Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“So you’re our third, huh?” Anthony grins. He’s tall, with brown hair and a nose piercing. He’s lean, but it’s clear he’s muscular too. From what I’ve read, he’s a dancer at a local gay bar. “Sorry, bad joke,” he says, and I realize he has his hand out for me to shake and I’ve been ignoring it.
“It’s fine,” I say, clasping his hand. This already feels like a huge mistake, and honestly, I’m wishing I could turn around, walk out of this building, and never come back. I actually can, I remind myself, but again curiosity tugs at me, making me stay.
“I’ll show you guys to the back room and then get us drinks,” Donovan says, taking us down a short hallway. “My friend knows the owner. People reserve this room for meetings. They have craft clubs, book clubs, even an AA group that meets here sometimes.”
He opens the door. There are books, couches, comfy armchairs, beanbag chairs, and end tables scattered throughout the space. The walls have colorful artwork and inspirational quotes. I feel like I’m in a therapist’s office.
“What do you want to drink?” Donovan asks.
Anthony wants a caramel latte. He takes a seat in one of the chairs, but I can’t stay still, legs jittery as I walk around the room. Putting caffeine in my system feels like the last thing I should do, so I say, “Just a water is fine.”
“Okay. I’ll be right back.” He closes the door behind him. I feel Anthony’s eyes on me as I move around, probably looking like I’m casing the place. There’s an oversize window in the back that overlooks an outdoor seating area and garden.
“So…this is awkward,” Anthony says.
“God yes,” I reply.
“I wasn’t sure I was going to come.”
I turn around and give him my attention. “Me neither. Why did you?”
He shrugs. “Donovan is nice, and the idea of an I-hate-Malcolm Club can’t be too bad in my book,” Anthony replies, and surprisingly, I chuckle.
The door opens, and Donovan slips back inside, carrying a drink tray and a plate of muffins. “What did I miss?”
“Just a recommendation to change our name to I-hate-Malcolm Club,” Anthony replies as I take the drinks from Donovan and set them on a table.
“Malcolm Haters Anonymous,” Donovan suggests.
“Only we’re not so anonymous,” I say, and they both look at me. “Sorry. This is my MO. I’m the one who ruins the fun. Just ask Malcolm.”
Fuck. I wish I hadn’t said that so I wouldn’t be getting two sets of pitying eyes pointed my way.
“I was too emotional,” Donovan says.
“Too stupid,” Anthony chimes in.
“Though he never really said it.” Donovan sits down at the table. “He was just good at making me feel it without saying the words.”
Anthony moves from his chair to sit beside Donovan. He takes his drink and a muffin. My feet itch. My skin feels too tight. The urge to walk out hits me again. I don’t want to sit around and talk about Malcolm.
Donovan glances up, and seeing me lingering, asks, “You work in hospitality, right, Hayes?”
That’s something I can talk about, so I join them.
*
We only stay for about forty-five minutes. We’re still trying to feel our way around each other, and I’m not sure switching from Jilted Exes to friends—if that’s even what Donovan wants—is going to work, or if I want it to work, but I came, I stayed, got distracted from all things Rylan, and for today, that’s enough.
“Do you want to exchange numbers?” Donovan asks as we’re getting ready to leave. What’s the deal with people asking for my cell number lately? The only time anyone usually asks for it is if I’m going to be paying them a bill.
“Did either of you have to change yours after everything went down?” Anthony asks. “I don’t know how the media found mine, but they did.”
“Me too,” Donovan and I reply in unison. Not for the first time today, we have one of those moments where we all look at each other, realizing that someone else has been through the same thing we have. It makes me shift uneasily, though, rather than feeling comfortable.
The thing is, I’ve been very protective of my number since this all went down, but as I stand here watching Donovan and Anthony pull out their cells, I realize I didn’t hesitate to give Rylan mine. Not really.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want, Hayes. I can email you,” Donovan says, briefly taking my attention off Rylan and the strange things he’s doing to me. Do I want to share my info with them? This has been weird and awkward, but…do I want to be the only one not giving my number? That makes me a bit of a dick.
“I don’t mind.” And maybe that’s true or maybe it’s not. Sometimes I’m too up in my head about things to really understand how I feel about them.