Page 55 of The Deviation
“No problem. I’m sure he won’t be long.” She walks back to the counter, leaning in to say a few words to Johnny. He looks my way and the smile lighting up his face sets my heart to thumping. Lifting a hand, his fingers splayed, he mouths the words, “Five minutes.”
At my nod, he returns his attention to his customer, and I go back to wandering between the shelves.
These last couple of months have been good for me and Johnny. They’ve given us the chance to learn how to relax around each other. We’ve spent time together without the band a couple of times a week. On the days we don’t see each other, we’re constantly on our phones, talking or texting. The need to keep things platonic forces us to get out and about when we’re together, and damn we’ve had fun. We’ve seen live bands play all over Brisbane, gone to the movies, had dinner at all of each other’s favourite places. I’d call it dating, if it weren’t for the total absence of sexual contact. Brushing up against each other too often at a concert doesn’t count. Neither do the goodnight hugs that sometimes last a longer-than-friendly amount of time. If our conversations have deepened, interspersed with long minutes of simply being there, listening to each other breathe, it’s nothing to be concerned about.
Yeah, denial has become an active third in this new relationship we’ve forged. What other choice do I have? I can’t stop seeing him professionally. I don’t want to stop seeing himpersonally. And I definitely can’t tell him the truth I’m no longer able to hide from myself.
I’m in love with him.
Not just a little bit in love, like I confessed in that lust-fuelled moment we shared at the studio a few months ago. This is a bone deep, soul defining, this-lifetime-and-the-next kind of love I didn’t think I was capable of. Every time I’m with him, it only grows stronger. I have no idea what to do with that. All I know is, this ‘more than friends but not quite lovers’ relationship we’ve managed to build out of the ashes of our doomed romance is better than whatever toxic bullshit we were doing before. I don’t want to lose it. I don’t want to lose him.
Movement on my left alerts me to his arrival. “If you’re having an issue with foot fungus, I can recommend some excellent products.”
I blink at him in confusion. He gestures to the shelf before me. Apparently, I’ve spent the entire five minutes ruminating in the foot care aisle.
Turning, I give him a bright smile. “Thanks so much for your help, John.”
He grimaces at the emphasis I put on his name. “It’s what my parents call me. My boss is an old family friend so…” He shrugs off the explanation, his gaze falling away. “Shall we head out?”
I nod, and before long we’re on the road.
“Thanks for picking me up,” he says, running his hands through his hair as if freeing himself from the restraints of his day job. “I wasn’t expecting the mechanic to keep my car overnight.”
“No problem,” I tell him. “You’ll get it back tomorrow?” He nods.
We’re quiet for a few minutes, an old Radiohead song playing low on the stereo.
“Can I say it was weird seeing you in there?” His voice is quiet, contemplative.
I glance in his direction. “Should I have not come in?”
“No, it’s not that,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s more like… my real life and my dream life have bumped into each other and now they’re giving side-eye, not quite sure how to act.”
We stop at a red light, and I turn to look at him. He appears, not upset exactly, more like uncomfortable.
“Just be you.” He turns to look at me, and I can see how torn he is over who that is. “This part of your life—the band, me—it’s no dream, Johnny. This is as real as anything else you do. You are never more real to me than when you’re on stage with a guitar in your hands.”
Gratitude fills his eyes, and his hand reaches across the console to touch my thigh for a moment. “Thank you.”
The light turns green and he removes his hand as we get moving again. “I’ll say this though,” I tell him in a playful tone, “I kind of liked getting a gander at John the pharmacist.”
He groans, messing up his hair some more. “Please don’t call me that.”
“Why not? John the pharmacist is hella sexy.”
“Ugh. John is the most generic name is existence. I’ll take Johnny any day over that boring arse name.”
“I’d take Johnny any day too, if I could.” The muttered words pop out before I can stop them.
His mouth drops open and he laughs suggestively. “Careful, Cal. Your libido is showing.”
Adjusting my position in my seat, I clear my throat. “My apologies.”
He continues watching me, a finger toying with his bottom lip. “Slip up all you like,” he drawls. “I store every one of them in my spank bank for later use.”
“Fuuuck,” I groan, my hands tightening on the wheel. “Don’t tell me that.”
“Then stop slipping up.”