Lost on the Road to Love

by Kay Harris

  I felt like a balloon that had just been pricked with a needle. I didn’t know why, but I hated the idea Henry was so damned happy about me having sex with someone else. I walked away feeling more hurt than I could ever have anticipated.

  Chapter 9

  Present day—Los Angeles, California

  Henry

  I look over at my father. He is sitting across from me. His arms are folded over his chest, and there is a deep crease in his brow.

  “Well?” I ask him. I’m halfway through my story, and he hasn’t said a word, not that this surprises me. But now I want some feedback.

  “Well what?” he asks me.

  I roll my eyes. “At this point, Chelsea and I were just friends. We were close. I’d never had a friend like her in my life. I was comfortable with her and happy around her. Our relationship was freaking perfect. I couldn’t see any of this shit coming, Dad.”

  My dad is well aware of the fact something terrible has gone wrong between Chelsea and me. He knew it the moment he saw me tonight. But I haven’t yet explained to him exactly what went wrong. Instead, he’d asked me to start the story at the beginning, when I’d first met Chelsea. And for the last twenty minutes, I’d been doing just that. Now I am at a turning point in my tale, and I want to know what he’s thinking so far.

  “Hmmm,” he mumbles.

  “Do you think I should have?” I ask.

  “Seen it coming?”

  “Yes!” My frustration is definitely showing.

  But my dad, a consummate Zen master, is perfectly calm. “Not necessarily. I mean, you didn’t see it coming, Buddy. It is what it is.”

  I pull out the leather tie, and my hair flops down around my shoulders. I run my hands through it absentmindedly. “I just feel like, if I could have seen what was about to happen…”

  “What would you have done differently?”

  That is a good question. I stroke my three-day-old stubble and contemplate it. What would I have done differently? “I guess I should have asked her how she felt about our friendship,” I suggest.

  My dad waves his hand at me dismissively. “No way. That is completely unlikely. No one would have a conversation that weird for no reason.”

  “Right. See? There isn’t anything. Damn it!”

  My dad unfolds his arms and leans forward. His massive tattooed forearms rest on his knees. His hair, which is almost identical to mine save for a handful of thin streaks of gray, slides around his shoulders. “It’s what happened later that I’m interested in.”

  “I’m not even sure how to tell that part of the story.”

  “Why don’t you start with the first time you knew things were changing between you?” he suggests.

  I let out a heavy sigh. “I guess it was in France.”

  My dad leans back in his chair, settling in for the rest of my story. “Hmmm. What happened in France?”

  ****

  Two months and two weeks ago—Paris, France

  Chelsea walked away from me. My eyes followed her. She wore her favorite pair of jeans. They were worn in several places and fit her so perfectly my gaze was naturally drawn to her curves. She wasn’t wearing a T-shirt with Woodsy the Owl or Princess Leia on it, as she usually did. That night she had on a tight-fitting, blue cotton top that showed off the creamy skin between the bottom of her neck and the subtle V just above the lace of her bra, which peeked out the tiniest bit above the thin material of the light-colored blouse.

  She looked freaking amazing, and I’d just sent her off to get laid. The thought made my chest tight.

  Our conversation had taken place in the lobby of the hotel. I’d been about to ask her to go have dinner with me when she’d told me about her date with Charles. I sat down on a couch behind me, dropping my body roughly to a sitting position while at the same time watching Chelsea disappear through the front door.

  Something was going on with me. I was uncomfortable, unhappy, and super tense. I realized I had two options. I could figure out why I felt this way, or I could completely ignore it and go about my business. I sat there in limbo for several minutes, not wanting to make a choice. Then Tom walked out of the elevator and approached me. He provided exactly the distraction I needed.

  I stood. “Hey, Tom.”

  “What’s up, Henry? Where’s Chelsea?” he asked.

  “She went out. Wanna grab dinner with me?”

  “Sure.” Tom held out his arm and indicated for me to lead the way.

