Act II

Two and a half months later…

12

Apple Pie

DIXON

“Is the garlic minced or chopped?” I mumble to myself as I flip through this wretched cookbook, trying to find the recipe for the confit of salmon with crab crush and dill drizzle.

How can one’s life change in the blink of an eye?

In one moment, Juliet was my fuck buddy, and in the next, she’s my…snuggle buddy?

I really don’t know what to call Juliet, as she’s not really my girlfriend, but she’s not really my booty call, either. I haven’t slept with anyone other than her for over two months, and the reason for that is because being with Juliet is easy. I don’t have to put in the hard yards with her, and she satisfies my every need.

She tells me she hasn’t slept with anyone else either, which is a big thing for an ex-sex addict. However, we both agreed it was best she continue therapy for her addiction, because once an addict, always an addict. We also agreed I wasn’t the best person for the job, as that was all kinds of messed up, as I didn’t fancy hearing about how badly she wanted to deep throat her aerobics instructor.

So, what are Juliet and I? Honestly, I don’t know.

I’m too old to use the word girlfriend, and partner makes me sound gay, so I don’t refer to Juliet as anything other than Juliet—the woman I am currently “sort of” seeing, but definitely not dating.

The night we had coffee changed our “situation” dramatically. Juliet and I did the unthinkable: we actually spoke. Of course there was a blowjob involved, but after all that, I got to know the real Juliet Harte.

I must admit, I was afraid to know who the enigma was behind the golden cooch, but once I peeled back her layers, I actually liked who I saw. It also didn’t hurt that she fucked like a rabbit and kept me sated beyond belief.

That moment of weakness, however, was the last I ever saw. Juliet’s back to being guarded and confident, and honestly, I don’t know who I prefer more.

Our conversations are occasionally wooden, and our drawn-out silences are becoming more frequent, but who needs conversation when our bodies fill the static?

A major regret is that I felt I chose Juliet over Madison, because I haven’t spoken to her since I bailed on our date. If Madison and I had met under different circumstances, then things could have turned out differently for us. We just met at the wrong time and place because I’m not a total bastard, and I would never play both women that way. And honestly, I could never do to Madison the things I do to Juliet. My need for depravity would soil her innocence, because in the end, my dick won out over my good sense.

Therefore, I like to think it’s for the best, and I wish Madison all the luck in finding someone better suited for her. Wherever she is, I hope she’s happy, and putting her boob purse to good use. That thought still has my dick twitching in interest, because although Juliet’s rack is spectacular, Madison’s was fucking epic.

The burning smell has my thoughts crawling out of Madison’s luscious tits to the here and now. “Shit!” I curse, as my salmon is starting to resemble a doorstop.

The fact I’m cooking for my non-girlfriend on a Friday night really is appalling, and I know if Hunter were around, he would be sounding the invisible whip, because it’s true: I’ve turned into a complete and utter pussy. But it’s because of the pussy that I’m becoming this domesticated douche.

But Hunter isn’t around because, somehow, Friday night has turned into mine and Juliet’s night. Friday night was usually reserved for the boys, but Juliet has taken precedence over my comrades, and I’ve tapped out more times than I care to admit.

My rule is slowly becoming nonexistent, as Juliet has slept over a few nights. The best thing about having Juliet here is that memories of Lily, memories I thought I so desperately wanted to hold onto, are now becoming so faint I can barely even remember them. I actually feel like I’m finally moving on and closing that chapter of my life. A chapter I should have closed a long time ago.

So things with Juliet, although not conventional, work. Neither of us have any expectations of where things are headed, which suits me perfectly. But am I happy with this arrangement? Am I happy being this civilized, monogamous, neutered little bitch?

My phone dings, indicating I have a text, so I reach for it from off my marbled countertop while eyeing my salmon and deciding whether it’s salvageable or not.

Distracted by my burned meal, I don’t fully understand Juliet’s message until I read it twice.

The message is direct, which is fine, as neither of us go for texting.

Got held up at work.

See you this weekend sometime.

Well, I’ll be damned. This is the third Friday night she’s been busy, and although I shouldn’t really care, I sort of do. I was looking forward to sitting down to a glass of red and dinner, and then having dessert, in the form of Juliet.

But now that she’s not coming, I feel like a chump, sitting at home with a meal I cooked for my ex-fuck buddy. If Hunter were here he would be questioning my masculinity, and expressing quite loudly that I don’t deserve a dick.

That thought gives me an idea, so I send a text message of my own.

Looking at the sad, shriveled salmon, I reach for the saucepan and toss the contents into the trash, along with the rest of the ingredients I had prepared earlier.

Whistling, while making my way into the bathroom to get ready for the evening, I realize now, I’m happy.

“You’re a pussy-whipped little bitch, Dixon, and you’re lucky I’m speaking to you right now. You hear me?” Hunter declares for the umpteenth time as he clutches the scruff of my collar and draws our faces together so we’re inches apart.

“Yes, you Neanderthal, I heard you loud and clear. Now either kiss me, or let me finish my damn drink,” I tease as I pull out of Hunter’s grip.

Finch laughs, looking over the moon we’re together once again.

“I really missed you, Dix,” he says, sipping his beer.

Finch is on the hard stuff tonight as Heidi is out of town for the weekend. This can really only equate to one thing—trouble.

“I missed you too, man,” I reply, slapping him on the back.

“Oh, enough with the touchy feely crap,” Hunter barks, slamming a twenty onto the bar to pay for our drinks. “Let’s go see some titties!’

Finch blanches and quickly shakes his head. “No titties for me, thanks. And besides, I’m sure Juliet wouldn’t want Dixon going to a strip club.”

“Oh, fuck the nympho!” Hunter cries, passing us a fresh round of drinks. “Last I checked, Dixon was still in possession of his balls, unlike you, Finch.” I laugh, although I’m not sure how true that statement really is.

Being out with the boys has made me realize that I’m actually in a “sort of” relationship, without knowing I was in one. I don’t know how, or when it happened, it just did. Although it is in no way normal, Juliet is the closest thing I’ve had to a girlfriend since Lily. And I don’t know how I feel about that.

“Hunter, when you meet the right girl, you’ll change your tune.” Finch nudges me in the ribs, egging me on to support his claim.