Page 12 of Best Friends
I just wave at him and trot across the street toward my truck. I need to get a grip on my emotions and I can’t do that around Malcolm. Not when he’s the source of my stress right now. What I need is a quiet night at home. Malcolm can bang every omega in Frankie’s tonight, if that’s what he wants to do. I have no claim on him.
But I also don’t need to watch him do it.
Chapter Three
As the next few weeks pass, I catch myself checking out other guys to see if it sparks anything inside me. I’m wondering if maybe I’m bisexual. I try to imagine how they’d look naked, and try to be honest about whether or not that idea excites me. However, fantasizing about getting naked with strange guys does nothing for me. I don’t get hard or excited at the thought of touching them. I definitely don’t want to suck their cock.
I don’t understand why being with Malcolm sexually turned me on so much. Is it because we have an emotional connection already? I never needed an emotional connection in the past when I hooked up with girls. Why would that matter more with a male?
Still confused about what’s happening to me, I avoid going to Frankie’s. I don’t want to watch Malcolm hitting on girls. But I don’t just avoid Frankie’s, I also avoid hanging out with Malcolm at all. I can’t risk him finding out that I’m struggling with possessive feelings toward him. The very idea he might figure that out is way too humiliating. So I avoid being around him. I’m sure the weird feelings will pass eventually.
I’m in luck when a motorcycle show comes to town. Large groups of people from out of town always means an uptick of crime in Whispering Pines. That means I’m able to keep busy by picking up a lot of overtime shifts. Working so much makes my absence at Frankie’s bar easier to explain. Everyone understands that if I’m working extra shifts, I don’t have time to get drunk and chase girls. Most of my coworkers don’t even seem to notice I’m not around much.
But Cheyenne and Malcolm notice.
Of course they do.
Cheyenne is the first to address my absence. “You’re coming by Frankie’s tonight, right?” We’re walking into the station after our shift.
“I wasn’t planning on it,” I mutter. “I worked a double and I’m beat.” I knew eventually she’d broach the subject of me not going to Frankie’s, so I have my excuses ready.
She groans. “Come on, Carrick. You haven’t been there in weeks.”
“I’ve been working a ton of overtime.”
“I know, but still.” She glances at me. “Look, I’m not saying you have to stay all night, but today’s Sandy’s birthday. We’re throwing her a little party at Frankie’s. You’re gonna hurt her feelings if you don’t even show up.”
I laugh gruffly. “She has no idea who I am.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.” She fiddles absentmindedly with her holster. “She must know who you are. You’ve worked together for years.”
“You’re wrong.” I hold the station door open for her. “She doesn’t even know my name. She calls me Carl.” The door hisses closed behind us.
“What? No. She told me to invite you.” She avoids my gaze as we head toward the locker room.
“Oh, really?” I lift one brow. “Be honest. Did she use my actual name?”
Cheyenne blushes. “Well, I knew who she meant.”
I stop in the hallway, my shoes squeaking on the linoleum. “I’m right, aren’t I? She called me Carl? Did she tell you to inviteCarl?”
“So what?” She looks sheepish. “She’s not good with names, that’s all.”
“Yeah, I’m not going.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that. She’d feel horrible if she knew she’s got your name wrong. It’s not intentional. She’s just awful with names.”
“Well, either way, I can’t make it tonight.”
“Why?”
“I just can’t.” I start to split off from her to head into the side of the locker room for men, but she grabs my arm.
“Carrick, talk to me.” Her fingers dig into my arm. “What’s going on with you? Malcolm and I are really worried about you. You barely say two words to anyone anymore. Even as antisocial as you are, that’s not normal.”
I do my best to sound sincere. “I’m sorry if I’ve been too busy to hang out with you guys at Frankie’s, but I only have so much energy.”
“Please,” she whines. “At least come by for one drink, and to wish Sandy happy birthday.”
