by Staci Hart
I smirked. “Yeah, I know the feeling.”
She glanced over at him and sighed. “No, what I mean is that I could never be with a man who was in love with someone else.”
“Oh,” I said quietly.
“Seeing you together makes it even more real. Like, everything makes a lot more sense.” She looked down at her drink and smiled, shaking it to clink the ice together. “Anyway, thanks again. I’m glad we’re cool.”
“Cheers to that.” I raised my glass.
She clinked her glass to mine. “Bottoms up.”
We drank and headed back to the group. Greg caught my eye, and I smiled at him with barely enough time to be grateful that Cooper and West had kept him company, just before Seth stepped in front of me, effectively cutting me off.
I tried not to recoil and plastered that smile back on. “Hey, Seth. Good to see you again so soon. How’s it going?”
“Can’t complain,” he said as I looked him over.
Seth had always been a good-looking guy, blond and fair, gorgeous green eyes and a smile full of joy — the same he wore as he stood across from me in Habits, ginger ale in hand — however fabricated his joy typically was. He was fun, when the circumstances were right, witty, a charmer. But when he drank, when he was high, well, that was another story all together. It was his Mr. Hyde, the darkness brought out by addiction.
That part of him had all but disappeared. But I hadn’t forgotten that it was still just under the surface, waiting for the moment it would boil back to life.
“You look good,” I said. “Tricky said you’ve turned a corner. I’m really happy for you.”
He stuffed his free hand into his pocket. “Aw, don’t go getting sappy on me, Rosie. How many times did we come to Habits back in the day?”
I chuckled. “And how many times did I have you thrown out?”
He laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Not my best self, was it?”
“Not usually,” I said with a smile.
He sighed. “Well, I’m just glad I made it out, you know? No more fighting to survive. Not everyone gets to say that.”
“True.” I didn’t know what else to say, and my eyes darted to Greg, feeling the pressure to get back to him.
“Anyway, I’d love to catch up some time. Maybe we can get lunch or something. Dinner? Or maybe a movie?”
“Ah, sure,” I said tentatively, wondering if he was trying to ask me out. By the look in his eyes, I thought the answer might be yes. I steered the conversation in the opposite direction. “Listen, I’m really glad you came through for Tricky tonight. He said you’re not drinking anymore, so I know this wouldn’t be your hangout of choice. It was a gift to him in itself, your being here.”
“I hope so. I owe him everything,” he said earnestly.
I smiled, genuinely, this time. “I’m going to get back to my date.”
“Sure thing, Rose.”
I stepped past him, catching Greg’s eye again, trying to telepathically apologize to him as I walked through the people. And then, Joel grabbed me.
He laughed as he hugged me, picking me up easily with one arm around my waist, beer in his free hand. “Heya, Rosie.”
I couldn’t help but giggle in surprise and endearment as I held up my scotch, hoping I hadn’t spilled on him. “Hey, Joel.”
He set me back on the ground, though he held me close, looking down at me, smiling. “It’s been too long. Much too long.” He set his beer down with mischief in his eyes. “Have you met my friends THIS,” he rested his right hand, tattooed with the word on my left cheek, “and THAT?” His left hand found the other cheek, and he squeezed, planting a kiss on my lips.
I laughed when he pulled away, cheeks on fire, wondering what the hell Greg could possibly be thinking about what he was seeing. “Only about a hundred times, Joel.”
Patrick was just a few feet away, on the other side of Shep, watching us. Mistakes for days, I thought ruefully.
“What’s going on?” I asked Joel as he let me go.
“Not much. I was just saying to Shep here that we should come by to see you. Cooper told us about your new business. A bookstore, huh?”
“Oh, he did, did he?” I said with a laugh and shot Cooper a look. Bastard raised his glass at me, and I rolled my eyes.
“I didn’t know you were a reader.”
I raised a brow. “Judging a book by its cover?”
He shrugged. “You probably wouldn’t figure me for a reader, either, but I’ve read every Vonnegut book in print. Twice.”
