Do You Want Me?

by Winters, W.

  It’s not until I get to the entrance of the garage, standing just before the concrete stairs that will take me to my car that I ask him, “When did I become a damsel in distress? Not once have you walked me home. Not one goddamn time!” The spite in my voice surprises us both. The hurt in my chest lingers and I struggle with what I’ve just said.

  “I would have taken you home if you’d asked.”

  “I didn’t and I’m not now,” I answer, turning away from the hurtful look in his pale blue gaze.

  “Why are you so pissed?” he asks. “I’m sorry I kissed you in there. I get it. You want this to be low key and—”

  “This?” I say, cutting him off, not hiding my shock and irritation. “What is this, Cody? Because you slept with me, which I initiated, I take that on, I get that. But then you left without a word and ignored me repeatedly. It would have been fine if it went back to normal. So what exactly is this?”

  “I don’t know,” he says and his demeanor changes, like he’s struggling between remaining a guarded wall or giving me a look like he’s a wounded puppy dog. If he wasn’t so handsome, it would be pathetic. But as it stands, the look makes it difficult to stay angry.

  “You don’t know and I don’t know either, but you don’t get to make a public statement because I fucked you one time. My career is more important to me. The way they see me in there matters,” I say and throw my hand up, pointing at where the bar is down the street. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  “I fucked up. I’m sorry.”

  I don’t know how to respond, so I cross my arms, letting his apology sink in. I’m grateful for it, but damn am I hurt and still pissed, even if that emotion is waning.

  “I don’t know how to do this, but I want to talk.”

  Now he wants to talk? “Not tonight; I have to work. I had a shit couple of days. I just need to go home.”

  “Then let me take you home,” Cody offers, ever the gentleman and I can at least respect that but I’m not exactly ready to just let it all go. I can’t just let it go. Ignoring me, ghosting me, and then getting all touchy-feely with me in the bar? He could have handled this any other way than how he did. I suppose I could have too, but I’m too tired, too overwhelmed, and too pissed off to think about it right now.

  “I can take myself. I’m fine.” The bitter note in fine is the cherry on top of this shitty night. I shake out my hands, trying to let it all go before digging in my purse for my keys.

  “I know you’re still mad. I’m good at pissing people off.”

  The confession tumbles out of me before I can stop it. “I wonder if you’d have even come over to me if someone else hadn’t hit on me.” Shit. It hurts to say it out loud. I could have left and he wouldn’t have even said hello to me if someone else wasn’t scouting out his territory. My hands go clammy. It would have been easier to just ignore him and go about my night. Why the hell did I let him get to me? Why did I go after him when I knew it wasn’t going to work?

  “That’s bullshit,” he says and his conviction makes me doubt myself.

  Lifting the strap to my purse higher up on my shoulder, the keys still not found, I question him, “How would I know? You didn’t message me. You couldn’t even look at me. Was it really that bad?” I’m proud that my voice doesn’t break out loud like it does in my head. “No one likes to be ignored. Especially not by a man I just slept with this past weekend.”

  “Don’t do that,” he says. Cody’s voice is comforting but I don’t fall for it.

  “I’m not your problem, so I can do anything I want, Agent Walsh.” I’m close to turning away from him when he takes my elbow in his grasp and before I can object, places something in my hand.

  “I was texting you this,” he says and closes his hand around mine, forcing me to take his phone. “Just read it. All right?”

  “I don’t want to read a text when you could have sent it and didn’t.” My annoyance does nothing but fuel him to stare me down until I let out a frustrated sigh.

  “Just read it.”

  Finally, I look down at the phone, if for no other reason than to appease him enough to let me leave. The bright screen lights up and I see he’s brought up his messages between the two of us. It’s a long message that he’s referring to, one left unsent. I have to scroll up and when I do, I accidentally hit send. Shit. I guess it doesn’t matter if I’m reading it anyway. Letting out a slow breath and ignoring the squeal of tires from someone leaving on the opposite side of the mostly vacant garage, I start to read the message Cody thinks is going to change my mind.

  I enjoyed last night.

  That’s the first line and I don’t get much farther. “It wasn’t last night,” I comment, letting my head fall to the side and seeing for the very first time in years, a vulnerable Cody Walsh.

  With the lights from the parking garage illuminating his face, he looks younger than I’ve seen him before and my breath slips out easier as I remember his hard body over mine, his muscles flexing as he took me, pressing my back against the sofa and rocking himself into me ever so slowly but deeply to bring me closer to my own release before he found his.

  “I didn’t start writing it today,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck. His five o’clock shadow combined with that boyish smirk makes me warm to him.

  Dropping his phone back in his hand, I don’t read the rest of the message.

  “I enjoyed it. I like you. I just don’t know how to not fuck it up.”

  “Going caveman isn’t something I’m interested in,” I offer him.

  “You want this to be discreet?” he asks and I simply nod.

