by Andrea Wolfe
"God, you're so fucking hot." I heard his words, but could barely perceive them.
I cried out again and again into his shoulder, his erection still just an innocent bystander. My toes curled in my heels and my nipples became rock hard. I just couldn't get enough air no matter how hard I tried. Jack led me up and down, over and over again until I was totally spent, his hand soaked with my cream.
The craziest thing about it all was the way he stopped right with me. Most guys would keep going until I physically pulled their hands away—but not Jack. He stopped right with me, right when the over-sensitivity kicked in and eased his hand away from my body.
My breaths came quickly as I continued to stand there against the wall, trying my damndest to re-collect myself. I opened my eyes to see him slowly tasting his fingers. "You're so sweet, Effie. I love it when you come."
So fucking dirty...
I had nothing to say—I was totally blown away. But not for long. Freeing from bliss, my mind returned to the usual suspects—my job, my future, this nearly random guy—and I suddenly felt ashamed. He was hot and famous and I had been caught under his spell. I didn't do this. It just wasn't me, even though it had felt incredible.
"Let's go to the bedroom, Effie."
As much as I wanted to return the favor, I couldn't do it. My mind was scolding me like an angry parent. "Jack, I'm... so sorry. I have to go." I bent down and pulled my panties back into place.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"This isn't like me." I turned my head and stared out at the city again, worried that if I made eye contact with him again, I'd be totally trapped. I couldn't help but feel as if I were just another number in his endless conquest of women. He had probably never been rejected in his life—and I had ensured that his perfect victory streak continued.
"It's not like that," Jack said. "I like you, Effie. I like you a lot."
"I'm sorry, Jack. I have to go." I immediately walked toward the door while he trailed behind me and stood there like a sad puppy.
"Are you sure, Effie?"
"I had a really nice time tonight. Thanks again." I opened the door, and standing there—she actually just about to knock—was a statuesque blonde, clad in a dress not unlike mine. She appeared to be a model, her dress almost as revealing and low-cut as mine. Her breasts also overflowed from the top. I couldn't help but notice, even though that was the last thing I needed in that moment.
"Who the hell are you?" she said with piercing aggression.
I stared back at Jack disapprovingly. There was a look of horror on his face. "Who the hell are you?" I snarled. No, I didn't even care about an explanation. I pushed past the girl and made my way down the hall. Jack began angrily whispering to her as I got further and further away from his room and the madness contained there.
"Effie, it's not what you think it is!"
"You're a cliché," I shouted back. "Did someone write that for you?"
I half-expected him to come running after me, but he didn't. I got to the elevator—Martin seemed surprised to see me so soon.
Chapter 3
The subway was even more mesmerizing than usual. I stared into the rapidly moving shapes as if they were the sun, my guard lowered as I sat there on the dirty bench in my nice dress. I just didn't care. My mother would have killed me if she knew I went out alone in the city dressed as I was. No one bothered me, thankfully.
I wanted to hate Jack, yet I couldn't. I couldn't stop thinking about the way he had touched me, the way he had manipulated my body into so much pleasure. The gusts of air from the passing trains just reminded me of how out of breath I had been while Jack had me against the wall. He took my breath away, the cliché brought to life.
Who the hell was the gal at the door? Not knowing made me want to scream.
She looked like a high-class escort, to be honest. If she was, she probably made a hell of a lot more money than I did. Being realistic on my end made hating her specifically difficult because maybe she was just doing her job, trying to make a living in a very expensive city, not unlike me.
But Jack? That was a different story. Was she the paid entertainment for the evening? Maybe he had set it up before meeting me at the party and just forgot.
Asshole. He got a surprise too, I guess. She didn't seem happy about seeing me.
The rumble of another train rushed by and totally changed the direction of my thoughts, smashing into them like a battering ram. The voice of reason was creeping in...
