Losers: Part II

I sat nicely with Greg through the first half of our “date” for the sake of appearances. But with dinner finished, and an Uber on the way, I absolutely relished giving him a piece of my mind. He’d been laughably unpleasant, but I’d expected nothing less. Mom had always loved pairing me up with assholes.

“And another thing! The next time you go on a date, ask the woman yourself instead of assuming her mother gets to set up dates for her! I’m not a prized cow for her to parade around!” I yelled, right as I got into the backseat of my ride. Greg looked thoroughly pissed off, and I grinned in satisfaction. He’d spent the entire evening contradicting everything I said and only talking about himself, yet he thought I’d be a good polite girl and take it?

Hell. No.

I was a good girl for a very select group of men, and he was not among them.

As the Uber pulled out of the parking lot, I spotted Manson’s purple Mustang pull out behind us. He hadn’t taken his eyes off me all night. And the things he’d done to me — God, they made me squirm in my seat. My body was still warm and sated, but I was on pins and needles waiting to get home. He’d promised I’d have him tonight, and after that whirlwind of pleasure at the restaurant, I wanted nothing more than to curl into bed, wrapped in his arms.

I kept a lookout for his car as we drove up to the house, but I didn’t spot it. Although I wasn’t certain what his plan was, I sent him a text as the Uber dropped me off.

His response came through as I reached the front porch. Go inside. I’ll see you soon.

Mom noticed the moment I walked in the door, of course. “Well?” she called, before the door had even closed behind me. “Isn’t he a dream?”

“More like a nightmare,” I muttered, taking off my shoes. Then, more loudly, I said, “He was a jerk the entire night, Mom, and I told him as much.” She was quickly rattling off some excuse for him as I walked into the living room, where she was watching a movie with my sister. “No more dates. No more setting me up, no more playing matchmaker. None of it.”

Turning on my heel, I went straight upstairs without giving her even a moment to start another argument. My feet were aching from the heels I’d been wearing, and I was eager to take off this tight dress and get into something more comfortable.

The moment I stepped into my room, I gasped and hurriedly shut the door behind me, mouth agape at the sight in front of me.

There was a bouquet of flowers on my bed; pale pink roses the same color as my dress. Beside it was a bottle of wine — the same white wine I’d wanted to order at the restaurant. My closet was open, and I locked my bedroom door before walking to the end of my bed.

Manson was sitting cross-legged on the floor, illuminated only by the subtle light of my desk lamp. He’d cleared a space in my closet for us to sit, using an old chess board as a makeshift table. Two wine glasses sat on top of it, beside a to-go box from the restaurant.

“How did you get in here?” I whispered. He got to his feet, the smirk on his face setting loose a swarm of butterflies in my stomach.

He held up a little blue plastic circle attached to his keyring, and said, “Jason made an extra security fob for your house. But I came in the window so your family wouldn’t see me.”

Shaking my head at the audacity, I cupped his face in my hands and kissed him.

“You remembered the wine,” I said as he picked up the bottle and produced a corkscrew from his pocket. “I can’t believe you could hear me from the bar.”

“I have pretty sharp hearing,” he said. “Especially when I’m focused.” He pulled the cork with a satisfying pop and poured generously for both of us.

We sat on opposite sides of our makeshift table in the closet. I turned on the twinkle lights that hung around the doorframe, giving us more light. It felt like our own little fort, a fantastical place hidden away where we could be alone. We clinked our glasses together, and as I took a sip, I found it to be just as delicious as I’d hoped.

“What did you bring?” I said, glancing down at the to-go box.

“Since you were busy telling off Greg, you didn’t have a chance to order dessert,” he said. “And that’s just criminal.” He opened the box, and I had to clap my hand over my mouth so I wouldn’t squeal too loud.

“German chocolate cake? Oh my God, it’s my favorite!” It was a thick slice too, perfectly moist and layered with chocolate ganache. The sight of it alone was drool-worthy. “How did you know?”

“Lucky guess,” he said, but the twinkle in his eye told me it was so much more than that.

It wasn’t a “lucky guess.” It was him paying attention, listening, watching, caring. It wasn’t luck, it was effort.

He knew me. He saw me.

That first bite of cake was practically orgasmic. My obvious pleasure made Manson smile even wider. He leaned back on one hand, holding his wine in the other. He’d taken his jacket off and unbuttoned his shirt a bit more. His hair was slicked back, but a few pieces had fallen loose and hung in his face.

Putting down the cake for a moment, I said, “You look so handsome.”

His eyes widened slightly, and he cleared his throat, shifting his position around. His smile turned remarkably shy as he said softly, “Thanks, Jess. I should clean up for you more often.”

“I like you dirty too,” I said. “You still look handsome covered in grease.”

He lowered his eyes, swirling his wine before he took a sip. When he looked up at me again, his expression made my heart skip a beat.

