Restless Night (Insomniac Duet 1)

Gavin pushes his glasses down the bridge of his nose and gives an inquisitive stare. I see the line of questions form, but he won’t ask them. “Always, man. What’s up?”

“If you and Cora hadn’t reconnected, do you think you would’ve made a life with someone else?”

Without hesitation, he answers, “No. I tried relationships in California. Never stuck. I compared every woman to Cora. Which only made me want her more.” He looks out at the water. “She’s all I’ve ever wanted. Everyone else just filled time and provided a temporary distraction.”

I nod. “There’s someone…”

Without looking, I know his eyes are on me. “The blonde behind the bar?”

My eyes snap to him. “How?” It’s the only word my lips form. Because how the hell does he know I meant Peyton? Have I mentioned her to him?

As of recent, my head has been a fucking mess. Whatever.

“The sexual tension between you two can be felt miles away. The bickering and constant eye contact. I only caught a glimpse, but sure as shit felt it. What’s her story?”

Fuck, I wish I knew her story. The not knowing is half the problem. Peyton is elusive. An unsolved crime with a six-inch-thick file folder of stats. Only they are written in a foreign language.

“Wish I knew, bro.” I shake my head. “For whatever reason, she’s hated me since day one. And I did nothing to offend her.”

Gavin laughs at this. Laughs so hard he bends at the waist as tears stream down his cheeks. Dickhead. I give him his moment to laugh at my expense. Let him get it out of his system.

“Gonna tell me what’s so fucking funny?” I prompt.

“Mr. Hot Shit can’t get a girl.” He laughs again, but it doesn’t linger as long. “You have always been a lady’s man. You always got the girl with your smile and a one-liner. Insert new girl, one you actually want, and she won’t give you the time of day. She actually throws shit back in your face.” He winces. “Hate to say it, brother. Sounds like karma is working her mojo on you.”

Ugh. Why the hell did I ask? Should have known Gavin would give me shit.

But I hate to admit… he has a point.

Over the last sixteen-plus years, I have been an asshole. Not just with women, but in general. I always saw myself higher and mightier than the guy next to me. Is this my punishment? To look, to want, to dream about, but not to touch. To never have the chance to show I can be a good guy.

I have no clue how to come back from that. How to make up for all the shit in my past. For all the one-night stands. For picturing one woman while I stared down at another. For wanting to belt out another woman’s name when I orgasm.

Yeah, I am a goddamn prick. Is redemption even possible at this point? Or should I just give up and leave things how they are? Would be easier.

“Quit thinking so fucking hard over there.” I peer over at Gavin, who drills holes in my temple. “You like her, man?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know if it’s because she fights me at every turn, or if it’s actual attraction.”

“Forbidden fruit always tastes better,” he admits.

“Truth.”

“But there’s something to be said about having a favorite fruit. The one that never lets you down. Always tastes the same and makes you happy.”

I chuckle. “This fruit analogy is getting dirty, bro.”

He smacks my chest. “Shut up and listen a minute.” I swat his hand away and feign pain. “You need to sit down and really think about this. Think about her. Whip out pen and paper. Write down what you’re attracted to, the parts that make you want more. Then make a list of all the things that make you insane.”

I stare at him, incredulous. “Gavin. Brother. Are you seriously telling me to make a pro/con list of this woman?”

He shrugs as if it is that simple. “More or less. You got any better solutions?”

If I had a better solution, would I be asking for help? After Rochelle, women are a haze of mixed signals and lost translations. The more time passed, the less I tried figuring it all out.

Keeping things short and sweet makes life a hell of a lot easier. It also keeps me from getting my heart broken again.

“No, obviously I don’t.”

I stare out at the horizon and let my focus relax. Can I do this? Write a pros and cons list on Peyton? The idea of writing down what I love and loathe about this woman makes me itchy. But what other option is there?

Any time Peyton is near, I gravitate toward her. Something about her is so familiar and bewitching. But I can’t figure out how to scratch the surface. Get past the anger she harbors. Anger I don’t quite understand. Anger she unleashed when Ani and Sean left the room and we were alone for the first time.

That rage stems from somewhere deep. A niggling voice in the back of my head tells me I am the root cause of it all. But how?

I met Peyton only a year ago. Right? I search my memory bank; search the long list of women I have been with over the years. But no hits pop up on my radar. Peyton is definitely someone I would remember.

But the boulder beneath my diaphragm begs to differ. And I have no clue where to go from here.