Loving a Sinner

by D. B. Webb

  Once the reservations were made, I changed into something nicer and headed out. I needed to find a florist to buy a decently sized bouquet of flowers. It dawned on me that I had never, in the months we had been together, given Ryan flowers. I wasn’t even sure if she liked flowers.

  Girls like that shit, I reassured myself. Odds are she’ll appreciate it.

  While I knew some of her deep, dark secrets and she knew some (but hardly any) of mine, it occurred to me that I hadn’t really taken the time to know some of the small details—her likes and dislikes. Sure, I knew some stuff like the fact that I knew she liked coffee… I knew the things the Lanes had told me over the years, I knew what she looked like when she slept, her favorite restaurant back home, that she loved photography. But I didn’t even know her favorite color. Sure, I could probably guess by process of elimination, but I had never asked. I didn’t know if she liked flowers. I only knew her birthday because of that wonderfully fateful night ten years ago. But she didn’t know my birthday, unless she had asked someone else.

  But I didn’t let all the things I didn’t know make me feel too bad. I knew important things—her fears, her dreams, and the things she didn’t have to tell me because I saw them woven into the person she was. The smell of her shampoo was forever ingrained in my memory. I knew the way she slept—lying on her side, with one hand tucked under her face and the other draped across her stomach. I saw how she would glance at me out of the corner of her eye, trying to be inconspicuous about watching me. I loved how she watched me, like I was the most fascinating person she had ever met. I wasn’t, but the way I could tell how much she adored me by the looks she gave, had my heart beating only for her.

  She snuck under my skin a little at a time, so slowly that I hadn’t realized she was doing it until she was forever there. Sure, the years had made the painful ache I had from her loss bearable, but it was still there. Sometimes it was so overwhelming that I wanted to run back to the alcohol and drugs and women, but I was a better man now. I was an adult with a job that kept me on track. However, seeing her again hadn’t lessened the pain, not by a long shot. If anything, the loss I felt all those years ago had come back in full force. Fate was reminding me that I wasn’t good enough for a woman like her. Fate was reminding me of what I lost simply because of the cards I had been dealt from birth.

  Fate was a bitch.

  I got to Ryan’s work way too early and realized I would look like an idiot if I walked into the gallery forty-five minutes before I was supposed to, so I spent my time walking down the sidewalk, window shopping at the different art galleries that littered the long street. I told myself I wasn’t actually seriously looking at each gallery, but I knew deep down I was looking for another gallery I could shop at when things inevitably went south with Ryan. I was a self-sabotaging motherfucker. I knew it. But what the hell, I couldn’t change who I was now.

  After I spent my time in and out of galleries that would never be as good as Ryan’s gallery, I finally made my way back up the street to The Singing Room. I was now only five minutes early and didn’t mind walking in and waiting for her to get done.

  She must have seen me when I entered because she rushed out of her office looking flustered. “Jackson! I just have to do some finishing paperwork for the day, and I’ll be ready to go! It’s been insane here, I’m so sorry.”

  I gave her a smile, the one that always seemed to calm her nerves and told her I would be there waiting and not to rush. I could see her relax, and she disappeared into her office again, leaving me to stand awkwardly in the gallery’s front desk area. Rather than standing there like a fool, I slowly made my way to Ryan’s door, which was open.

  She sat at her desk typing furiously on her keyboard, completely in the zone and unaware that I was watching her. Her brow was furrowed, the way it always was when she was being contemplative, and I had the urge to walk over to her and press my thumb between her brows to make the lines disappear. She had hated when I had done that when we were together. But I had always been compelled to do it, like I was somehow helping ease her stress by removing the worry lines.

  It only took a few minutes for her to realize I was standing at her office door—she was perceptive like that. She gave a quick look my way, and a large smile spread across her face.

  “What the hell are you doing, standing there like some sort of stalker?” she asked me as she continued to assault her keyboard.

  “You’re cute when you’re all concentrated and shit.”

  An eye roll was what I received, and I made my way into her office and sat at the chair across from her.

  “I have this artist… amazing artist, but such a pain in my ass. I feel like he’s always fighting with us about something,” she told me.

  “‘No, painting is not done to decorate apartments. It is an instrument of war.’”

  Her eyes darted to mine, and her eyebrows raised in surprise.

  “Picasso,” she smiled, and I nodded. She began to shake her head with false annoyance. “You and your damn quotes.”

  “You missed my damn quotes,” I pushed back.

  Her lips pursed for a moment, as if she were deeply considering what I had said. Finally she shrugged, “Maybe a little.”

  I laughed, and she laughed. And it was a perfect moment—the two of us carelessly happy.

  “Now be quiet, so I can finish this email! I’m starving and would prefer to get to dinner on time!” she reprimanded me.

  I obliged and was content watching as her fingers, the fingers that used to entwine with my own, typed her message to her pain-in-the-ass artist. Her blue eyes sparkled, full of the life I had come to crave. Her teeth would occasionally pull her bottom lip between them, and I could imagine my own teeth doing it instead.

