The Significant Other (The Relationship Quo Series Book 4)

by Nicole Strycharz

  I called out, “Adam! Adam! I didn’t mean it like that! Just talk to me!”

  His answer was a slammed door.

  I nodded to myself. That wasn’t smart. I see how he took what I said as condescending. I pushed down some major tears and tried calling him. After about twenty tries I left him a voicemail, “Adam, I’m sorry okay? I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. Just come back. We don’t know this city and you’re just out there wandering around, pissed.” I swallowed, “Please don’t disappear on me. I wanna talk.” After a second I added, “I love you, Stud.” Then hung up.

  I know I’m kidding myself. I know that my boyfriend is gay, not bi, but he chose me. He uses me to be something he’s not and I’m so in love with him I let it happen.

  I still can’t justify his reasons. I’m straight. I want men. I want him. I might be able to find pleasure with a woman if I tried because I’m human but I crave a man’s touch, the strength, the force, the structure of their body. If Adam needs that then I’m just a substitute.

  The problem is after all this time together we developed feelings. Now it’s not so simple because we need one another.

  I’m an idiot.

  ADAM

  I already feel like an asshole for how I treated Trixie. She pulled that trigger, though and she knows it will send me off. I don’t even know where the hell I’m walking. This city is overwhelming and there are so many people. I feel like I was shrunk and dropped into an ant hill.

  I saw a girl with green hair and through the anger, I felt a sliver of warmth. Trixie’s hair has had all colors of the rainbow for highlights. In all the years I’ve known her, she’s changed it constantly.

  We have seven albums out and each one she sports a new color. It’s her brand. The fans love her for it. I’ve had to act as her bodyguard at times, all the guys have, she’s that hot, she’s that wanted. I’m the lucky guy but I don’t act like it. She wants things from me I can’t seem to give her.

  I took a turn into an alleyway to avoid people. I’m done trying to walk these streets, people pushing and shouldering you. It’s a fucking mess. I got cussed out for stepping on toes and bumping into grouchy commuters. I even got pressed into a building.

  It’s like a salmon going upstream. What’s with these people?

  I stopped to lean my back into the brick wall and breathed deeply. Now I don’t even know where the fuck I am. I was walking in a pissed off haze. I pushed away from the wall and forced my way through a throng of city slickers. I tried hailing a taxi but none of them actually stop!

  “Son of a bitch!” I slapped the side of a traffic-light pole then returned to my alleyway. I pulled out my phone and tapped around to find my maps app. My fingers are cold. The air seems icier here and I’m coming from mountains. This January is as bitter as me.

  I was just getting up the instructions and situating myself on the top of a rusty old trash can when some hooded asshole ran by. He swiped my phone and yelled, “Fuck you.”

  I jumped up and yelled back, “Hey! Hey! Stop!”

  I always tell myself that yelling is pointless when I watch stuff happen in movies but here I am, yelling it none the less.

  I turned to run after him but before the guy reached the other end of the alley, this other guy shows up on my right and jerks the lid off the trash can I’d been sitting on. With confidence to rival a marine, he took a few quick steps then made a wide stance and flung the lid like a Frisbee. It soared on the air then collided with a horrible noise into the back of the thief’s knees.

  The hooded little shit fell face first into the street and the helpful guy with mad skills stormed his way. His long legs stood over the guy in the hood and picked him up by the shoulder of his clothes.

  “Give it.” He said in a deep and steady tone. It made the hairs on my body stand up.

  “Up yours asshole!” Said the thief.

  The helpful guy grunted then smashed the pick-pocket’s front into the wall. The weasel yelped and struggled before getting turned around roughly. One look in the good Samaritan’s eyes and he bugged his. “Oh, shit!” He shoved his hands in his pockets and pulled them inside out. Plenty of treasures fell from them, my phone was among them.

  “Get lost.” The helpful guy shoved him away. “Go on. Keep walking!” He shouted.

  The thief bent to get his lost goods but with one menacing step forward from the good guy he thought better of it and took off.

