Uncomplicated Choices

by Cara Dee

  "Going through the motions is what you do when you aim for easy," Ellis said. "So, yes, it's what I'm doing now too, and it's because I can't make up my mind." He took a sip of his beer and brushed his thumb across his upper lip. "I know exactly what to do if I want our marriage to go back to normal. I make some empty promises of better things to come—that ultimately won't—and she will do the same. Then we'll put this therapy nonsense behind us, and we'll continue leading separate lives together."

  That fucking hurt. It sounded all too much like my parents. "Why would anyone want that?"

  He averted his eyes, finding something to do by aligning his glass atop the coaster. "It's easy. It puts the relationship on the back burner so you can focus on what you're passionate about. And it's not half bad to have someone to come home to, even if you don't really speak."

  I could only shake my head. This went so far beyond cynical.

  When our snacks arrived, I munched on some chips and chugged my beer while my mind spun. Did I know the issue between Ellis and Marilyn? I wasn’t sure; it had to be more than what Adeline had told me. Which was essentially that they'd drifted apart and prioritized differently. Differently enough that they'd begun arguing more, and one fight led to another, then boom, "What are we even married for?" According to Adeline, it was Ellis who'd said that.

  "Ade may have told me you brought up the talk of divorce," I said.

  He nodded with a dip of his chin. "It was a moment of realization, I suppose. I genuinely didn’t understand why we put up with each other." And then he did, when it hit him it was because they aimed for easy. "I suggested the counseling, as well. Seemed like the right thing to do."

  Seemed like the right thing to do.

  Yeah, definitely going through the motions.

  "And she agreed," I stated.

  "On one condition," he laughed quietly. "That she gets to try out the single life."

  I didn’t answer. It was getting too frustrating. Who in their right mind agreed to fix a broken marriage while also insisting they go out and get some? Ellis wasn’t much better. He knew what he was choosing between, an uphill battle that might be so rewarding he would find life-long joy…and settling for easy. And he couldn’t make up his mind?

  "So you're passionate about your job," I said. "I thought you weren't one of those who worked all hours of the day."

  "I don't." He tilted his head at me, a little confused. "I love my company very much, but I have other interests, too."

  They had to be some awesome interests if they ranked higher than his wife. "Like what?"

  "Er, well…I enjoy reading—"

  "Oh, come on, Ellis." I stared incredulously at him. "If you'd rather get lost in a book—which in this case might be what we call escapism—there's not a chance in hell you should stay married."

  "I haven't argued that, have I?" he shot back. "It's about priorities."

  "You don’t prioritize happiness?"

  He got stuck on that one.

  Ellis didn’t strike me as a cautious or fearful man. How could he be when he'd gone all in to build his own agency? He made a living off of taking risks and predicting what would trend and sell. It took a certain level of assertiveness to be able to tell a representative from another company that Ellis and his team could market their brand. No…if anything, it felt like Ellis had forgotten what happiness was altogether.

  "Look," I said, easing off on the pedal. "It's not my business to tell you what to do, and I'm the last guy to give advice on relationships."

  "But?" He lifted a brow.

  "But I hope you won't wake up one day and regret a big part of your life."

  *

  Where was my party mood?

  I had a date tonight. It was Friday; the workweek was over, and I should be in my usual high spirits. I couldn’t blame it on Haley being gone. While I missed her, it wasn’t the end of the world anymore. She was having the time of her life, creating memories with people we loved, and I was happy for her.

  Sure, it felt wonderful when I spoke to her yesterday and she exclaimed she missed me so much, though my butthurt had healed. Next summer would be my turn. I'd snatch up the girls and take them to Narnia or something.

  I'd gotten a lot done yesterday and today too, so that couldn’t be what stole my Friday happiness. This morning, I drove the last of my crap to work, and then I handed the keys over. I was officially homeless. Which… I glanced around the hallway, and okay, it was entirely wrong to joke about being homeless when I was spending the rest of the month in an estate worth a couple million.