I laughed. “Well, how about that.”
“Coop seemed pretty set on the endeavor. As an entrepreneur myself, I have to say I wholeheartedly approve.”
“We’ll see, but I’m almost positive that me being someone’s boss is a bad idea.”
Joel chuckled.
I shook my head and took a sip of my drink. “I’ll be back in a bit, gotta get back to my date.”
Joel patted me on the shoulder as I turned, looking for Greg, but he’d disappeared. West caught my eye, looking apologetic as he nodded toward the back of the bar. Greg sat at a table alone, checking his phone, empty glass in front of him.
I steeled myself as I walked over to him, preparing myself to be chewed out. I deserved it. But I joked with him anyway, bumping him in the shoulder with a smile.
“What, are you already trolling the app for a better date? Bad form, Greg.”
His smile was unable to mask his disappointment. “Sorry, Rose. Your friends are great, really, but I didn’t realize what kind of party tonight was. I think I’m going to jet.”
I was the worst kind of asshole. “No, it’s me who’s sorry. I should have known this wouldn’t be like a regular old bar night. I’ll come with you. We can get out of here together.”
“No, you should stay. It’s your friend’s birthday, and you should be here,” he said as he stood and touched my arm. “Really, it’s fine, Rose.”
I held my clutch in front of me, nibbling on my lip, feeling like an asshole. “I feel like I should apologize again, Greg.”
But he touched my arm and smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t worry about it.” He leaned down to kiss my cheek. “Have a good time with your friends,” he said before brushing past me, heading for the exit. I watched him wind his way through the people until I couldn’t see him anymore.
“Well, this sucks.” I slammed the end of my scotch and headed back to the bar to get another drink. This time, a double.
The night was long, a little bit easier with Greg gone, as shitty as that was. I’d wildly underestimated my ability to handle tonight with Greg, and I wondered just how permanent the damage was. But I relaxed after he left, making my way around to talk to everyone without needing to worry. I avoided Seth like Ebola, feeling like he wanted something more from me, probably something I was unwilling to give. The boys talked. The girls laughed. Joel and I sat down and ended up in a deep conversation about life and purpose, one of those conversations that leaves you feeling wiser, a little more in touch with yourself. He and I always did that when we saw each other — sometimes, he would drop this insight on you that would just hit you in some deep part of yourself.
Why he was single, I’d never know. By choice, I supposed. That was the only way it made sense.
Patrick and I found ways to be near each other, though I kept the wall in place and a few feet of air between us. I enjoyed it all the same, as much as I hated myself for it. We were friends. Only friends, just like we had been for years. I tried to let all the rest of it go and focus on that.
We stepped into the courtyard in the back of the bar and stood Patrick under the big tree, singing “Happy Birthday” as Lily brought out his cake, topped with twenty-eight candles. When she set it on a small table in front of him and it illuminated his face in shades of gold, my breath hitched, and I found myself unable to sing, or speak, or breathe. He smiled that rare smile of his as he looked around at us, the people who loved him m
ost in the world, the planes and angles of his face glowing or shadowed, depending. And then his eyes found mine as the song ended, blanketing us in stillness.
“Make a wish,” I said gently, and he closed his eyes for a moment before blowing them out, every one.
FLESH PRETZEL
Patrick
THE CAKE HAD BEEN EATEN and the whiskey flowed once more as I stood in the bar with my friends, all pink-cheeked and laughing. Seth clapped me on the shoulder and said goodbye just after the cake, and I was thankful for him, thankful that the universe had released him from the hold it had on him.
It was a good birthday.
I’d asked for everyone’s favorite books, anyone who’d questioned me as to what I wanted, at least, and I walked away with a haul. Dune from Joel, a Batman compendium from Cooper, The Bell Jar from Veronica, and The Princess Bride from Lily. Others gave me gifts they’d chosen, from a wooden crate packed with whiskey and drinking gifts from Shep — which came with a small crowbar that was necessary to open it — to a framed print by one of my favorite illustrators from West.
