by Virna DePaul
As Sonya talks, I lift her hair and pepper kisses along her neck.
Jenna takes another swig of wine. It sloshes against the edge as she talks and almost tips over onto the white linen. “Hey, Sonya. What kinds of things do you and Lee talk about?”
“Um.” Sonya turns to me and her blue eyes look for an answer I don't have. “We, well, I guess we talk about... I talk about fashion at least.”
“Oh, Lee, I know how much you love fashion. William and I share many deep and intriguing conversations about politics, law, current events. We can talk about anything, really. Together.”
Jenna pushes her lips against William’s and lifts her leg from under the table and rests it across his lap. She sits herself on his lap and grabs his shoulders.
“Jenna,” Bryce hisses.
Jenna giggles and blushes as she moves back to her own chair. William clears his throat and unsubtly rearranges the cloth napkin as if to cover his raging boner.
“Sorry. William, I just don't know what you do to me. You make me feel so crazy.”
We all stare at William until the awkward silence is interrupted by dessert being served. Suddenly, Bryce sighs. “This shit has to stop.” He looks at me and shakes his head. “You’re both being asses. When are you going to get your head out of yours? It’s been there since we were supposed to go on that beach trip during spring break.”
I stiffen and glare at him. I can’t believe he mentioned it…
Years ago, when we’d all been in college, I’d suggested a spring break beach trip—me, Jenna, and Bryce. After struggling with my growing feelings for her, I’d finally decided maybe I should do something about it. Spend time with her. And see if she and my best friend, her brother, would be open to Jenna and I being more to each other. As soon as I suggested it to Bryce, he’d looked at me, and I’d seen it. I’d never said anything, but he knew how I felt about Jenna. And instead of warning me off, he’d simply agreed that we should ask her. So once she’d come home, I did. I’d even sweetened the pot. Told her I'd cover the hotel and let her drag me to an art museum. It hurt my soul to sacrifice a beach day in favor of a museum day, but I wanted her to say yes.
She’d laughed and said, “Of course.”
I’d been psyched as hell.
Until the day before we were supposed to leave for the beach, and Bryce told me she’d gone back to school.
“She left?”
“Yeah.”
“Left for where?”
“School.”
“Wait, she, like, got on a plane?”
“No, Lee,” Bryce had said, “She took a submarine.”
It was some bullshit about an unexpected internship that started right away.
Bryce had winced and slapped me on the shoulder. “Sorry, Lee,” he’d said, and that had been it. We’d never talked about it again.
So why the hell was he bringing that shit up now?
“What does that mean?” Jenna asks, jarring me from the past and into the present.
Bryce cocks a challenging brow at me and opens his mouth to tell Jenna fuck knows what.
“Don't worry about it, Jenna,” I hurriedly say. “I know how it feels to be so into someone you can’t keep your hands off them.” I dip my finger into the chocolate sauce drizzled across the plate then run it across Sonya's collar bone. “Just a glance from Sonya fills me with such passion.”
I’m relieved when Jenna seems to forget Bryce’s comment and watches my finger move across Sonya's chest. Perfect. “I lose myself.”
“Please, no.” Bryce drops his head into his hands.
“I just forget that I'm even in public.”
I lower my mouth to the chocolate running down Sonya's skin. But when I close my eyes, in my mind it's a white-collared shirt I’m pulling back. It's a bun I’m pulling loose so her hair can cascade across her shoulders. It's a black blazer I have to unbutton to see the tops of her breasts, heaving and desperate for my tongue.
It’s Jenna I’m with.
2
Jenna
When I saw Lee kiss Sonya, I told myself his technique was sloppy. That he kissed like a dead fish. That I certainly, positively, beyond any doubts did not want to kiss Lee Bowers. No. Nope. Not ever.
So why can’t I get the fantasy of him kissing me out of my head?
Probably the same reason I’ve fantasized about kissing him for the last ten years.
I love him.
And that sucks.