  We stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of the hotel. I looked around for Chelsea instinctively as we made our way out into the open. I spotted her at the curb, just ducking into a cab. She looked up at me, pausing for a moment. Her body was in midmotion, her knees bent, her torso angled toward the cab. Her head stuck up over the top of the car door, and she caught my eyes. Her brow creased, her lips pulled tight. Then, without any further acknowledgement of me, she disappeared into the car. The cab left the curb and merged into traffic, blending into the fabric of vehicles on the road.

  Tom did not, apparently, see any of this. He pulled on my arm and pointed toward a sign at the end of the block. “Let’s go to that place. The front desk clerk told me it was good.”

  I nodded and followed him.

  I waited until Tom and I were done with our meal and waiting on dessert to be brought before bringing up Chelsea. “Can I ask you something?” I leaned toward him, my elbows on the table.

  “I was wondering when you’d get around to it,” he said, grinning.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, my brow scrunching up in confusion.

  “You have clearly been chewing something over through this entire meal. I’ve been dying to ask you about it, but I figured it was only a matter of time before you came out with it. It looks like my patience paid off.”

  “Huh,” I said, suddenly even more hesitant to reveal what was on my mind.

  “Henry. Where’s Chelsea?” he asked, looking at me pointedly.

  “She went out on a date,” I said, sounding very much like a pouty child.

  “A date?”

  “Yeah, with some guy named Charles.”

  “Oh.” He leaned back in his seat. “Charles.”

  “You know this guy?” I asked, unable to contain my interest.

  “Yeah, they had a whirlwind fling last year. You know, one of those fun, romantic European hook-ups.” He was talking slowly, examining my expression with each and every word.

  I took a sip of my beer, feeling a little like I was in a weird dream, and sat back myself, trying to imitate his casual demeanor. “Sure. I’m familiar with the concept.” I gave him a playboy grin, the kind my cousin Danny was a master of.

  Tom scrutinized me, clearly unconvinced by my body language. “So, uh, no worries, huh?”

  “Worries? About what?”

  “Chelsea, off with some dude…”

  “She’s a big girl.” I looked away from him as I said it, scanning the room. I spotted a woman a few tables away from us. She stared at me hard. When our eyes met, she smiled. I held her gaze and nodded my head. “Maybe I’ll take her example myself,” I told Tom, trying to channel Danny again.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tom swivel his head to follow my gaze. “Is that right?” Skepticism dripped from his voice.

  “Yeah.”

  “You never did ask me whatever it was you were going to ask me,” he pointed out.

  I kept my gaze on the woman nearby. “It was nothing.” In truth, he’d already answered my question. I wanted to know about Chelsea and Charles. And now that he’d confirmed my fears, I just felt sick. I wanted to get away from this conversation, this situation, all of it. I wanted to get rid of this feeling in my gut. So I stood. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I think I’m gonna excuse myself.”

  “Sure. Go,” he said, waving his hand at me. “I got the company credit card. I’ll take care of the bill.”

  I walked slowly over to the woman. She sat at a small square table with two girlfr
iends. All three went quiet as I approached.

  I was absolutely no good at this. But somehow, I managed to keep up the Danny act long enough to get invited to sit with them. The woman who’d smiled at me was beautiful in a classical sense. She had a thick, rich accent to her English. Her name was Yvonne, and she looked like she belonged on a runway somewhere.

  Yvonne laughed at everything I said, tossing back her shiny, smooth black hair and exposing the spotless, perfectly tanned skin of her long neck. She pivoted in her chair just so, allowing me to see her long, perfectly sculpted legs from the tops of her feet, which were tucked into four-inch heels, to the bottom of the short, well-fitting dress that hugged all her curves.

  But I wasn’t interested, not in the least. That problem I had no answer for, just as I had no answer for my feelings about Chelsea and her date. So I waited until Tom had left the restaurant, with one last wave toward me, before making some lame excuse and getting the hell out of there myself.