For much of my life, birthdays had been just another day, a day of no consequence. I didn’t want for more, it was just another truth, a solid fact. It seemed the rules of life, of normalcy, had never applied to me. But I took it for what it was. Just woke up every day and kept going.
The first year West and I lived together, the notion that I’d never had a birthday party shocked him. He then made it his personal mission to show me the appeal. I’ll admit, there wasn’t much like the feeling. It’s a day to pay tribute to someone you love, and the gratitude I felt with each passing year was more than I could express. I never expected it, yet it always came just the same, on warm wings.
The girls sat around a table behind us talking, though Ellie and Max, one of the guys from the shop, blew past us toward the door, holding hands. Joel was in the middle of a story —one that required a lot of hand waving and gesticulation — when I felt a hand on my arm.
I turned to find Rose.
She smiled softly and looked down at her hand, to the small box resting between her fingers. “I, ah … I wanted to give you this.” She extended the gift and lifted her eyes to meet mine.
Rose was somehow a thousand miles away and just beyond my reach.
I took the box and touched her arm, turning us to an empty table nearby. The gift was in a black box, tied with a thin gold ribbon.
She leaned on the stool, hooking one hot pink heel on the bottom rung. “I wanted you to know that I’m glad we’ve been hanging out lately. I’ve … I’ve missed you a lot, your friendship,” she said, eyes darting to mine briefly.
I nodded, looking back down at the box again. “Me too.”
“Anyway, happy birthday, Patrick. Here’s to another year.” She raised her glass, and I touched the rim of mine to hers before we took a drink. She smiled at me. “Well, go ahead and open it.”
I set down my glass and turned the box over in my hand before pulling the ribbon to untie it. When I lifted the lid, I found a worn old brown key, flat and utilitarian, strung on a chain that matched. The key was engraved with the word Survive in simple lettering.
Rose took a breath and began to speak. She was nervous. “I know it may seem strange, me giving you a necklace, but you don’t have to wear it. I just saw it, and it made me think of you. No matter what life’s thrown at you, no matter what happens, you always find a way to survive. You’re indestructible.”
My throat tightened. “No, I’m not.”
“Oh, but you are. You just don’t realize it, which is why I wanted you to have that key. So you can be reminded.”
I took it out of the box and slipped it around my neck, inspecting it once more before dropping it into my shirt, where it hung just below my heart. “Thank you, Rose.”
She smiled, the one that closed her off to me, and stood, stepping back to put more space between us. “You’re welcome.”
I watched her walk away, feeling the cold metal key against my chest as I gathered the box and ribbon.
I’d looked into her eyes and made my wish, and then she gave me a gift that made me wonder if there wasn’t a way to have what I’d wished for. Because I wanted her. It was just another solid fact.
Flesh Pretzel
Rose
An hour or so later, we all made our way up Broadway toward our apartment, stopping for pizza at the counter on the way, snarfing it on the way home. Everyone was buzzed, and Patrick might have been drunk, though I wasn’t sure. You never could tell with him, and it was rare to see him well and truly blazed. It was because of the drugs, he’d told me once. He was always afraid he’d slip, if his inhibitions were low enough. But he drank almost exclusively with us. It was where he felt safe, I knew.
Ellie had disappeared just before we left, flying by me in a sparkling whirl to tell me not to worry, that she’d call me, so Lily, West, Patrick and I walked back to the apartment, laughing and eating, just like the old days.
We parted ways with Lily and West in the hall just outside my door with the exchange of a few last minute jokes and a few hugs. And for one fleeting moment as they walked to West’s apartment, Lily tucked into his side, all I could think of was just how different everything was.
I slipped my key in the door, very aware of Patrick behind me as I unlocked it and pushed it open.
A shoe hit the back of the door, and I jumped, my heart stopping from the shock.
Ellie’s naked leg popped over the back of the couch, followed by a burst of giggling just before a man’s boot flew toward me. I ducked just in time, and Patrick held up his hand to bat it away.
“Oh, my God,” I said to myself.
