Reckless Surrender

by R. C. Martin

  Fuck—he just got ten times hotter.

  When he reaches behind his head and grabs a fistful of shirt, I clamp my teeth together to prevent my jaw from dropping wide open as he pulls off the garment.

  I was not expecting that.

  He stands and heads to the far side of the room. I watch as he wheels over his standing mirror. It’s a little taller than he is with wheels that look like they’re made for off-roading or something. If I wasn’t still speechless at the fact that he’s shirtless at the moment, I’d make a joke. However, my tongue remains useless.

  “Don’t twist so much. Use the mirror,” he tells me as he takes his seat once more. He doesn’t bat an eyelash as he changes his gloves and gets back to work. I’m so distracted by this man that I’m caught off guard when the needle makes contact with my skin. I can’t hold back my whimper.

  “Daphne—I just took my shirt off for you. You are now required to relax.”

  A grin spreads across my face without my permission as I try and calm down. It only takes a minute for me to obey and I get lost in the details of his marvelously decorated left arm.

  The dragon that wraps around him is outlined in black with just a hint of green shading. Most of its scales are unfilled, so Trevor’s light olive toned skin peeks through. It’s depicted in such a way that it looks like it’s slithering through a garden of oriental flowers, the petals of which are blue, pink, purple, or red. Its tail ends on the inside of his wrist and its head is reared back at the top of his arm, just at his shoulder. Its nostrils, pointed toward his torso, blow out a breath of smoke that travels across his shoulder and down the top of his chest. Right over his heart, he’s got the marine corps emblem. Dangling from the head of the anchor are a set of dog tags.

  “What do the tags say?” I ask softly.

  “His name, Rett Rockwell and July fourth, two-thousand-six. The day he died.”

  “Daph? Daphne, wake up.” I’m pulled from my sleep by the sound of his voice and the feel of him nuzzling my neck. I sigh dreamily as I turn in his arms and press myself against his chest. I open my eyes and frown when I realize that he’s got a shirt on.

  “In my dream, you weren’t wearing a shirt,” I grumble.

  “Oh, really?” he asks with a grin, lifting his pierced eyebrow in intrigued amusement.

  “Don’t give me that look,” I giggle, hiding my face beneath his chin. “I was dreaming about the day we met.”

  “Ah, yes. You’ve been taking advantage of me since day one.”

  “Shut up!” I tease, pushing him away from me. He doesn’t let me go, so my attempt to put some space between us is futile, but I won’t complain.

  “Well, I’m sorry to wake you, but I have to go. I need to shower before I head to Harvey’s.”

  I nod in understanding. He has lunch every Sunday with his best friend, Harvey, and Harvey’s wife. It’s a Generation Ink family thing. The other artists from the shop join them as well. I think it’s awesome that they have the tradition and, as much as I’m not ready for him to leave my bed, I would never keep him from his standing lunch date.

  “You can come, if you want.”

  “I know. I think I’ll sit this one out. I’ve barely seen Logan this weekend so I should probably spend some time with her. Thank you for offering, though.”

  “Always.” He kisses my forehead before he climbs out of the bed. I watch him slip into his tan Vans before he grabs his keys and makes his exit. “See you later.”

  “Bye.”

  As he opens and closes my bedroom door, the delicious scent of coffee overwhelms me. My mouth waters at the mere thought of my first sip and I’m encouraged to get up.

  After an hour of hunting, I need a refill. My indecisiveness has reared its ugly head this morning and I’ve got so many tabs open, saving my findings in my browser, it’s ridiculous. I pull my hair up into a messy pony before grabbing my mug and heading back for the kitchen. I catch myself staring at the faucet as I absentmindedly mix my cream and sugar into my fresh serving of coffee. Something tells me that the space in which I now stand will be my next project. My bedroom can wait.

  I’m snapped out of my thoughts at the sight of Trevor suddenly appearing from down the hallway. The wall behind the sink is only chest high, making it so that the living room, the dining room, and the kitchen are almost one big connected space. He spots me right away.

  “Morning,” he says with a head nod.