  “Read the rest,” he presses, pushing the phone toward me but I reject it. Only the phone; I don’t reject him. My heels click on the pavement as I close the space between us and tell him, “I sent it to myself so I’ll read it when I get home.” With a nod and a simper, I add, “Maybe I’ll text you back before the week is up.” It’s only a lighthearted joke and it does exactly what I want it to. Cody relaxes his arms around me, letting his hands fall to the small of my back. I’m tall in my heels, but he’s still an inch or two taller than me so he has to lower his head to whisper against my lips, “Don’t be mad at me.” His plea isn’t lost, but neither is my frustration.

  “Don’t ignore me … and don’t kiss me in public,” I say and the statement isn’t spoken harshly. Maybe there’s even a small plea hidden in the gentleness with which I spoke it.

  As I close my eyes, I know I shouldn’t be doing this. I should end it between us. My life is complicated enough. It felt so good though and I’ve wanted him for far too long to throw it away. Even when all the warning signs are flashing bright red lights in front of my face.

  He pulls back just slightly, his inhale making his chest rise and I find my fingers itching to slip up his jacket and lay right there against his white t-shirt that’s taut against his skin.

  “Is this public?” he questions, his voice laced with desire and his pale blue eyes simmering when I lift mine to his.

  As I part my lips to answer him, he captures them in his, stealing my response and my breath just the same.

  Tilting my head and rising up just slightly on my heels, I meet his need with my own. His hands play against my back, keeping me to him and my own reach around his neck, loving the skin-on-skin contact and wanting more of it. Needing more of it.

  As his tongue melds with mine, the heat of our embrace enveloping around the two of us, I wish I could get lost in his touch tonight.

  But I can’t. My eyes open before his and I pull away, breathlessly and with a heat rolling through my body. Cody stays perfectly still a second longer than me and takes his time opening them. His steely blues stare me down with the look of a hunter. A look that makes me feel so very much as though I’m his prey.

  “Not tonight, Agent Walsh,” I tell him with my heels steady on the ground and he grins at me before stepping forward and planting the smallest of kisses on my jaw, his strong fingers brushin
g against my neck and hardening my nipples with the simple touch.

  He catches that my eyes close when he kisses me. I know he does from the look of triumph on his handsome face.

  “Drive safe, Delilah.”

  It’s not until I get home that I read his text.

  I enjoyed last night. I enjoyed you.

  I don’t do flings and I don’t do girlfriends.

  I don’t fuck around with coworkers or people I see day to day.

  You know I don’t have time for a relationship. I’ve failed at every one of them I’ve ever had. I’m going to fuck this up. If this is even a thing. If this is something that you want to do again.

  That doesn’t change that I want you. I’ve wanted you for a long damn time and even after last night, I want you still. I can’t offer you commitment and I’m not good at much of anything other than my job.

  That’s where his message stopped and I’m quick to respond before I think too much about anything he said in this text and focus only on that kiss under the lights in the parking garage.

  Don’t think about it, just take me home tomorrow night.

  Delilah

  Even with the curtains closed, the sun creeps in, waking me from a much-needed deep sleep. My eyes are heavy at first, but my body is so relaxed and at ease. The blush comforter, two shades lighter than the matching curtains, slips down my body as I sit up, stretching and note that the side of my bed Cody slept on last night is empty. I can’t help but to touch it and when I do I find it’s cold.

  He left already.

  He’s good at that. We leave separately from the bar, and meet back here. At least we have the last two weeks. Thus the relaxed muscles and deep sleeps. A good fuck is a miracle worker for the tired mind and sore body.

  Letting out an ungodly long yawn, I stare down the paperwork that litters the top of my dresser. I worked magic in this apartment to give it a mature, fresh and feminine feel. A place I could hide away and forget all the bullshit and hardness of my day job. Who was I kidding? Every surface of the bright white furniture is covered with evidence of what I do. The fact is, I bring my job home. Always. It’s not about being a workaholic; it’s simply that I can’t let go of things that matter.

  There’s a memory for every inch of this room. Moments when haunting evidence seemed to unveil a truth to me in the late hours when I couldn’t sleep.

  I can make this room as pretty as a page out of a home décor magazine and it still wouldn’t matter.

  The silk sheets rustle as I get up and that’s when I see the note on the bedside table between the alarm clock blinking 12:00 in bright red. In other words, someone in the unit tripped the fuse again. With a frustrated exhale, I check my cell phone for the time and fix the clock before reading the note Cody scribbled out for me.

  Going to New York for a case. I’ll miss you.

  Two sentences are all he wrote, but the last one leaves a smile on my face.

  Opening the drawer, I slip it inside with the two others he left me.

  The first:

  I’m sorry about the last few days, but not about the part in your bed. Call me whenever you want. Or text. I’ll be waiting and I’ll try not to kiss you whenever some prick eye fucks you at the bar. And yes… I meant it when I said you look sexy with that silk scarf in your hair.

  The second one he left is inconsequential, like this one, but I keep it anyway because it makes me smile. Nothing has changed at work between us and there haven’t been any other incidents. If Aaron or anyone else suspects we’re seeing each other, they keep it out of the gossiped conversations in the break room. Or at least they haven’t had the nerve to confront me.

