Mister Dimples

by Becs, Lindsay

  I listen to it over and over and let everything he said really sink in, hearing the emotion in his voice, every crack, sigh and sniff breaking my heart just a little bit more.

  My mom might not understand why I left and need space, but at least Troy does. I think. And he’s right; we never considered this part of our lives. What happens when the next incident gets skewed to look like something it’s not or something true but personal gets splashed across the headlines? Am I ready for that?

  My podcast does well, but it’s a very different level of being in the public compared to Troy. He is a celebrity of sorts and it is part of his life, regardless if he likes it or not. Can I be okay with that?

  I don’t respond. Instead, I send Bianca a quick text to let her know I’m powering off my cell and taking a social media break for a few days while I’m at my mom’s house.

  * * *

  “What’s Rose up to anyway?” I ask of my sister around a mouthful of my mom’s spaghetti and meatballs.

  My mom sighs before answering. “You know her. She can’t stay in one place for too long on the off-chance she’ll catch a feeling of some kind after that last guy did a number on her.”

  Rose and I are closest in age and grew up doing everything together despite how different we are. We’re Irish twins with our birthdays being within a year of each other. But where I wanted to go to college and plant roots, she wanted nothing to do with a traditional life. She’s always been a lot like our mom used to be, following her heart and living life to the fullest.

  “Wonder where she got that from?” I mumble, making my youngest sister, Ivy, giggle.

  “Don’t give me that,” my mom starts to defend herself. “If I hadn’t been that way, I wouldn’t have my beautiful garden.” Her beautiful garden meaning us four girls named after flowers and plants.

  “Pretty sure you don’t have to hitchhike around the country to spread your legs for different men, Mom,” my sister Lilly says like it’s no big deal to talk about our mom sleeping her way across America in her younger years.

  “I did not sell my body to get by, thank you very much. I have more class than that. I just followed my heart,” she says with a nostalgic smile on her face.

  “Still. You could have learned to use a condom,” Lilly adds.

  Mom gives her a pointed look. “I refuse to ever think of any of you girls as a mistake.”

  “Lilly, just because your dad was a shithead doesn’t mean you have to be one too,” Ivy tells her.

  According to our mom, Lilly’s daddy left before she opened her eyes. Mom doesn’t even know his name, so “shithead” was the nickname given to him over the years.

  “That’s because you had to save the best for last,” Ivy adds with a smug smile.

  Ivy always thinks she’s the best one and Mom’s favorite. Not just because she’s the baby of the family but because her daddy was the only one to propose to our mom. He just happened to die young from an undiagnosed heart problem before they were able to get married. Ivy was barely two when he passed away, and I was going on eleven.

  He was the one who moved us to the farm, where Mom finally put down roots. When Jonah, Ivy’s dad, died, he had, unbeknownst to Mom, already left everything to her. We didn’t have to wonder where our food would come from or how long we’d be in one place ever again.

  I remember lying in bed at night and saying a prayer of thanks to Jonah for taking care of us even after he was gone. Mom had told us he died, but in my mind, I always thought of him like I had all the others who had left. He just kept taking care of us once he was gone.

  Mom never dated or brought anyone else around much after him. I don’t know if it was truly because of what he had meant to her or if she just didn’t see the need anymore. It suited all of us girls just fine. We were all emotional pre-teens who Mom put to work when we weren’t at school. Together we kept the farm running like it always had. We were happy.

  We joke around through the rest of dinner, and my sisters give me shit for being part of the recent headlines. I can’t fight back my smile when they all start talking about how hot Troy is and how great the sex must be. They see right through me and start hammering me with questions about our sex life, making my cheeks burn.

  But really, with Troy, it’s so much more than that.

  Because I love him. And it’s not the image or the fame that attracts me to him.

  It’s just Troy.

  * * *

  After a couple days at the farm with my family and closed off from the world, I finally power my phone on as I pack up to head back home. But I don’t know if I’m fully ready to see Troy yet.

  Me: Can I stay with you for a couple days?

  Bianca: Of course!

  Me: I have Brutus.

  Bianca: He’ll fit it with Bandit.

  Me: It won’t be long. Just until I get the courage to talk to Troy.

  Bianca: You can stay as long as you want.

  Me: Thank, B.

  Me: I’m leaving the farm soon. I’ll be there in a couple hours.

  Bianca: I’ll have a bottle of red waiting.

  After dropping the car off at Forever Grey, I call an Uber to take me and Brutus to Bianca’s place. When she opens the door, she pulls me in for a big hug I didn’t realize I needed until that moment.

  We drain a bottle of red and devour the cheese board she had made for us while I recounted everything that had happened since she left me crying in bed several days ago. She sends Dex out to get chocolate cake from a patisserie down the road that specializes in European pastries and desserts. And when he comes back with it, we decide we need to open a second bottle of wine.

  “How do you feel about this possibly becoming your normal life?” Bianca asks me as she licks her fork clean.

  I take a big bite of the rich dark-chocolate cake with a moan, trying to put off answering, but when I open my eyes, she’s giving me a look that tells me she’s seeing right through me.