William opens the door and helps me out of his car. At the look of anticipation on his face, I mentally wince. He wants me to invite him in, and truth be told, at the beginning of the evening, I had every intention of doing so. Of seeing where things could go. He’s actually a nice kisser.
But my mind is spinning with images of Lee kissing Sonya, and I just want to go inside alone.
“’Night, William.”
His eyes widen, then he says, “Goodnight, Jenna. Thank you for a lovely evening.”
After he kisses my cheek, I head in. It takes me three tries to realize I’m putting the key in my apartment front door the wrong way, but it’s dark in the hallway. Can’t blame the alcohol on that.
I finally get in, manage to close the door, then make my way toward my living room, almost falling on my face as I trip over the law books I had been referencing. But that's because they’re in the middle of the living room, not because I am drunk.
Ah ha! I see two coolers full of wine in my kitchen, though I have no idea when I bought the second one. After fishing around in the first wine cooler and not finding any bottles, I go right to the second one. I'm not sure if I grab a red or a white, but I don't care.
I kick off my black shoes. As they sail across my loft, I imagine them hitting Lee smack dab in the face. Something in the apartment shatters, but I'll worry about that in the morning. I wiggle out of my pants and slip off my jacket and shirt.
Out of curiosity, I stop and peer down at my boobs. The bra is a little old, but if I push them up just a smidge like this ... There. These girls could take on Sonya's rack any day of the week. Of course, that would be giving Lee his greatest fantasy: two girls fighting over him. What a lousy prize that would be. No thanks.
I toss the sequined party dress that lies rejected on my bed to the floor. I can't believe I spent an hour this afternoon debating whether to wear it to my birthday dinner. I’d parked in front of the mirror turning this way and that, oscillating between delusions of grandeur and crippling self doubt. I’d pictured myself strutting down the catwalk to a shower of cheers like all those models Lee dated no doubt experienced. But then I’d been petrified, imagining Lee laughing at my pathetic attempt to be sexy.
What if he guessed that I was into him? What if he took pity on me? What if he patted my shoulder and said he was flattered but no thanks anyway?
Yeah, I'm glad I decided to not wear that dress. A suit is practical, comfortable, and yes, I suppose, safe. I shudder at the thought of putting myself out there in that slinky dress and still not comparing to Lee's date with her golden curls, her long legs, and tiny waist.
Why is this wine bottle not opening? I keep trying to poke the corkscrew into the top and it's not going in. I bet Lee isn't having this problem.
I'm sure his corkscrew is slipping right in.
Stop it. I'm not imagining Lee having sex. I will not. But seriously, this cork is like a rock.
Oh. It's a twist top.
I finally unscrew the bottle and now I'm back to picturing Lee screwing. I take a few sips. Still picturing him. Fine, I take a few larger gulps. I just need that picture out of my head.
Wait, I know what I'll do: replace Lee with William.
But that requires a bit more wine.
After chugging like I'm back in my Harvard freshman year, I grab my vibrator from my side table and nestle under the covers. Okay. Here we go.
I start with a bit of teasing. I try to imagine William in my bed kissing his way along my stomach. I run my fingers along m
y sides. Now in between my legs, he feels me through my panties. He stops.
“You're not wet,” he says.
“Bite the inside of my thighs,” I instruct him.
Imaginary William slides further down my bed. The imaginary bites don't do anything for me.
“How's that?” he says under the covers.
“Yeah, um, that's not working.”
I open my eyes to find the wine bottle for another drink and turn the vibrator to the next speed.
“My nipples now. That always gets me going.”
I ghost my fingers in circles around my breast until I reach where the nipple should be perky, but I find it uninterested. I squeeze it. Nothing.
“Come on, William.”
I flick it. Nothing. I put the vibrator against it and imagine William's mouth around it.
“Just put it in, William.”
I slip the vibrator back into my vagina and wait and wait for a feeling … any feeling. My mind slips for just a moment - and in that moment Lee walks in. He tags out William, and takes his place. I know I'm in trouble.
Lee starts with my ear lobes. He nibbles along them and teases me with his tongue.
