Hawke

Sitting in the chair at my desk the next day, I breathe deeply, calming myself before calling Patrick.

The phone rings against my ear and I remember Hawke’s arms encircled around me, holding me against his solid, warm frame.

The phone rings and I recall the way our legs were intertwined, my thigh resting over his, as one hand held my lower back, the other wrapped up behind my neck.

The phone rings and I remember the sound of his heart beating beneath me, my cheek against his chest, breathing in mint and musk, the sweet scent of him.

The phone rings and I hear my boyfriend’s voice, snapping me out of my late night memories.

“Nic, hey, baby! I’m so sorry I didn’t call.”

“Patrick,” I shake my head, clearing my thoughts. “Are you alright? Did you make it okay? I’ve been worried,” I say, rolling a pencil between my fingers at my desk.

“I did. The guys wanted to check out downtown, so we had dinner and then went out for a few drinks.”

“Oh…”

And yet, he couldn’t call or text just to tell me that? I’m trying not to be that girl. That girl that gets mad at a guy for being a guy, but it’s getting a little difficult lately.

We talk for a few more minutes while he tells me how amazing the hotel is, and that he did, in fact, end up getting a room all to himself. He talks about his plans for the day and the work he’s got ahead of him. He sounds excited and energized, and I’m truly happy for him. We get off the phone with the promise for him to call later, a promise I’m hoping he’ll actually keep.

As I get into the shower, the memories come flooding back. With my hands washing my body, I remember Hawke’s hands on me. I shouldn’t do this. I don’t know what’s come over me. I imagine his hands scouring my curves, wrapping around my neck, cupping my breasts.

No. Snap out of it, Nic. You’re just lonely.

I turn the water off and get dressed. I need to leave this house while Hawke is still passed out, so I don’t have to deal with the awkwardness of this cuddling situation again. Putting on a cute off-the-shoulder sweater, I slide into some ripped jeans that hug my curves, and a pair of cute brown booties with a nice little heel.

I check myself in the mirror before I go, my hair draped down my back in loose curls. I feel good.

I sneak back out into the living room, passing Hawke on the couch. He’s sleeping so peacefully. I stare at him for a moment, contemplating leaving. I consider just curling back into him again, continuing this quest towards desires, but choose against it. Instead, I decide it’s best to leave. I try to make my way to the door quietly. Thankfully, I do.

After mindlessly shopping at a couple of different stores for a few hours, I pick up a much-needed bottle of wine and some groceries for the week. I figure I’ve given him enough time to get up, so I head home.

Lucky for me, he’s gone when I get there. No uncomfortable conversation. Phew.

Later that evening, I make myself some spaghetti when I hear my phone ring. Excitedly running towards it, I see it’s Patrick calling and pick it up immediately.

“Hey!” I answer.

Nothing.

“Patrick? Hello?”

I hear loud noises in the background, as if he’s dining out somewhere. It’s then I hear muffled voices talking. He butt dialed me. I listen closely, attempting to pick up anything when I hear my name.

“Nic…move…oh well.”

Frustrated, I hang up and try to call him back, but he doesn’t answer.

Nic. Move. Oh well.

That just doesn’t sound like anything good.

I pop the bottle of wine, pouring up an enormous glass, and decide to go with a liquid diet tonight as my phone rings on the table.

“Patrick.”

“Hey, Angel! Sorry I missed your call. We’re having dinner at Toruni’s. I was just about to call you.”

Sure.

“Where am I moving?” I ask directly.

I’m getting to the bottom of this. He’s been acting weird.

“What?”

“Patrick, I heard you a minute ago. Where am I moving?!”

“I really didn’t want to talk to you about it like this. Can we just talk when I get back?”

“Please Patrick, just tell me,” I beg, feeling the heat of my agitation warm my face. “It can’t wait.”

He huffs, clearly fighting with himself to tell me.

“I got a job offer from the company here. They really like me and it would be a huge salary increase.”

“I thought you were only doing business with them? Signing contracts? What happened?”

“We’ll talk when I get back,” he says, dismissing me. “We’re about to finish up dinner, then head out.”

“Out?! Again?”

“It’s business, Nic,” he snaps at me. “You’re being a little ridiculous.”