  I open my mouth to respond but lose my words when I get a good look at him. His navy blue dress slacks, which fit snugly around his hips, are slightly wrinkled after a day of wear; but they look fantastic on him. The pale blue dress shirt that hugs him just right brings out his eyes and accentuates his tapered waist. I know Trevor’s wardrobe. He’s been in my life for over three years and I’d like to consider him a friend. Anyone with eyes could see he’s a jeans and t-shirt kind of guy. On hot days, he might wear shorts and a basketball jersey—but a suit?

  He bought that for the wedding.

  He bought that for Daphne.

  “Oh—for the love of all things good—please tell me you boinked her last night!” I exclaim, unable to stop myself.

  His eyes grow wide in amusement before he chuckles and shakes his head at me. “Goodbye, Logan,” he replies, hooking his fingers underneath the collar of his jacket before tossing it over his shoulder.

  “Dammit,” I grumble as he shuts the front door behind him. “Daphne!” I cry.

  “Why are you yelling?” Her response comes immediately and I jump, startled by her sudden appearance.

  “The boy just left,” I say, regaining my composure. “I need updates.”

  “Updates?” She scrunches her brow at me before reaching into the cabinet for a mug.

  “Yes. Updates. Like—how after a completely sappy and irritatingly romantic wedding, you two finally decided that you had to have each other so you made love all night long.” She laughs, just like Trevor did, and I roll my eyes and scoff. “That fine piece of ass gets laid. I know it. You know it. He definitely knows it. Problem is, he should be getting laid by you and he’s not.”

  “Logan, I haven’t even tasted my coffee yet. Must we have this conversation right now?”

  “Yes. We must,” I declare, pushing myself up so that I’m sitting on the counter. I clasp my cup between both hands and take a slow sip as I watch her do the same, on the counter directly across from me. My patience lasts for about two seconds and then I lift my eyebrows at her, insinuating that she’s stalled long enough.

  “I don’t know what you want me to say. It’s not like that between us and you know it.”

  I take another drink. She’s right. Not about their relationship, but about my expectations. The direct approach never really gets me anywhere. I normally let their relationship—or lack thereof—slide. Then, about every six months, I check in. I dig for information and, irritatingly, usually end up in exactly the same place that I started. I can’t say for sure what’s gotten into me today but I practically woke up with relationships on the brain. Since I don’t have one, hers has been marked with a bullseye.

  “How was the wedding, anyway?” I ask, hoping to sneak around the issue and attack from a different angle.

  “It was lovely. I’m really glad that I got to go. We had fun,” she says, her eyes glazing over in what is obviously a happy memory.

  “I noticed Trevor was wearing a new suit.”

  “Yeah. He looked nice.”

  “Did he dance with you?” She smiles radiantly and answers with a nod. “Okay, no more Mr. Nice Guy. You love each other.”

  “Not a secret,” she retorts in that snarky way that’s classic Daphne.

  “You want each other.”

  “Logan—”

  “Hey. It’s just me here. You can admit it. Just be honest. You. Want. Him.”

  She shrugs. “It doesn’t do anyone any good for me to admit it. He doesn’t want to be in a relationship.”

  “Ha!” I cry, poin
ting at her. “He doesn’t want to be in a relationship. But you do?”

  “Fine, you want me to say it?” She slides down off the counter and presses a fist against her hip. “I’m in love with him. I want him. I need him. There. I’ve said it. You won’t hear me say it again.”

  Before I can claim any sort of victory, she storms out of the kitchen. I cough out a laugh, amused that she thinks she can get rid of me that easily, and follow her as she makes her way to the office.

  “Why are you running away from me?”

  “I’m not running away. I’m just disengaging myself from this conversation.”

  “Come on, Daph. If you want him and he wants you, I don’t understand—”

  “He doesn’t,” she states, plopping down behind her desk. “He can’t. We can’t. He doesn’t want to be in a relationship. How many times do we have to go over this?”

  “When’s the last time you asked? Maybe he’s changed his mind. Does he even know what you want?”

  “I want him in my life,” she states simply. “That’s what I have.”