Maybe it was all just a misinterpretation. She could have been his sister, his ex, a neighbor. Just because she was a girl didn't mean he had to be sleeping with her. Even if he had slept with her in the past, why did it matter? As long as people were faithful in the present, it was good enough for me. It's not like I could wander around in the present and just make unpleasant events from the past disappear. No, I still wasn't a magician.
Oh yeah, and work and the recording deal and Sam and Jack and...
Honestly, Effie. You don't know a damn thing!
It was all so stupid, yeah. I couldn't get involved with this guy, could I? Jack turned heads when he entered the room. He could have any woman he wanted, including me. Well, not if I didn't let him. Was saying no the only weapon I had? Was that even the outcome I wanted?
Lost in my head, I pictured myself at a fancy bar with him, the night going great. And then I went to bathroom, and in my absence, he began flirting with the girls who had approached him. Numbers were exchanged and then BAM, I was back and he was acting like The Best Guy in the World. I groaned loudly—several people looked at me as I did.
"Sorry," I said meekly. No one seemed to care about my apology. At the very least, the awkward moment served to bring me back to reality.
After noticing several smiling couples around me, I realized that I was probably the most pessimistic person in all of NYC. I was assuming the worst—and it wasn't making things any easier. In fact, it was making things much harder.
Breathe, I told myself. It helped. I got on the train and headed home, trying to wipe my mind clean at least for a couple of minutes. I considered going back, but realized that I had no business taunting myself with any additional uncertainty.
It wasn't long before I was at my own doorstep, the comfort like a rush of hot air. I got back before Jesse did, my potential sleepover ending before it even started. Honestly, I was glad not to have to face him as I walked in. He hadn't texted me or anything, so he probably just knew what had happened. It made me feel dumb. I didn't want to be some groupie, desperately begging for scraps from some rock 'n' roll hero.
But something definitely felt different about Jack...
***
After a quick shower—it was both a mental and physical cleaning—I jumped into bed with my laptop and Netflix, cruising the selection for something that would take my mind off the entirely weird night. I put on some stupid horror movie and tried to zone out. I eventually shut off my phone, paranoid that somehow Jack would magically get my number and text me. If he did, I didn't want to know tonight.
About twenty minutes into the movie, I heard Jesse come in. "Effie?" he called from the kitchen. I got a little worried that he was trying to take advantage of my assumed absence and have loud sex with Laura—I was pretty sure I couldn't handle that tonight; sorry, Jesse—but I didn't hear any other voices. And then I realized he probably just noticed the light in my room and wanted to say hi.
I paused the stupid movie, even though I wouldn't have missed anything important had I just left it going. "I'm here," I shouted. I heard his footsteps approach my door.
"Can I come in?" he asked.
"Sure."
Jesse opened the door and joined me in the small room. His suit jacket was missing and he looked tired. "I didn't know if I was going to see you again tonight."
"Yeah," I said. I looked down at the bed, feeling embarrassed and ashamed. He was fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, so he didn't notice my reaction.
"Ro
ugh night, huh?" He sat down on the foot of the bed.
"You could definitely say that."
"Wasn't that the guy you met the other day? Tom said that the guy he introduced you to was Jack Teller and that you could barely speak. Is he the one you walked off with?"
Oh, God. I had forgotten that I mentioned my encounter to him earlier in the week. I was totally busted.
Well, at least it was just Jesse.
"You didn't tell Tom that, did you?" I was fighting off the urge to feel prematurely humiliated.
"No, I kept my mouth shut." He flashed his toothy grin at me, one that showed off the impeccable orthodontic work from his teens.
"Thank God," I said. It was a huge relief. "Yeah, it was Jack from the other day. But he played dumb first! I didn't know if I should follow along or admit that I knew him."
Jesse started laughing. "Really? That's crazy. Some of those guys are weird though, for sure."
"You've met others?" Suddenly I was dangerously interested in the topic.
