Page 18 of When I Come Back
I can’t hear what’s being said over the noise of the busy bar, but I see Thea point her finger at Ripley, seeming to chastise him. The song switches over to something vaguely familiar from the late 90s, and the most breathtaking grin spreads over her face.Fuck.It feels like a lifetime ago that I saw her smile like that. What I wouldn’t do for it to be directed at me right now.
Ripley stands and extends his hand toward Thea with a flourish. Still smiling so wide her nose crinkles, she places her hand in his, and they make their way to the center of the dance floor. He spins her slowly with one arm above her head, and they both start moving to the music, one hand held loosely between them. I watch as Thea’s hips sway from side to side to the beat, her strong, tanned thighs on display in jean cutoffs.
Why is it suddenly so hot in here?
They look good together—he’s got a hipster vibe about him which I’m begrudged to admit fits with her girl-next-door appearance. The ease with which they move and how in sync they are speaks volumes for how intimately they know each other. There’s no hesitation in him when he runs his hands down her sides to her hips, pulling her into his body. He leans in and says something in her ear, and she shakes her head.
My eyes bounce around to every spot their bodies touch as they continue to dance—chests, thighs, arms, hips. My breathing picks up as I zero in on where his palms keep their hold when she turns around and dances with her back to his front. She turns her face, throwing him a flirty look over her shoulder, and his lips graze her temple.
Suddenly I’m transported back ten years ago to another dance floor on the other side of the country on a night similar to this.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say into her ear before kissing the spot right below it, making my intentions clear. Her body is hot as her ass grinds against my hard cock, and I can taste the salt from the sweat on her skin from the hours we’ve spent dancing. Thea pulls back, meeting my eyes over her shoulder with a heated look, and nods.
The taxi ride back to our apartment takes way too long, and the buzz from the drinks we shared is flowing freely in my bloodstream, but it’s not the only thing heating me up. Thea’s thigh rubs against mine as we share a deep kiss in the back of the car, my hand cupping her jaw, tongue sliding against hers.
I’m already peeling off her shirt as we step in through our apartment door, only separating from her lips long enough to pull it over her head. She’s not wearing a bra, and I groan as my hands immediately find her perfect breasts. We make our way to our bedroom, slipping out of the rest of our clothes, both laughing as I stumble when my pants get caught on my foot.
She looks so fucking gorgeous lying spread out on our bed, sandy hair spread over the white pillow, pale pink nipples peaked.
“I’ve been thinking about your cunt all night. Is it wet for me?” I say reverently as I kiss my way down her navel, her hands in my hair, nails grazing my scalp.
The rest of the memory is a blur of her warm body moving with mine, mouths tasting each other, and filthy whispers in the dark. The image of my hand running over her soft skin transforms to that ofhisin the same position, and I shake my head to clear the thoughts of what they’ll get up to later tonight. My jaw feels wired shut, and a cinder block sits on my chest. All I can do is try to draw in breath through my nose, hoping I’m getting enough oxygen so I don’t pass out.
The song ends and gentle guitar strums sound, signaling the start of a song I recognize: “Until I Found You” by StephenSanchez. Without missing a beat, Ripley spins Thea around again and pulls her in. His hand slides in around her waist while she grips his shoulder, their other hands clasped together and drawn into their chests. They sway gently, spinning slowly, her temple resting against his chin. Thea’s eyes are closed, and she looks content. I rub my sternum to help relieve some of the pressure in my chest. I still can’t take a full breath.
I’m so engrossed with watching them I barely register the couple taking a seat at a table not too far from mine. From a quick glance, I recognize Mr. and Mrs. Davis. I shrink back into the corner, further into the shadow. They’re in their late seventies and have been a staple in Indigo Hill since long before I was born. They never had kids of their own, which wasn’t a problem for them because they became the unofficial grandparents to everyone in town. Brooks and I were often left with them when Mom and Dad couldn’t find a sitter in a pinch, not that it was ever something we despised since Mrs. Davis is a fantastic cook. Her homemade chicken noodle soup is still some of the best I’ve ever had.
“Aw, look at that, Terry,” Mrs. Davis says to her husband, tipping her chin toward the dance floor. Mr. Davis looks in the same direction. “I’m telling you: soulmates.”
“You said the same thing when she was with the Grant boy,” he grumbles back affectionately to his wife. I now realize they’re talking about Thea and Ripley who continue to dance closely.Soulmates.That’s exactly what they look like, and the thought fully knocks the breath from my lungs. They’re looking at each other like there’s no one else in the room, exchanging a few words every once in a while followed by fond smiles.
“No, I said he was hergreat love. There’s a difference. That’s the love you don’t find twice in a lifetime. Soulmates lift you up and make you shine. Like that.” She angles her head again toward the dance floor where Thea, still clinging to Ripley’sshoulder, has thrown her head back laughing loudly enough at something he said that her musical laughter reaches my ears. Mr. Davis hums at her comment.
“Well, she sure does look happy now.” There’s a pause as they watch the couple for a while longer, then their conversation turns to the menu. The backs of my eyes prickle, and a lump forms in my throat. Between seeing them this morning and now this, everything in my head is all mixed up. I grab my to-go bag and slip around the people in the busy bar and out the door where the cool air hits my overheated skin.
Jealousy.
I can name the emotion I’m feeling. And it’s because I can put a name to it that I find myself checking the time on my phone. It’s only seven in Seattle. The phone is ringing in my ear before the door even closes behind me.
“It’s been a while since I’ve heard from you. You had me worried you didn’t need me anymore.” Not even a hello; I love how straight forward she is.
“I’m sorry to call after hours, Dr. Ferris. Do you have a minute to talk?”
7.5 Years Ago
(24 years old)
“So what brings you in today?” Dr. Donna Ferris asks me. She’s the most average- looking woman I have ever met. Average height, shoulder-length brown hair with caramel highlights, plain face. Her brown eyes aren’t exactly warm, butshe appears open and patiently waiting for my answer. Her unassuming appearance is comforting somehow—there’s very little to draw my focus.
“My friend is worried about me,” I finally say after searching for the right words for a long moment. It’s vague and not a very useful place to start, but trying to put everything in my head into words makes my skin feel tight.
“Why is your friend worried about you?” she asks, tone still even.
I look down at my fingers, checking over my cuticles like I’ll find the answer written there. “He said that I’m—and I’m using his words here—about to blow the biggest fucking chance of my life because I can’t get over some bitch.”
“And how did you feel when he said that to you?”
How did it make me feel? Is she serious?I roll my eyes internally. I knew this was a bad idea—a shrink isn’t going to help me. A cardiologist maybe. That’s the doctor you call when your heart has been ripped out, right?
