Page 54 of Choosing Hope

Carlo and Adrian met through our kickboxing club. Adrian’s extremely vocal about being bisexual. I’ve often wondered if those two might get it on; Carlo is less secretive about his sexual fluidity than I am.

Anticipating the pairing doesn’t make the reality any more comfortable to hear, though. A heavyweight lodges in my gut, and a strange tingling sensation settles on the skin around my eye sockets bothering me. Jealousy.

It might be out of line but the thought of him enjoying another man seems like a betrayal.

I pick up my beer bottle and raise it to my lips, saying nothing.

“I couldn’t do it,” he states.

Swallowing the cold liquid, I turn to face him.

“Why?”

His eyes comb over my face for a moment, but he doesn’t speak.

Then, without answering my question, he takes his last shot. Once he’s swallowed it, his eyes flare with desire. It feels like the temperature in the room just increased by fifty degrees.

“He wasn’t you.”

A million fireworks explode in my chest, and I try not to visibly react.

I glance up at the ceiling, searching for inspiration.

“I think investing in Locked was a bad idea,” I admit, my voice low. We’re veering into choppy waters, and I need to steer us back to safety.

“Ya think?” Carlo replies, each word dripping with sarcasm.

Since day one, he told me I was insane to get involved with Locked.

“What’s that got to do with us?” he probes.

“I thought it’d be like someone working in a chocolate factory,” I continue, keen to distract him from his previous course.

His eyes narrow as he tries to understand my analogy.

“Apparently, most people eventually become sick of the smell and taste of chocolate.” I shake my head. “It hasn’t worked out that way.”

He turns back to the bar, shaking his own head as if he’s stunned.

“Are we talking about you and me, or the state of your marriage?”

I roll my head back, cracking my neck. It’s time to be honest; Carlo won’t judge me. He’s always had my back.

“All of it.”

His arms are trailing on the bar, and he peers over his arm at me.

“When we were together at the apartment for four years, you didn’t need anyone else.”

“It’s not about needing someone else.” I huff, irritated that I’m having to explain this in such detail.

“Well, now you’re going to have to explain because I’m right in the middle of this, and I don’t fucking understand.”

“Neither do I.”

I jerk my head up at the bartender, asking for another drink.

“I love Sophie. And I’m not an idiot; I’m aware I’ll never meet anyone I feel the same way about. But—”