Chapter Eight

Valen

He gave me an Honest War, and I drained everything I wanted out of him. He’s either too skilled at lying or he really has nothing of significance to hide. Like Greer told me, I asked about his little dog. He said he loves it, and that it stays at a boarding facility during his training trips. I told him it didn’t make sense to have a dog and he explained he’s grown attached to it. That’s that. Man’s best friend: check.

Next up was his most recent ex-girlfriend. She only lasted a few weeks and she never met his friends. He said she was too young—still in college, and wanted to party more than she was interested in meeting his parents. He was her trophy, a beautiful play toy. Something most men would be interested in, but not Hutch. God forbid you use him for his cock and muscles.

We ended the video chat by having cybersex and I won’t lie, it was awkward seeing him when he arrived home a couple days later. I had to look him in the eye after I twerked in his face. It brought us closer, I think. My bad dancing and his Honest War. Now, we’re at dinner with his friends.

My Spanx are so fucking tight I feel like a sausage stuffed in casing. Except I won’t taste as good as sausage. When Hutch peels me out of these things tonight I’ll smell like polyester and vagina had a baby named, oh-my-god-stop-put-it-away. Taking a sip of my cocktail, I resign myself to removing these underwear in the bathroom, before a shower. Alone. Sucking in a deep ass breath, I remind my body who the fucking boss is around here.

I’m surrounded by Hutch’s married friends and their wives at a huge circular dinner table in a nice restaurant in the down town area of San Diego. Had I known his friends liked to chat about everything under the sun, for multiple hours, before ordering food, I would have chosen a different outfit. As it stands, I’ve had a miniscule piece of flatbread that was absent of cheese, and three strong drinks that had more vodka than tonic.

“Tell us about your job, Valen. God, I love your name. It’s so…different,” A woman named Chrisella says. I mean, there’s a joke there. About her name being a man’s name with an ‘ella’ at the end, but I’m not drunk enough yet, and Hutch looks so proud to have me here, that I’m not ready to cross that line in the girlfriend sand.

I drain my drink to ice and then give her the PG version of what I do for work. The layperson’s definition told in a way that leaves little room for question. I’ve perfected it over the years so it’s standard operating procedure. “Oh, and my Mom and Dad loved Van Halen. I was conceived while Runnin’ with the Devil was playing in the background. It’s fitting,” I explain, trying to keep a full-blown smile off my face. I bet she doesn’t have any good reason why they added an ‘ella’ to the end of Chris.

“Oh, that’s a crazy, wild story. I love it,” Chrisella exclaims. “It sounds like you keep pretty busy with your work, too. How is it working from home?” It’s already been established that Chrisella doesn’t work a nine to five. She stays home and works in the home with their three children. “I guess you don’t have any interruptions. No kids,” she finishes, her gaze flicking to Hutch.

The rest of the table silences and all eyes are on us. “Nope, no kids,” I say, looking at each of the faces staring back at me. “It’s not easy all the time. Because I’m home, I’d rather be doing other things, but I keep a loose schedule so if something comes up I can wiggle it in,” I bluster on. One of the guys chuckles and I realize the joke immediately and smile into the bottom of my glass.

My face heats and I’m unsure why this weird shift in the atmosphere happened. “Well, you’re lucky. Kids make everything more difficult,” Chrisella finally says, hugging her husband’s arm. “But they’re so worth it.” She beams up at him, he smiles down at her, and I want to puke and I want what she has all in the same breath. What is wrong with me?

Finally, I nod. Of course kids are worth it. They populate the earth and they’re carbon copies of their parents. Having children is selfish, and it’s amazing, and distorting, and a million other things both good and amazing. “One day I’ll have kids. Hopefully.” I swallow hard and my head swims—the vodka catching up all at once.

I’d do anything to shrink into my seat: be a little person on the edge of the table that no one can see. Honey, I Shrunk the Kids, style. Except that movie is about kids, and I don’t want to be a part of any sort of conversation about kids while I’m sitting next to my new boyfriend. I’m uncomfortable in my own skin and for the first time tonight, it’s not the fucking underwear causing the hostility.

I launch into a story about Greer. It’s safe territory and everyone accepts the switch in conversation with open arms. It’s as if the mandatory conversation happened and we can all move on. It’s odd and I want to pull Hutch aside and ask him what the hell it was about. His friends don’t seem mean spirited at all, so I’m left more confused than anything else.

“So, she really did date the prince?” Chrisella squeals.

Smiling, I nod. “Just for a spell. Once it hit tabloids everywhere she realized a relationship like that would magnify her life even further. Greer likes to live a quiet life in between her loud reality.” She filmed a music video in London and ended up staying far longer than she anticipated. Everyone speculated, but neither confirmed a relationship.