  Patting the pockets of my jeans, I made sure I had my keys, wallet, and phone while I inspected myself in the mirror. A hand went through my hair. It took effort to give it that freshly fucked kind of look. I blinked and squinted at my reflection. Look alive. It was a little chilly tonight, so I changed my mind about the button-down and ran upstairs to my old room to grab a tee and a fitted sweater instead. Then I was ready to leave Lincoln and Ade’s place.

  Since I banked on drinking tonight, I passed my truck. The walk down the hillside to Downtown only took ten minutes or so, and at least it wasn’t raining anymore.

  I checked my blog and read a few dozen comments on the way, and I had to admit I was disappointed that Ellis hadn’t responded to this post. I was getting used to seeing his comments. They were often on the sweet side, in that supportive grown-up way. Then again, today’s post was mostly snark. I'd posted a couple memes in an update about first-world problems on dating both men and women. Because if there was one thing I'd learned quickly, it was to expect different outcomes depending on the gender.

  Not much to comment on, and to be honest, I kind of regretted the post. I'd had something more meaningful in mind, but I'd chickened out. I had no desire to start a gender debate today, no matter how much it bugged me. So I'd turned to humor.

  A quarter to eight, I reached the marina and strolled over to a little place I knew was sort of the only gay-friendly restaurant in Downtown. Cedar Valley was otherwise the best neighborhood for my brand of heathens.

  The marina was buzzing with the Friday crowd, and the inside of Quinn's Fish Camp was just as lively. Given it'd been a minute since I'd seen my date—seven freaking months—I'd asked him to tell me the color of his shirt. And no guy in a purple shirt sat at the bar. I did, however, spot Madigan and Jameson.

  The latter was a more recent addition in my life. He ran a tattoo business with Madigan in the Valley.

  "Fancy running into you guys here." I clapped them on the shoulders and squeezed myself in the middle of them. "Oh, look, it's a Casey sandwich in the making."

  Madigan laughed. "Hey, punk. What're you doing here?"

  "I think the better question is, what are you two doing here?" As far as I knew, they rarely left the Valley. Downtown was my domain. I turned around to lean back against the bar so I could keep an eye on who was entering the place.

  "Chasing skirts?" Jameson inched back long enough to give me a once-over. "You'd look good in one."

  I chuckled. "Aren't you sweet."

  He winked and took a swig of his beer.

  Natural flirt, that one. Sexy, too.

  So was Madigan, but I had a bone to pick with him. He could be eye candy another time.

  "Ade's pissed at you," I told him. "I'm not happy with you either, but I'm sticking to the miffed category."

  He frowned. "I haven't seen you in weeks. I fail to see what I've done wrong."

  "That's the point, you cretin." I rolled my eyes. "Abel spent all of two weeks at home, and you couldn’t be bothered to drag your ass over for dinner even once?"

  Madigan was part of our band of misfits. Back in the day, his older brother was the drummer in Lincoln's band, and Madigan took a job early on as crewmember. That was how he got to know both Lincoln and Ade. When the band broke up and Lincoln went to prison, Madigan and Adeline grew closer.

  "I've been busy as fuck," Madigan defended. He got touchy. No clue why. Consider
ing how close he and Abel used to be, it was a mystery to me. Madigan was older, a few years short of forty, and despite the age difference, he and Abel came to life in a whole new way whenever they were in the same room.

  Or, that’s how it used to be, anyway. They'd seen less and less of each other since Abel was drafted by the NHL. Madigan even missed Abel's twentieth birthday earlier this year.

  "Did you fight?" I asked. Because the more I thought about it, the weirder it got. Did they see each other over the holidays? I wasn’t sure… Actually—now I remembered. Madigan introduced a boyfriend to the family. First and last time we saw the guy. But yeah, Madigan and Abel saw one another then.

  "No, we didn’t fucking fight. Enough with the third degree, kid."

  I sent him a look of warning. Kid was Lincoln's name for me; I could accept that one. Not from others, though. I didn’t like it.

  In response, he grabbed my jaw and planted a loud kiss on my cheek.

  I snorted and wiped my cheek, and as my gaze flicked to the door, I saw a guy with a dark purple shirt walk in. Well, damn. It must've been some other guy who had a big forehead at Adrian's holiday party, because this guy was cute and had a normal-sized forehead.