Like he was desperate. Like I was something awe-inspiring — perhaps even frightening.

“It was really nice of you to do this,” I said. “The flowers and the wine…thank you. I guess this adds a little to my debt, huh?”

“Debt?” He looked genuinely confused for a moment before realization dawned and he shook his head. “Oh, yeah. The engine. Ha.” He still had that look. Like he wanted so badly to say something, but he’d choked on the words and couldn’t get them out.

“Can you…” He started slowly, shaking his head as if he was aghast at his own request. “Can you close your eyes for me?”

Setting down my wine, I did as he said. The moment I closed them, his warm hand pressed over my eyes, ensuring that even if I opened them again, I still wouldn’t be able to see. He moved closer, scooting around our makeshift table until his knee bumped against mine.

“Sometimes, it’s too much when I look at you,” he said, his voice so soft and close. “Your eyes see too much of me.”

Reaching out, I grasped his free hand. He held me back, bringing the back of my hand to his lips so he could kiss it.

“I need to talk to you about your debt, Jess,” he said, and the seriousness in his voice made me tense up a bit. But he quickly reassured me, saying, “Nothing is wrong, that’s not it at all. I’m just…I’m trying to tell you…I need to tell you…”

There was a long silence, broken only by the breath he inhaled and slowly released.

“I don’t care about the money, Jess. It was never about the money.”

Frozen, I could barely breathe. He was holding my hand so tight, like he never wanted to let go.

“It’s about you. It’s…shit, Jess. I’d replace that engine a thousand times if it meant keeping you in my life.”

He leaned closer; although I couldn’t see him, I could feel him. The nearness — the heat of his skin, the soft touch of his lips.

“Every moment I have with you feels stolen,” he said. “Like God, or Satan, or whatever the fuck is out there is playing another trick on me. I don’t know if you’re ready to hear this yet. You probably aren’t, but I’ll regret it for the rest of my life if I don’t tell you. If you walk out of my life again…when the car is finished and the debt doesn’t matter anymore…if you choose to leave, I want you to know.”

For a moment, sitting there in darkness with him so close, it was like we were the only people in the world. My mind was racing, but I couldn’t form a single thought.

I already knew.

I knew, because he’d shown me.

But when he whispered those words in my ear, it stopped my world entirely.

“I love you.”

My eyes flew open, but his hand ensured I still couldn’t see him. He kept his palm there, and his arm shook. My heart was pounding so hard, it ached — God, it ached but it was the best kind of pain I could imagine.

“Please don’t say anything,” he said quickly, before I could get out a word. I would have stumbled over them anyway; my tongue seemed to have entirely lost its grasp on language. “This doesn’t depend on you saying anything. I love you. I’ve loved you. For so long. And I’ll love you, even if you don’t love me back. I’ll love you even if this is the last day I ever see you.”

But it wouldn’t be the last day. It couldn’t be. I didn’t want there to be a “last day” with any of them.

He went on, and every word made that ache a little deeper, a little sweeter. “If you leave and spend your life with someone else, I’ll love you still. I want you to be happy, Jess, no matter who it’s with. And I’ll love you through all of it. Always. Forever.”

It felt blasphemous to speak, but I had to.

“Why?” My question sounded so much more vulnerable than I’d meant it to. It shook, as much as his arm did.

“Because you were my glimpse of heaven from hell,” he said. “You were the sun in my sky, and now you’re like a comet sent to earth. A wildfire I can touch…kiss…hold…” He kissed my cheek until I giggled, nuzzling his face against mine. “You’re strong. You’re brave. You’re so damn beautiful. You’ve shaken us up, Jess. All of us.” I could hear the smile in his words. “I just can’t keep my damn mouth shut, so…there it is.”

He uncovered my eyes, but moved his hand down to my mouth instead. His gaze was warm as he looked at me. “Don’t say anything back. I mean it. I want you to think about it. I want you to have time. Okay?”

Smiling against his hand, I nodded. My body was buzzing. My chest felt light. I could have run a marathon, I could have climbed a mountain in that moment. And my mind was still racing. I couldn’t discern a single logical thought in my brain, but I didn’t need to.

Love.

He loved me.

Manson Reed loved me.

“Now, when I uncover your mouth, I want you to tell me how damn good that cake is,” he said. He laughed when my own laughter was muffled against his hand. “And then I want you to tell me your best stories from college. I want to hear what I missed in those years you were gone. Can you do that?”

I nodded again, and when he let me go, that was exactly what I did. After a while, we moved to bed, finishing off the cake and passing the bottle back and forth so we could drink straight from it.

We talked for hours in soft whispers, and I lost track of time. Sleep came slowly, then all at once. I drifted off in his arms, drunk on wine, full from cake, and happy.

I’d never been so happy.