"Like Jack, many of them are close friends with investors. Everybody is looking for someone to bankroll the next big project." Jesse straightened out his posture before continuing, almost as if it were required for his vocal cords to work. "Artists are just hard to work with. Well, I've only heard that. They're usually unpredictable, but damn, they have money."
I nodded, not having much to add, but wanting him to say more.
"You probably should watch out with that Jack guy, though."
I perked up again. "Do you know something about him? Did he do something crazy? He didn't kill someone, did he?" I think my mind was hoping that Jesse would reveal something heinous and unforgivable that would instantly wipe my feelings right out.
"Jesus," Jesse said. "You're smitten. I can already tell. And no, I don't think he killed anyone. Sorry."
Well, that plan wasn't gonna work. Damage control was all I had left.
"Smitten? You're nuts!" I playfully tossed one of my pillows at him and he caught it reflexively before it could do any real damage.
Seriousness seemed to wash across his face, instantly cleansing him of any leftover silliness. "I just don't want you to get hurt. You're new to the city here—and you've got a job to worry about." His eyes were fixed on a blank space on the wall, the only space that didn't have any pictures from my "previous life." Well, it definitely felt that way sometimes.
"I'll watch out, Jesse," I said. "I do appreciate the concern."
"I'm serious, though. If he gets wrapped up in you, it doesn't matter. He's got all the money he'll ever need. If you get wrapped up, you might put your job and your financial situation at risk, all to pursue some flaky, hot guy."
"You think he's hot?" I asked only semi-seriously.
His phone rang before he could respond. "It's Laura," he said apologetically, a half smile breaking out across his lips. "We'll have to talk about that later. I'll let you get back to your movie for now. Goodnight!" He walked out and closed the door as he left.
I was once again alone with a psychopathic killer and a bunch of large-breasted teenage girls who made even worse decisions than I did. Their terrible decisions helped me feel better about my own missteps.
My mind stayed active for the duration of the film. I thought about what Jesse had said and how it fit into my situation. He was definitely right. It was super nice of him to care, since honestly, he didn't have to at all. If I did anything to put my job at risk, I could wind up losing this apartment and heading home with my tail between my legs. Plus, I had all of that student loan debt on top of this.
But life was good, right? I wasn't really sure.
Even with all of my woes, sleep came quickly after the movie ended.
***
The weekend was uneventful—Jack didn't call, and I barely got out of bed. Jesse took off to see Laura on Saturday morning, so I had the apartment to myself. I got Chinese food on Saturday night and stayed glued to my computer screen, munching chow mein noodles like my life depended on it. I wanted to live in other peoples' worlds, not my own. I couldn't even remember all of the movies I watched.
I thought about Jack a lot. Once again, I didn't know much of anything that was happening. I assumed he'd probably reach out to me at some point—even if I wasn't going to try to pursue something with him, it would still be nice to hear what was up with the mysterious girl outside the door—so I'd just have to hear his side of the story and then let him know how it was going to be.
No, I was certain that I couldn't risk it all for some hot, presumably emotionally unstable guy. I had this job and my new life to deal with. It felt like too much was at stake.
Sunday turned out pretty typical too. Jesse got back later than he usually did, but he had to get up extra early on Monday morning so he went to bed shortly after arriving home. We talked a little. And there was still nothing from Jack.
He had probably just forgotten about me entirely. Hell, what good did it do him to remember me at all? Jack had much better things to do with his time. Much prettier women to sleep with as well. God, I felt so naive.
On Monday morning, I got to work early, more of a random occurrence than anything else that I blamed on the randomly overly efficient public transportation system. Sam was still visibly stressed out, so I assumed that nothing had happened with Jack over the weekend. I tried to avoid him as I came in, worried that he'd somehow verbally extract what had taken place on Friday night.
As he slowly approached my desk, I feared that I was about to face the wrath of Sam.
You turned him down? the Wrathful Sam screamed. That man gets what he wants! You're fired!