  I know that their relationship is complicated, for reasons that I am aware of and some that I am not, but if one of them doesn’t make a move, they’ll be stuck in limbo forever! I set my coffee on my desk before closing the distance between us. I fold my arms across my chest as I prop myself next to her. “If you want him to be your boyfriend, tell him. Seriously. He bought a damn suit for you. He who is notorious for wearing those vintage, Denver Nuggets baseball caps. Backwards!”

  “What does that even—?” She cuts herself off and shakes her head, as if she’s suddenly uninterested in figuring out what I mean. “Why are you harping on this right now, anyway? Last night was no different than—oooooh,” she sighs. Her face relaxes with her enlightenment.

  Now it’s my turn to be confused. I arch an eyebrow to express that I don’t follow. “Oh?”

  “Why don’t you just ask me about him?”

  “Who?”

  “Beckham. I saw him last night. You know I saw him last night. He was the best man, after all. We talked. He asked about you. He looked good, by the way.”

  My mouth falls open as I gasp. “What? This is not about him. I have Facebook. I know exactly how he looks, thank you.”

  “Aww, it’s okay. You can admit it,” she says, condescendingly. “It’s just me here. Just be honest. You. Want. Him.”

  “Ugh!” I huff, turning to make my way to my desk. “I cannot believe you’ve made this about me.” I throw myself into my chair and glare at her from where I sit. “I’m so over him.”

  “Is that right?” she asks, lifting her eyebrows in mock surprise. “So the reason why I haven’t had to pry you away from some random at a bar in, oh, seven months is not because you’re pining over Bow Tie?” she asks, referring to the first night I laid eyes on him. We were at the pub. I was meeting Daphne for a drink and we ended up inviting ourselves to this birthday celebration, of which Beckham was a part of. I remember looking at him and thinking I’d never seen anyone pull off a bow tie and suspenders like he did. He made me want to come out and play.

  “I’m not pining,” I stutter, appalled that she thinks it’s been that long since I’ve shown any interest in another guy. I can’t offer up a better rebuttal, too distracted as I search through my memory bank to find proof that she’s wrong. Only, she’s not. I know she’s not.

  Haven’t I already had this conversation with myself this morning?

  “You’re done playing,” she states, matter-of-factly. She sits up straighter when I don’t reply, as if my silence is my confirmation and her victory. “You’re done playing! So that’s why you’re crawling up my back about being in a relationship. You want to be in a relationship.”

  “No.” I feel cheated and robbed. How did my hunt for the truth turn into her hunt for the truth? “This is not about me. This really is about you. You and your tattooed man.”

  “I’ll tell you what.” She pauses and flashes a smirk at me as she clasps her hands together on top of her desk. “I’ll tell Trevor how I feel as soon as you snag yourself a boyfriend. It’s perfect, really, as I’ll likely be jealous as hell when you finally start making out with the same guy on the regular and I spend my nights cuddling with a man who won’t even kiss me. Not to say that I would trade his cuddles for anything in the world.”

  I start to address her cuddle comment and then disregard it, wanting to jump on the bargain she’s just proposed. “Deal,” I declare before I give it a second thought.

  She laughs as she stands and begins to make her way out of the room. “I’ve just bought myself so much time. For the last four years, you could have had your pick of any Tom, Dick, or Harry, and you chose not to. You might think it’s as easy as flicking on a switch, but relationships and the bitch are besties. Believe me. I know.”

  “I love you, LG—” She stops just beside me as she speaks my inaccurate initials; or, rather, the endearing nickname she gave me when she couldn’t figure out a way to shorten Logan. “—but history shows, when it comes to relationships, you’re just like my brother. All bark and no bite.”

  “Excuse me,” I gasp, annoyed by her confidence—which has come at my expense. “Do you want to bet? I’m going to get a boyfriend so fast and then we’ll see who’s laughing.”

  “Game on, babe. I’m going to throw something together for lunch. Sit tight. I’ll bring you some, too.”