  As I took the stairs back up to my hotel room, I decided I would have to face my issues sooner or later. In no hurry to do so, I went back to my room and threw myself into writing an article about our travels through Europe.

  The writing was a great way to occupy my mind. However, I found that as I wrote, I described Chelsea and all my adventures with her in great detail. After hours of typing frantically, I reread what I’d written. It was chock full of descriptions of Chelsea’s beautiful blue eyes, her soft, smooth skin, and the adorable way she pushed her glasses up on her nose, even when they weren’t falling down.

  I closed my laptop in frustration and went to bed.

  Chapter 10

  Two months, five days ago—Dublin, Ireland

  It had been nine days since Chelsea’s date in Paris. I hadn’t brought it up, and neither had she. But I still thought about it all the time.

  “I can’t believe it,” Chelsea said, pushing her glasses up on her nose. “I mean this building is over eight hundred years old. Our whole freaking country is…less than a third that old.”

  I wasn’t looking at St. Patrick’s Cathedral in front of me. I watched Chelsea. She was so stinking cute when she geeked out. “Not really,” I said, trying to get a rise out of her. “People have been living on the North American continent for thousands—”

  “All right, jackass. You knew what I meant,” she said, hitting me playfully on the arm while keeping her gaze on the building in front of us.

  “You wanna go in? Or are we just going to stare at it from out here?” I asked.

  “Shut up.”

  We’d already shot all of our Dublin footage. It focused on two separate pub crawls, one on the literary greats of Ireland and one on the musical geniuses of the small island country. This trip to the cathedral was just for our own amusement.

  I grabbed Chelsea’s hand and led her toward the massive double wooden doors that stood like ancient guardians to the historic stone structure. “Come on, history geek. Let’s check this out.”

  Chelsea never objected when I took her hand. In fact, she seemed to expect it these days. And she should, because I was always doing it. I couldn’t seem to help myself. I always wanted to be close to Chelsea.

  When we sat in my hotel room in the evenings and watched TV, I usually had an arm around her shoulder, and I frequently found myself gently rubbing circles on her upper arm with my fingers.

  “All right,” she said, tugging on my hand. She pulled me out of my thoughts and through the impressive arch.

  Chelsea dragged me through the building, showing me the elaborate sculptures, stained glass windows and tombs. I looked at the sights and took a few pictures with my phone. History interested to me. But, for the first time, I was more interested in watching how my companion reacted to everything she saw.

  It had been nine days since Chelsea’s date with Charles, and eight days since I’d admitted to myself I was jealous about it. I still didn’t know what the hell was happening to me.

  ****

  Two months ago—London, England

  “What do you want to do for our last night in Europe?” I asked Chelsea.

  “I want to drink too much hard cider.”

  I smirked at her. “So, Chelsea wants to let her hair down.”

  “Yep.” She nodded her head vigorously. “I’ve been working hard, and I’ll be busting my ass again once we get to the other side of the pond, too. Tonight, it’s all about me and getting a good buzz on.”

  “You wanna head to a pub?”

  “Nope. I don’t want to have to deal with that. Besides this country is stupid cold, even in August.” Poor Chelsea was always chilly. English weather was not at the top of her list. “I want to get a bunch of cider and get blasted right here in my very nice, very warm hotel room. That way I can just crash out at the end of the night, no cab ride needed.”

  I laughed. “I’m in. I’ll order the cider.” I picked up the phone that sat on the bedside table.

  “Order?” she asked from her spot on the king-size bed a few feet away from me.

  “Sure. They have room service.”

  “From the bar?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “I thought you grew up rich? You should know you can get anything delivered to your room…for a price,” I teased.

  She shrugged. “I guess. But you and me, we aren’t rich anymore, at least as long we refuse to touch those trust funds.”

  “True. But the show is covering all our expenses now.”

