by Karina Halle
Yet committing is scary, especially to someone who spent the better part of his time here sleeping with everyone in town. He’s a manwhore, but I know he was also deeply committed to Rachel, and I’m not quite sure how safe my heart will be in his hands. I know he likes me, and I know everything he’s saying right now is coming from his heart.
But will he mean it later?
That doesn’t really matter though, because every relationship starts off with fears. It’s about a leap of faith and I’m leaping with him just as he’s leaping with me.
My boyfriend.
I hold out my hand for him as we walk toward the steps of the winery, the music and laughter drifting out from inside.
He grasps it in his, looking ever the gentleman in his suit, and he steadies me, giving me strength. In the distance comes the faint hoot of an owl. The moon is low on the vineyards, bathing the rows of grapes in traces of silver, and there’s the fresh scent of lavender rising on the warm breeze.
“We could just stay out here,” he says, looking around wistfully. “Two for two with vineyard sex.”
I want to stay out here too, and yeah, some dirty sex in our fancy duds would be pretty hot. In fact, now I regret coming here at all.
I didn’t really mean to use Blake in the “hey look, I’m with a hot piece of ass right now” way, but at the same time I didn’t think he, of all people, would mind being arm candy. When I got the email from Sarah, she sounded so sweet and happy, and she’d always been that one friend who I should have kept in touch with more. Besides, she had come to every single party that Alan and I had, so it was only fair I attend her engagement party.
But my pettiness and competitiveness came out to play, as usual. Once she told me Alan was coming with his girlfriend, I knew I couldn’t go alone. I’ve mentioned that I’m petty, right?
Luckily Blake’s been a good sport, and now that we’re actually together as a couple—as of a few minutes ago—at least I know that nothing of who I am will be a lie.
Except for the writing part. As much as I wish I could tell them that I’m a big deal now in some circles (they don’t have to know which circles), I know I can’t. The word would spread so fast and both our lives would come crashing down. It wouldn’t be worth it just to have them be impressed for a moment.
“Here we go,” I say to Blake, raising our joined hands in the air in a show of bravery before I take a deep breath and we head inside.
“Amanda, you came!’ Sarah says to me almost immediately, running up from the crowd.
She’s looking stunning as usual and she pulls me into a hug. Wow, she’s drunk, too.
She pulls away, holding me by the shoulders, and looks me up and down. “You look fantastic. Have you lost weight? My god, your boobs.” She looks over my shoulder at Blake and raises her brows, seemingly impressed. She leans in and whispers in my ear, “This is your new man? Damn, he is cute. Where on earth did you find him?”
“Hi, I’m Blake,” Blake says, offering his hand, overhearing it all.
She shakes it, smiling coyly at him. “And he’s English, too.”
“Yes, he is,” he says. “You must be Sarah.”
“I am.” She looks around her. “My fiancé David is somewhere, I’ll have to track him down. I’ll come find you in a bit,” she says before she hurries away into the crowd. Many people are now stealing glances my way. I recognize most of them, offering them a timid smile but nothing more. I’m not sure if I should be the stand-offish, shy girl they knew me as before or go out of my way to be extra nice, to make up for the whole New Year’s Eve fiasco.
Blake places his hand around my waist and pulls me to him. “Remember,” he says in my ear, shivers running down my spine, “they aren’t important. They don’t matter. Let’s just do our thing and go.”
I nod, licking my lips. He’s right. These people never liked me, not the real me. Just the me they thought was acceptable once Alan was with me.
Speaking of Alan.
Oh shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
He’s walking toward me, wearing a grey suit, no tie, a beer grasped casually in his hands. I’m not sure how it’s possible, but he seems to have extra swagger.
Where the hell did he get the swagger from?
I paste a stupid fake smile on my face while the rest of me stiffens.
Blake notices. “This the cold fish?” he whispers at my back.
I don’t say anything. My mouth is locked in this ridiculous grin.
