Near & Far (36 page)

“Looks like I’m one short, brother.” Sid came up behind Cillian balancing three pints of beer.

“No worries. I couldn’t drink one even if you’d brought an extra.”

“Why not? Did you wear your liver out already?” I asked him. Cillian and I had singlehandedly consumed so many bottles of alcohol that we’d probably kept a tequila factory in production during our high school years. We got drunk together, then had sex in our drunken stupor, then got even more drunk so we’d forget about having sex. Which we’d have again when we’d gotten shit-faced yet again. It had been a vicious cycle, and one part of me always assumed our fast lives would lead to early graves.

But there we were, a couple years later, both alive and sober.

“I kind of had to go through a court-ordered twelve-step program,” he answered, shifting in his seat. “If for any reason a cop were to test me and I had even a trace of alcohol in my system, I’d be spending a few nights in a cell.”

“That’s extreme. What extreme thing did you do to deserve that?” I asked.

“I wrapped a car around a pole because I was drunk.”

“Yikes,” I muttered.

“Dumbass.” Alex’s reply wasn’t a mutter.

I smiled. “So that earned you court-ordered sobriety?”

Cillian shrugged. “Since it was my second time doing it, yeah.”

Sid’s face ironed out in surprise.

“And it was a stolen car. Not intentionally stolen,” Cillian added, lifting his hands. “I was just so rip-roaring drunk I couldn’t tell the difference.” Alex shook her head and grumbled another
Dumbass
. “And the pole happened to be a streetlight in front of the police commissioner’s house. Whose grandkids play in his front yard a lot. In fact, I think they might have been there that morning.” Cillian looked up, thinking.

“That morning? Shit, Cillian, what were you doing drunk driving in the morning?”

“I was still drunk from the night before.” I did my best to give him a parental look of disapproval. All he did was laugh. “No one was hurt, Rowen. Insurance fixed the car, the city fixed the streetlight, and the court fixed me by not letting me drink.”

“And how’s sobriety going for you?” From the looks of it, he’d had a few. Maybe I was wrong, but I knew that lazy smile of his and the way he liked to lean in real close when he was talking to someone.

Opening the flap of his jacket, he reached into one of the inside pockets and pulled out a tiny glass bottle. “Fucking fantastically.” He twisted off the top, lifted it ceremoniously, and downed the whole bottle in one gulp.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” I said, shaking my head.

“One of us had to. And it obviously wasn’t you.” Cillian eyed my full beer before reaching in for another bottle.

Through the rest of the night, I surprised myself by actually having a decent time. I was out with one old and a couple new friends, laughing, dancing, and trying to pretend my life was as great as it had been the past year.

Cillian downed a couple more bottles, but really, from what I knew of his tolerance, a handful of tiny glass bottles was like anyone else having a sip of beer. After chatting and bantering, I realized that high school wouldn’t have blown so badly if Cillian and I could have been real friends. The kind that didn’t only use friendship to cover up getting wasted and laid. Oh, well. There was no going back and, even if there was a way, I’d rather die—not an exaggeration—than relive my high school years of hell.

Sid came back from the dance floor, so sweaty his shirt was drenched, and grabbed Alex’s hand. “Come on, woman. I’m ten years older than you, and I’ve got twice the energy. We’re going to need to work on that.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got double the flexibility and three times the stamina so I win.” Alex shot me a wink as she let Sid pull her out of her seat.

“Now that right there is an argument I am happy to let you win.”

“Finally.” Alex elbowed him and waved at Cillian and me. “You kids be good now, you hear.”

Cillian lifted his arms. “No promises. Good isn’t really my thing.”

I chuckled, taking the final sip of my beer. I’d been good and milked the one pint all night long. “No, good really isn’t your thing. Not even close.”

“From what I recall—some of my best memories actually”—Cillian smiled widely—“good wasn’t exactly your thing either.”

“It wasn’t,” I answered matter-of-factly.

“And it is now?”

I shrugged. “I’m not really sure.” That was the honest answer. I wasn’t sure about much in my life, least of all if good was or wasn’t “my thing.”

Cillian draped his arm over the back of my chair and leaned in. The look in his eyes was a familiar one. “Why don’t you let me help you figure it out? You know, for old time’s sake?” Wetting his lips, he studied my mouth, then moved lower. “I’ve got the old Chevelle out back. You remember? And let me assure you that the back seat is just as comfortable as it was before.”

My stomach turned. Once. Then twice. It was a good thing I hadn’t had more to drink. I shoved his chest. “And let me assure you that I’m just as confident now as I was then that your dick wouldn’t know how to pleasure a woman if its erection depended on it.”

Cillian’s brows came together. “Someone’s turned into quite the downer. You used to be more fun.”

“And you used to have more hair.” I waved at his hairline, which was still full. That was just the first thing to come out of my mouth. “Why don’t you go have a little fun with yourself in the backseat of your Chevelle? Because I’d have more fun getting an enema than joining you.”

“You know, they say the longer a woman goes without orgasming, the moodier she gets. From your moody level, I’d guess the last guy that was between your legs was me.”

I resisted the urge to push him off of his chair. Cillian was harmless, unless his ego of mass destruction was considered dangerous. “You did mention a woman orgasming going hand in hand with her mood, right? Because you between my legs and me orgasming are not synonymous.”

“Look at you. All smart and shit. When did that happen?”

