“Oh God no, not her. She’s not my type.”
He leaned against the cushions of the booth seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “Indulge me.”
“Artists, apparently.”
“Does that . . . go for women, too?” Huvie’s voice lifted hopefully. “Because—not gonna lie here—a three-way with you and Serenity? Goddamn.”
As far as Rhea knew, Brianna’s artistic talents were in following sheet music and little else. They still didn’t know each other well. “No.”
“So then if you were to get with another woman—”
“Brianna,” Rhea whispered.
He bobbed his head slowly. “No shit.”
“But she’s way out of my league. Basically, my type is unattainable. And you cannot tell her any of this. You promise me this doesn’t leave our table.”
“I won’t.” He grinned viciously.
“Seriously, Huvie!”
His impish smirk faded. “I promise. I swear I won’t tell her.”
“You know what, actually? The more I think about it, promise me you won’t tell anybody.”
Huvie frowned. “Are you not . . .” He circled his hand in the air in a gesture Rhea couldn’t decipher. “Are you not out?”
“I’m—” Rhea sighed. “Neither here nor there.” She’d never cared for labels of any type, nor did she fit neatly into the labels people insisted on thrusting upon her. To call herself bi-curious felt more ill-fitting than being called straight or otherwise. What was with everyone’s infatuation with labels, anyway? And why was it anyone else’s business?
Rhea’s attraction to and arousal by other women was not curiosity. No one called straight virgins curious because they hadn’t gotten a person of the opposite sex to consent to intercourse with them yet. No, those people are falsely called losers. Or sad. She knew both of those things from firsthand experience.
The question remained: Why were her feelings about women any different from a straight virgin’s? Maybe Rhea would revisit the topic on her blog later.
She cleared her throat. “And anyway, look: it’s not a big deal, whatever I am. I’m me. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
“Didn’t you say you used to be married?”
“Yeah. So?”
“Is that ‘neither here nor there’ business why you divorced?”
She snorted. “Mark didn’t know. What’s it say about me if I didn’t trust my husband enough to tell him, and yet I’ve alluded to it any number of times by now on my public blog?” Alluded to it, flat-out said it. Is there a difference?
Huvie studied Rhea in silence prior to answering. “Well, it’s easy to do such things on the internet because there’s this feeling of anonymity, especially if you use a pen name and don’t show your face.”
“I use my real name and . . . well, the lack of pictures has nothing to do with wanting to hide.” She pointed at herself. “This mug breaks cameras.”
“Bullshit. That only serves to perpetuate my belief you’re a sweet girl who’s too hard on herself.”
Rhea glanced at her lap, swallowing around the fiery lump in her throat. That hit her a little hard for some reason; people saying kind things to her usually had that effect.
“I see a lot of similarities between you and Bri. She has a lot of guilt for things which weren’t her fault. She’d probably kill me for telling you it’s why she journals.”
Rhea looked at him, cocking her head with a frown.
“Her therapist suggested it.”
“Seems the older I get, the more troubles I find in the people around me.”
Huvie huffed. “Ain’t that the truth. Y’know, Bri was real lonely without a girlfriend like you. She used to drag me shopping because she didn’t have a chick to go with. And that, by-the-way, included trips to Victoria’s Secret. Which is totally fine by me but it was weird she kept asking for my opinions on her sex clothes.”
How weird. Rhea rubbed her eyebrow in thought. It almost sounded like awkward flirting. “I don’t understand. She didn’t have any problems making friends in high school. Why is she alone now?”
“Time changes people. Softens some, hardens others.” Huvie sighed. “I didn’t mean—well, shit, if this isn’t the most depressing date ever.”
Slowly, Rhea smiled. “I think you’re a sweet guy who’s being too hard on himself.”
He deflated a little with a half-smile.
“Look, I’m gonna be real blunt here: if you wanna screw me on this date, I’m more than willing to put out. You don’t need to stress about impressing me, ‘k? My decision’s already made.” She prayed she could stick to it.
Franny cleared her throat and plopped the plate of appetizers on their table.
