I hated turning the tables on him like that, but I had to deflect the pressure off me. Micah’s eyes softened as he admitted, “Yeah… that little monster wouldn’t leave us alone.”
“She was a little monster, wasn’t she?” I chuckled with relief. “Look… you know I love Jorie like a sister. I have no clue why she came into the conversation about Renee last night, but maybe I just wanted that from my marriage. To be her hero or something.”
God those words tasted like shit on my tongue. Not only from the lie inside of them but because I never in my life wanted to be that to a woman. I’d been that to Jorie for just a few hours of my life and the connection was so intense, it was almost painful. Letting her go completely from that type of emotional connection sucked hairy balls, and I sure as shit didn’t want Renee looking like that at me. It smacked too much of an emotional commitment I wasn’t ready to give, even to my wife.
“Alright, dude,” Micah said with a nervous laugh. “I get it. But fuck… the thought of you and Jorie together. Christ, it gave me the willies. Talk about fucking wrong, Walsh.”
“So wrong,” I’d agreed with him because I was on the same wavelength. She was like a little sister to me, but more importantly, she had moved on.
At that time, it wasn’t a lie when I told him, “You have no worries, bro. Jorie’s too much like a sister to me to ever even consider that.”
And that is the real reason I can’t be with Jorie. That’s the reason why I know without a doubt Micah would never accept me fucking his little sister. He told me it was wrong, and I fucking agreed with him. He’s got every right to expect me to keep my distance.
I look down to my phone and think about the texts Jorie had sent me this afternoon. When I packed her off this morning, I evaded making plans with her by telling her I might have to work late. I hadn’t responded to her two texts asking me if I was, in fact, working late.
She wanted to come over, and God save my soul, I wanted her to.
But I couldn’t let her.
I pick up my phone and respond to her last message with a simple, Sorry. Caught up in late meetings and still working. Can’t see you tonight.
It was lame and it was a lie, but I’ve gotten good at those over the last few days apparently. I set the phone back down and turn to the shower. I’m going to get cleaned up and then head to The Wicked Horse to finish putting Jorie out of my mind.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” I say with a smile as Elena walks into her apartment. She immediately flops down in her favorite living room chair, a big cushy thing done in pink and green paisley that makes my eyes hurt.
Pushing off her tennis shoes, she puts her feet up on the matching ottoman with a groan. “Remind me why I work seven days a week?”
Normally, Elena has Sunday and Monday off from the hair salon where she works, Saturday, of course, being her busiest day of the week. But she’s on a mission to buy her first house because as she said, “I need to be more adult-like before I hit thirty.”
As such, she works eighty-hour weeks and squirrels her money away.
“Want something to eat?” I ask as I set my Kindle aside. I’d been relaxing today, just as I have every day since I’ve moved here. It’s nice not having a job, but I can’t live off Vince forever.
“What I want,” Elena says dramatically, “is to know how many orgasms you had last night?”
The only thing she knows is that I was with Walsh because I had texted her such and not to expect me home.
I can’t help but smile at her as I put my feet up on the coffee table. Pulling a pink satin pillow with tassels onto my lap, I hug it to my chest and ask her, “What do you want to know?”
“How many fucking orgasms?” she reiterates.
Chuckling, I tell her, “Too many to count.”
“What rooms did you use at the club?” She pulls her legs from the ottoman and crosses them under her, leaning forward so as not to miss details.
“We didn’t stay at the club.” I recount with a fond smile how I goaded Walsh into having sex with me. “I told him I was going to have sex with some other guy or I could have sex with him, and he pulled me out of the club, threw me in his car, and took me to his apartment.”
“Would you have really had sex with someone else?” she asks. In my opinion, it’s an absolutely unimportant question because she knows me better.