“I bet I can make you come just like this,” he whispers, his breath in my ear.
I shudder.
“William tried all your tricks and he couldn't get you there. But I won't touch you anywhere but here.” He flicks his tongue against my ear. “And I'll make you come.”
I should push Lee away, kick him in his imaginary balls, and tell him to screw off, but oh, it feels so good. I imagine his tongue again, his teeth grazing, his breath hot. I imagine him wanting to touch me, but holding back. I imagine him hard at just the sight of me squirming beneath him, completely at his mercy. All with just his tongue and my ear.
I come with a moan of Lee's name and then a curse of Lee's name.
This is not good. I do not like Lee. I repeat. I do not like Lee.
And he doesn’t like me.
Right?
For a second, Bryce’s words that Lee had to get his head out of his ass, and that it had been there since that time we were supposed to go to the beach, pops into my head. We were all on break, and Lee had invited me to go to the beach with him and Bryce. I’d said yes, and was gathering my courage to tell him how I felt about him, but in the end I’d chickened out.
I’d imagined all the beautiful girls with beautiful bodies and skimpy little bathing suits that would be at the beach. I saw them dancing and drinking and guys flocking to them in droves. But one look at myself in the mirror, and I saw only my deficiencies. I wouldn't fit in with those girls, the type of girls Lee was attracted to. Everyone would know I was a misfit.
So I told Bryce I got called back for a great opportunity for an internship. And I left.
But what had Bryce meant, that that was the last time Lee had had his head out of his ass?
Had he meant Lee had invited me because he had feelings for me?
Because that is ridiculous.
Lee, who’d always had his pick of gorgeous girlfriends and still did, thinking of me as anything more than a friend?
Nope. No way. I’ve clearly been drinking too much to even consider it.
I have to get Lee out of my head.
So… Time for more wine.
After cleaning up, I spot my laptop on the coffee table in the living room. Maybe writing will take my mind off Lee. I fetch my laptop and wine bottle and open the screen.
As always, it opens up to my food critiquing blog. My job as a lawyer gives me this gorgeous NYC loft, expensive clothes, and vacations to exotic locations whenever I get magical vacation time. But my food blog gives me passion and excitement and fulfillment. I tolerate law. I love food.
In a court room, I have to watch what I say. I have to be diplomatic and professional. On the blog, I can say whatever I want, especially because of my anonymous status. For instance, in the court room I couldn't say, “Lee has a juicy ass. Too bad the same can't be said about his pork chops.” But I could type that into my blog. And I think I will.
My fingers fly across the keyboard, and my wine flies from the bottle just as rapidly. In the same sentence I rip his food and praise his body, his delicious, delicious body. I’m not going to actually publish it on the blog. I’m way too sober to do that.
Do I like his ass the best? No, his abs.
Lee has a six pack, which should be on display instead of his tacky, dated decor.
Sipping my wine, I ponder the blog post. It’s harsh and objectifying, and I only wrote it because I’m hurt without any justification for being hurt. I’ve never told Lee how I feel. I never will. But I could write it down ...
I open a new document on the blog and start a second draft. In this one, I write about how I truly feel about Lee:
For a man so talented and brilliant, he wastes his gifts on giggling girls that rotate in and out of his life like a chicken on a rotisserie. What I envy so much about Lee is the way he lives his life daringly. He steps boldly into the kitchen and chops his own way, sautés his own way, broils and bastes and boils his own way. Yes, he has his own way to boil. No, I’m not drunk.
But recently, Lee’s cooking has grown safe. His dishes lack the uniqueness they once had. Before, I knew just by the taste of the food I was in Lee’s restaurant. Now, I only know because of the line of models filing in and out of the kitchen. Do these girls give him the excitement he desires? Maybe they live daringly, too.
I know I certainly don’t. I want to, but I know I never will. And I know that’s why Lee will never really see me.
I think I’m out of wine. I do believe it’s time to get some more. I just need to find the discard button on this darn screen. Ugh, it’s moving back and forth, making me dizzy.