Laughing despite himself, Huvie told Franny, “Y’know, you have piss-poor timing.”
She made a noise that was a combined groan and sigh. “I regret my timing more than you do. Your food should be out soon.”
Rhea’s eyes widened and she watched as Franny went to a neighboring table with an exaggerated shiver. “I kiiiinda feel like I don’t wanna tip her very well.”
“I kinda want to suggest on the receipt that she remove her anal plug before her next shift.” Huvie’s gaze fell on Rhea with a wicked smile. “Maybe it’ll go viral.”
“Maybe then we pay with cash.”
“Smart idea.” Huvie picked several of each appetizer to move to his plate. “Except I’m paying and don’t bother arguing it.”
This was problematic for Rhea; ordinarily she would counter, ‘then I’ll pay next time.’ But there would be no next time. The promise of sex regardless, she didn’t want to feel indebted to others over anything. Ever. It was an obnoxious trait she’d been criticized for on many a previous occasion.
Rhea perked up. “Fair ‘nuff.” She plucked some appetizers for herself from the joint plates.
“That was easy,” Huvie said, perplexed. “I’m used to getting some argument at least. Even thinly veiled insincere argument.”
She replied, “No arguments here. I’ll just have to come by Tet-Nis for more ink soon. For shop minimum at least.”
“You’re a cool girl. How the hell are you still single?”
Rhea shrugged. She’d spent the last five months asking herself similar questions. On nights when loneliness and doubt took advantage of her, Rhea wondered if Adam’s insistence she sleep with another man was his way of avoiding commitment with her.
No.
She knew him by now; Adam wasn’t the type. And besides, if he wanted distance from her, there was plenty of it with some two thousand miles between them. They’d discussed it more than once: he wasn’t leaving California unless he had damn good reason, and she had no intention of returning unless she had the same.
Conveniently, what qualified as ‘damn good reason’ had never actually been brought up in conversation. Maybe I ask him the next time we chat. She was racking up quite the list of mental notes today.
“Out of curiosity—and you don’t have to answer this if it makes you uncomfortable—does your family know you’re . . . the way you are?”
“Actually? My father does. But he’s the only one. It didn’t help that it took me a real long time to realize what my deal even was.”
“Yeah, denial’s a bitch,” Huvie replied.
“It wasn’t denial,” said Rhea, baffled by his assumption. “I honestly didn’t know. It’s the same as before I learned I’m nearsighted—isn’t everyone’s vision blurry like mine is? I know better now, of course, but when you’re young you don’t assume you’re different. At least I never did. As things came together for me, I was more confused than anything else. Because it was like . . . ‘this is wrong.’ But at the same time it wasn’t. And the older I get, the luckier I feel in being able to find both men and women arousing. I think it’s nice to see what both sexes find attractive about the other.”
“So you’re pansexual?”
“No,” she snapped. Then she said, “I’m sorry. I just
. . . I really don’t understand the need for labels.” And frankly, she didn’t even know what the difference was between bisexual and pansexual. Maybe she was pansexual. She was certain, however, it didn’t matter to her in the slightest. Calling it one thing as opposed to another didn’t at all change her disposition.
“I’m Rhea. I’m a massage therapist who’s helped people from virtually every walk of life. I was born with and still have girl body parts that flip over figurative tables every month I don’t get knocked up. I like dresses as much as I like pants. I love to shop, I love to write, I love kicking a ball around on a grassy field. I’d play hockey if I knew how to ice skate and felt confident I wouldn’t break my neck.
“I want to learn how to knit someday. I hold doors open for anyone who follows me and I love men who pull out my chair for me—I’ll fight to the death anyone who tells me chivalry is anti-feminist. I like glittery nail polish and digging around in the dirt to find hidden treasure.”
Huvie chuckled.
“Hey don’t laugh, people really do that. I’m not even talking about geocaching. Anyway. I loved The Legend of Kyrandia—do you remember that game? I was around ten I think when I discovered it and had to play it on my father’s ancient computer, but I loved it! At the end of the day, long story short . . . Being labeled pisses me right the hell off.”