  It isn’t until I’m left by myself that I replay our conversation and consider all that was just said. I don’t know how it happened, but I think my attempts to push Daphne into Trevor’s arms—or, rather, his pants, since she is obviously quite familiar with his arms—has backfired! I whine, frustrated that I let myself get sucked into this trap. I suppose that’s what I get for meddling.

  I gnaw on my bottom lip as I try and wrap my head around the concept of me with a boyfriend. I’m far from comfortable with the idea, which makes her right! I can talk a big game, but at the end of the day, giving my heart away to some pretty boy who thinks with his penis—because, let’s be honest, they all do—doesn’t inspire me to insert myself into some romance plot line. Deal or no deal, I will not be tricked into dating.

  Then again, no one said I had to play fair…

  I free my lip from the torture chamber of my teeth as a sly grin pulls at my mouth. Daphne has underestimated me. I know how to play to win and I’m not above fighting dirty. If that’s what I have to do, so be it. If it’s a boyfriend I need, a boyfriend I’ll get. Our relationship doesn’t have to be legit—we just have to convince Daphne that it is. As soon as we do, she’ll be forced to tell Trevor what she really wants and then my “boyfriend” and I can break up.

  I’m brilliant.

  Now all I need is a co-conspirer.

  I think Daph just inspired the perfect choice.

  I like working on Sundays. I know that’s probably weird, but the atmosphere is more relaxed on the last day of the weekend than any other day of the week. The bar usually fills up with people who like to watch whatever game is on that afternoon and the dining room is steadily occupied by families enjoying the remnants of their weekend. While business picks up enough to keep us busy, it’s still pretty lazy behind the bar.

  I’ve been working as a bartender at Cooper’s for a little over a year, now. I know my parents hate it—seeing as how they paid for me to earn a degree—but it’s been good for me. When I moved up to Fort Collins for a change of scenery, my roommates told me about this cool place in the middle of Old Town that was hiring. I was told that they had great pizza and a fantastic selection of beer. In this town, a good beer selection means decent and diverse crowds and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. It didn’t take long for me to become part of the Cooper’s family and I’ll be sad to see them go. I’ve got a little time yet, but I’ll be cutting back on hours in a few weeks when the semester starts.

  My decision to enroll in the CSU master’s program wasn’t just to get my parents off my
back. Earning my masters in environmental engineering has been something I’ve wanted for a while now; I just wanted a break after I did my undergrad. I aspire to do great things in my career, but being in the classroom gets old after a while. I needed a chance to regroup, I guess. I never planned on taking a four year hiatus, but the end of my senior year at CU knocked me off track and it’s taken me this long to rediscover my drive—my focus.

  I think a lot of people might argue that when Kathryn and I broke up, I shouldn’t have been so devastated. After all, it was me who broke off the engagement. Nevertheless, losing her was one of the hardest things I’ve ever been through. I loved her—part of me probably always will—but we just couldn’t stay together. We no longer wanted the same things and merely wanting each other wasn’t enough. I wasn’t ready for the rest of my life. She was.

  I won’t work to justify my feelings to anyone. Not then. Not now. If they can’t understand, then they don’t know me and it doesn’t matter. Kathryn understood, which kept me grounded, initially. It made me feel less insane. The truth is, we both let each other down. She gave me an ultimatum and I couldn’t promise her what she needed. It was as if there was nothing else either of us could do. Life was pulling us apart. We both knew it—saw it—understood it. We talked our way through it so many times.

  Even though we managed to split as amicably as our situation would allow, I resented her for a long time. I know it wasn’t fair, but ultimatums aren’t fair, either; especially in terms of a relationship. She wanted all or nothing. I wanted her but I wanted time. I needed time. We were together for over two years and the decision to get married—it was just too hard to hang onto when it felt like life, real life, was right around the corner. I couldn’t promise her my everything because I wasn’t ready for everything.

  After a while, and a lot of soul searching, I forgave her. She had to follow her heart, just like I had to follow mine. Not being together changed the trajectory of my life in ways I didn’t think possible. After envisioning a future with the woman I loved for two and a half years—a future that would never come to pass—I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything less. It wasn’t until I moved to Fort Collins, at the incessant goading of my little sister and my friend Ashton, that things started to make sense again.