“Amanda,” Alan says smoothly, stopping a few feet away. “What a surprise. Really didn’t think you’d show after what happened last time.”
“Well, nothing says engagement quite like my vomit,” I tell him.
Blake bursts out laughing behind me, while Alan seems stunned. Actually, I’m stunned. I can’t believe I said that though I guess acting poised is a bit of a stretch for me.
“Ha,” Alan says slowly and now he’s wearing the fake smile. “You still have that way about you, don’t you?”
“Hi, I’m Blake,” Blake says, offering his hand and what I assume will be his phrase of the night.
Alan eyes his hand, eyes me, eyes Blake. Then the fake smile is back and they shake hands.
“Alan,” he says. “I assume Amanda has told you all about me.”
“Only the bad parts.”
Blake is totally deadpan and Alan frowns at him.
“Ha,” Alan says again, more unsurely now. “You found someone as equally dorky as yourself. So where did you two meet?”
“Dorks Anonymous,” says Blake. “We’re in recovery but it’s a tough road.” He winces in mock strife.
This time Alan can barely offer up a smile. “Uh huh.” He covers his mouth with his beer, and I swear he’s muttering something under his breath.
“Sweetie?” A tall leggy Megan Fox-type woman comes slinking over.
“Oh!” Alan exclaims, putting his arm around her. She’s at least two feet taller than him in her heels, and in her short Grecian white dress she looks like she just strolled off the Victoria’s Secret runway. “This is Georgia. She’s my girlfriend.”
I smile at her as we shake hands. I feel like her bones are light enough to belong to a bird, and I immediately think of Phenelope. “I’m Amanda.”
“Oh I know,” she says with a small smile. She looks at Blake. “And you are?”
He gives her the long head nod. “Blake.”
“Amanda and Blake. Well this is awkward,” she says, and we all laugh, even me. At least she knows how to break the ice.
“Where did you two meet?” I ask her, partly out of conversation, partly out of curiosity.
They grin at each other. “Well,” Alan says, his chest practically puffed out, “I met her at a conference. Doctor Ron Teethington was in town doing a lecture. If you don’t know, he’s one of the leading health experts on gum disease and how it manifests itself into long-term illness. He’s one of the reasons why we’re fighting to include dental work into BC’s health care plan.”
Blake snorts. “Wait a minute, wait a minute,” he says, waving his hands. “He’s an expert on teeth and his name is Ron Teethington?”
Alan frowns, exchanging a wary glance with Georgia. “I’m not sure what the problem is,” he says.
Yup. That’s the Alan I remember.
“Are you shitting me?” Blake exclaims, laughing now. “Teethington!”
“Easy, Sterling Archer,” I warn Blake, elbowing him in the side.
“Doctor Teethington is the leading expert in his field,” Georgia tries to explain, not appreciating our lack of reverence for her beloved dentist.
Blake looks at me as if to say, you were with this guy for four years?
I paste another smile on my face, aiming it at them as I grab Blake’s arm. “Well, it’s been really nice to see you.”
“Did you know that Georgia is in med school?” Alan adds quickly. “She’s going to be a genetic scientist. She’s going to cure the world of all di
seases. How about that for a career?”
We’re not even together anymore and yet he still has to take a shot at my writing.
“Wow,” Blake says drawing out the word and widening his eyes in mock shock as he looks at Alan. “That must mean your dick is a lot bigger than mine. Congratulations.”
I have to clamp my lips shut to keep from laughing as I haul Blake toward the bar and away from their confused faces.
“Oh my god!” I exclaim as we get to the bar, swatting him across the chest. “Now he’s not going to get the joke and he’s going to think he has a larger penis than you.” I look over at them across the room, yelling, “Which is so not true!”
“Two beers,” Blake says to the bartender before turning to me. “I cannot believe you were with that guy for four years. Oh my god. How did you not go bloody insane?”
I shrug sheepishly. “I settled. I was flattered and then I settled.”
“Don’t you ever fucking settle for me, you promise?” he asks, holding out his pinky finger.