  My bare feet pad on the floor and I wrap the belt to my thin cotton peach robe with cream lace tight around my waist as I make my way to the kitchen. Today’s my first day off in … Lord knows how long. Coffee and then I promised myself I’d relax. Truly take a moment and read or maybe I could take my sister out to get our nails done. It’ll be a little over an hour drive for each of us, there’s a shopping mall half way between us. It’s perfect for our get-togethers. She’s barely spoken to me since our last call. We’ve had our ups and downs but of everyone in this world she’s my rock. Only a year and four days apart, we’ve gone through life together. Everything that’s happened, every milestone and pitfall.

  We fought like cats and dogs in high school and I even have a faint scar on my face from one spat where she scratched me. College came and we drifted apart for a moment; the photos on my fridge are proof of the distance. So many pictures of when we were children, then nothing of us together until I was a junior in college and her a sophomore. I went for a law degree, following my father’s path. My sister went for psychology. We studied together, partied together. We were each other’s wingwoman in every way. My mother always said we’d be best of friends and that we needed to rely on each other. It’s odd for her to say that considering her falling-out with our aunt, but she was right.

  Ever since college, we don’t go long without a call between us. It’s been nearly two weeks, the longest that I can remember, and the realization makes my empty stomach sink. I’ve been too preoccupied with Cody and work.

  Pressing the brew button and listening to the water heat up in the coffee machine, I write out a quick text to her:

  Off today and tomorrow. When are you free to meet up?

  After I press send, a deep crease finds itself in the center of my forehead. I have twelve unread messages and two missed calls. Both of them from Claire. No voicemail left.

  Swallowing thickly, I go through each of the messages.

  I’m so sorry.

  They’re such assholes.

  Are you okay?

  You need to call me.

  The texts vary from coworkers to family members. I’m confused about most of them, not writing back a response until I know what the hell is going on.

  A text from Aaron includes a link to an article. Written by Jill Brown’s associate. The opening paragraph makes my jaw drop and it’s then that the coffee machine sputters, announcing the hot cup of coffee is ready.

  As if a cup of coffee could fix this.

  I wondered what they’d write about and of course I’d give these assholes ammunition to keep the negative press running.

  With my fingers going numb, I read the entire article in record time, feeling the anger rage inside of me. They bring up my father and his old cases, which is infuriating. His career has nothing to do with mine.

  Worse, they bring up my relationship with Agent Walsh. Questioning if either of us were fit for the case given our romantic relationship. As if we were in one back then.

  Can Miss Jones’s judgment be clear while pursuing a romantic relationship on the field? The first case that went cold was with him and since then a series of murder investigations have led to no arrests. Those cases are worked by both the woman in question and Cody Walsh of the FBI.

  I feel fucking sick to my stomach. Dropping the phone to the counter, both of my elbows hit the granite and I bury my head in my hands.

  My father’s integrity as a lawyer has never been questioned. Oddly enough, Patterson isn’t mentioned and I wonder if he had a heads-up on the story. If maybe he even leaked the information about Cody and me.

  Rubbing what little sleep remains from my eyes, I process everything again, breaking it down bit by bit in between swigs of coffee. Claire is going to be pissed. She’s going to be furious.

  But the facts remain the same: they’re running a story because I’ve been notable recently, even if in the past there were a number of cases that ended up going cold. A pissed-off criminal lawyer, fairly inexperienced and working for the Assistant Attorney General… they were given one comment I made on the street and they ran with it, letting imagination get in the way of facts.

  Internally, I prepare my response to Claire.

  I didn’t make the press by losing cases. The media has focused on the fact that so many of my cases don’t have
enough evidence to even go to trial. Cases that they plaster everywhere and then demand justice. They want someone behind bars. All the cases are murder investigations. At least the ones mentioned in the article are and those are the ones that require me to work with Walsh. Mostly against crime organizations that are established and difficult to penetrate.

  They aren’t the only cases that matter, but they bring in the most headlines, and higher ratings on the news.

  They want someone to pay, and they thought going after my family’s history in murder trials and my romantic relationship would paint me as a villain. As someone incapable of performing her job. Worse still, they question my intentions for this position. The last lines of the article imply I have ulterior motives. That I don’t want the cases to go to trial because like my father, I’m protecting murderers, the mob, and serial killers.

  With shaking hands, I reach for my phone, desperate to get in touch with Walsh. This is bullshit. I’ve never been so angry in my life.

  I worked tirelessly to get here. I’ve dedicated every waking hour to pursuing the same assholes they want to see locked up. It’s one thing to not be good enough, it’s another to have your intentions questioned.

  As I hit the call button, two things happen at once.

  I get an email from Claire that I read while I place the call on speaker, listening to the ringing:

  We’re issuing this statement in response to the article and you have a mandatory one-week paid leave while we investigate. Lay low, and stay out of the press.

  See the attached document.

  Investigation? Really? I don’t expect to feel betrayal, but I do. The attached document is a defense for me but it’s short. I don’t know what else I could expect. The statement is merely them covering their ass.

  The second thing that happens at that same time is that my sister texts me.

  As I read the text, Walsh’s voicemail greets me when he doesn’t answer and I don’t have the presence of mind to hang up. I’m lost in what my sister wrote more than any of this bullshit. Dread sinks down to the soles of my feet and anchors me there in that moment.