted.

My older friends from work talk about the romances they had with men…when there were men. It’s a novelty for me imagining that once there were as many men as there were women, and they just walked up and down the street like the rest of us. When they talk about them they get these dreamy expressions, eyes all glassy, blinking slowly. Laura’s stories are my favorite. Henry made her feel like the luckiest woman alive, like she was the only one he saw…he treasured her. And when they “made love” it was as if they were the only two people in the world, nothing else mattered but the two of them. Making love—that phrase doesn’t quite seem to fit what Folsom and I did.

Maybe sex is one of those things that in memory looks one way, but in reality is just a whimsical fantasy. It’s something I’ll never know. The stories are nice, though.

Folsom motions to the bartender and she fills up his glass. You’d almost think they knew each other with how comfortably they exchange words.

“So do you feel older and wiser now that you’ve finally had sex?” he asks. He swivels slightly in his stool so that our knees bump.

“I feel more in the dark than ever.” I pick up his glass and drain it dry again.

He laughs. “Easy, kid. I’ll have to carry you out of here.” He reaches over the bar top and gets a glass. He lifts it and the bartender ignores all the women clamoring for her attention to fill up both of our glasses.

“Would that be the worst thing?” I ask, turning to face him.

His eyes narrow on mine. “Did you follow me here?”

I scowl back, feeling the first blurring edges of the bourbon hitting me. “Are you always such an asshole?” I take another long swig and clank my glass down hard, making liquid drip down my hand. “Welcome to the Red Region, Folsom, and our one and only bar,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I thought you had your fancy party to go to.” I practically spit out the word “party” and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, licking away the drops of bourbon while I’m at it. Parties are the foulest form of dim-witted entertainment. I was forced to attend them for most of my adolescence, and the minute I turned eighteen, old enough to make my own decisions, I refused to tag along with my mother and sister, the Ball being the exception since Folsom was there…

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just studies me until I get itchy.

“What?”

“Are you normally such a mess?” he asks.

“Define ‘mess.’”

He faces forward again, narrowing his eyes and smacking his lips like he’s thinking real hard about it.

“Oh God, that bad?” I ask.

“It’s the look in your eyes mostly. Crazed. Like you’re ready to bolt at any moment.”

“Yikes.”

“You don’t even try to hide it,” he says.

“Should I?”

Folsom shrugs. “Wild eyes, wild hair…makes you interesting.”

I look away. Two girls are making out next to me. One of them accidentally bumps into me and calls out “Sorry” over her shoulder. I sigh. “It’s hard losing something you never really had.” I turn to him. “You know?”

“Can you try again in English?”

“I’m not attracted to women,” I blurt. I widen my eyes, expecting him to understand, but he just stares at me. “So if I’m not attracted to women, and there are no men, it means I’m going to be alone for the rest of my life.”

“Aloneness sounds pretty good to me,” he says, looking away.

“You don’t really want to be alone,” I tell him. I’m feeling loose-limbed and bold; blame it on the bourbon. He looks shocked that I’ve said this, so I expound.

“You said it yourself earlier today, you’ve been forced into this life. But no one wants to be alone. We all want to be understood by at least one person. You just don’t get to choose one person to be with.”

“You’re attracted to me,” he says.

I laugh and then look exaggeratedly around the room.

“Everyone in this bar is staring at you, Folsom. We’re all attracted to you.”

Even the two girls who just had their tongues down each other’s throats keep shooting him looks. I see a few of the bouncers, women well over six feet with plenty of muscle, holding back a few dozen women. Trans, DSD, and straight alike…they all want him, they’re all trying to get to him. If nothing else but to say they’ve experienced an End Man.

“But if there were many, many other men—you’d still be attracted to me,” he says.

I consider this. He’s probably right. Something about the moodiness…and the boots. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of answering.

He pries my glass out of my hands and sets it down, shooing my hand away when I try to reach for it again.

“I’m going to miss doing…what we did. But, it was worth it,” I say. “It was. To have a baby will make it all worth it.”