What’s it like being a divorced, thirty-something-year-old man forced to attend therapy sessions and a support group? Well, it’s a recipe for bitterness and sex deprivation. Not to mention how numbing it is listening to other divorcées complain about their asshole exes.
Bleeding open to a group of strangers is like having your mother read your diary, so I prefer to keep quiet and only share when I have to. Because my situation really isn’t that bad. Unlike Alma, whose husband kidnapped her to avoid signing papers. Now he has serious issues.
Tonight's group session is as dull as always with the same ol' grievances from the same ol' people, which makes me want to tuck-tail early before Gwen, my therapist, guilts me into sharing again. You'd think she'd know by now I hate talking about my ex-wife since it only makes me want to punch through a wall whenever I do.
However, the renovated Victorian's front door swings open with a gust of wind, the pitter-patter of rain hitting the steps, and the promise of chaos when I glance over. A woman walks in with a fur coat soggy from the evening storm and long, damp curls stretching down her shoulders. She blows out cigarette smoke—the cloud taking shape around her before walking through it, and holy moly, who is this creature crossing the room with those black stiletto boots riding up those impressive fishnet-covered thighs?
Everyone else is too occupied picking their nails or staring into space to notice her, except Gwen and me. We follow her with our eyes as she makes her way to the foldout table displaying refreshments and snacks. Meanwhile, Mindy continues crying about her husband cheating on her. Mindy, Mindy, Mindy. She's thinking of taking him back, and as much as I'd like to tell her to kick him in the dick, my attention won't leave the mystery woman.
The trickle of coffee going into her styrofoam cup is louder than Mindy's sniffling, or maybe I'm too zoned in. Seriously, who the fuck is she?
Before taking a sip, she pulls another drag from her cigarette, and that's when Gwen pipes up.
"Excuse me, ma'am, but you can't smoke in here. You need to put it out."
After taking one last puff, she drops the cigarette into her cup and blows out the smoke. I scoot to the edge of my seat because I kinda like this woman, and holy shit, if she didn't just take a sip of coffee with the cigarette floating inside. Oh, she's bad!
Gwen stands, her mouth opening and closing before sputtering, "Please, take a seat and introduce yourself. You don't mind, right Mindy?"
Yes, introduce yourself.
Her legs aren't long, but the strides she's making across the creaky scuffed wood of this old Victorian's renovated living room make her look like a model strutting the runway. She knows she's a traffic-stopper. After easing into a chair, she crosses one toned thigh over the other and folds her hands on them.
"I'm Angelina Mendoza, but everyone calls me Angie."
"Welcome to our support group, Angie. How did you hear about us?"
"I saw the flyer at Philz Coffee." She fishes into her soggy fur coat and pulls out the crumbled purple paper.
"Well, that's wonderful! Happy to have you here. Would you like to share your story?" Gwen asks.
"Sure, fuck it, get it out of the way, right?" She takes another gulp of coffee, and I swear the beast in my pants is awakening.
Something so grotesque doesn't usually arouse my sexual appetite, but I'll probably find everything she does hot. Rebellious women are kind of a turn-on. And damnit, all of this built-up testosterone is messing with me. I drop my head in my palms and begin rubbing my temples while remembering how I tried banging Mindy a few weeks back. She's not over her husband, but that's ok because I'm pretty sure I'd ruin her. We ended up sitting there at the bar, drunkenly talking about our exes. What a waste of time. Why are we like this? But not Angie. I bet she ripped her exes throat out with her teeth and set it on fire.
"I can't have kids," she says, and my head reels back. Jesus. What an opener. "My ex wants kids, but unfortunately, my insides are messed up, so he thought it'd be grand to fuck his twenty-two-year-old secretary. Gringos, am I right?"
"I'm so sorry, Angie." Gwen cuts through our circle of chairs, crouches, and places a hand on her knee. "We will help you through this difficult time, and if you'd like, I can sign you up for solo sessions too."
"I prefer groups."
"As you wish." Gwen bows her head, then whispers, "Oh, and, please refrain from using racial slurs. Some might take offense to the word, gringo."
Angie's honey-brown eyes drift down to the hand on her knee, and Gwen withdraws it. "I can call my deadbeat ex whatever I want."
Gwen gives a half-smile and stands, but she keeps her shoulders square while going back to her seat. "Would anyone else like to share?" Her dark eyes shift towards me. "Miguel?"
And holy shit, Angie is looking at me too.