“When I stopped hanging around the likes of you,” I said with an overdone smile.

“Come on, Rowen. We always had a good time, right? I always took care of you? Come on, just one last ride”—he looked devilishly amused with himself—“in the Chevelle, and I promise I will hook you up. I’ll make you feel so good you’re going to want me calling you up every time I’m back in town.”

It was nauseating how highly he thought of himself. It was that much worse because I knew from personal experience what a let-down he was when it came to being intimate. I was considering dumping the melting ice from Alex’s empty mojito onto his crouch when something else popped to mind. Something that was eight thousand times better payback. The club we were in might have been one of those easy-going, chill Seattle kind of places, but right next door was a fun and outrageous gay club known for its weekend performances put on by drag queens.

I smiled. My plan hatched. “You know, you’re right. I could use a night of total and reckless abandon, and who better to share that with than you?” Cillian licked his lips and leaned closer until it looked like he was about to fall off his chair. “Why don’t you head out there now, wait for me in the backseat, and I’ll meet you in just a few minutes,” I said, getting up.

“Why don’t you just come with me now? No sense in putting off a good thing.” Cillian’s hand dropped to my waist, his fingers skimming the material of my dress. My skin crawled.

“Because,” I answered, lifting a brow, “I want to go to the restroom and take my panties off so we don’t have to waste any time.”

Cillian smiled went higher on one side. “Solid plan. I’ll see you in a few.”

“See you in a few,” I said sweetly. As he turned and rushed into the crowd, I called after him. “Cillian? I hope you don’t mind me being on top tonight.”

His eyes widened. “Nope. I definitely do not mind.”

Good thing because I was definitely coming out on top.

I waited a few more seconds until I was sure he had a good head start before following him. The front doors were as far as I followed him, though, because the parking lot was to the left and the Man’s Lady Club was to the right.

On any given night, there were two different types of drag queens around the Man’s Lady Club: the ones who performed on stage, and the ones “for hire” who saved their performances for backseats or cheap hotel rooms. Thank my lucky stars there were at least a dozen of the kind I was looking for, dotting the parking lot. I jogged up to the tallest, widest one. Her biceps were as thick as my abdomen. Perfect.

“Hey, sugar,” she said, giving me a wide smile. “You lost or something?”

“Nope, not lost at all. I’m exactly where I need to be.”

“Oh, well, in that case . . .” She looked me over, the skin between her drawn-on eyebrows creasing. “Female equipment?” Then it was my turn for the skin between my much-needed-to-be-plucked brows to come together. “My rate is double if you’ve got lady parts because it takes twice as long to get off.”

For maybe the dozenth time in my life, I blushed. It didn’t last long. “Actually, this isn’t about me . . . but thank you . . . This is for a friend.”

“Male or female equipment?” she asked, straightening her platinum wig.

“Male.
All
male,” I said, winking.

She clapped her hands and smacked her lips. “Point me in the right direction.”

“He’s in the back of the old Chevelle in the parking lot over there.” I motioned in the general area. “Oh, and he’s kind of shy, so don’t be afraid to take the ropes and show him the way. If you know what I mean.”

“Sweetie, if I didn’t know what you meant, I wouldn’t be driving my fine ass around in a brand new Benz.”

“Point taken.”

“What does he like?” she asked, already clacking toward the parking lot.

“Why don’t you just start by giving him a full kiss on the lips and see where it goes from there?” I wanted to pay Cillian back, not scar him for life.

“Here’s my card. You have any more ‘friends’ who might appreciate me and my line of work, you give me a ring, you hear, sweetie?” She held out the card for me, and I jogged to get it.

“I will keep you on speed dial,” I said, glancing at the card. “Lotta . . . Sugar. Sweet name.”

“Sweet name for a sweet ass. Sweetie.” She shot me a wink then continued on her way.

“Oh, wait!” I called after her, pulling a bill out of my purse. “Here, I’m paying. It’s my gift to him.”

“You’re a good friend.” She took the bill and shoved it down her Marilyn Monroe-style dress.

“He’s about to find out just how good of one I am, too.”

Lotta Sugar patted my cheek then continued on her fierce, Chevelle-finding way.

A few minutes later, I caught sight of Cillian streaking half-naked across the parking lot, screaming his bloody lungs out.

That was the best money I’d ever spent.

KNOW WHAT’S WORSE than being at a low point? Having to deal with the aftermath.

The aftermath of wondering if I’d ever get back to being the person I’d once been. The aftermath of having my friends and family throw concerned glances my way when they thought I wasn’t looking. The aftermath of looking at all of the pieces at my feet and wondering if I had the strength and desire to build them all back into place. The aftermath and utter devastation of waking up each morning and remembering that I’d pushed away the person I’d wanted to spend my life with in order to protect her from my nuclear fallout.

Three weeks later, and the pieces were coming back together. Slowly, one by one, I was rebuilding myself. I wouldn’t have cared if it took a month or a year if I knew Rowen was waiting for me on the other side. But she wasn’t. Not after the things I’d done and the words I’d said. Even if she’d found some miraculous way to forgive me, I couldn’t let her wait for me.

I couldn’t because I might have been climbing my way back up from the fall, but how long would it be until I fell again? It had been over a decade since the last one, but even if I knew it would be double that before the next one hit, I didn’t want her around to witness that again. I didn’t want that kind of a life for her.