Chapter 2

Boring One Night Stands

Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash

Soulé

I didn’t believe in God.

I’ve never been a fan, which was why it was so easy for me to leave the church.

I believed in three things: money, beautiful women, and pleasure.

I also believed in love, or at least I wanted to. But my approach to finding love was flawed. I kept looking in all the wrong places, hoping something real would emerge from something meaningless.

So, I played the game. I was young, wealthy, and a hedonist. Life was entertaining if nothing else.

Lately, though? It had started to get stale and predictable. I was recycling through the same night with different bodies, but the same emptiness remained.

“Soulé?”

I turned to her, away from the papers on my desk. “Yes?”

Another hookup. Another fling. Another distraction from the silence that echoed through my penthouse when the lights dimmed.

A curvy, earthly brown woman who bathed in sage and spirituality lay naked on my bed. While she didn’t fill the void, her warmth and presence were comforting in a way I wouldn’t admit out loud.

“Baby, come lie with me,” she grumbled, brushing her eyes with her fingers. “What’re you doing?”

I closed the laptop and rose from my desk. I glided my feet across the room to join her.

“Nothing important,” I said, straddling her hips as I pulled her close. “Let’s get some sleep,” I whispered.

A shiver ran through her, and I smirked. A flash of what we’d done earlier replayed in my mind. Her skin was damp with sweat, her body trembling under my fingertips.

But by morning, it meant nothing.

I stepped out of the bathroom, towel tucked beneath my arms, steam curling off my skin like it hadn’t gotten the memo.

I was done.

And she was still here.

Perched on the edge of my bed, back slightly arched, wearing my tee like it meant something. Her legs were crossed, her hair (shit, what was her name again? Something with a J? Jessie? Jenna?) tousled enough to suggest a romance gone sideways, if I gave a damn.

“Hey,” she said. “Do you want to grab breakfast?”

There it was... that stretch of silence before the lie.

I tightened my grip on the towel and smiled the way I’ve learned to: pleasant, warm, distant enough to land like a door already halfway closed.

“I can’t. Got a meeting.”

The lie slid off my tongue straight out of the arsenal of excuses for wham-bam-thank-yous.

“Oh.” She blinked, still trying to be sweet about it. “Okay. No problem.”

She bent down to grab her shoes, and I turned toward my dresser, as if that would make this easier. Like pretending she wasn’t real would make it all evaporate faster.

I didn’t offer her a ride.

She walked out a few minutes later, the door clicking shut behind her like a punctuation on a sentence I never intended to start.

And, she faded.

Gone.

Another body with no echo.

The towel slipped from my fingers.

And I stood there, naked in the quiet, the air haunted with the steam of nothing that lasted.

This wasn’t love.

This wasn’t even a connection.

It was anesthesia.

And even that was starting to wear off.

I stared at the parts of me still soft in all the places that mattered, where the pulse should be but wasn’t.

I used to be better at pretending it was enough. Before Rebecca.

She was my catalyst. My chaos. The point of no return. I was glad she was gone for good.

Rebecca didn’t come with subtlety. She came like a siren song, and what she sang was: “You know you’re a lesbian, right?”

No truer words had ever been spoken. She didn’t say anything I didn’t already know.

And then she kissed me, slow and unapologetic, waiting for me to catch up. While I was still engaged to a man I never should’ve said yes to.

I told myself it was only physical.

It wasn’t.

And I’ve been running on empty ever since. That’s why these nights didn’t stick; why these women didn’t matter.

***

The following day, I met Stanley at a café tucked into a corner of Hyde Park Village. Sunlight slanted through leafy oaks, making the sidewalk a cadenced moving mosaic.

I found him sitting at a corner table, waving me over. He looked his usual self: tall and lanky, with an appearance that the average person would consider handsome for a rich coffee-toned man, if he put in more effort.

“So,” he started once I sat, “tell me”—the hiss of a milk steamer cut through the air behind us. Inside, a low jazz guitar riff drifted from unseen speakers, wrapping around the clinking of glassware and the faint chatter of two women arguing over how much sugar to add to their drinks— “How was last night? I could tell you had a good time.”

Ah, yes, the post-night recounting of trivial flings and fifty nightstands and counting. These discussions never failed to be redundant, yet they persisted.

I hated them.

I poured cream into my tea to keep myself from rolling my eyes. “She was good, but you know how it is. Good times don’t always mean good connections.”

Stanley leaned forward, his eyes widening, eager for the details that I had no enthusiasm to share.

“Come on, I need more than that. Sasha’s a total knockout.”

“Oh, right, that was her name.”

“Wow. I guess she wasn’t good enough.”

I laughed, then took a sip of my tea. “Yeah, no, as I said, she was good.” A waft of her scent somehow lingered in my nose. “It’s... I don’t know. I’m hitting the same wall with these flings.”