I roll my eyes but shake on it. “I’m not settling for you. I’m practically pining for you.”
“Oh really?” he asks, folding his arms and raising his chin. “And this is you pining?”
“I’ve been showing my pining through blow jobs.”
“Hmmm. I guess I approve.”
The bartender slides us our drinks but Blake motions to him. “And a shot of Jameson for the lady and me. Make it two.” He winks at me. “Open bar.”
“You’re driving,” I hiss at him.
“We can cab it if we have to,” he says. “Something tells me we’re going to need a lot of booze to survive this cock up.”
“What happened to just going home?”
“Eh, now that I’m here I want to get my money’s worth.” He takes the shots from the bartender and hands me mine. He holds his up. “Here’s to open bars.”
“To open bars,” I say.
“And to us.”
And even though that perpetual smirk is on his lips, I can see the depth in his eyes, the warmth, the need, the want. The fact that he absolutely has my back through all of this.
“To us.”
We slam back the shots—both of them—and then the beers. And then rinse, repeat.
It’s not long before I’m completely wasted. I should have eaten something beforehand, but I was just too nervous and Ana’s dinner of cold beet soup and rye bread wasn’t exactly appetizing.
Blake seems to have my back though. He’s with me nearly every step of the way, even indulging me with a drunken dance, until Sarah sequesters me by myself, introducing me to her fiancé David, whom I think seems nice but looks like the type of guy who would wear an ascot (if those even exist anymore) and get weekly manicures.
While Sarah blabbers on and on about David, in front of his face, I get more and more drunk.
One of the last things I remember is seeing Blake across the room talking to Georgia and Alan of all people. He seemed to be passionately explaining something and then all their heads swiveled my way.
I think I smiled and waved.
I’m not really sure.
Then all the world went black.
“It’s okay,” Blake says soothingly.
It’s not okay.
It’s never been less okay.
I’m on my knees in his bathroom, hunched over the toilet, vomiting my guts out.
At least it didn’t happen last night but I can’t be sure of that.
Meanwhile, Blake is holding my hair back for me, even though I’ve tried to push him away a few times.
God this is embarrassing. No one wants to vomit in front of the guy they’re sleeping with.
Or their new boyfriend, I remind myself.
“It’s okay,” he says again.
I want to tell him it’s not okay at all but I obviously can’t speak. I heave and heave and heave until I don’t have anything left to upchuck.
Then Blake scoops me up, flushes the toilet, and leads me to the shower where he strips the both of us naked and steps inside with me.
My legs are shaking, and I taste nothing but stomach acid and leftover Jameson, but the moment the hot water hits me, I feel some of last night dissolve.
I moan loudly and place my hands on the shower wall, trying to hold myself up while my head hangs down.
“Darling, don’t you dare moan in here like that,” he says to me, squirting body wash into his hands and rubbing them together. “I’m not about to take advantage of a hungover wreck. Just as I didn’t take advantage of you last night.”
“How noble,” I mutter.
“Well, it’s kind of noble when you were attempting to give me a blow job the entire cab ride back here. Poor cabby, I had to tip him extra, even though I think he enjoyed your effort. Even when we went to bed, you didn’t pass out like I thought you would. Instead you kept at it again.”
I manage to look at him, the water running down the strong planes of his face. “Really?”
He nods, sliding his hands over my shoulders. “Yup. I’ve never seen you so horny. I’ve also never seen you so smashed before.”
When I woke up this morning I felt like I was lying at the bottom of a grave filled with dog shit and vomit and had to climb my way out. But Blake was in bed with me and already had water, Gatorade, Advil and a B-Vitamin booster on the bedside table ready to go. Too bad it wasn’t long after that I had to run to the bathroom.
“Did I make a fool of myself last night?” I ask him. It almost hurts to speak.
“No,” he says. “You were quiet. You kind of went inward. Everyone else was drunk though, so we weren’t the only ones, and I made you leave before the party was over.”