  Maybe good guy wasn’t a proper title for the man that bent to pick up my cell and started strolling my way. He fills up the space with so much presence that it’s hard to take all of him in. He’s as tall as I am, with very broad shoulders and a thick build. He’s one of those lifter types so his jean clad thighs are thick like tree trunks and his arms seem beyond fitted by his open pea coat.

  His hair is shaven close on the sides but his blonde hair is grown in the center and braided down his head. His very full and very pink lips are framed by a rustic, brown beard and though I can’t see his eyes through his big sunglasses, his brows are drawn together in a thoughtful expression.

  “Here,” the guy held out my phone when he was close enough.

  I took too long to drag my eyes from him to my phone. I finally took it and tried to process what just happened. “Wow, thanks. That was… impressive.”

  His lips twitched in one corner, “Try not to be so new.” He said.

  His voice really had an odd effect on me. “Yeah, I’ll try.” I back pocketed my phone and his head did the slightest tilt, following my movement.

  “Listen,” I pulled my wallet from my coat pocket and opened it, “I wanna give you something for what you did, losing my phone would’ve sucked.”

  He leaned his upper body back from me, “You a tourist?” He asked.

  I pulled a twenty since I didn’t have but so much cash on me, “No, I just moved here.”

  He pressed his nicely shaped lips together like he was harboring a laugh or a snide comment. He took off his sunglasses so I noticed he has tats on the back of his hands and knuckles. He looked me up and down, which felt very invasive. He doesn’t just look, he x-rays. “You shouldn’t do that.” His eyes fell to my wallet.

  “Do what?”

  His eyes are cobalt blue. “If I was a thief, I’d prey on you too. Just showed me where you keep your wallet and a back pocket isn’t a good spot.”

  I never was one for being told. I hate feeling like the less knowledgeable. “Is there anything decent about this place?” I asked.

  His eyes searched my face, “The food.”

  I smiled and held out the twenty, “Here, it’s not as much as I’d like to give you but, I wanna give you something.”

  He didn’t even glance at the twenty.

  “Where you from?” He asked.

  I got tired of holding out the twenty and lowered my hand a bit, “Colorado; a small, nothing town between the mountains. This is a huge change.”

  He shifted his eyes to behind me where traffic was buzzing. “Know your way around yet?”

  I snorted, “No. I’m already lost. Tried to get a cab but none of them fucking stop.”

  A rumble that rolled into a laugh escaped his throat and it snagged my full attention. “Come on,” he put his glasses back on and started for the sidewalk, “Let me show you something.”

  My feet followed like I was a zombie. His magnetic draw is like having hooks embedded under the skin. I folded up the twenty and followed him to the edge of the alley. He leaned his shoulder into the wall and gave a chin lift to the streets. “See the cabs?”

  I pulled my eyes away from him to look. “Yeah.”

  “Trick is the lights on top. When just the center is lit up and highlights the medallion number, it’s available. When the medallion number and the side lamp is lit the cab is off-duty. When no lights are lit, the cab already has a fare. It’s going to a destination.”

  I looked at all the cabs flying by and noticed hardly any were available. In fact, there were none.
“I didn’t know that,” I admitted.

  I turned my head to see him staring at me.

  “Thanks,” I shoved my hands in my coat pockets. “Again,” I added.

  He didn’t answer.

  He finally looked out over the city, allowing me to take another look at him. He has tattoos winding up his neck. There’s a spider web inked up the left. Then his sharp eyes shifted to me again. It was almost scary that he felt me looking. Not turning his head, just those eyes. I could only see from his profile thanks to the glasses. The subtle move made me feel like he was just letting me know he knew I was looking. That I could, but he was aware.

  “I need to find my way back,” I broke our eye contact and inched toward the opening. “Gotta see if I can maneuver around these pushy-ass people.”

  He faced me, “What’s the address?”

  I narrowed one eye then gave it to him. “I can put it in my phone.” I reminded.