Nope. Nothing like that.
Sam asked me about my weekend, and I almost accidentally told him about the New York Palace party. Oh yes, I was glad that I caught myself. His questioning was brief and concise.
I did some busy work—well, that usually meant basic accounting and number-crunching—until lunch. When I got back, things started to get a little confusing.
"Someone's got a secret admirer," Sam said from across the room. "Did you lie to me about this weekend, Effie?" He pointed to the dozen roses sitting on my desk. "You've got some fancy new boyfriend you're not telling me about, huh?"
My cheeks immediately flushed as red as the flowers on my desk and I desperately wished I could disappear. "No." The word came out sounding stupid and ditzy. "I don't know who they'd be from."
I leaned forward and opened the card, my curiosity almost morbid.
I'm sorry.
-J
Obviously, I knew what the J stood for, but I wasn't about to speak a word of it. It didn't say anything else. No call me or we've got to talk, like most folks would do. Just sorry. Cryptic, actually. I couldn't really even get mad about it, although I didn't like being the center of attention in the office.
"C'mon, Effie," he said. "We're friends, right? Tell me who it is. It's cool." His brow furrowed, as if it were punctuating the end of his sentence.
"I don't know!" I tried to be assertive without sounding angry. "I really don't know who these are from." I smelled them—God, and they smelled amazing—and then pathetically pushed them to the side of my desk so I could keep working. "I know you're dying to find out, so I'll let you know as soon as I do."
Sam grinned at me and then headed back to his office, dragging his feet as he walked.
It was a nice gesture by Jack, but it rubbed me in a way I couldn't describe. I was just lost for words. Not happy or sad, complacent or desperate. I wasn't numb either.
How did it make me feel? I couldn't really elaborate at all.
It was also pretty much anonymous, so no one was really pointing any fingers, even though Sam really wanted to know.
I just couldn't figure out Jack's motive. What was he after here? Forgiveness was the obvious answer, but it seemed superficial, too diluted. Did he want us to become something else? Was he just having difficulty with the fact that I had said no? It could have meant literally anyth
ing.
At the end of the day, I left the flowers on my desk, because frankly, I didn't want to carry them on the subway. Drawing that much attention to myself felt awkward, so I decided I'd keep them at the office for as long as I could. The whole day I obsessively checked my phone, certain that Jack would call me and beg for mercy. It didn't happen.
Why didn't he do what I expected? I really wished I could call the shots sometimes. Maybe that meant that management was my thing...
***
That night I had trouble sleeping. I kept thinking about how Jack had talked to me, how he had touched me, made me come. I went back and forth, sometimes convinced that he was he was perfect and then seconds later shifting one-hundred eighty degrees and thinking that I had just been vulnerable and taken advantage of. Any girl would have liked attention like that, right? Plus, he was really good at it.
I wanted to touch myself so badly—Jack's hotness seemed to be permanently etched into my mind and I was having trouble thinking about anything else; quite the inconvenience—but I fought the urge, stupidly thinking that it would somehow make me stronger if I resisted.
Well, I was wrong.
The next morning, I woke up sexually flustered, Jack on my mind again. Men were rarely ever so mysterious, at least the men that I had known. I mean, yeah, I got that he was apologizing, sure. But where did it go from here? When I got to work, it all started over again.
"Are you sure you're not keeping some big fucking secret from me, Effie?" Sam was standing next to my desk, grinning from ear-to-ear. There was a light blue box sitting there.
"What the hell is that?" I asked. Caffeine was absent from my body, and so I was a little on the irritable side. Sam just shrugged and walked back to his office. I picked up the card:
Can we
-J
"Dammit," I mumbled quietly to myself. No punctuation or even a complete sentence. These gifts were drawing unwanted attention to me, even though I secretly liked it. Had he just forgotten to finish the message in the card? That didn't seem like something Jack would do based on my incredibly limited knowledge of him.