  “I love Troy,” I say simply. “But I don’t like this part. I don’t know how some celebrities do it. I really don’t,” I say as I stare at the flowers Troy sent here in hopes that I’d receive them.

  A petal falls from the colorful bouquet. Watching it makes me wonder if it’s symbolic of my dying relationship.

  “You need to talk to him.”

  “I know.”

  “Come up with a plan of how to handle this kind of thing in the future.”

  I nod, taking a drink from my glass. “Yeah.”

  “You do want him in your future, right?”

  I look up at her, and I feel like my heart is going to beat out of my chest. I never thought I’d marry young, wanting to put my career first. Not that I don’t want to get married or hadn’t thought of it at all, but I didn’t expect to be thinking about it this soon in my life.

  I scratch behind Brutus’s ears as he lies across my lap. “I wanted a career. I didn’t want to have to rely on a man to take care of me. I wanted to feel like I could do whatever I wanted in life because I made it happen. Not someone else.”

  She looks at me expectantly. “And now?”

  “And now, I can’t stop thinking about being his wife,” I say as I fall back into her couch with a pout, sounding like it’s the worst thing in the world.

  She laughs at me. “You are ridiculous. You make it sound like I sold my soul to the devil to get married.”

  “No, I’m sorry. I don’t mean it like that,” I groan out with frustration. “I always wanted the opposite of the life my mom had. I never wanted to have to rely on someone else.”

  “I thought you loved your childhood?”

  “I did, and I love my mom and sisters, but it doesn’t mean I want that for me.”

  “You need to talk to Troy.”

  “So you said already,” I deadpan.

  “He’s called me to check up on you, you know. He’s worried about you, Juni.”

  In the past few days, I’ve pick up my phone hundreds of times to cal
l or text Troy, but I can’t even bring myself to read the dozens of messages he’s left for me. I even walked Brutus by our apartment building several times but chickened out each and every one. Which is where I am now. Standing in front of the building as the sun goes down, looking up and wondering if he’s in there.

  Like he can see me, my phone rings in my pocket and his face is lighting up my screen. I swallow down my fears and answer, preparing to talk to him for the first time in a week.

  “Hey,” I answer.

  “You answered.” He sounds hopeful.

  “Figured it was time.”

  “I miss you.”

  Tears sting my eyes as I smile. “I miss you too.”

  “Come home,” he pleads.

  I think a few seconds before I say, “I’m already here.”

  18

  Life is not a fairytale. If you lose a shoe at midnight, you’re drunk.

  TROY

  “I’m already here,” she says after too long. But hearing those words has me standing up from the couch. Or at least I stood for a second before my body fell back down, out of balance from the alcohol swirling in my body.

  “You’re here?” I ask, looking over the back of the couch toward the door. “I don’t see you.”

  Her soft laughter fills my ear and feels like a warm blanket over me. “I’m standing outside the building with Brutus.”

  “Are you coming up?”

  Another pause that’s too long. “I don’t know yet.”

  “Pleeeeeease?” I whine like a petulant child.

  “Are you drunk?” she asks through more laughter, louder this time.

  “Maybe a little bit,” I admit, and even I hear the slur in my words this time. Smacking a hand on my forehead, I hate that this was the day I decided to let go of my control and drink too much.

  There’s another long pause, and I think she hung up, but when I look at my phone, the call is still going. Then I hear a knock on my door. Grumbling that I have to get up and open the door when I just want to talk to Juniper frustrates me. I stagger my way to the door and open it.

  “But I was talking to you here,” I say, holding out the phone, making her smile. “You live here. Why did you knock?” I nearly fall on my ass when Brutus runs in past me, sideswiping me in the process.

  “It didn’t feel right,” she answers, looking to the ground.

  Putting my hand under her chin, I raise her head to look up at me. “This is your home as much as it is mine,” I tell her, feeling the heaviness of the moment sobering me.

  “Is it okay if he stays here?” she asks me, tipping her head toward the gangly dog already sprawled out on his pillow on the floor.

  I nod, but my eyes question if she’s going to stay here too. I don’t want her to leave, but I don’t want to press her either.

  She takes a deep breath, and my traitorous eyes go to her chest as it expands. I miss her tits. Swear, I whimper like the dog I am right now. Fuck, I miss everything about her. I shake my head a second to get my mind back where it needs to be, not on her chest.

  “It’s okay if you stay here too,” I tell her, watching her eyes search my face for answers I don’t know that I have. “Even if it’s in the guest room,” I add, trying to make her feel comfortable but wanting her here with me.

  “I just…” She bites into her lip with a furrowed brow. “I thought I was ready, but I’m not sure.”

  “Tell me what I can do to get you to stay?” I ask.

  “We need to talk. But I need you sober to do that.” She gives me a small, sad smile, and I hate myself right now.

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Don’t you have a game?”

  “Shit. Yeah. What about after?” I ask, rubbing my head, which is already beginning to hurt. Tomorrow is going to suck.

