Charlie narrowed his eyes at me, but soon enough, smiled and shook his head in a ‘you’re a nut’ kind of way.
I managed to keep myself busy all morning, and before I knew it, lunchtime had come. Not wanting to stay inside and stuck in my head, I decided the park was the place to spend this fine sunny day. The urge to eat wasn’t very strong. My stomach still ached thinking about what could’ve happened the night before. Stopping at a local café, I bought a muffin and orange juice, then made my way over to the park across the street. Slipping off my shoes, I sat directly on the plush grass with my legs outstretched in front of me. Lifting my face, I took in the warm sun and sighed in bliss. I was beginning to relax again.
Which brings us to now.
My body hums in awareness. Awareness that I’m being watched.
My brows furrow. In the direct heat of the sun, I shouldn’t get goosebumps the way I just have. Suddenly, a feeling of contentment washes over me. Opening one eye, I turn and peer across the street as if I’m homing in on him.
And there he is.
A hooded figure, hands in his pockets, walking away from me.
Bubbles of warmth course through my body.
There he is. Watching me. Keeping me safe.
Or so my gut tells me. I know I should feel differently. I should feel uneasy. And even frightened. But I don’t. Something about this man puts my mind at rest. And I know deep down that I have nothing to fear. Twitch will protect me.
Just like he always does.
The front door to my unit opens and I hear familiar voices.
“Alexa, baby, we’re here!” Nicole Palmer, my very Aussie, very uninhibited best girl friend yells out. She quickly adds, “Where are you?”
Smiling, I shout back, “In the shower; be out in a minute!”
“Take your time, love. We’ll just open some bubbly and chill on the couch.” That’s David Allen, my best guy friend. He’s tall, strapping, and handsome, a complete sweetheart, and tragically enough for the female population of Sydney, a one-hundred-percent show-tune singing pansy.
Gay as they come.
Every year, he makes us dress up and attend the gay and lesbian Mardi Gras. And every single year, I make a fuss about going. The costumes are so damn revealing! But every single year, once we’re there, I have a blast. And knowing I’m there to support my friend is enough to get me there.
The bathroom door opens, and Nikki says quietly, “Hey, babe, just thought I’d let you know that Dave and Phil broke up last night.”
With my hands in my hair, working the shampoo into a froth, I gasp.
No way!
David and Phil have been together almost a year. Dave spotted Phil at the gym working as a personal trainer and made me sign up with him for sessions to get information out of him. I, of course, did this for my friend. He’s so adorably needy sometimes that it’s hard to say no to that sweet face. Three sessions in with Phil – and my body screaming in pain – I decided to ask him out. Not that I wanted to ask him out. Oh, no. See, I knew he was gay from the very first session we had together. It wasn’t as if the guy was hiding the fact that he went out of his way to check out the other guys’ asses while they trained.
Surprisingly, Phil accepted my lunch date. Over that hour, we got to know each other, and I came to the conclusion that Phil was good enough to date my friend. And I told him just that. He laughed at my forwardness and said full of attitude, “Honey, what makes you think your friend is good enough for me?”
And just like that, I smiled like a loon, clapped my hands together, and yelled in the middle of the café, “You’re perfect!”
Phil and Dave met the next day for dinner. And Phil...well…he sort of never left Dave’s house. Rather like a puppy being adopted.
They were super sweet together. Both affectionate and needy in their own ways, they fed off each other, blooming in ways I hadn’t thought possible, and I honestly thought they had what it takes to go the distance.
My hands stilling in my soapy hair, I groan softly, “Oh, no! Poor baby Dave! What happened?”
I hear the familiar squeak of her taking a seat on my laundry basket. Conversations in the bathroom are not an unusual thing for Nikki and me. We lived together while we studied, and modesty soon became a thing of the past. She sighs, “They had a fight. A bad one. Not like they normally do, you know? It was a doozy. Long story short, Phil accused Dave of cheating on him.”
Gasping a second time, I all but shout, “Get. Out!”