Sex with Darren has always been easy. Fucking him in a coat check closet, on a piano, or even in the same room as the Declaration of Independence. As easy as breathing.
Making love to him just might break me.
30
PUNCH TO THE GUT
DARREN
Bouncing on the balls of my feet, I stand at the curb of the Washington Convention Center where I just finished a grueling six hours of writing essays on family law and conflicts. I wait impatiently for Bailey to pull through traffic so we can be on our way to the airport. I packed everything before I left, made arrangements on my way to the exam.
Excitement has taken hold of me when all logic says I should be ready to pass out because the Bar exam sucks the life out of you.
But I feel good.
It was the fear of failing and not being able to step out of my father’s shadow that kept me grounded for so long, but right now, I feel like flying.
I nailed it.
I can feel it in my bones, and all I want to do is take Evangeline’s face in my hands and kiss her because I feel like I can set the world on fire.
I check my phone, seeing a few texts from Alistair wishing me luck, and then another one with a meme of a celebrity toasting a glass of champagne with the caption that says, cheers old fellow, you just passed the Bar exam.
I press dial and he picks up immediately. “I’m renting out The Tombs tonight so we can celebrate!” he yells into the phone. “Even though you didn’t do the same for me when I passed my series seven,” he mentions with an accusatory tone.
“Okay, first of all, the series seven is a three-hour exam that any buffoon can pass, and the bar exam is a two-day event on how to acclimate yourself to torture techniques,” I yell into the phone. “And second, I won’t know if I passed for two months.”
“Shit, I’ll have to call you back,” Alistair relents in a dejected tone. “I wonder if I can get my deposit back. Oh, who cares? And by the way, I resent your tone. I studied very hard for that exam.”
He sounds offended enough for me to feel bad about calling him a buffoon. “I’m sorry, you know I didn’t mean that. It’s been a very long day. Evangeline’s grandmother died,” I explain.
“Shit, that’s awful, I’m sorry.”
“We’re flying to Arizona right away.”
“Arizona is the seventh circle of hell,” Alistair groans.
“When have you been to Arizona?” I inquire.
“A festival a few years ago when you ditched me to go to Belize with that model.”
“I don’t remember that.”
“Convenient.”
While Alistair blabbers, I check the curb again, but there’s no sign of Bailey. Figures today of all days there would be some kind of traffic jam, and I can only hope it’s not a Presidential motorcade.
“I told her I loved her,” I interrupt him in a rush.
There’s silence on the other end, which is rare for Alistair.
“Hello?” I say into the phone before holding it away from my ear to check if he hung up on me.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m still here,” he says.
“Shouldn’t come as a shock. Even you saw it,” I remind him. “I couldn’t let her go back to Arizona without telling her, Alistair.”
“Because you were afraid she wouldn’t come back?” he inquires, sparking a pebble of insecurity.