“You are so fun.” Huvie smiled with what appeared to be untold affection.
Rhea’s phone buzzed in her purse. She acknowledged it with a single, brief glance.
“You can check it you know,” he said. “I won’t be put off.”
“No. That’s rude. I don’t roll like that.”
“What if it’s important?” he asked.
“I’m nobody’s emergency contact.” Rhea savored a couple sweet potato fries. “Trust me. Whoever it is can wait until after we have sex. And let me guess: Franny’s here with our food?” Rhea gestured dramatically toward the side of their table before turning to look for her. No poor-attitude waitress. “Huh. I guess that wasn’t nearly offensive enough for her bad timing.”
Huvie snorted.
For the sake of not wanting conversation to peter into uncomfortable silence, Rhea cleared her throat and asked, “How does a guy end up with a name like yours? You’re the first Huvie I’ve ever met.”
“It’s short for Huveane.” He extended his hand to her above the table. “After everything you told me—and since I’m planning on fucking you senseless soon—the least I can do is give you my full name.”
Despite herself, Rhea smirked. “You’d probably be surprised how little such things matter to me.”
“Huveane Duvalier.”
“You’re French?”
“No need for the shock. I’m not the first black Frenchman there was.”
She blurted, “That’s not what I meant—” and she didn’t want to explain how the only other man she’d ever been attracted to was also French.
“Lighten up.” Huvie winked. “If you can, I mean.”
“You should see how light I am by the time spring rolls around.” Rhea cleared her throat and took a long sip of lemonade. “Have you, um . . . been with other . . . white girls?”
“A couple.”
“Oh.” She exhaled. “I’m equally disappointed and relieved.”
He smirked.
“Ham and Swiss?” muttered Franny, setting Huvie’s plate down beside his appetizers. “Outlaw Burger, extra onion rings.” She set the plate beside Rhea’s. “I’ll be back with drink refills. Plan your conversation accordingly.”
Huvie watched her go while Rhea verified there were, in fact, no onions on her hamburger. I hate those jokes. They’re never funny.
“So how about you?” he asked.
“‘How about me’ what? Have I been with other white girls? No.”
Huvie laughed; it was nothing short of adorable. “No. Am I your first black guy?”
“Let’s just say I was raised in a super vanilla neighborhood and if my parents knew I’m with you right now and planning on being fucked senseless by you later—”
Franny reached across the table to refill her glass. Of course.
“—they’d lose their shit,” Rhea concluded. “Just so we’re clear, I’m not doing this as a defiant daughter thing. I couldn’t care less about their racial hang-ups. I want this because I think you’re hot. And, also, I’m horny.”
“To be perfectly fair, my mom would haul my ass around by my ears for the same reason.” As Franny reached to refill his glass, he added, “Momma don’t want no mix-race grandbaby.”
Franny made a guttural noise and left.
“She doesn’t know about any of the white girls. No reason to give Momma a stroke for nothing that’s not a serious relationship.”
“Have you ever considered getting serious with one—”
“I’m not down for commitment with anyone regardless of color. The one exception being Tyra.” He gazed at the restaurant ceiling with a wide smile and sighed. “Oh, Tyra.”
“Yeah, I don’t come close to meeting that standard.” Which was fine because Huvie was no Adam and even if he was the best lover in the history of sex, he was still no Adam. Rhea sighed. Shit. I am so in love with him. And that was the very last thought she needed before climbing into the sack with another man. It wasn’t news to her she was in love with Adam, but the reminder right just now was unwelcome. Back to the date, Rhea. Damn.
“You okay? That shouldn’t bother you if you weren’t lying about the one-night-stand thing. Most girls do.”
“Oh—no—” Rhea waved it off. “I was thinking. I am definitely, absolutely, irreversibly only in this for one night of sex. And for what it’s worth? I am not ‘most girls.’”
“What if I’m the best you ever have?”