"Uh..." I clear my throat and, uncross my legs, lean forward. "Well, I, uh, my wife left me for her best friend, who is a woman."
Angie snorts, so I cut my eyes to her, and she shrugs.
"I'm so sorry, Miguel. Tell us, how can we help you cope?" Gwen asks as if she and the entire group don’t already know my situation. Mindy reaches over and rubs my back. Too bad it's not my dick.
Jesus. What has gotten into me tonight?
"Just let it out." She smiles at me with her plump lips stretching across that beautiful brown skin of hers. Mindy is like a Bollywood goddess with silky black hair and round hazel eyes. The saddest part is she doesn't realize it. I guess that's what happens when your spouse is a gaslighting shithead.
"Thanks, Mins." I flash her a smile. "Yeah, so, that's why I'm here. My lawyer thought it would be a good idea since I have a lot of pent-up anger. She doesn't think my part-time night job as a Doorman is helping my case."
"Why's that?" Evan asks.
"Because bouncing assholes through glass doors supposedly means I'm violent and that my wife—correction—ex-wife can prove she needs a restraining order," I growl but then soften my tone. "I'm sorry, man."
"It's fine, Miguel. After all, this is a safe space for venting. Right, everyone?" Gwen smiles, and the others mutter a reply between chewing the insides of their cheeks like zombies.
"So you're a Bouncer?"
Holy shit. Did Angie just ask me that? I flick my gaze towards her, and sure enough, she's looking right at me. The incandescent lights above us flicker as if I haven't told Gwen multiple times that she needs to hire a damn electrician. However, tonight I’m not too mad at it because it’s highlighting the rain droplets freckling Angie’s chest as she sizes up my biceps. And what a lovely chest it is. It’s practically bursting from her lacey black top like a can of biscuits.
"Yeah."
"If I hire you to fuck up my ex, would you?"
"Uh..." My eyes go from her to Gwen, who claps her hands together.
"Ok, I think that's the end of tonight's session," she announces with nervous laughter that's followed by a procession of folding chairs squeaking as everyone makes their hasty exit. "Remember that next week we're meeting on Saturday at Dolores park for a barbecue!"
As I stand, my entire body is aware of Angie's electrifying presence, and my arm hairs become erect in the process. I seriously need to get laid. It's been too long, and beating my meat doesn't deliver the same release as being dick-deep in a woman. Shrugging into my leather jacket, I glance her way, and her eyes are already on me like an owl observing a rodent it wants to snatch. Before I can even gather the balls to say what's on my mind, she beats me to it.
"Wanna go for a drink?"
"Name the place." I pop my jacket collar like James Dean.
Angie seems like a no-strings-attached kind of woman who wouldn't mind a quick wham-bam, which is exactly what I need to get over this dry spell. But then Mindy taps my shoulder, batting her long, dark lashes, and I'm reminded there are women worth waiting for. Why does she have to be so damn gorgeous and sweet?
"Some of us are heading over to Pi for dessert. Wanna come?" Her eyes slide over to Angie. "You can too."
"My dessert consists of sugar muddled in bitters and drenched in whiskey. But thanks, kitten," she replies.
"Oh, ok." Mindy shifts back to me.
"It's been a rough week, and I need a beer," I say.
"Ok, sure." Her brows mash together, but then she leans up on tiptoes and presses a kiss to my cheek. "Maybe next time."
"Definitely. See you at the gym tomorrow?"
"Yes." She nods, but I know I've disappointed her, so I need to make it right.
"How do you like your coffee?"
"Um... Depends on where I get it."
"What do you get from Pete's?"
"I like their caramel latte."
"Then tomorrow, I'll have the biggest caramel latte waiting for you. With lots of whip." That earns me a smile.
"Alright, well, I should get going." She squeezes my hand, and hot damn if Mindy isn't marking her territory as she gives Angie a once-over before walking away.
"Poor little kitten..." Angie tuts. "She'll get over it."
"So, where to?"
"A little place just a few blocks from here. Ever been to Royal Cuckoo?"
"Last week, actually."
"With Mins?" She cocks a brow.
"Yeah, and a few others from this group." I point to the exit and step in that direction. "We going, or?"
"Watch the tone, or I won't bang your brains out later."
She tosses the hair off her shoulder before brushing past me, not even waiting for a reply, and like a puppy, I follow with my tongue hanging out.
A choice I'll regret sometime in the immediate future.