  "Looks like my date is here," I said. "Bye, bitches."

  Chapter 5

  Toby was my age, yet acted like a teenager on crack. I wasn’t used to being the mellow one. I tended to attract assertive men, often a bit older, and women who were either equally assertive or drawn to jokesters.

  Was this how others saw me on dates? As a teenage crackhead?

  I had the strangest urge to call Ellis and apologize. He was the last one who'd been exposed to my upbeat manners.

  You're a dick.

  Probably.

  I was being too hard on Toby, and I didn’t know why. He was handsome, and we clearly had a lot in common, namely a personality. He was a substitute teacher and liked kids. Blond, blue eyes a little darker than my own, nice build. On the short side. And being five-eleven myself, that was saying a lot. Being the tall one wasn’t anything I could take for granted, either. Around men, anyway.

  Ellis is taller than you.

  Yes, he was, and why was I thinking of him?

  I shook my head and refocused on the fellow talker I was on a date with. What was he saying? Something about the yearly festival that was coming up. Once a harvest celebration, now a tourist attraction that drew in hordes of people from all over.

  "Will you be there?" he wondered.

  I nodded and shifted in my seat. "Yeah, I think so." We'd scored a table in the back, and if I turned away from the bar a little, maybe it wouldn’t be so tempting to return to Madigan and Jameson. They were currently cracking jokes with the owner, Darius Quinn. Three men's laughter rang out above the already noisy din, and I pushed down the envy.

  I liked to crack jokes, too…

  "You have a daughter, right?" Toby inquired. "I'm guessing she loves the festival."

  Jesus, I really sucked. The guy was making an effort.

  "I do." I cleared my throat. It was time to pay attention and give this a go. "She's in Paris now though, so she'll miss it this year."

  "Oh, wow. Paris. How exciting." Toby smiled. "Is she there with her mother, or…?"

  That would be my least favorite topic, so it was time to use Lincoln as a diversion. "Ah, no. My family. Have you heard of Lincoln Hayes? Our daughters are more like sisters than anything."

  "Damn. Who hasn’t heard of him?" Mission accomplished. Toby didn’t have Haley's mother in mind anymore. "Shit, so you know a rock legend," he chuckled and shook his head. "Didn’t he kill someone?"

  When he put it like that, Lincoln sounded like a cold-blooded murderer. Christ. "It was manslaughter. It's a long story, but he's not a bad guy." Far from it, thinking of the circumstances. Time for another topic change. "I take it you like rock music?"

  I know. I know. Lame.

  *

  "That was brutal." I returned to the bar and found an empty stool next to Jameson. I was quick to order two shots and a beer. They were lit, so I had to catch up.

  "It looked brutal," Jameson noted.

  "I blew it." I wasn’t going to pretend it was Toby. I was off my game tonight. "Thanks." I accepted the drinks and requested to start a tab, and then I downed the first shot. "He was cute though, wasn’t he?"

  It wasn’t over yet. Toby and I had made loose plans to meet up at the festival before he'd left. Apparently, he was getting up early tomorrow morning, which…didn’t make much sense. It was Saturday tomorrow, and he was a teacher. Well—substitute, so maybe he had a second job.

  "Fuckable, I guess." Jameson shrugged and emptied his beer. "At this point, I think I'd hit anything with a heartbeat."

  I laughed under my breath. "Been a while?"

  "I passed a while last year." He belched in his fist, then excused himself to go take a piss.

  That left Madigan and me. And the other stragglers. Or maybe it wasn’t late enough for anyone to be stragglers. I checked my watch and blinked. Lord, it wasn’t even ten! The only reason the crowd wasn’t as big anymore was because the dinner guests had left, and now we were waiting for the drunks to show up. Woohoo, party people.

  "Am I getting old?" I asked. Maybe finding out it was early shook me up a bit.

  "Oh, fuck you." Madigan huffed a laugh and held up two fingers at the bartender. "If you're feeling old, it's got nothing to do with age."

