I found going back to my old lifestyle more than unsettling. Keenan and I continued to date and talk on the phone. It wasn’t unusual to get two or three text messages a day, more if he was out of the country. He’d gone back to England twice, but I’d chosen not to go because having him in such close proximity would make me want him more.

I’d been with two other men since Keenan had given me the go-ahead—with perimeters. Each time, I pretended he was the man. I fantasized it was his cock filling my mouth and his release I was swallowing. It was beginning to piss me off. I’d decided the only way to rid myself of wanting him was to fuck him. Once we had each other, I fully intended to cut him loose. In the time we’d been together, I’d gotten seven French kisses, countless pecks on the head, three accidental breast-to-chests feels, one not-so-accidental brushing of my hand across his crotch, and a dizzying array of dinners, concerts, and plays. I was sexually frustrated even though I had men I could go to. Keenan had somehow burrowed himself under my skin. The fucking scabie.

My day wasn’t complete unless we spoke. He never wanted to talk about his day, just mine. He was interested in every aspect of my job. He sent me flowers and bought me greeting cards. He pleasured me in every corner of my life except one. He had to give me his body, or I had to walk away. I craved that intimacy with him. I’d never desired it from any other man, and now the only one I wanted kept me at bay.

During one nightly phone call, I planned to say good-bye. I couldn’t take it anymore. I was discontented. The waiting and the sexual frustration was killing me. I had to let him go for my own sanity.

“How was your day? I missed you. I’m glad to be back. It was a tedious flight.”

“Kee, we need to talk.”

I heard him chuckle. “I thought we were talking.”

“I can’t do this anymore,” I said, trying to clear my throat as I choked on my words. “I feel like I’m your buddy now that Latch and Haven are married with a kid. Ever since they moved away, this—what we have feels different. If we’re just friends, then say it and let’s be done pretending this is going to ever be anything more.”

I heard him take a deep breath, then exhale. “Given this a lot of thought, have you? Can I come over tomorrow night and cook you dinner?”

I paused, not sure what to say. Maybe we should discuss face to face. “You cook?” I asked.

“Who do you think taught Latch his gourmet skills?”

I wish Latch had taught you all his skills. Then we wouldn’t need this chat. “I suppose. Yeah, that’s all right.”

“Good, and maybe you can introduce me to your Star Trek collection. I have yet to discover the reason for your fascination, and I’ve seen the movies.”

“Good God, you can’t compare those new movies to the quality and intrigue of the original. I have the entire series on Blu-ray, and it’s been beautifully remastered.”

“It’s nice to hear you get so excited, Weezie.”

“Yes, it will be the highlight of my day to introduce you to Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock,” I replied, hoping he didn’t recognize the bitterness in my tone.

Tomorrow night would be the last time I saw him. We’d always be friends, but I could no longer sexually pursue him. It was too exasperating. It had been too long. I was tired, too old for this. I couldn’t believe I was even thinking these thoughts, but I needed more. He did this to me. He made me feel things. He made me needy. I’d never been desperate. I didn’t like who I was anymore.

Not seeing him or talking to him every day would be difficult. But I’d broken harder habits. And Keenan was an addiction I needed to kick.

*****

He showed up promptly at seven the next evening. This was my good-bye to him, so I dressed accordingly. Tiny white jean shorts, a floral peasant blouse, and no shoes. I had decided to forgo makeup and banded my hair in a high ponytail. He looked edible as usual. Damn him. Loose-fitting jeans and a dark-green polo. His blond hair was messy, as if he’d just woken up, and he hadn’t shaved in a few days. Keenan was definitely making it hard to walk away.

He’d brought fresh salmon to grill along with potatoes and salad. I even found a bottle of Pinot Noir in the bag. I wondered if he realized I was adamant in my decision. I peeked out the glass door and watched him working at the grill. For an Englishman, he was handy with that spatula.

“I can’t believe how American you seem with that grill,” I mused as I began to set the table outdoors. The sun had almost set and the sky was colored with yellow and orange hues. I’m sure some of that was from Los Angeles smog; regardless, it made my view more spectacular than ever.

“I wanted to cook a special meal for you. I’d do anything for you, love.”

Love. He called me love. He’s never called me that before. “So what’s the ETA on the food, chef?” I asked as I began to uncork the wine.

“Thirty minutes, give or take. I’ve wrapped the potatoes in foil and pitched them in with the fish. You can toss the greens if you want. Then we can sit out here, drink some wine, and look at the gorgeous view… and maybe check out the landscape too.”

I blushed. Fuck, what was wrong with me? No matter how I saw myself, in his eyes, I was beautiful. I would never be able to explain why a man who could truly have any woman on his arm settled for me. But then maybe he hadn’t. Maybe this was how he treated his friends. If it was, I could see why Latch stuck around.

I chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” he asked as he pulled down the lid of the grill.

“Nothing really. Just thinking,” I replied as I handed him a glass of wine.

“That’s never a good sign,” he mused. “You’re my friend, you know. No matter what we become, you and I will always have this friendship. Do you understand?” he asked as he sipped.

“I get it. No worries.” So we really were buddies. I wasted all this time on him. When did he change his mind? Was it when he knew I was going to be with other men? Or maybe he’d met someone. I couldn’t believe I fell for his bullshit. American, British, Scottish, they were all assholes.

“FML,” I blurted out as I slammed my goblet down on the table.

“What is it, love? What’s wrong, and why is your life fucked?”

So he knew what FML meant. Well, bully for him. Maybe I should point out he was the one responsible for fucking my life.

“It doesn’t matter, Kee. Never mind. Let’s just have a nice meal and watch some Star Trek. Can we just do that, please?”

He looked perplexed and uncomfortable. He nodded but restrained himself from any reply.

Our dinner was quiet. We had small talk and quiet talk and then no talk. All I could hear were birds chirping and flies buzzing. Even the canyon heeded my words about being silent.

I knew he was dying to ask me what was bothering me. His brow was tense, and I could see a constant ticking in his cheek between bites. No words were exchanged, and the silence was deafening.

I picked at my salmon, taking a bite here and there. It too was deliciously somber.

I anticipated our future conversation, and it made me feel queasy. I hated confrontation. In that aspect, Haven and I were alike. I wished I’d Skyped her before this date. I hated that she was living almost six thousand miles away. Even if we had spoken, I wouldn’t know how to explain this. And Latch would find out. He was now her life, as it should have been.

Insecurity was an ugly emotion. One I’d rarely felt—until Keenan. He made me feel the full compass. The good and the bad. The welcome and the things I wished would disappear. If I let him go, would those feelings go with him? Would I quit having this need, want, and hunger?

After we finished, we loaded the dishwasher. I poured another glass of wine. Especially since I found he had another bottle in his trunk. Once the dishes were done and outside was cleaned up, we settled in to watch some of my favorite episodes of Star Trek. Keenan and I took our places on the sofa in front of my sixty-five-inch screen. I’d set the player to show three of my favorites. I figured a few hours of deep space and another three glasses of wine and I’d be prepared to say farewell.