Rhea picked up her hamburger, studying it carefully. It didn’t leave a bloody bun-print on her plate. Shocking. “That’s a risk I guess I’m just gonna have to take.”
“Thanks for taking care with my ego.” He tucked into his Ham & Swiss.
“No worries.”
Huvie and Rhea didn’t win the Iron Man challenge at the laser tag place, not by a long-shot, but in the end they were breathless, sweaty, smiling ear-to-ear and riding magnificent waves of adrenaline. Stepping out into near-freezing temperatures was refreshing after such exertion, though it became unpleasant prior to reaching Huvie’s car.
“Well,” Rhea exhaled as she collapsed into the passenger seat of his red Impala. “That was way more fun than I imagined it could be.”
“Yeah it was.” Huvie slid into the driver’s seat casting a smile at her. “No offense but you make a great human shield.”
She gave him a crooked smile. “That’s good to know.”
He made a motion for her to smile. “A real one, though. Yours is beautiful when it’s genuine.”
That did the trick. “Thanks. So, um . . .”
“Let’s go to my place? We can put on the radio, then ignore it?”
Rhea faltered. “I got super sweaty, though.”
“You can use my shower if you really want.” He started his car.
“Oh. Okay.” She cast a sly smile at Huvie. “Let’s do it.” And hurry the hell up before I backpedal.
The drive to Huvie’s place was short, conversation light and filled with plenty of laughter.
Rhea found it strange they intended to have sex but nothing either of them said was the least bit sensual and getting aroused by a fun, otherwise attractive man was going to be the strangest chore ever.
It was an even stranger thing to pray maybe she would climax quickly when the time came—and then he would, too. Sex wasn’t something to ‘get over with, already.’ Well, it had been that way with Mark and she knew now just how much was wrong with that mentality.
That fucking didn’t even appear to be on Huvie’s radar made Rhea a little jealous of how easy these things must’ve been for men. All they needed were willing partners. And a guy as good looking as Huvie c
ouldn’t have had much difficulty in that department.
I’m doing this to move things with Adam along. I can do this. Huvie’s hot, focus on that.
Rhea was going to have to accept the peculiarity of the situation and with luck, sex would be enjoyable but over soon. God forbid he had the kind of stamina Adam did.
Huvie pulled into a parking spot at the base of a tall building. “I’ve got a loft here. Fantastic views. Well,” he said as he unbuckled his seat belt with a laugh, “you’ll see for yourself.”
She grimaced, unbuckling her belt. “Can’t wait.”
They got out of his car and he extended his hand. Rhea took a quiet, deep breath before taking it. He had a firm grip and soft, warm skin. However this went, Huvie was a vast improvement on Mark. At least there’s that.
The challenge would be in forgetting Adam.
Huvie led her into the building where they waited for an elevator.
“So. You originally from here?” Rhea asked.
He squeezed her hand. “I was born in New Orleans. Family moved here after Hurricane Danny. I was—jeez—like nine or ten by that point, I think?”
“Oh. My God. Is it really scary? Being in a hurricane, I mean.”
“I don’t really remember much of it.” He shrugged. “My parents decided not to evacuate—I don’t know if evacs were ordered and they ignored it—whatever the case, we hunkered down. Shit, I was ten, what the hell did I care? I buried my face in a Game Boy through the worst of it.”
Under her breath, Rhea replied, “Wish I’d had that option through earthquakes.”
“Are those really so bad?”
The elevator pinged, its doors sliding open a few moments later, and a small family stepped out. The ghostly pale matriarch cast a conspicuous disparaging glance at Huvie and Rhea’s clasped hands; her disapproval must have been more for their benefit than it was for her desire to express her opinion.
They stepped into the elevator and Rhea hissed, “Did you see that look she gave us?”
“It’s her problem.” He pressed the button for the eighth floor. “Not yours. Or mine.” Huvie kissed her cheek. It felt entirely platonic. “Or ours. So. Earthquakes really so bad?”
Smiles By Trials (Rays of Sunshine Book 2) Page 5