“Wall?” Stanley raised a dubious brow, puzzled, as if I’d grown another head.

“Yeah, wall,” I iterated. “You know, something’s missing. I’m bored with these one-night stands and flings that go nowhere.”

Stanley chuckled, setting down his cup. “You, Soulé? Bored? That’s rich coming from the human embodiment of ‘next!’”

“Yeah, keep making jokes, but I’m serious.” I blew out a breath. “I’ve hit a plateau. I want something... I don’t know... more substantial.”

“Okay.” Stanley grazed his chin, studying me. “How about you try dating someone for a change?”

I tilted my head in puzzlement. “Why would I do that?”

“Because,” Stanley leaned forward on the table again, a mischievous glint in his eyes, the same glint that got me into various shenanigans in the past, “you said you’re bored.”

“That’s not an answer,” I said.

“Well, think about it,” he said, pressing on the idea. “You want more than physical stuff. So, why not give dating a try? Commit for, say, two months, long enough to see if there’s anything worth investing in.”

I’m not particularly standoffish about dating someone, but what would come of it? The same miserable hookups I’ve had? The dating scene has been terrible so far.

This time, I scoffed. “Be for real, Stanley. Two months? That’s too long.”

Stanley grinned. “Come on, give it a shot. What’s the worst that could happen?”

I was about to give him a proper retort, but he stopped me. A wide grin emerged on his lips. I huffed in exasperation. “What?”

“Never mind, I have something even better.”

I narrowed my eyes; what cockamamie idea gripped his mind now? “What are you thinking?” I asked.

He leaned in, lowering his voice as if he were about to reveal a state secret. “Okay, hear me out: I want you to find out if this woman I’ve been seeing is a lesbian.”

I almost choked on my tea. “What? Are you insane?”

“No, listen,” he said. “Her name’s Ana. She’s the pastor’s daughter, but I have this gut—”

I lifted my finger. “Let me stop you right there,” I said. “You want me to—wait! Did I hear you right? Pastor’s daughter, you say?” I laughed at the absurdity. “You think I’m going to waltz into a church and make moves on a pastor’s kid?”

“Hey, think about it,” he insisted, looking at me with those annoying puppy-dog eyes. “It would help me a lot. I’ve been on a few dates with her, and I can’t tell if she’s into me, into women, or... confused.”

“You’re out of your mind, Stanley.” I shook my head, although some part of me wondered about the woman.

“Come on, what do you have to lose? It’s a little adventure,” he said, flashing me a grin reminiscent of our college days.

“Did you ever consider that she might be bisexual? Be yourself to find out if she likes you. What’s the need to investigate her orientation?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I’d be happiest if I didn’t have to relive my experience with you. I loved you, Soulé. You broke my heart. The least you could do is save me from another heartbreak.”

Great! How long was he going to milk that cow?

I made many mistakes in the past by denying who I was. And when love showed up, in the form of a woman, I seized the opportunity.

I wronged Stanley and called off our engagement.

There was a time when I thought I loved Stanley. I’ve long understood that this was merely a fraternal respect, akin to the esteem I’d have for a brother if I had any. We’d weathered many storms together. It was never romance for me. I wish I had come to that realization earlier to avoid the pain that I caused both of us.

“Fine. I’ll consider it.” I relented to get him off my back, but also, a pastor’s daughter? With any luck, I hoped she wasn’t a bible-thumping psycho.

“Perfect!” Stanley clapped his hands. “We’re going to church tomorrow. The service starts at nine. You’ll meet Ana and scope things out for me. It’s the Spiritual Family Church of God,” he said, “I’ll text you the address later.”

“Is your mom coming?” I asked. “I haven’t seen her in a while.”

Mama Davis was the mom I wished I had. She was always nice to me. She was the absolute opposite of my own estranged mother.

“Yes, my mother will be there. She will be happy to see you.”

I sighed, already bracing myself. “Alright, fine.”

Stanley extended his hand across the table. “You can make a move on her. If she bites, you can date her. If she doesn’t, I’ll keep on dating her.”

“If she bites, she gets to choose,” I corrected him. I didn’t pursue without consent. “She has her choice,” I emphasized.

Men often overlook the importance of autonomy and consent. It might be a universal dissonance at this point, a sense that chased but never managed to catch them.

... still, not all men, but most.

“Fine.” He shrugged. “Deal?”

I hesitated, eyeing his hand as I weighed the asinine situation I had agreed to embark on. But I blew out a breath and grasped his hand. “Deal.”

I only hoped that this “God” they loved so much wouldn’t send lightning my way the second I set foot in the church.

Ana, I thought. I don’t pray, but I hope you’re worth my amen. Just in case.