  Either way, it was a weird night. Throwing back the other shot, I ordered two more and set my phone on the bartop—oh, a message. I dug those. I unlocked the phone and felt a bolt of excitement when I saw the text was from Ellis.

  I forgot to tell you earlier this week. I'm enjoying getting to know you better, too. Hope you have a good weekend. —Ellis

  Someone was practicing openness. I grinned and took a healthy swallow of my beer.

  "You know who's hotter than hell?" I turned to Madigan, who offered an expectant stare. "Ellis," I said. And maybe I was starting to feel the effects of the alcohol. My chest felt warmer, my tongue looser, and my spirits higher. "Ellis Hayes has got to be one of the sexiest men on this planet."

  Madigan laughed, half surprised and a whole lot of amused. "You're just now noticing that he's handsome? He's only been in the family longer than you and I have."

  "He's more than handsome," I insisted.

  He lifted a shoulder and smirked. "Okay, I get it, you think he's fine as fuck. Are you carrying a hard-on for a straight man, Case?"

  Motherfucker, was I? Oh, who was I kidding? I most likely was. It would explain the excitement. There might even be the beginning of a minor crush, but those were harmless. "Wouldn’t be the first time." I became infatuated easily, so I wasn’t worried. They rarely ran deep.

  Jameson returned and asked what we were talking about, which brought us to a mildly intoxicated toast about being infatuated with sex. It seemed I wasn’t the only one struggling with the dating scene. We were all in the same boat. Casual flings held no appeal any longer, and that sucked when the sexual frustration built up.

  Around midnight, we were all lit, and a rush of a younger crowd cranking up the volume in the bar made us leave the center of attention and seek out a table. It was darker here; the music was slightly louder too, but fewer people around helped.

  "I'm not sure you have the right to bitch about it," Madigan told Jameson. "You're not even trying to meet someone. You're holed up in that cabin of yours with Alex."

  That would be Jameson's older brother. They'd ended a couple disastrous relationships around the same time. As a way of moving forward and healing, the two brothers had bought a piece of land up in Westslope, the town's forest district that was perfect for hermits and woodsy folk. I didn’t know many people in Westslope, though I worked there often enough.

  "That's the fucking point of being in hiding, idiot," Jameson exclaimed, nearly tipping over the bowl of peanuts with his gesturing. "Why do you think I'm taking fewer clients at the
shop?"

  "Clearly not to focus more on your writing, which I knew was a goddamn excuse." Madigan narrowed his eyes accusingly, and I was cracking up. We were a whiny, bitchy trio. Why Jameson was avoiding their tattoo shop was confusing, however, and I guessed it showed. Madigan explained it to me. "Our apprentice follows Jamie around like a horny little puppy."

  "And he's—fuck, sexy as hell," Jameson groaned. "But I won't go there. I don't shit where I eat."

  I hummed, something jogging a memory. For some reason, I thought of Adrian. Hadn't he mentioned a little brother who was an apprentice there?

  "As if that’s not enough," Madigan continued, "our boy here's just realized his ex's daughter's all grown up."

  "Dude." I punched Jameson's arm, and he flinched and cursed.

  He shot Madigan a quick glare. "That boy is older than both of you, and I can drop you on the floor like a sack of—"

  "Keep talking dirty, pet." Madigan was in the mood to challenge.

  "Pet," Jameson snorted. "Keep your kinky shit to yourself."

  "Says the guy who's perving on his former stepdaughter," I laughed.

  Jameson swung his gaze to me, and then he leaned close and spoke in my ear. "I can shut you up too, but I'd use my cock."

  Gulp.

  If that didn’t silence me, I wasn’t sure what would. Heat rose to my face, and I shifted in my seat. Don't think about it. Don't go there. If only I were obedient. So…what would happen if I did throw in another dig? Would he really do…that? No, he was joking.

  "Wow, I'm officially drunk." I hiccupped and cursed myself for thinking about it. "And stupidly tempted."

  He smirked lazily before pushing a shot glass my way.

  For the next hour or so, I glanced at him too often. He caught me too often, too. Focusing on the conversation was nearly impossible. Instead, I found myself taking him in differently. He was another tatted-up bad boy, much like Madigan and Lincoln.