Even though the whiskey didn’t end up being a problem, one major, unforgettable issue remained with what we were doing. Tate was still officially dating Dahlia. And I had no idea what excuse he told her about where he was that weekend.
His relationship with her either needed to change or he would have to stop using me to explore his sexual curiosity.
Were we exclusive? No. At that point we were still only friends. Friends with benefits, I guessed. But I wanted to head toward something more serious and I hoped he did, too.
If he did, he needed to break things off with Dahlia. Like pronto.
Or, I would tell him he needed to stop coming to my dorm room whenever Dom was away. Or stop inviting me to his apartment whenever his roommates were out.
The fact he didn’t want witnesses made it clear he preferred to keep what we were doing a secret.
Maybe he wanted to keep his attraction to men—or at least to me—a secret, too.
I wasn’t one for secrets. Especially potentially harmful secrets like that. They usually ended up infecting everything it touched like a festering wound.
In the meantime, we had to pretend we were only friends and nothing more. Even though every time we hooked up, not just as friends but lovers, I could feel the shift in our relationship.
We got tighter. We got more bold in bed. And during the down times, we would lay next to each other and talk about everything under the sun, important or not.
Those were the times I cherished the most. We weren’t just sexually attracted to each other. It went much deeper than that.
Even when we sat next to each other in creative writing, we’d spread our thighs enough so they touched. His pinky always found mine and we kept them hooked together for the hour and fifteen minute long class.
Many times, we’d try to concentrate on Dr. Louden’s lecture with both of us hard, counting the minutes until we could find a private moment together. I never clock-watched so much in my life.
When it got bad, I would sometimes breathe, “Tate.” Unsure if I could sit in that chair a second longer without dragging him down the steps and into the nearest utility closet so I could do more than touch his pinky or brush my thigh against his.
He had a stronger resolve than me. He’d continue to sit and stare at our professor and only give a slight shake of his head. I would try to collect myself by concentrating on Dr. Louden as he scribbled away on the whiteboard, his voice droning on endlessly as the long hand on that damn clock moved in slow motion.
All I could think about was Tate. Every second of every day.
His touch.
His scent.
The way his pinky hooked with mine under our desks.
How our warm, bare skin felt against each other. How our lips met. How our breaths mingled and our moans blended. How he stretched me and filled me. How we took the time to discover new things about ourselves and each other.
But before the end of the semester, I was done “exploring” with Tate until he broke up with Dahlia.
It wasn’t fair to her. And it certainly wasn’t fair to me.
He needed to get that done, even if he didn’t want anyone to know about us yet.
When I finally put my foot down, he assured me, “I’m going to talk to her.”
“Tate…”
“I promise.”
Dragging myself out of the past, I stared down at my lowball glass still full of whiskey. Much more expensive than the Jim Beam we drank back in college.
I began to raise it to my lips but stopped halfway as the past bubbled up like an erupting volcano.
“Fuck!” I screamed and whipped the glass across the room with every bit of strength I had.
The impact against the window sounded like an explosion.
Leaving behind a fractured view of the dark city beyond.
CHAPTER 10
Tate (Now)
I stared at the bottle of The Macallan Ronan had left behind the first time he found me on the roof. Ever since then, it had been sitting on the counter in my small kitchen. A reminder in more ways than one.
I meant to give it back. I should’ve taken it up with me the other night since it wasn’t mine to keep. But then, what was?
Everything I’ve ever had, I’d lost.
Ronan.
My wife.
Even my children.
In truth, I had no one to blame but myself.
That also meant that I had to be the one to make it right.
Or at least try to.
I couldn’t fix everything. Some mistakes were unfixable.
Being unhappy with myself or my situation was no excuse for the damage I had caused the people in my life.
Sometimes the only thing to do was to acknowledge, apologize, move on and do better in the future.
I was currently at that point in my life.