even so, I didn’t try.
I was curious. Curious about February Owens.
Eventually, my curiosity was assuaged. They showed pictures of her and her boyfriend, and she was gorgeous. Older than me, probably closer to Ham’s age. But she looked a little like me. Blonde hair. Brown eyes. Her man, who apparently had been her man way back in the day and they’d hooked up again, was phenomenal. Definitely on par in hotness to Ham, if leaner and not quite as tall.
“No, probably won’t go away. But it will come further between,” Ham went on and I suspected he was talking about the situation with Dennis Lowe, the resulting media onslaught and continued morbid fascination of the public when stuff like that happened.
“No, nothin’ this way. I’m a footnote, babe. And way good with that,” Ham told her.
I started to slink back when he continued.
“You good? Happy?”
At that, I stopped. Mostly because he sounded like he wanted that for her even if her being that way meant she was that way with another guy.
Which was, apparently, Ham’s way.
“Good, beautiful,” he whispered.
He wasn’t saying something was beautiful.
He was calling February Owens “beautiful.”
And that hurt. A lot.
Why did that hurt so much?
She was “beautiful.” February Owens, who had to be one of the women he had when he also had me, was “beautiful.”
I was “cookie.”
She was closer to his age and she was inarguably beautiful. I wasn’t jailbait but I was a lot younger than him so I got “cookie.”
That had to be why it hurt so much.
What hurt more was I’d always loved him calling me cookie. No one had ever given me a nickname. Not even my sister, Xenia. We were tight and she messed around with me all the time, definitely the kind of person to give me a nickname. And I thought “cookie” was cute, it was sweet and it was mine.
“Right, yeah, got the day off,” Ham carried on. “No clue. Relax, do nothin’…”
His voice trailed off as I finally moved back to my room. Once there, I stayed there, gave it time, and as I did, I blanked my mind.
I knew about the other women, and anyway, that was then. This was now. She had a man and Ham was just my roommate.
And roommates didn’t get in their roomies’ business about past lovers.
Also, roommates did shit together. Like go to movies.
When I thought it would be safe, I again left my room and went down the hall.
I hit the living room to see Ham stretched out on Mindy’s couch, his superior quality flat-screen TV on and his eyes to it.
When I came in, they came to me.
“Hey, I’m goin’ shopping and to a movie. Wanna come?” I asked, pleased as all hell my voice sounded normal, friendly, inviting.
His eyes moved over my face before he replied, “I’m gonna sit back, relax, do nothin’ but eat and watch TV. Wanna join me?”
I shook my head. “I’m in the mood to spend money on nothing I need and something I want for the first time in what seems like decades. Then I’m going to go see Hollywood movie stars drill fake holes in each other and crash cars. Your day sounds fun but mine sounds more fun.”
“Limit the shopping and that’s agreed,” Ham returned.
I tipped my head to the side. “Changing your mind?”
“You gonna limit the shopping?”
“I can do that.”
“Then, yeah.”
I smiled at him. “Get your boots, bruiser.”
He gave me a full-on grin when he passed me to go to get his boots.
I waited, wondering if this was a good idea.
But he was just my friend, my roomie, and anything was more fun with company.
So I told myself it was a good idea.
Even though I knew it was a lie.
“Venice,” I stated and Ham’s brows went up.
“No shit?” he asked.
I grinned and nodded.
We’d gone shopping and I’d bought nothing I needed but two killer tops that I loved. Then we’d gone to a movie and watched movie stars crashing cars. After the movie we’d had dinner together, chatted, and laughed. After
So now, we were continuing drinking, chatting, and laughing, just doing it in the safety of our living room.
Ham had just asked me where I would go if I could go anywhere.
I was on my back on the couch, my legs thrown over the back, my head to the armrest. Ham was at the opposite end, his body twisted so his feet were crossed at the ankles on the coffee table.
I had a bottle of beer in my hand resting on my belly. He had one resting on his thigh.
“Italy?” he asked.
“Not Italy, so much as Venice. I’ve seen pictures. It looks beautiful. And I like water and boats.” I lifted my beer, took a drag, and replaced it on my belly. “What about you? Where would you go?”
“Anywhere with a beach.”
I grinned again as I noted, “You don’t strike me as a sand man.”
“Babe, was on St. John once, walked out in the water up to my neck, looked down, could see my feet clear as if I was standin’ on land. Water warm but cool, fuckin’ sweet. Sun hot and bright. Beauty all around me. Those clear blue waters, tranquil. Nothin’ like it.”
“So, not a beach but St. John,” I suggested.
“Yeah. Go back there in a second.”
I felt my grin fade and my face get soft. “Hope you get back there, Ham.”
It was then I watched his face get soft. “I will, darlin’.”
He took another drag so I took one and when I was done, I queried, “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything, cookie.”
“Didn’t think about it at the time, except later…” I paused. “How did you know where I lived? Both times?”
“What?” he asked.
“When you came to my house and again to the studio apartment. You didn’t ask me and I didn’t tell you, so how did you know?”
“Asked Jake.”
Right. He asked Jake. No surprise.
“Okay, this brings me to question two,” I went on. “When did you and Jake get so tight?”
“When my girl told me she was movin’ on and didn’t want to adjust what we had so I could stay in her life as she did that. Jake and I got tight so I could keep my finger on her pulse, make sure she was all right.”
He stopped talking but I’d stopped breathing.
He took my nonresponse the wrong way. “Didn’t require monthly reports, babe. I wasn’t in your business. Just keepin’ a finger on the pulse.”
“It’s not… that isn’t…” I swallowed and my voice was soft when I said, “That was sweet of you to do,