Oh, found it.
Done.
3
Lee
My hands are shaking, my heart is racing, and I wouldn't be surprised if smoke unfurls from my flared nostrils like a charging bull.
This morning, I'm out for an ass to skewer.
Despite my anger, I manage a courteous wave for Jenna's doorman, whom I've known for years. He's not the one I'm mad at. As I wait for the elevator, I drum my fingers furiously against my leg. Why is it taking so long? It's never taken so long. Is the damn thing broken?
I'm just about to head to the stairs and sprint up seventy-three flights when the door jerks open with a ding. A woman gets on along with me. I mash the Floor 73 button at least thirty times, despite knowing full well it won't make the elevator go up any faster. The woman gives me a look from the corner of her eye, but my glare stops her from saying anything. It makes me feel better though, so I smash the button a few more times, while I watch the light flash from floor to floor.
Every time we stop, I exhale obnoxiously. The woman glares, I shrug, and the elevator doors close again. Finally, dear Lord, I'm on Jenna’s floor.
Right, left, left, right. I immediately pound on door 7345.
“Jenna! Jenna Harrison, open this door right now!”
Her elderly neighbor pops her curler-filled head out her own door at the thunderous noise.
“Morning, Mrs. Poole.”
“Morning, Lee. Is everything all right?”
“Unfortunately I’ve suffered a grave injustice.”
She nods her head and smiles. “Well isn't that nice,” she mumbles as she disappears. “Isn't that nice.”
“Jenna!” I hammer my fist against the door again. “Jenna! Jenna … Oh, you look terrible.”
She’s in the doorway, holding the door open. She squints and winces from the hallway's dim light. Her hair, which is always in a tidy bun with hardly even a flyaway, hangs in limp tangles around her shoulders. She has makeup smears across her face: lipstick, mascara, you name it.
“Like really, really terrible, Jenna.”
She blinks her bleary eyes and groans. “What do you want, Lee?”
She wears a hastily tied robe. The front of it falls o
pen just enough so that I can see her bra. Who knew Jenna had a rack? She's always covering up under those stuffy black or grey suits. But unleashed like this, I can see her curves. Her yummy curves I wouldn't mind tracing with my tongue all night …
Focus, Lee, focus. I shake my head to clear those fantasies.
“Jenna, I require your professional services.”
“I'm not a stripper.”
“Not that.”
“I'm not a hooker, either.”
“Funny. I need you to sue someone for me.”
She rubs her mascara even further across her cheek. Don’t look down, Lee. Don’t look down.
“I guess come on in,” she finally sighs.
I’m slightly disappointed to see her close the flap of her robe as she holds open the door for me. But, it also removes temptation. Anyway, that’s not what I’m here for.
“What time is it?” she grumbles as she plops down on her couch and throws her arm over her face.
“I don't know. Read this.”
I try to push my phone toward her, but she twists her face around and grumbles again.
“No.”
“Jenna, this is important.”
I tickle her sides, and she hits me with a pillow before curling up in a fetal position on the couch. Frustrated, I growl and weave my hand under her to show her the phone. The glare intrudes her dark cocoon, and she kicks out at me. Wow, she's strong.
I need a new tactic. I head to her kitchen and brew up a quick cup of coffee in a mug. I walk back to the couch and hold it right above the arm where she's buried her head. The steam wafts towards her.
“Ah,” I narrate in my best British nature channel voice, “the hibernating Jenna smells the odor of the coffee and emerges from her nest. Nothing draws a Jenna out better than a cup of coffee. Oh, look there at her nose sniffing. Yes, she's opening her eyes. What a rare sight we're seeing.”
“Just give it to me. Now.”
I pat her on the head, and she swats out at me with those Jenna claws. She wraps her fingers around the mug and leans back with a sigh as she sips. Yeah, with that – with her – I’ve lost all my rage. My breathing is normal and my cheeks are cool. I'm just standing here watching her drink coffee and totally content doing it.