Last Call (15 page)

I yank my hair tie from my brown hair and redo my bun. Then I wipe my fingers over my cheeks and fan my eyeballs in an attempt to dry them out. I wish I had makeup in my purse to help take the redness from my cheeks.

I really look at myself in the mirror. Yeah, makeup isn’t going to help this. There is no way I can hide that I’ve been crying. I am an ugly crier. I only hope Royce doesn’t notice. I’m not sure I can tell him anything without crying. If he does ask me, I won’t be able to tell him the truth, anyway. I cannot tell my son I decided to have a sex-only relationship with one of Miami’s hottest bachelors, only to fall victim to his charm and eventually him. I cannot tell him I let him use me and walked away, only to let him do it again. I hope Royce notices nothing. Letting out a big sigh, I realize this is as good as I’m going to look. If they ask, I will simply lie my ass off.

I trudge up the back steps and find my son at the dining table with Giselle, coloring in his superhero-coloring book. I take a moment to look at Royce, reminding me how much I love this little boy. Looking at him assures me that, no matter what happens between Jason and I, I will always have him. He will be the rock and my reminder that everything is worth it.

I take a deep breath and clear my throat. The moment I get Giselle’s attention, she sees my eyes and knows something is wrong. How could you not? I look like a fucking psycho right now.

Royce comes running up to me and gives me a hug. “Hey, Mama.”

I bend down and hug my son back. He always makes me feel loved, and the tears begin to well up again. I kiss the top of his head and pull him tightly to my body.

“Hey, buddy. Can Mama talk to Aunt Giselle for a second?”

“Sure.” Royce runs down the hall to his room and begins playing with his Legos.

I walk to the table and flop down in the chair, the emotions spilling out as I start to cry all over again. Damn my stupid girly hormones! Damn Jason Cain for being so dangerously perfect.

I bend my head forward and thump my forehead against my arms. Like a sobbing little wimp, I simply hold my head down and cry. Giselle’s warm hand is on my back while I hear her faint words of consoling.

After several minutes, I finally lift my head to see my friend at her absolute best. Sitting on the table in front of me is a glass of wine, aspirin, and tissues. I look her in the eyes and express my thanks as best I can as she joins me at the table and passes the glass of wine closer. I lift it to my lips and guzzle down the drink. It quenches my thirst and takes the bad taste from my mouth. Then I pick up the tissues and blow my nose.

Damn, there is nothing sexy about crying. Seriously, I’ve got snot threatening to leak from my nose, an overabundance of saliva forming in my mouth, my nose is stuffy, making a gargle snot sound when I try to breath, and my eyeballs feel like they’ve been set on fire. As un-lady like as possible, I blow my nose a couple of times and take in a breath of air. Ah, I can breathe for now.

“Are you ready to talk about it?” Giselle asks as she squeezes my forearm, immediately making the tears pool in my eyes again.

I go to open my mouth, more than happy to break rule number one. I’m ready to share with Giselle about my tormenting feelings and our ongoing relationship when the back door opens up and Shelby comes barreling through. She’s juggling stacks of clothes and wearing her shit eating grin. I roll my eyes, knowing, of all the people I don’t want to see me cry, it’s Shelby.

“Hey, crazy bitches, look at my new outfit for my date with Gabe tomorrow night.” She tosses the bags on the table then gets a good look at me. “Yikes, woman, you look horrible. Are you sick or something?”

Am I sick? Well, isn’t that a great question. One would argue with you because I am not suffering from an illness, but I would have to disagree. Of course I’m sick. Only a stupid idiot like me could think they could handle a fuck buddy relationship with Jason and not leave unscathed.

I look at both of them and nod my head, the air around us getting serious as Shelby falls down into the chair beside me. I decide this is the moment. I need to talk to someone about Jason. I cannot hold it in anymore. I’m just going to come right out and say it. No sense in sugar coating the story.

“I’ve been seeing Jason for the last month or so.”

I can see Giselle’s eyes light up with excitement. Of course she’d be happy about that.

“Oh, my God! Are you prego again?” Shelby has a stunned look across her face when she asks the obvious question. I simply roll my eyes and glare at her.

“Why in the hell is that the first question you ask?”

“Sorry, but the last time you cried was when you found out you were pregnant with Royce. So, yeah, that’s what I’m going to assume. However, I take it from your bitch face that is not the case.” Shelby walks to the kitchen and grabs the bottle of wine. She retrieves glasses for her and Giselle then fills all our glasses. There’s that old feeling again. The feeling in my fist that wants to slug Shelby in the mouth because she just can’t be tactful at all.

“No, I’m not pregnant. Jason and I decided to enter a sex-only type of relationship,” I start to say.

“Oh, and now he wants more,” Shelby interjects once again. “I hate when guys get all clingy and shit. That’s when you’ve got to cut your losses and send them packing. Men can be little whiney girls sometimes.” Shelby laughs and shakes her head as if she is recalling a moment when she had to send a man on his way.

I feel ashamed as my tears start to fall down my cheeks again. Yeah, that’s exactly what’s going to happen. The moment I tell him I want more, he’ll send me on my way, and I will be left with a broken heart.

“Nope, that’s not it at all.”

“Then why the hell are you so upset? You’ve got one of the sexiest men alive fucking you seven ways till Sunday, and you’re bawling like a baby.” Oh, shit, there it is again; the urge to slap Shelby in the face is bubbling to the surface. She is ripping at my much-bruised ego right now. If she says one more thing, I’m going to actually lose it on her.