“I told you, Simone. I told you she dated him! I could tell by the photo I saw online they were more than friends!” she squalls to her friend. I get a little defensive, only internally though. It’s Greer’s life and she is a public figure. If she wanted secrecy she’d change professions.

They all have questions about my childhood best friend after that. Even the dudes, much to the dismay of their ever-watchful wives. Hutch wraps an arm around my chair and tells the table about the meeting with Baz tomorrow and they all make jokes and have snide, raucous comments. Hutch says they’re jealous, but I remind him again about the rules he agreed to. I haven’t met Baz, but I can tell enough from how these guys are talking about him that he’s a handful. And then some.

Which just so happens to be Greer’s type. If he doesn’t come on like a fucking Nor’ Easter. Or ask to do anything to her feet.

Sometime in between Greer’s record sales and the proper form of a clean and jerk, our food arrives and I’m blessed with the first non-awkward silence of the night. Everyone is just as hungry as I am. Hutch squeezes my leg under the table and I smile up at him—giving him my very best, wait-till-later-and-I-can-use-my-grown-up-voice sneer. He prepared me for tonight by giving me names and occupations. He knew little quirks about each person and only mentioned things that may affect me in this type of atmosphere.

What he failed to mention is he didn’t tell them anything about me. I excuse myself after I’ve finished half my meal. “Oh, I’ll come, I have to go, too,” Chrisella chimes in, her voice friendly. And because pack mentality exists even in adulthood, the other two women head to the restroom as well. We barrel down the skinny hallway and the Mean Girls song thrums through my brain. Am I Lindsay Lohan? Do I end up in the trash can at the end of this? Fuck that.

What began as a way to escape and clear my head turns into a defensive maneuver even Oprah would have a hard time navigating. Their dresses hug their perfect curves as they examine their makeup in the entry mirrors. I bypass them, smiling and make my way into a stall. It’s going to take an act of God to slide these things down without them knowing exactly what I’m doing, so I pull the panties to the side and squat like a champ, just like Mamma taught me all those years ago.

“Valen. You have to tell us. How did you capture the beast that is Hutchinson? He is in love with you, girl. It’s all over his face,” Chrisella chimes, her voice echoing off the tile walls. My pee stops, because that’s what pee does when you try to do anything except pee when you’re in a public restroom. Especially when you’re talking to perfect strangers. “He’s in hardcore manlove with you. It’s the sex isn’t it?”

I wipe and stand, because there’s no way I can finish peeing now. Exiting the stall, I wash my hands. “It’s all him. I don’t have an answer for you. The relationship was his idea. Everything was his idea. I would have settled for a night. Maybe two,” I say, winking at her in the mirror. “I’m glad I didn’t, of course, because.” I pause. I can’t admit my feelings to these women. But they’re facing me with their white teeth and perfect hair and I feel like one of them, so I let it slip. “I’m in love with him.”

Chrisella claps her hands quickly, her blonde hair bouncing up and down. “I knew it. I knew it. But the sex is good?”

Swallowing hard, I edge, “Of course. But it’s not about that. Not fully anyways.” These are married women with children. Isn’t this a juvenile conversation? One meant for the confines of a college dormitory restroom? “I don’t kiss and tell.” I fix her with a smirk as I dry my hands and face her full on. “How’s your sex life?”

The smile fades from her face. The others are in stalls peeing without having to carry on a conversation. “I’m so rude sometimes. It’s just we’ve never met someone Hutch is dating. Well, not since…never mind,” Chrisella stumbles over her words. “Ugh. I’m an idiot. My mouth spews words quicker than my brain can filter them. Of course you don’t want to hear about her.” She shakes her head and mumbles under her breath.

“It’s fine,” I say, smiling wide. “Let’s get back to dinner. Hutch will think I fell in. Again.” With my joke, Chrisella laughs and agrees.

“I’m glad you came tonight, Valen,” she says. “We’re going to have so many good times. Wait and see.” Chrisella takes my arm in hers and we approach the table. Hutch smiles when he meets my gaze and I flash him a half smirk.

As I seat myself, he kisses me on the forehead, and I take several long swallows of the new drink he ordered while I was gone. “You were gone a long time,” he whispers in my ear. “I missed you. Watching you walk back to me was worth the pain.” It’s easy to squelch the desire his words cause.

Her. Her. Her. Her. I’ve never had a jealous bone in my body. Not toward another woman, anyways. The her that Chrisella spoke of is the one person I won’t ask about. His ex-wife. The woman who had him first. In all the ways that matter.

I’m afraid if I ask about her I’ll have to attach her to a body and that makes her a real person. A person who had everything I wanted and threw it away. I’m not sure how it happened. How I went from zero to one-hundred miles per hour in love, but it happened.

“I fell in,” I tell him. He kisses the side of my head and I drain the rest of this drink.