  “You’ll get stampeded looking down at that thing.” He tapped the phone in my hand. “And in the future, when someone here asks for your address; unless they’re a cabbie, don’t give it.” He walked backward toward the street, “Let’s go, I’ll show you how it’s done here.”

  “Why?”

  “I feel sorry for you.” He took one hand out of his pocket to beckon me and my whole body lunged forward to follow. What is it about this guy? “There are rules to these streets.” He told me, as he turned to walk.

  “Rules for just walking?” I laced the question in sarcasm but then a stranger knocked my shoulder so hard I fell into my new friend, slash stranger, slash… whatever he is. He slowed to touch my shoulder and I felt a zap go down my arm. “Sorry,” I muttered.

  He kept his hand on my arm to guide me to the inside stoop of a store. Then he stood too close for comfort. “Wanna know how to get home without kissing the pavement?” He asked almost pissed.

  I looked everywhere but at him before raising my brows. “I guess.”

  He smirked, “What’s your name?”

  “Adam. You?”

  “Chance.”

  I held my hand out for a shake but he just looked at it with another smirk.

  He looked at me from over his sunglasses and let his eyes move from one of mine to the other. He’s sharply dressed, in a dark suit and a lavender shirt with a pinstriped tie to match. He’s some strange mix of backstreet wise-ass and top floor desk worker. The tats that reveal themselves to be what I’m guessing is all over his body are so conflicting with the white collar working apparel he has on.

  “I guess you aren’t a toucher?” I predicted before taking my hand back.

  “I am, just not that kind.” He stepped out on the street while I attempted to decode that one.

  When I took a step out behind him, he pressed his hand to the center of my chest, “Right,” he said before taking his hand back. “Stay to the right. Especially on escalators.”

  Funny, he wouldn’t shake my hand but he had no problem touching my chest.

  I pocketed my phone, “Why?”

  “We operate like cars out here,” he said as he started walking, steering us right, “Fast lane is the left lane. People in a hurry, they want the left. The rest of us go right. You ever on an escalator and hear someone yell, ‘stand to the right,’ you’re in their way.”

  I took a mental note. That was when I felt him shove my shoulder forward. I stopped and glared at him only to feel three people knock hard into my back. “What the fuck?” I quipped at him and the others.

  “Move it, this ain’t a stroll in the fucking park,” he shot back.

  I was a little stunned but I kept moving. “Another rule?” I chided.

  “Yeah,” he put his hands in his pockets with one of those smiles, “Move fast. We New Yorkers, we can kill a block a minute. So if we have ten minutes to be to work, we got the stride down, unless some dizzy walker like yourself is in the way. And don’t ever stop short like you just did. We match each other’s stride.”

  He pointed ahead at a perfect example. Three men on the cell phone followed by a woman in heels with two briefcases. They walked in a sort of line and stayed close at one another’s backs but without touching. It almost looked like they were in step to a dance.

  “You slow up,” Chance put in, “watch this guy in the middle, he’s gonna go left but he’ll slow down first, see?”

  I watched the middle guy slow up giving the other guy and the woman time to go around or fall back into another stream of walkers.

  I was matching Chance’s gait now. I didn’t even mean to do it but I was blending. “Wow,” I said in a less than impressed tone.

  “Don’t corner us either,” he said. “You gotta stop and text or your girl gotta take a fucking selfie, move to the side. We’ll plow right through you.”

  I laughed at the vision of Trixie stopping to take a picture. She loves pictures but she hates selfies, she’d never do that. Thinking of her made me feel like a dick.

  I stopped when the light turned red at the intersection we were on but half the crowd still walked. Including Chance. “Move.” He called.

  I frowned but quickened my pace, “It was red.”

  He grinned, “Yeah, the lights; they’re more like a suggestion.”

  I gave him a look. “So the rule in NY is there are no rules?”

  He buttoned his coat as he walked, “Well, that’s one way to call it. Don’t try the red light thing until you know what you’re doing. People still die lots in the street cause a that.”

  “Jolly.”