Patrick sighed as he set down his bag of gifts. “That’s my bed.”
More giggling. The disco dress flew up in the air.
I closed the door and ran a hand through my hair. “You’ll have to sleep in Lily’s room, I guess.”
Max sat up and pulled off his shirt, tossing it over his shoulder, grinning as he disappeared behind the back of the couch. No one had acknowledged our entrance.
Patrick shook his head. “I know Max. This isn’t going to be over any time soon, and I don’t know if I can deal with them moving that into the bedroom.” He gestured to the couch.
I gave him a flat look. “So you’re going home?”
His eyebrow climbed, and he smirked. “You really think West and Lily are going to go to sleep tonight? I have to work in the morning.”
I blinked, not getting what he was after. “So, then, what?”
He shrugged and started pulling off his boots. “I’m sleeping in your bed.”
All the blood in my body rushed to my face. “The hell you are,” I sputtered.
One boot hit the ground and he reached for the other, smiling at me over his shoulder. “I’ll sleep on top of the covers, if you want. Swear I won’t make a move. I just want to sleep.” The other boot hit the ground.
I pictured him stretched out in my bed, eyes closed, his naked back, covered in tattoos, rising and falling as he —
“No.” I threw the word at him like Thor’s hammer.
The Patrick who usually stood back and followed my lead was MIA, replaced with a rogue bearing a crooked smile and a devil-may-care attitude. I decided then that he must definitely be drunk.
“Rose,” he said as Max growled and Ellie giggled in answer, “it’s my birthday, and all I want is a good night’s sleep. You’re really going to say no?”
I folded my arms. “Yup.”
He chuckled, dark eyes twinkling at me as he turned. “It’s happening. You want to take a chance in Lily’s room?”
I gnawed on my lip as I watched him walk through my apartment, stripping off his jacket, the muscles under his shirt bulging. He glanced at the couch and made a face before looking back at me.
“I’m telling you, Rose. You don’t want to be subjected to that fuckery.”
I clenched my teeth and huffed. Having hi
m in my bed was beyond dangerous, but no, I didn’t want to witness my cousin getting nailed into next week, and I didn’t want him to have to either. And he had to play the fucking birthday card.
“Fine,” I said, the word flat, though it still held an edge. “No funny business, Tricky. I’ve got a baseball bat under my bed, and I’m not afraid to brain you if you get grabby.”
His back was to me, but I swear he was smiling.
I walked past the couch, risking a look at Ellie and Max, which was a mistake. They were a writhing flesh pretzel, right there in my living room, and there were zero fucks to be given by either of them. They’d spent all their fucks on each other.
Thank God I’d left the light off.
I sped up to try to leave that visual behind me, though it didn’t work. What did work was what I saw when I turned into my room.
It was nearly dark, with just the small lamp next to my bed lit, and Patrick stood on the far side of my bed, reaching over his shoulder to grab his shirt between his shoulder blades. He pulled it over his head, exposing his tattoos. The centerpiece was a replication of The Hermit, a tarot card, with the roman numeral nine just above. He wore a gray hooded robe and a white beard, head bowed, staff in one hand and a lantern in the other, extended in front of him to light the night. The only variation was that the hermit’s hands were tattooed just like Patrick’s.
It was a symbol of loneliness and of enlightenment, one of searching and introspection. The surrounding art was all line and dot work, giving it the feeling of movement, almost like the illustration was reverberating.
I realized I’d stopped walking and hurried over to my dresser to dig for a pair of shorty shorts and a T-shirt. When I glanced over, he was stepping out of his pants, his sculpted ass in tight, short boxer briefs right there, right in front of me.
Pretty sure fire sprinklers went off in my panties.
I turned — it was the only way I could force myself to look away — and went into the bathroom to change, talking myself down all the way. I washed my face. Tried not to freak out when I saw his toothbrush next to mine and brushed my teeth with a little more vigor than was entirely necessary. And then, I made my way back to my room, feeling like there was a bomb in my bed. I guess in a way, there was.