I’m being ridiculous and yet, he is potentially accepting jobs in a new state, planning moves without discussing things with me, partying every night he’s there, not calling me, oh and he said “oh well” when it came to me dealing with it.

But I’m supposed to do what the women in their family do and shut up about it. The men run the family business and the women don’t have a say in anything. They sit back and nod their pretty little heads. Am I really trapping myself into this for the rest of my life?

After ending our brief fight, we hang up with his promise to call me in the morning. I throw my phone on the coffee table, then grab my oversized glass of wine and chug it. I want more than anything to dull this aching, lonely pain.

I hear the front door twist to open and my heart rate immediately increases. I turn to see Hawke coming in quickly with his boots and jacket still on. He walks towards my bedroom and peers into it, clearly searching for me before his eyes meet mine on the couch.

I’m sure I look amazing, my eyes are all puffy from the stupid tears that decided to exit my face after Patrick’s call, I’m sitting in the dimly lit room with no TV on, and I have the wine bottle in between my thighs, glass in hand. Why I’m using this glass, I don’t even know anymore.

“Oh, hey. I didn’t see the TV on. Didn’t think you were here.”

“Yep,” I reply, holding up my glass of wine.

He walks over to me, a questionable grin on his face. “You alright?”

“Never been better.”

He eyes me quizzically while I eye the bottom of my wine glass, finishing the drink.

“What happened, Cole?” he asks in a stern tone.

I shake my head, peering at the smudged lip gloss on the rim of the glass. “Nothing, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

He stares at me for a moment and I see his jaw flex before he finally gives in to my plea and nods once.

“So this might be kinda weird, but…”

He talks with some hesitation, so I know there’s probably a girl waiting in his car to be properly fucked.

“It’s fine Hawke, you can bang whoever you want whenever you want.”

His eyebrows shoot up, then furrow together before he lets out a dry chuckle while rubbing the back of his neck.

“No, I meant to say that Kid was wondering if we could come hang here tonight.”

Wow. I’m an idiot. I blame the wine.

“I just assumed maybe with Patrick being gone…” he trails off. “I told Kid I’d ask you first, of course.”

“Oh, yeah.” I stand. “Yeah, that’s fine, I’ll go—”

“No, stay,” he demands, and I sit back down.

Why is it I listen to him like a damn puppy dog?

Kid barges into the house with a large bag of what sounds like bottles rustling together and a petite brunette with a bob cut behind him. “The party is here!”

Shooting Hawke a questionable glance, he grins back then rolls his eyes at Kid as he and some girl walk in.

I introduce myself to Marion, who I found out is my age, works at a club a town over, possibly a stripper, and most definitely not dating Kid. Her words.

I have a feeling Kid is under the impression that maybe she will be after tonight, but by the way she’s eyeing Hawke from head to toe, I’d think she has other plans.

Circling around the kitchen table, we play some drinking games. We decide on Spades since it’s just the four of us, but before long, the game gets rowdy as drinks are flowing. Kid and Marion keep having to take shots because Hawke and I are killing them.

We’re sitting across from one another, Hawke and I, and every time our eyes connect, I feel that little flutter again. That deadly flutter that makes me just want to poison my guts with more wine and forget why I feel this way around him.

It doesn’t help that we’re partners and playing off each other’s looks. The flirty smiles, the biting lips, the tongue to the corner of the mouth, all “signals” we’re trying to communicate to continue cheating our way to victory.

After another win, we fall away from the table, venturing around the living room. Hawke puts some music on the TV to listen through the surround sound speakers as Marion makes her way over to him. She settles into the couch, her legs over his as I hear her ask him about his tattoos.

I clean up in the kitchen, then pour myself another glass of wine.

It’s bothering me. Watching them.

She runs her finger along his jaw, then brushes it across his lips, touching his lip ring. He just sits back in the cushioned seat, holding her as she sits on his lap.

“Here I thought she was into me.” Kid shrugs, leaning against the counter with me, staring at them with our arms crossed.

I give him a little pitied shrug, then continue watching.

“This happen a lot?” I turn to face him with a sorrowful grin.

“Always. This jackass gets them all.” He chuckles, clearly not entirely hurt over the matter. “I shouldn’t be mad. He’s missed five years of this. He’s got some making up to do.”

