Sweet Ache

Something in me gives—maybe it’s Luke’s temerity, or a need to feel wanted amid Hawke’s rejection, the need to defy my brother’s orders, or the promise to myself that I’d accept the next offer that came my way—and I laugh. “You know Luke—today just might be your lucky day.”

The line falls silent and for a moment I fear I dropped the call and my dramatic little comment went unappreciated. “How lucky of a day?” he asks, finally breaking the silence.

And I can play off his comment so many ways but I’m suddenly feeling kind of like my old self, sassy and spunky. The bit of confidence I lost over the situation with Hawkin returns and I decide to just go for it. “Well, you’re going to get lucky all right, it just kind of depends on you if the luck is on the platonic or on the good-morning level.”

He clears his throat and my grin widens as I pull in my driveway, pleased that I’ve made someone happy today. “A girl who plays hard to get and then plays get him hard … Hm. I guess we’ll see where the night takes us.”

A part of me deflates at his response. What I truly wanted was for that alpha male side of him to come through and let me know exactly what will happen, just like Hawkin did with his confident yes I will. Damn me and my needing a little bit of rough in a man.

But I shake off all thoughts of Hawkin and remind myself that I just accepted a date with Luke. He at least deserves me to not be thinking about another man when I just suggested there is possibility between us.

We make plans to talk later in the week to finalize details and say good-bye as I climb from the car and gather my stuff. Once inside, I spend some time picking up, perusing my social media, and throwing in a load of wash. I respond to an e-mail from my brother, something about his best friend, Beckett, finally falling for someone, and tell him it’s about damn time. I’ve just finished making a few notes of things I need to do for Carla and sit down with a freshly poured glass of wine when Layla opens the front door.

“Q?”

“In here!” I call out, settling into the couch and putting my feet on the table.

“Hey, lady!” She rounds the corner followed by an approving sound when she sees the glass in my hand. “That rough, huh?”

“It got better,” I say and point to the kitchen counter for her to grab a glass herself. She’s been here enough times that she knows where everything is so I let her help herself. Having a friend that’s known you since middle school has its merits, like you’re so comfortable around each other that they help themselves without thought in your house. It also has a downside too: that you know each other so well they can read your thoughts when you don’t want them to.

And right now, I don’t want Layla to just yet.

Wine in hand and feet curled underneath her in the chair opposite me, Layla looks over the rim of her glass. “So what’s up? How’s Professor Hottie Hawkin?” Her lips curl in a smile and she gets a dreamy-girly look in her eyes akin to cartoons where irises turn into hearts. Luckily she keeps going before I can respond with an answer I’m not exactly sure of yet. “Man, it’s been two more lectures with him. Has he stopped being an ass and talked to you yet?”

“A little,” I reply, figuring I can deal with the guilt of withholding information momentarily because I know I’ll spill it eventually. And it’s not so much withholding, it’s more being unable to put into words the way he makes me feel.

“Man,” she moans, “the things I’d love to do to that man. I’d bang him like a screen door in a hurricane, hard and repeatedly. Shit, why wait for Mother Nature when there are so many fun places in that auditorium I could explore with him instead. Naked. For hours. Damn!” She grins devilishly with a raise of her eyebrows while my mind drifts to the little soundboard alcove and the taste of Hawkin’s lips on mine. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to fantasize out loud—the man just makes the tingle in my lady parts turn full-blown earthquake.”

Mine too.

“It’s not hard to make your lady parts tingle,” I tease with affection since I’m more of a serial dater than she is.

“True. Very true. I’d like them to be tingling later tonight if possible.”

“Deal,” I say, raising my glass in a mock toast to her, “because I sure as hell need something to get me out of this funk I’m in.” Hawke’s offer for a date on Saturday flickers through my mind as the potential answer but I push it out. I’m going out with Luke. He’s safer.

But do I really want safe?

“Talk to me lady. Bad day? You need to get laid? What?” Her question pulls me from my internal tug-of-war as she squints her eyes to try to figure out herself what my problem is. “Definitely need to get laid more than anything.”

“I’m working on it.” Although I neglect to explain I’m working on it with one man while thinking about another.

Her eyes run up and down my body, taking in my ponytail piled high on my head, my capri-length sweat pants, and camisole tank top. “Looks like it.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Men always are, Q…. But what’s the deal? You usually have them eating out of the V of your thighs without so much as a bat of your lashes, so what gives?”

I fixate on my finger as it draws lines on the arm of my couch. “Well, I agreed to go out with Luke.”

Her mouth falls lax but she remains silent as she tries to figure out what’s caused my about-face. “Okay.” She draws the word out, and I’m curious how long it’s going to take her to figure out what I’m doing. “Your enthusiasm to go on a date with him is overwhelming. Really, please try to contain it.” She snickers and then adds as an afterthought, “You know your brother is going to flip his lid when he hears about this.”