“Because I think I love him.” I let my head fall back onto my arms and succumb to my emotions again. I can feel someone’s hand on my back, and it makes me cry even more. I don’t want to end our relationship, but I don’t know if I can go on with what we have, pretending he means nothing to me.

“Just tell him how you feel, Mariah. You never know how he really feels about you.” Giselle’s hand is still running up and down my back when I connect my sad, broken eyes with her hopeful ones. She is an amazing friend, but she’s as delusional as I am.

“As much as I hate to admit it, Shelby said it right. Just like she does with men, he would drop me so fast if I told him I loved him. We entered this relationship knowing that’s the last thing each of us wanted, and it honestly was that way for a while. Until I actually realized what the hell I was doing and fell helplessly for him.” I snatch another tissue from the box and run it under my eyes, catching the tears. I’m such a damn fool. A damn, damn fool for thinking this would work. “We established rules, so to speak, and falling in love was a big one for him.”

“Rules, really?” Giselle is shocked.

“Yep, that way we could be clear on what we each expected from our relationship. Rule number one: This is not a boyfriend/girlfriend relationship. No announcing it to anyone that we are. It’s private and no talking about us, at all. Hmmm, looks like I broke that rule.” I roll my eyes and take another swig of wine. “Rule number two: No swapping of personal lives. We keep our private life out of our fuck buddy relationship. Rule number three: No dates or money spent toward each other. And, finally, rule number four: No falling in love.”

I think about the night we first agreed to do this and the look on his face when he told me not to fall in love with him. He had the slightest moment of weakness reflecting in his eyes. I remember wanting to know about that weakness, but then I brought myself back to the rules, keeping my questions inward. I realized then, if I wanted to keep this going with him, I would need to keep all of my feelings to myself and not let it distract me like it did tonight. That realization dawns a new one: if I can’t keep my emotions in check, I need to cut him loose and begin to try to move on. How does one move on from something like this, though?

“Well, you have one of two choices, Mariah,” Giselle breaks up my thoughts and takes a drink of her wine. “You can keep torturing yourself by lying that you can handle this kind of relationship, knowing that you love him. Or you can tell him the truth and hope for the best.”

I shake my head, knowing Giselle is right. I need to end this relationship. I will be lying if I think I can manage to be in Jason’s life without him giving me more. He will never give me what I want; therefore, it’s better for the life expectancy of my soul if I just end this now. I need time to erase my thoughts and get my mind clear, though. I will take the weekend to do that.

Come Monday, I will have a decision made of whether I stay and expose my heart or if I leave the relationship with Jason none the wiser. This weekend, I only want to spend time with my little man and do whatever he wants. Besides, life will be okay. I’ve managed this long alone, right?

J
ason

I am sitting on my balcony, like I do every night, listening to the waves of the ocean, but I’m not relaxing like I normally do. I twist the glass of brandy in my hand and think about Mariah. She was so mad when she got out of my car tonight, but like the asshole I’m used to being, I let her walk away without a second thought. However, she’s been in a thousand of my thoughts, clouding my mind.

I’ve been sitting here for hours, trying to figure out why the hell she acted the way she did. It’s pissing me off! I shouldn’t give a shit about her feelings, only mine. Maybe this relationship is finally starting to run its course. Maybe it’s time to end it because I shouldn’t be thinking of Mariah’s feelings, not with what we’ve established.

I take another sip of my drink, draining the glass, before pouring more from the bottle. I need to end this relationship soon. I like spending time with her and crave being with her every free moment I have. And not just to have sex. I actually care to know more about her. I want to know what her favorite color is, where she grew up, and listen to her simply talk. She’s got the most beautiful voice, and her laugh makes me smile, no matter how hard I try to remain serious.

I take another long drink. I can feel this crumbling effect when she’s around. I want to tell her about me. I want to tell her how I came from nothing. How at times I had to survive on the streets and go back to homes where no one loved me. Homes where people kept me around to collect their state checks and couldn’t care less what I did or what happened to me. I want to tell her that I’ve never been loved and alone, which is the only way I know how to comfortably function. However, I can’t. I will never speak about my past, not with her or anyone. Of course, you can look up my records on the Internet—the fact that I was in foster care since I was a toddler is a matter of public record—but you cannot look up my feelings toward my childhood years. The only way anyone will know who I really am on the inside is if I allow them, and I will never do that. I will never expose myself to anyone so they can start to understand the real Jason Cain.

I will give it the weekend. Then I will break Mariah loose before she breaks me down and has me going back on every rule I’ve set for myself.

M
ariah

A
fter my emotional breakdown, I woke up the next morning feeling like I drank a bottle of tequila and smoked a pack of cigarettes. My head was pounding, my chest was aching, and every limb in my body simply hurt.

Like always, Royce was up with the birds and watching cartoons in my bed when I finally woke up enough to open my eyes. We snuggled for most of the morning, eating cereal in bed, coloring, and having an intense discussion about his favorite superhero, Captain America. When I finally asked him what he wanted to do today, he looked at me with his big, dark blue eyes and said he wanted to have a picnic at the beach. I smiled, thinking that would be the perfect way to shake my Jason blues.

We arrive at the beach thirty minutes after leaving our house, just in time for lunch, and find the perfect spot to spend the day. I carry my beach umbrella and the cooler holding our food and drinks while Royce carries the blanket. In his bag, we’ve packed his football and sand toys.

I remove my flip-flops and allow the warm grains to massage my bare feet as we walk to our desired location. The wind is blowing slightly, but the air is warm. It’s the perfect Saturday in my eyes. Royce spreads out the blanket while I get the umbrella situated over us. Setting out the food, we sit on the blanket and begin our picnic.