Five years?

I look back over to where Marion’s giggling about something, leaning further into Hawke as I’m mentally kicking myself for ever feeling any stupid feelings I felt these past few days.

This is what he does. And often. How could I think for a moment that the looks we shared were anything more than a prerequisite to get into my pants?

I watch as she bites his ear, playing with it, then giggles and straddles his lap. His hands cup her bottom as her arms wrap around to the back of the couch. Then she kisses him.

This shouldn’t bother me. I’ve seen him kiss before. The chick by the door. I’ve heard him get a blow job for crying out loud! But watching this play out just delegitimized any type of connection I thought we may have had. As uncomfortable as I suddenly feel, I’m glad this happened. Something needed to stop me and my messed up head from reading too far into this…lust.

Hawke pulls away from her kiss as she sucks on his bottom lip. She kisses along his neck before he turns, looking in our direction. He spots Kid and I leaning together and looking his way, when his face changes from playful to something unreadable.

I take another much-needed sip of my now empty wine, filling up another.

He politely moves Marion to the side so he can get up. Moving his way from the living room to the kitchen, he stands before us with his brows lowered and a wide stance.

“Kid, layoff. I already told you—”

“She’s got a boyfriend, yeah, yeah…I know, but shit, she’s hot and lonely. What am I supposed to do?”

I feel the heat rising up my neck and face as I blush. I’m not hot, but I am lonely.

“She’s fine,” he says quickly, dismissing him.

“What are we talking about over here?” Marion joins us in the kitchen, hanging her arm over Hawke, making me scowl unintentionally.

“Nothing,” he replies sharply.

“Well, I brought the ‘white girl’.” She makes her way over to the table. “Who wants a line?”

As I’m trying to understand what she’s referring to, she pulls out a bag with a white powdery substance. She’s about to snort a line of coke off Patrick’s old family dining table. The irony almost makes me laugh out loud.

My eyebrows shoot up, but I say nothing. Kid excitedly joins her at the table and Hawke looks at them with squinted eyes as his jaw flexes.

“Get that shit outta here,” he says in a deep, threatening tone.

“Oh c’mon! Let’s liven things up. Church girl, try it. You’ll probably loosen up a bit,” Marion exclaims, assuming he said that because of me.

“Are you fucking serious?! I said get that shit out of this house, in fact, both of you, go!” Hawke yells, making them snap their heads up at him.

He’s mad. Like really mad.

“Jesus, I thought we were here to have fun.” Marion groans, packing it back up.

“Fuck that. Go to the cabin. You can do whatever the hell or whoever the hell you want there,” he replies, walking to the door and opening it.

“We’ve been drinking, dude. I can’t drive,” Kid explains.

“Fuck.” Hawke rakes his hands through his hair. “I’ll drop you off, bring you the car tomorrow.”

Kid agrees as he and Marion grab their stuff and head for the door. Kid gives me a friendly salute paired with his crooked, adorable smile. Hawke walks towards where I’m standing in the kitchen. He lingers for a moment, tapping his finger on the counter.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispers.

I nod my head, rubbing my lips together, feeling funny about the whole situation.

“You okay?” he asks, moving in closer to me, the care in his greenish-teal eyes evident.

I breathe in his scent, looking from his eyes to his lips, then back again abruptly. Those lips that Marion just had sealed to hers. I know that’s what he means when he asks if I’m okay. He knows I saw him, but he’s fearful that it affected me. I hate that it did.

“Yeah, I’ve got like, half a bottle of wine somewhere in the fridge yet, I’m good,” I stutter out the words like an idiot, trying to be totally nonchalant.

He gives me his sexy side grin, his hair falling into his eyes. “Alright, good. Wait for me.”

Wait for me? What does that mean?

My brows lower. “No, Hawke, I’m just—”

He leans in, grabbing my wrist softly, and looks at me with hard eyes. “Wait for me.”

I say nothing as I watch him leave with Kid and Marion. Grabbing the opened bottle hiding in the back of the fridge, I sink down the cabinets to the floor of the kitchen. I take a large pull of the wine, letting it warm me.

I don’t know what wait for me means, but I have a feeling I’ll be doing just that.