“Made up your mind about what?” I was so lost. What were we even talking about?
“I really like you, Jackson. And I know there’s going to be a bunch of people who will call me crazy for doing this, but—honey—we’re breaking up.”
I stared at her, disbelief a heavy veil obscuring my vision. “Charlotte. What—”
“You’re a good man with a steady job and income, from a nice family who likes me. You’re handsome, you take care of your body. You laugh at my jokes, and you’re kind. So, so kind. And who am I? I’m a single mother of four kids. I should be grateful, right?”
Reflexively, I stepped forward and took her hand. As her friend, I hated the desolation I heard in her voice. “No. God, no. You’re amazing, Charlotte. I’m the lucky one.” Maybe society would have her believe that kind of shit, but it wasn’t true.
She sniffed, shaking her head. “No. Neither of us is the lucky one, not in love. Because I don’t see myself falling in love with you, Jackson. I don’t see us loving each other like anything more than good friends.”
My stomach had tied itself in knots while she spoke, and I squeezed her hand. I wasn’t ready to concede defeat, not quite yet. Friendship was a good foundation, that’s what I’d been told by everybody. Charlotte and I had a great friendship. There had to be something I could do.
“Charlotte, what can I do to make this right? I really, really like you.”
She huffed a watery chuckle. “It’s for the best, and you know it. You deserve to be crazy about someone, I want that for you. And I deserve for someone to be crazy about me. That’s what I want.”
“But—
She pulled her hand out of mine. “You said it yourself, you really, really like me. But you’re not crazy for me. I was wearing nothing under my bathrobe on Monday—trying to force some chemistry—and you didn’t even notice because it never occurred to you to take a peek. Admit it. You know I’m right.”
I closed my eyes, the headache I’d been fighting all night crawling from my neck to my jaw to my temples and throbbing behind my forehead.
“We—we’ll still be friends, all right?”
I laughed. It sounded sour. I had a lot of female friends. I had so many female friends. Boone and I may live together, but he wasn’t the talkative type. My former partner and I had been friendly for a time, but ever since he and his girl got together, he didn’t have much free time. All the friends I actually had real conversations with—other than Cletus Winston—were women.
Point was, I didn’t want any more female friends.
But Charlotte had been a friend before we’d tried being something more, so I reckoned there was no reason we couldn’t be friends again. Nothing had really changed. She wasn’t breaking my heart, and I wasn’t angry. I was . . . disappointed. Now I’d have to start all over with someone else.
“Jackson?”
“Yes. Yes, we can be friends. Come here.” I reached out and pulled Charlotte forward into a hug. Wrapping her tightly in my arms, I felt her body relax on a big exhale.
“You give good hugs,” she said, her voice muffled.
“So do you,” I said, resting my cheek against hers.
She tucked her chin on top of my shoulder. “And you’re welcome to hugs anytime you want, okay? You can come over and hug me all day if you need to.”
I laughed, rolling my eyes at the very thought, knowing she meant the offer sincerely but also knowing it would be impossible. She had too many demands on her time to spend more than a minute or two giving me hugs in any given week.
“Same. And if you ever need anything.” I pulled back, looking her in the eyes. “I mean it, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”
“Anything?”
I released her arms. She caught my hand before I could step away.
“Anything at all?” Her tone sounded funny, determined as she peered up at me.
I nodded again. “Of course.”
“What if I wanted . . .” She breathed out, gulped noisily, and then said on a rush, “What if I wanted to get laid?”
I blinked, my mouth dropping open as a puff of a laugh erupted from my chest. “Wait, I thought we just broke up?”
“We did, and we are. Believe me, I do not want to date you. But—now that we’re not dating—there’s no reason for you to be a gentleman all the time.”
Oh my God. She was serious.
“We could meet up once a week for lunch. Your truck is nice and big.” A pleading note entered her voice.
“Charlotte.”
“No feelings would be involved. I promise. I just—God, I just miss it. So much.”
I laughed, then sighed, then laughed again, pulling her in for another hug, doing my best not to laugh some more—not at her, never at her, but definitely at the situation. “You do not want to sleep with me.”
“You’re right, I don’t. I hate sharing a bed. I could never sleep with Kevin when we were married. I used to leave every night, once he was snoring, and slept on the couch. I don’t want to sleep with anyone. I want to have sex. God, Jackson, I want to have sex so bad. I want to be touched and petted by something I don’t have to plug into a wall.”
Now I did laugh.
She pulled away, her face grumpy, but her eyes were full of self-deprecating humor. “I’m serious. Do you know how many vibrators I have? I can’t stop buying them, always hoping I’ll find one that magically sprouts hands and hairy thighs. Is it weird that I miss the feel of hairy thighs?”
“I can’t say as I rightfully know.” I pressed my lips together, knowing it was ungentlemanly of me to keep laughing. Even so, I kept on laughing.
“I do.” She made a grunting sound, and I knew she didn’t take my humor the wrong way. “And the feel of a hairy chest against my—”
Enough. “I’m not having sex with you.”
“Fine!” She heaved a sigh, slouching forward. “I already knew you’d say no. Mostly, I just wanted to complain to a friend about my lack of a sex life.”
A twinge of something uncomfortable, a sense that I’d failed her in some way, settled at the base of my throat, made it ache. Despite the unease, I welded a small smile and walked her to her door. We shook hands, and she laughed, the sound blithe and good humored. She blew me a silly little kiss and walked inside, leaving me on her porch.
I waited until I heard her bolt lock, as I always did, before turning back to the street. My smile dropped, disappointment settling like a heavy stone in my chest. I lost.
I didn’t like losing. I don’t think anyone likes losing, but if life had taught me one lesson well it was the value of losing gracefully. Charlotte didn’t want to make things work between us. I would not push her to reconsider. This wasn’t like quitting, where there’s still hope.
No. When you lose, you wish the person well and you walk away, and so that’s what I did.
With each step toward my truck, I replayed her words, filtering through them to figure out where I’d messed up so bad that I’d lost Charlotte and the future I’d been hoping for with her, so that next time I took a chance on someone, I wouldn’t end up as a loser.