  We walked in silence a while. I didn’t realize in my anger that I’d traveled so far from the apartment. How long have I been gone? I went to pull my phone and panicked when I felt nothing in either back pocket. Not even my wallet.

  We were on a quiet street, a slow one but I still steered right like Chance taught me, before digging through my pockets. “Fuck!” I checked my coat pockets even though I knew it’s not there and my front pocket. “Son of a bitch!” I stopped to run my hands through my hair. “I lost my wallet,” I finally told him. He didn’t really react except for a raised brow. I checked again when I saw him holding up something in front of my face.

  “This one?” he asked.

  I set really resentful eyes on him, “That’s fucked up.”

  He dropped it in my hand then my cell, “That’s why you don’t back pocket your shit.”

  I paused about to make the same mistake.

  “You actually slipped this stuff off me?” I asked him, “when?”

  He just looked at me.

  “Great,” I put them both in the breast pocket of my coat. “You’re a thief then?”

  I only got one of those smiles.

  “Whatever,” I smiled, “Lesson learned.” We kept walking. “Are you from here?” I asked.

  “Born and raised.”

  “You like it?”

  “Is what it is,” he shrugged.

  I checked my phone like I was going to before and saw all the missed calls from Trixie. “Damn it,” I muttered. “Sorry,” I motioned to the phone before listening to her voicemail and he nodded. Her voice tore me up inside. Me and my moods.

  “Girlfriend, right?” Chance asked as I put it away.

  I clenched my jaw. I don’t really have a right to call her that, “Yeah.”

  We finally made it to my apartment building and as he slowed up he pulled a cigarette and lit it behind his hand. His lighter is old. It’s silver with etched lettering, ‘USA’ Zippo. I just made out the year as 1932 before he flicked it closed and put it away.

  “This is me,” I leaned my hip into the front staircase. “Thanks. At least now I have a fighting chance at getting around.”

  He blew smoke out as he looked to his far left, “You’ll be alright.” He took a second then looked back at me. Even through the tinted sunglasses, I could feel him penetrating my mind with those haunting blue eyes. “See you around.” He backed up then turned on his heels and went off.

&nb
sp; I watched his back a long time. Until he took a corner. He didn’t look back at me. Not that I wanted him to.

  Chapter Three

  ADAM

  I went in and stopped in the hall. We are apartment 5A and the guys are 5C but I could hear the muffled hum of music streaming from our place and knew that’s where Trix would be. I shook off the lingering calm that Chance left on me. He was on my skin. It felt like his scent was on me. That crisp spearmint and pine scent he wore.

  I opened the door to our place and found Trix right away. Her blue highlights were swaying by the stove where she’d perched herself to cook for the guys. They had Tracy Chapman playing and it reflected the mood of the room.

  Blaze and Diego were sitting at the island and Knox was handing Trix ingredients. The smell of pancakes was filling the air.

  They all stopped to look at me except her. When she did it was over the shoulder and then back to the task at hand.

  I took off my coat as Knox gave me a look, “Too much to answer your phone?” he cut.

  “Fuck off, Knox.” I hate lectures.

  Diego shook his head before turning back around in his seat.

  Blaze ate from the bowl of popcorn he had but gave me more dirty looks.

  I went around them without looking and came up behind Trixie. I brushed her hair aside and kissed the side of her head. “Hey.” I tried.

  She kept cooking but brushed a tear away.

  I don’t mind being myself around the guys. I’m able to tune them out and see just Trixie. I bent my head to kiss her shoulder, “hey,” I tried again.

  She wouldn’t look at me, but I can feel her buckling. She always does. She can’t say no to me. “Trix,” I slipped my hand around her waist and pulled her back into my front. “I’m sorry,” I despise groveling but it would be her last straw so I did it. “Trix…I’m sorry.” She sniffed and I looked back at the guys. All three of them dramatically pointed down to the floor and I sighed before taking their advice and dropping to my knees, “Hey,” I kissed her side and she looked down at me, “I’m sorry. I know…”