Page 32 of The Love Destroyers

Here’s the thing: if I’ve learned anything about plans over the last thirty-ish years of my life, it’s this—they never work.

But I know better than to say so. Emma’s fighting someone other than me, and it’s a glorious sight. I’m not going to be the one to fuck it up.

“We need a name for this operation,” Nicole says as the conversation draws to a close. She has chocolate frosting on her upper lip from one of the donuts, and I’m guessing Damien’s going to be in some shit later for failing to fill her in on that little chestnut. There’s a glimmer in his eyes that says he knows it and finds it funny. “Every good operation has a name,” she continues, glancing around at each of us.

“Operation Love Destroyers.” The suggestion was made by Claire’s friend Lainey, who lives next door to her and mybrother. From my understanding, she and her boyfriend run a company called The Love Fixers—services offered for the broken-hearted. It seems fitting. Our job will be to break hearts, and theirs will be to mend them.

Chuck frowns and seesaws in his chair. “Well, that’s a tad negative, isn’t it? Can’t we think of a more positive spin?”

Laughter rips out of me. “Never change, Chuck. You’re perfect the way you are, man.”

To my surprise, Mrs. Rosings gives him an assessing look and says, “Why, yes, he is.”

He runs his hands over the buttons of his sweater and beams back at her.

It’s the following Monday,four days before Operation Love Destroyers kicks off with me picking up Ellie and the asshole from Charlotte. Yes, I’ll be driving two hours so I can then drivethemtwo hours. But I don’t mind. I love driving, especially here. Sometimes, I take my girl Ingrid out for a couple of hours onto the Blue Ridge Parkway, enjoying the rhythm of bringing her around the curves and taking in the views of the sloping blue mountains. My sister would argue that your car can’t be your girl, but she’s never known the joy of loving a motor vehicle.

When I’m out there on the winding road, I can understand why Declan and Rosie have found peace in this place, so different from the flat expanse where we grew up. Nowhere to hide out there, in the flat nothing. It feels safer here. Morepeaceful. Full of possibility, too, like you might turn a sharp corner and find something worth keeping.

My pick-up jobs from Honey Do have been a source of amusement. I’ve had several of them this week, and it’s mostly amounted to running around and doing errands for another man’s woman. If I had a woman, she wouldn’t be texting a stranger over the internet, asking him to fix the sink or carry a couch to the curb. She definitely wouldn’t be watching him sledge a wall, the way I did yesterday for a woman who’d be my mother’s age, if she’d lived. My woman most certainly wouldn’t tell her internet “honey” it was okay if he wanted to take his shirt off because he looked sweaty. Then again, I’ve never met a woman I couldn’t do without, which is the only way I could imagine willingly entering into another relationship.

If you listen to Rosie, she’ll tell you I’ve avoided making real connections, and maybe that’s so. I like to have fun—to have a laugh, a fuck, a ride in a fast car, a night spent drinking or dancing until the early hours—but the weights I carry are my own to bear. I don’t need someone picking at my scabs to find out what’s underneath, or telling me how to fix myself. I don’t need to be steered in the right direction by some well-meaning woman who wants me to make something of myself. I have no hidden desire to become middle management at a convenience store or run my own garage or start a Ponzi scheme. And I definitely don’t want to go the other route, either—the one that ends in blood and bullets and jail. I’m better off in this liminal space. Existing. Doing no harm. Enjoying myself whenever and however I can.

Have I been thinking about Emma over the last couple of months?

Assuredly.

You don’t kiss a woman and run your hand up her barely covered thigh without dreaming about what could have beenif you weren’t her sort-of brother-in-law. Doesn’t help that I haven’t had another woman since I kissed her.

If Rosie knew that, she’d make something out of it. Normally, I like having women around. I just…haven’t been in the mood, is all. I was feeling down before I came here, and now I’m in too deep with Nicole’s plan to divide my attention.

Besides, I might be interested in Emma, but she’s the kind of woman who expects plenty of herself and the people around her. Don’t get me wrong, a womanshouldhave high standards.

I appreciate that about her, just so long as it’s not directed at me.

Still, I won’t lie. I tried to text her the other night to ask what her ransom terms were for the flask and lighter, but she still has me blocked.

And, fine, after I figured that out, I picked up a new burner phone so I could reach her if I had a mind to.

It was an unnecessary purchase in more ways than one. In a development that shouldn’t have surprised me, Chuck is a social butterfly. We’ve hosted three dinners since the intervention a week ago. The first guests were Claire and Declan, but the second party was made up of Emma, Mrs. Rosings, Rosie, and Anthony.

Did I slide into the seat next to Emma?

Obviously. She was wearing a green sweater that hugged her tits in a way that made me instantly jealous of a piece of fabric, and a long black skirt with a high slit that I wanted to believe she’d worn for me. And maybe she did, because she made sure to flash my flask at me, a sly grin on her face that did all kinds of things to my willpower.

She ignored me for half of the night, then leaned in during one of Chuck’s stories to ask me if I’d seen any good hatchbacks lately.

I couldn’t help leaning in closer and whispering, “No, but I’ve seen some nice asses.”

I earned the glare I got, and it felt like a tonic for my soul.

Later, when I told the group a story about finding a family of squirrels living in someone’s car, I could see her listening. I felt her, always. Right there next to me. Inches away but not to be touched. It was maddening and glorious at the same time.

When I was finished, she leaned in closer and said in an undertone, “Did you put the squirrels there in the first place?”

I had to grin at her. “That’s between me and the squirrels.”

Then there was another moment…

---