Before what I’ve been referring to as “the couch incident,” I would curl up on the couch with a book, my blanket, and a cup of coffee. But, ever since “the couch incident,” I’ve relegated myself to holing up in my bedroom. I found a cute but trendy reading chair that fits perfectly in the corner of my bedroom. It also doubles as a place where I dump my clean laundry, but it works.
I’m not purposely avoiding Ben, but knowing that I may be catching feelings for my handsome roommate has been wreaking havoc on my nerves. My guilty conscience whispers that it’s way too soon while the devil on my shoulder is telling me I should go for it.
It hasn’t even been two months since Logan and I broke up, but it feels like a lifetime has passed. I feel like a new person these days. It makes me feel guilty that I’m not still in mourning about our failed relationship. It reminds me of thatSexand the City episode where Charlotte said, “It takes half the total time you went out with someone to get over them.”
So, if that is “the break-up rule,” according to the wise and graceful Charlotte York, wouldn’t that mean that I had to spend the next one and a half years getting over Logan?
What does it say about me when I have spent most of the time…not thinking about Logan? Sure, I’ve thought about him in the general sense. I’ve wondered how he was doing. And, yes, I’ve been trying to figure out how I was so stupid and missed all the signs that he had been unhappy for so long, but outside of that, I haven’t missed him as much as I imagined I should.
Even worse, how do I tackle the thoughts that I’ve been obsessing over Ben since Sasha’s party? Or that I seem to be almost hyper-aware of his presence in every room we’re in. Or that I seem to harbor some insidious butterflies that take flight every time he smiles at me.
It seems awfully too soon to be thinking about a new guy right after a breakup. Though I can’t even remember the last time Logan and I had sex. It had to have been before Halloween. I thought it was a normal rut that all couples went through and that we would eventually get back into the swing of things. When we first slept together, the sex was electric, which lasted for a few months, and we kind of fell into a routine. Logan liked the missionary position, which was fine. He used to get me off in the beginning, but I can’t recall the last time I had an orgasm with Logan.
Most of the time, he would come, and as he was cleaning himself up in the bathroom, I would get myself off with my hands. Lately, I’ve been doing a lot of self-care to thoughts of a certain hazel-eyed roommate.
It doesn’t escape me that we still haven’t acted as each other’s wingman or brought other people back to our apartment to hook up. Maybe that’s what we need to do to help ease some of the tension between us.
19
emily
Ben and I are back at Billy’s for happy hour. We’re in the corner of the bar, each with a drink. We’re mostly people-watching for the time being. After my epiphany, I texted him and asked if he wanted to go out. He didn’t respond immediately, which made me question my decisions, but eventually, he texted me back, saying that he was leaving work and he’d see me soon.
It didn’t take me long to get ready, but I dressed in my usual jeans and oversized sweater tonight. I was determined to try out this wingman/wingwoman thing and get each other laid. We needed this to happen so we could both move on from our past… right?
Ben got back to the apartment and greeted me from the hallway. I heard him go to his bedroom and assumed he was freshening up. When he emerged from his bedroom, he was in jeans and another tight-fitting Henley. Did he own anything else in that closet of his?
We were walking to the bar when I broached the topic of being his wingwoman for the night. He said nothing at first. But after a tense minute, he gave a curt nod.
“Sure, roomie. You can be my wingwoman tonight,” he murmured softly.
That’s how we find ourselves with our backs against the wall, standing close together but with about a foot of distance between us. We’ve been watching the crowd for maybe a half hour in silence, both of us sipping on our drinks.
I can’t tell if he is upset or not, but he seems more tense than usual. His jaw flexes after every swallow of his beer, and I tried to ask him if he saw anyone he’d like to take back to the apartment, but he didn’t even respond to me.
I finish my drink and turn to ask him if he wants another beer, but he shakes his head before I finish my sentence. Shrugging, I walk away from Ben and take a seat at the bar. The music is loud tonight, and the bartender has been steadily fixing cocktails and serving beer. He looks to be in his mid-thirties with a stylish coif to his dark blond hair. He’s wearing his button-up shirt and vest uniform, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. I can tell by the way he moves that he’s athletic. His brawny muscles flex as he whips up cocktail after cocktail. He was the same bartender from the first night Ben and I came here, so he recognized us when we walked in. As he walks over to me, I spy his name tag, which states his name is Scott.
Scott stops in front of me with his arms gripping his side of the bar.
“What can I get ya?” he asks in a friendly tone.
“What do you recommend I try this time?” Scott recommends I try the seasonal Moscow mule on the menu. Since I’m not much of a drinker, and I can’t decide what I want, I’m thankful for his input.
Scott looks me over slowly before giving me a lopsided grin. I know he’s flirting with me, but I know that it’s part of his job. It still feels nice to be on the receiving end of male attention. It’s almost like I perk up at his appraisal.
“How about something different?” he purrs and leans in a little closer to me.
I wiggle in my seat uncomfortably.
“Um, sure, I’ll try anything.”
“Anything, huh?” He winks at me before walking off to make my drink. When he comes back, I sense a presence at my back. I’m about to put cash on the bar top to settle the bill when I see a hand smack a credit card down in front of me. I trail my gaze up the arm, but I already know who it is.
Ben is glowering at Scott with his jaw clenched tightly. I see the muscle flex before he opens his mouth.
“I got her drink. I’ll take another IPA.”
Scott nods at Ben with a knowing smirk before looking down at me and giving me a wink again. I feel Ben tense behind me and sit on the edge of my seat as we wait for Scott to return with Ben’s IPA. Finally, Scott unceremoniously plops the beer in front of me and settles the tab.