I breathe in deeply, closing my eyes, water running into my mouth. “Thank god. Did you behave yourself?”
There’s a beat of hesitation before he says, “Of course I did,” and continues soaping me up. “Want me to shampoo your hair?” he asks, and it reminds me of our first time in the shower together.
“Okay,” I tell him, relaxing into him as his strong fingers work through my hair. It feels so good to be attended to like this. I know Blake is naked in the shower with me, but I still appreciate how non-sexual it is. Granted, I can feel his erection poking my hip, but still. He’s being tender with me, with every touch of his hands, each caress of his eyes as they gaze at me. All that and after puking in front of him, too.
When we get out of the shower, he slips his robe on me and leads me to the living room where he feeds me jasmine tea and organic soup and dotes on me in a way I never thought possible. I mean, beneath my raging headache and queasy stomach, my heart feels as if it might burst.
This is more than falling in love.
Fuck it.
I am in love.
And I think he can feel it.
Even when I try to talk about work, he tells me we can discuss that tomorrow and that today is a vacation, a day to recuperate. He’s practically doing everything short of feeding me grapes.
“Don’t you have to feed Fluffy?” I ask him, my feet on his lap as he squeezes them, giving me a foot massage.
“Heath took care of that yesterday,” he says, visibly shuddering.
“I hate to bring this up, especially as I’m not in the right frame of mind to talk about hairy arachnids” I say, “but how long do you plan on keeping Fluffy?”
He tilts his head to me, a piece of dark, thick hair flopping over his forehead. “Is this your first step as my girlfriend, to get rid of Fluffy and maybe my Lionel Richie records?”
“First of all, Lionel Richie is a god.”
“All night long,” Blake belts out.
“All night,” I sing back. “And second of all, no. If you’re cool with having a giant, ugly, hairy, yet surprisingly delicate tarantula in your apartment, then I’m fine with it, too. But he does seem to cause you permanent anxiety and he’s not exactly yours.”
He sighs, closing his eyes as he leans back against the
cushion. “I know. With the divorce and all, Kevin might be moving, I’m not really sure. I hope not. But if he does, he for sure won’t be able to take him. Luckily I think Heath may want him. Crazy bugger.”
“That’s going to suck,” I tell him, knowing how close they are. The way that Blake acts around Kevin, talks about Kevin, is one of the sweetest things I’ve seen. I know girls get all soft in the uterus when they see a man with a baby or a puppy, but this is kind of the same thing. He’s a good older brother and it makes me realize the depths he has inside him, the ability to really love.
“Tell me about it,” he says. “You know I never had a brother growing up, and even though I’m so much older than Kevin, that’s who I see him as. And when he told you I’m his best friend? That’s not a lie. I’m the closet friend he has. I worry for both of us if he has to move.” He gives me a pleading look. “That’s why this LARPing thing is so important. You sure you’ll come?”
“When is it again? I’d come even if I wasn’t officially your girlfriend.”
“Next Sunday.”
“That works. Just remember, you are dressing up as Loki.”
He glares at me. “Fine. If you dress up for me.”
“Fine.” I pause, not sure what I’m agreeing to. “As what?”
He taps his fingers against his lips in mock thought. “Hmmm, I better choose wisely, this might be a once in a lifetime experience.”
“Don’t you dare say Princess Leia in the gold bikini.”
“Awwww,” he groans loudly in disappointment.
“I’m not wearing a bikini to a glorified renaissance faire slash comic con battle.”
“But your body is amazing. And you didn’t mind showing it off when I was pounding you on the balcony.” He jerks his head to the glass door.
“No,” I tell him.
“Okay. Fine.” He ponders over it. “Jean Grey. As Phoenix. The spandex suit. And you better wear your fucking hair down, Rapunzel.”
“Deal.”
He sighs, looking at his phone. “I better go get the car back from the winery.” He gets up, stretching his arms above his head, and my eyes go to the hard planes of his hips, the slice of washboard abs.
“You sure you don’t want me to come?” I ask.