  She looked older and yet the same. I couldn’t help but notice she had more curves than when I had first met. As a man with eyes, I appreciated the changes her body had made throughout the years. She wore her hair shorter than when I had met her. It was shoulder length with loose waves. Her face was almost bare; she had never been one for makeup—something I appreciated after my years of hooking up with women who cared way too much about their looks.

  She was still perfection. She was still everything.

  “Ready?” her voice cut through my thoughts.

  “More than you know,” I answered.

  Jackson had flowers waiting for me in his car. His driver gave us a quick look, and I wasn’t sure what it meant. It almost seemed disapproving, but I didn’t understand why that would be the case.

  The flowers were a peony bouquet, and I hadn’t ever seen something so pretty. I tried to keep my face neutral as I received them. But, in reality, I was confused and excited. He had never given me flowers before.

  “Flowers, huh?” I questioned. “You pulling out all the big stops?”

  Jackson chuffed and responded with a, “I guess you’ll have to stay a while to find out.”

  I wanted to point out that I had stayed, that he had been the one to leave, but I didn’t want to ruin the happy bubble we were currently hiding in.

  When the car pulled in front of a restaurant that was well out of my budget and had at least a six month wait for reservations, I turned to Jackson who sat smugly beside me. That bastard was still an arrogant prick.

  An arrogant prick that I couldn’t help but find endearing and wonderful.

  “I told myself if I had one shot to get this right, I might as well have you dining in the finest restaurant in New York City.”

  His explanation was unnecessary, but it had me snorting at the accent he used whenever he feigned aristocracy.

  The dinner was rather quiet and full of awkward silences neither of us were willing to fill due to the fear that we might bring something up that could hurt us both. So we remained quiet, our attention on our overpriced meals.

  The first real conversation we had was on our car ride back to my apartment.

  “Ryan,” Jackson whispered. I wondered if
he whispered because he wasn’t sure if he really wanted me to hear him.

  “Mm?” was my casual reply.

  “I missed you.”

  It was honest, and I could tell by the pained look in his face that he had been living the same hell I had been living in these past ten years.

  “You missed me or you missed the easy lay?”

  It was bitchy and it was the far from what I had actually wanted to say. But I couldn’t just tell him I missed him too, I had to protect myself from the pain he could so easily inflict on my poor heart. He couldn’t hide the visible flinch from my words. It was evident that they had hurt him.

  Good! I wanted to say, but I knew I didn’t actually mean it. I hated causing him pain, even if he had caused years of damage for me.

  “Ryan…” he started, but his voice trailed off as if he didn’t know what to say. That caused my stomach to knot uncomfortably. For a moment I thought maybe my words hit a little too close to home than I intended. But his next words eased my worry. “It was more than that to me… You know that.”

  I did… Or I thought I had known that until he walked away from us without a second thought.

  He took my silence as me disagreeing with him and he continued, “Look, I know I royally fucked up by leaving you, but I have spent these past years kicking myself for that. I’m not looking for a do-over. I’m not looking for a relationship from you. Hell, I’m not even looking for your complete forgiveness. I just want you back in my life, Ryan.”

  He didn’t want to date me.

  He didn’t want what we had ten years ago.

  Part of me was relieved that he wasn’t expecting me to dive back into anything with him. Honestly, if he had asked to resume what we had done ten years ago, I would have laughed in his face and gone on my (not so) merry way. Another part of me felt the sting of rejection. Which was ridiculous because he hadn’t actually rejected me, so to speak.

  “Just friends?” I asked, my curiosity getting the best of me.

  “Just friends,” he confirmed.

  It took me less than a second to realize I wanted that. I really wanted that.

  “Okay,” I agreed.

  The car stopped in front of my small apartment building. This was the part where I didn’t know what to do. Did I ask him up? Did I hug him goodnight? Did we shake hands?

  “I can see the wheels turning, Patterson. We can part ways here, and I’ll text you when I’m home.”

  Right. No coming up then.

  We said our goodbyes and I rushed to get out of his car. The driver’s eyes were on me as I almost tripped on the sidewalk. That had my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

  When I turned to see if Jackson’s car had disappeared, I realized that he was still there.

  “Why do you wait for me to get inside?” I had asked him ten years ago.

  “Because I like knowing what’s mine is safe and sound,” he had told me, kissing me quickly on the tip of my nose.

  It was the first time he had ever called me “his.”

  My stomach did that stupid somersault, just thinking that he still watched me get in safely.

  I thought about our night and how it had gone. Each step I took toward my apartment door rang through my soul.

  Friends.

  Lovers.

  Friends.

  Lovers.

  Friends.

  And then I was standing in front of my door, wishing he was with me—wishing he could see the world I had built while he was gone.

  Hoping that he would stick around long enough to let me show him who I was now.

  Believing that this time would be.

  I woke up with cotton mouth and in a bed that was way comfier than mine. My eyes peeked open and I remembered exactly whose room I was in.

  Jackson.

  That explained the heavy arm draped across my waist.

  Once everything came back to me, I realized that his breath was falling on my neck, causing goosebumps to spread across my arms. With every exhale of warm air, I began to feel hopeful that I was more than a romp in Jackson’s bed. More than a notch on his belt.

  This felt intimate.