  “You sure?”

  I take a step forward to take her hand, but she takes a step back, the movement like a slice to my heart. I’m losing her, and I’m not ready to let go. I don’t think I ever will be.

  “You should go then. Come by around eight tomorrow?” I say, trying to steel my breaking heart.

  “Okay. We’ll talk then.”

  She leaves with a small wave. Closing the door behind her, my head hits the solid wood with a thud. I pound my fist on it, and I’m sure she hears, but I don’t care. Let her hear how she’s hurting me.

  * * *

  I played like shit, and everyone knew it too. Coach ate my ass for it. My teammates won’t look at me. The loss hurt the team, and I feel the weight on my shoulders.

  Angrily, I shower and pack up to head home. Once I’m in the door, I have Juniper’s favorite Chinese food delivered for us to eat when she gets here.

  But she doesn’t show up.

  At 9:22, I dump the food in the trash, change and head out for a run with Brutus. I can’t stay in this place—in the quiet—any longer by myself.

  I’m angry and frustrated at the whole situation. At this point, I’ve had plenty of time to think about every scenario. All the different feelings she might have about how everything went down. But I never thought she’d push me away so blatantly like she is right now.

  She stood me up tonight. Not even a fucking text to tell me she wasn’t coming.

  Do I really mean so little to her that she’d end things this way, without even a word? I thought this was what she wanted. That’s what she said last night anyway. She’s the one who said she wanted to talk.

  The more I think about it, the faster I run, and the faster I run, the angrier I get.

  When I reach the far end of the park, my chest is heaving as I take in deep pulls of air, trying to calm my heart rate. My body aches and hates me right now. Running wasn’t the best idea after playing a game earlier in the day. And running at full speed was an even worse idea. I’m not going to be able to move tomorrow.

  Crouching down, I pet Brutus, who’s panting too. Poor dog is just as beat as I am.

  I make the first sane decision I have all night and call a car to pick us up instead of walking the miles back home. I stretch as I wait to try to ease my seizing muscles, but it doesn’t matter. Everything hurts. And I don’t think it’s only from the physical strain I put on my body either.

  * * *

  Two days later, I get a call from Damien telling me I have to meet Juniper at the gym to record an episode for the podcast. I nearly threw the phone when we hung up.

  Frustrated and not wanting to be here or see her right now, I walk into the gym where Juniper and I have recorded every other episode, and I spot her. She’s bent over, setting up her laptop.

  I clear my throat to get her attention, and her body snaps upright as she spins to look at me. I watch as she nervously swallows before greeting me with a generic, “Hi.”

  Pursing my lips and lifting my brows, I give her a wordless greeting in return. I’m done playing whatever game it is she’s playing.

  “What type of workout do you want to do today?”

  I stare at her a minute. Is this really all she cares about? I’m such a fucking fool.

  “Something to make you hurt,” I tell her, dropping my bag in the corner and giving her my back.

  “Troy.” She says my name, and it feels like she’s lighting me on fire.

  “Don’t,” I grit. “We’ll play your game. We’ll put on a show. And then we can walk away.”

  She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, and I see her fighting to keep her tears at bay as she nods her head in agreement.

  We get our mics on and get ready to begin.

  I work her hard. Harder than I ever have before. Partly because I’m mad and partly because she deserves to hurt a little. I know she can handle it, even if she is internally cursing me.

  “Come on, you can do better than that. Drop low. One more,” I yell at her. She gives me a look that could kill, and it’s a good thing people can only hear us. “Good. Now one more.” I smirk at her.

  She grits her jaw and does as I tell her. Breathing in thro
ugh her nose and out her mouth like I’ve taught her. I fight the proud smile wanting to take over my face as I watch her push through and do it. I knew she could.

  She drops the bar from her hands, and it bounces on the mats. “I hate you a little right now,” she tells me.

  I want say, “Feeling’s mutual.” But I can’t. So instead I say, “No you don’t. You love me. You’ve never been afraid of a little pain.”

  Her eyes pin me with a look that tells me now I’m playing a little too dirty. I give her a smug smile.

  Bending down right in front of me, her ass grazes my dick, making me jump a little. “Oops!” she says with a hand over her mouth. “Did I get a little too close there?” She returns my smugness with some of her own when she stands to look at me over her shoulder.

  “No, baby. Bend over again. Let’s work on some stretching,” I tell her, gripping her hips. I’ll play her game.

  Stepping into her, I make sure to press my semi right into her ass as I push her forward so she’s reaching for the floor. I kick her feet apart a little more, making her yelp when she starts to lose her balance, but my arm circles around her waist to keep her from falling.

  “I’m not going to let you fall,” I assure her, softening my tone.

  “Too late,” I hear her mumble.

  She stands, and I have her move to lie on her back, knees to chest, stretching out her back. I decide to keep playing dirty. I kneel, my knees on either side of her face, and bend forward to push her legs into her chest a little more, letting my hand graze over her legging-covered slit from ass up. I get a ball nip in return.