  She grinned. “I like the way you think, Henry.”

  After the booze was delivered, we watched three episodes of the British The Office and had a hard cider per episode. Then, the conversation we’d been having comparing the original to the American version of the show took an unexpected turn.

  It all started with a cryptic comment from Chelsea. “See now, on the American version, Pam always gave me hope.”

  “Hope?” I asked.

  We were both sitting on her bed, our backs propped against the headrest and our legs out in front of us. She stared at our bare feet, peeking up beside each other at the end of the bed, as she explained. “She’s a regular girl. I mean, she’s pretty and all. But she’s a regular girl, and she finds Jim and her happily-ever-after. And it’s like, everyone can do that, no matter who they are. You don’t have to look like Julia Roberts.”

  “You worried you won’t find your happily-ever-after, Chels?” I teased.

  “Sure. Isn’t everyone?”

  The seriousness in her voice surprised me. “You’re young, kid. You’ve got time.”

  “Hey,” she said, looking up at me. “You are exactly the same age as me.”

  “Not true. I’m three and half months older,” I pointed out.

  “Whatever.” She turned to face the television again and took a drink of cider number four. I was pretty sure she was quite buzzed at this point, and I hoped that would bring out the honesty. It always seemed to work that way for me. “Not the point,” she said. “And you wouldn’t understand, anyway. You’re not a regular person.”

  “What?” I asked, incredulous. I muted the television, then turned my body so I fully faced her. “I thought we established—”

  “We established that you are a nerd. But you are still a very hot nerd,” she interrupted. “I think Erika proved that.”

  “Erika?” I asked, confused.

  “That girl is gorgeous, and she is way out of the league of the average nerd.”

  What the hell? “You think I hooked up with Erika?”

  She turned to face me then. “Didn’t you?”

  I couldn’t help but smile. Maybe she was jealous, and for some reason, the thought tickled me silly. “I don’t want to kiss and tell.”

  She punched me lightly on the arm. “You can tell me.”

  “I suppose it doesn’t count when you tell your best friend.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” she agreed.

  “We didn’t hook up,” I admitted.

  “No? Why not?”r />
  I shrugged and took a long swig from my bottle of cider. In truth, I was feeling a little buzzed at the moment, as well, and I risked too much honesty.

  “Seriously, Henry. Why not?” she pressed.

  “She’s not really my speed.”

  “Your speed? What on earth does that mean?”

  I shrugged again. “I don’t really know. But she just wasn’t for me. And she was too eager.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “What the hell does that mean? You only want a girl who plays hard to get? That’s kinda fucked up, you know.”

  “No.” I elbowed her lightly in the ribs. “That’s not it, and you know it. I’m just always questioning girls’ motives. And as a result, when a girl crawls all over me on sight I have to be suspicious.”

  “I thought she was your cousin’s best friend. So, one, haven’t you known her for a while? And two, doesn’t that kinda change her motives?”

  “She and Danny are fast friends, like me and you. They just met last year. Rio was only the second time I’d ever hung out with her. And I definitely question her motives, especially when it comes to me. There’s something…”

  “You’re jaded,” she teased.

  “Maybe. Maybe I’m just careful.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s preventing you from getting laid.”

  I chuckled. She was right about me not getting laid. She was wrong about the reason. “Teach me, oh wise one. You know how to keep your bed warm. How do you do it?”

  As soon it popped out of my mouth, my heart started to race. Yes, I wanted to know what had happened between her and Charles, and going back further, her and Meno. But I wasn’t entirely sure I could handle it, especially in this state of lowered inhibitions.

  “What?” she shouted, shoving herself up on her knees and placing her bottle of cider on the table beside the bed. She appeared to be ready for a fight. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Hey, don’t get mad. I only speak the truth.” I threw my arms up in surrender.

  “Again, what?”

  “Chels, you’ve had two different dudes in the last few months,” I pointed out. “I’m not judging. I stand in admiration.”