  Part of me wanted to keep him against me like he was forever, but I had to pee, and I needed to find toothpaste or mouthwash because there was no way in hell Jackson was going to smell my morning breath. We weren’t at that level yet.

  Sliding out from underneath his arm, I crept to the door that he had indicated led to the bathroom. Once I was secured behind the door of the bathroom, I did my business and then went on my journey to find something to solve my breath situation. I opened his plethora of drawers and cabinets until I finally found mouthwash. I filled my mouth and began swishing it around. I watched myself in the mirror, curious to see if I would look any different than I had the day before.

  I wasn’t sure what I was expecting. Maybe a Scarlet A branded on me now that I had had casual sex with Jackson. Whatever it was I was looking for, it wasn’t there. I looked the same, aside from my tousled morning hair and the light circles under my eyes caused from sleeping in my makeup. I spit the mouthwash into the sink and rinsed it down. I took a final look in the mirror. I noticed something else that was different.

  A smile. A genuine, pure smile. It was something I hadn’t realized was missing until this moment, but I was happy it was back.

  Sneaking back into the room, I found Jackson still soundly sleeping in his bed. I took in the sight of him for a second before sliding back in next to him. He was warm, and I couldn’t help but find him adorable as he slept. There was a peace about him that he didn’t have when he was awake. I wondered why. He had everything a person could possibly imagine: money, family, friends… What could possibly be so bad in his life that caused him to hold such tension?

  He began to stir, and I knew my short moment of watching him was over.

  “Morning,” he mumbled, squeezing his eyes shut while he rubbed his hands through the morning shadow on his face.

  “Morning,” I replied quietly. The smile I had noticed in the bathroom was still firmly plastered on my face.

  He peeped one eye open and returned my smile. “You sleep okay?”

  “Yeah,” I stretched my arms above my head, yawning, “Your bed is way more comfortable than my twin at home.”

  “Well, my bed is always ready at your service,” he returned. I saw the way he smirked. Finally, he opened his eyes all the way and stared at me. “Why are you sitting? Lie down while I go brush my teeth.”

  I found myself snuggling into the down comforter, obeying him by lying down, and waited for his return, which didn’t take too long. He quickly dove back into the bed next to me, but not in time for his morning wood to escape my notice.

  Down, girl, I chastised myself when I felt the heat pooling between my legs. I was sore from the night before, and I wasn’t sure if I even had a second round left in me.

  I turned to face Jackson, and he swept my hair out of my eyes and placed a soft kiss on my mouth. He tasted like peppermint and promises.

  “Sooo…” I breathed. I wasn’t exactly sure what we were supposed to talk about.

  “I want to take you out for coffee once we get back home,” was his reply.

  “Will I actually sit and enjoy said coffee? Last time I was whisked away—”

  “You liked being whisked away, don’t lie. And yes. Coffee will be bought and we will drink it within the confines of Metallic Bean.”

  “Sounds like a date.”

  The words left my mouth before I could realize what I had said. I tried backpedaling, but it came out in sputtering and nonwords.

  “Ryan, relax. It’s a date.”

  “Really?” I squeaked.

  I hated how unsure he made me feel. With Devlin I was never worried about anything because I just kept myself silent and smiling. I knew what pushed his buttons (and his mom’s buttons) and stayed away from them. The plus side of that was that we hardly ever fought, but on the other hand, I had never felt
the weird connection with him that I was feeling with Jackson.

  Maybe I was crazy. A connection with a stranger but not the man I had dated for five years?

  Yeah, I had to be crazy.

  “Really,” he confirmed, breaking me from the doubts that were inevitably creeping in.

  I breathed a bit easier, knowing he wanted to actually take me out on a date. I felt less cheap.

  “So tell me,” he said as he brushed his thumb across my lower lip, his amber eyes shining with some hidden emotion I couldn’t quite place. “You having any regrets this morning? Because you can call this thing off whenever you want.”

  “No regrets.”

  It wasn’t a lie.

  “Good.” He gave me a small and short smile.

  The silence overtook us as he continued to study my face as if it were the most interesting thing he had ever encountered. I wanted the attention off of myself, so I asked, “What’s something about yourself that you’ve never told anyone?”

  My question caught him off guard and momentarily his thumb stilled against my cheek. He seemed a million miles away, but as quickly as he left, he returned. “Ryan…”

  “It can be anything. It doesn’t have to be too personal. Just give me something that nobody else has of you.”

  He gave me another peck on the mouth and whispered against it, “I had an imaginary pet when I was growing up.”

  The sharp inhale he took after his confession didn’t fit the light nature of the subject, so I knew there had to be more to the story than he was telling.

  “What kind of animal was it?” I asked, equally as quiet as he had been.

  He pulled away from my mouth and rolled his eyes toward the headboard of his bed. “Dog.”

  He was closing off, and I could feel the tension he always held returning.

  “Did you not have any real pets?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Dad didn’t like the idea of having to take care of something.”

  Again, his words held truths that were hidden. I could sense there was so much more to the story than a little boy pretending to own a dog, but I let the subject drop. If he didn’t want to share his past with me, I wouldn’t force him.