by Cassia Leo
“That’s disgustingly awesome,” Matt says, his fair skin flushed with laughter and tequila.
I smile as I mentally pat myself on the back for getting Matt to loosen up, but when I turn to Liam he does not look very impressed with my technique. I sit up straight and flag down the bartender to order myself another shot, and a house margarita chaser.
By the time our food arrives, I’m pretty sloshed, but I don’t give a single solitary fuck about whether I’m upsetting Liam with my behavior. And I don’t know if it’s because I’m drunk, but it seems Liam gives up on trying to make me feel guilty halfway through dinner. Or maybe I’m just too numb to correctly interpret the malicious intent in his sideways glances.
Either way, I leave the restaurant feeling positively jubilant, the flame of tequila in my bloodstream lighting me up like a Moravian star. The kind of euphoria that only comes when you’re just the right amount of drunk. The kind of drunk that makes you do stupid things like professing your love in a drunk text and falling into bed with the first person you see.
Liam and I fall into bed just before midnight, while Matt falls face-first onto our couch. As usual, Liam is careful not to wake me when he gets ready for work in the morning. And I wake to find two aspirin and a large glass of water on my nightstand.
As I guzzle it down, I consider sending Liam a text message apology for the way I behaved last night, but ultimately I decide I need some coffee to clear my brain fog first. After a long hot shower, I fix myself a pot of coffee and sit down cross-legged on the sofa with my laptop.
Something is off.
I stare at my laptop and try to breathe normally. A shaft of hazy morning sunlight pierces through the space between the curtains, illuminating the dust suspended in the air above my lap, shining a spotlight on the greasy fingerprints glistening on the edge of the screen.
Somebody was snooping in my computer.
January 8, 2015
The Broadway Diner is closing in ten minutes, but Jenny, the manager, won’t mind us staying late to avoid the crowd. I just hope Patricia and Kenny aren’t too miffed that I’m running late. With Troy getting called away by Georgia to do wedding stuff more and more often, I’ve latched on to the opportunity to put more hours into work, even throwing in my time and muscle to help out in the warehouse. Anything to keep my mind and body busy, to stave off the sense of doom that comes with being idle.
I enter the diner and find Kenny and Patricia sitting on a couple of stools at a tall table in the back of a small dining nook at the rear of the restaurant. The instant she sees me, Patricia’s mouth curls into a warm smile that reminds me so much of Rory it makes my chest ache.
Kenny slips his arm through hers, hugging her bicep possessively. “Don’t get any crazy ideas. She’s mine. Right, Patty?”
She rolls her eyes and pats his hand. “Of course, dear.”
I take a seat on the stool across from them and swallow hard, feeling like a child being called to the principal’s office. “So what have I done? I mean, what have you got?”
Patricia purses her lips. “Oh, Houston, don’t look so grave. You have to keep a positive outlook or the wait will only get more difficult as the weeks go by.”
“Weeks? Is that how long it’s going to take to finish?”
She exchanges a knowing glance with Kenny, and I have a feeling they’re keeping something from me. “It could take weeks. Maybe even months.”
My heart cracks under the weight of this news. “That’s too long.”
Kenny cocks an eyebrow. “Excuse me? But the girl didn’t stop loving you after five years apart. I hardly think a few months with a lumberjack is going to change her sexual appetites.”
“Kenny!” Patricia chides him.
He shrugs. “Sorry, Patty, but Rory’s trying to pray away the gay. Trust me, it doesn’t work.”
“Well, she can’t pray away the gay agenda,” I say, and he flashes me a proud smile. “Fine. So it’s going to take a while. Tell me where we’re at.”
Patricia slides her arm out of Kenny’s, her face suddenly serious. “I got the first six chapters last night.” Her hazel eyes are locked on mine. “Let me just start off by saying that I do not condone this type of writing. It’s… gritty and… filthy.”
I swallow the lump of trepidation forming in my throat. I don’t know what Rory has written in this book, but I can only imagine she’s poured her blood and tears onto those pages, the way she’s always done with everything. Her friendship with Hallie. Her love for me. She’s always been a violently raging ocean disguised as a tranquil sea.
Patricia sighs. “But it’s heartbreakingly real,” she continues, fixing me with an unnerving glare. “You two really did a number on each other.” She stares at the table for a moment. “I’m only up to your first month living together, but the years before… when she loved you from a distance… As a mother, it chills my bones. I didn’t know the intensity of her feelings for you. I assumed it was a childhood crush that she’d grow out of when she got to university and saw you with other girls.”
My muscles are taut with tension, hanging on her every word. I want to ask her to send me the chapters. I want to bury myself in Rory’s words the way I used to bury myself inside her. But I can’t violate her privacy.
I’ve justified bringing Patricia and Hannah in on my plan, knowing that they will help make her book better. But I’m not a writer or an English teacher. I have nothing to contribute to Rory’s story other than acting as the hero who’s desperately trying not to get written out.
“I want to know.” The words come out of my mouth in a tense rasp. “I wish I could read it, but I know I can’t. So… thank you for doing this, Patricia. You can’t imagine how happy I am knowing that Rory’s story is in your hands. I know you’ll take good care of it.”
Kenny wraps his arm around Patricia’s shoulders and squeezes. “We’re all lucky to have Patty on our side, especially Rory.”
“Well, don’t start with the flattery yet. I’m only six chapters in,” she replies, then takes a sip from her iced tea. “Hannah is working on extensive rewrites with Rory. They made it through the first six chapters fairly quickly, but I have a feeling the next fifty-some will take longer.”
“Fifty-some chapters?” I blurt out, unable to contain my disappointment.
Kenny nods his head knowingly. “Figures it’s fifty-some chapters, as filthy as you say it is. It’s like Fifty Shades of Houston.” His eyes widen. “Hey, you should suggest that title to her.”
Patricia smacks his hand and shrugs out from underneath his arm. “Stop it. She’s not writing erotic literature.”
“But there are sex scenes, right?” Kenny asks, grabbing his glass of ice water.
“Enough about my daughter’s sex life,” she replies, her gaze focused on her glass of tea.
That’s when I realize Rory must have gone into a lot of detail in those love scenes, because Patricia can’t even look at me right now. My mind draws back to our first month together, poring through the thousands of images of us in bed, in the shower, in the kitchen. I come to a screeching halt on the image of Rory pressed up against the brick wall in the back of a German restaurant.
It was New Year’s Eve. Troy had wanted us to join him at a frat party, but I knew Rory would feel more comfortable ringing in the New Year just the two of us. The restaurant was packed with people who either had the same idea as us, or who just wanted to take advantage of the free New Year’s Eve beer sampler. I parked my truck in the back of the restaurant, which stood like a giant two-story box in the center of a dark corner lot.
The front of the restaurant was lit up by a gaudy neon sign and the sodium-yellow glow of a solitary streetlamp. But the back of the restaurant was flush in dark-blue shadow, and the occasional glint of moonlight on chrome. There was one other car parked back there, but it was a brand-new Lincoln SUV. Probably belonged to the manager or the owner of the restaurant. They wouldn’t come out until the place closed down at two
or three in the morning.
“Do you think they’ll have champagne?” Rory asked, grabbing her phone out of her purse and tossing the handbag into the truck cab.
“Doesn’t matter. You won’t be able to drink it,” I said, reaching into the cab to grab an old blanket I kept back there out of habit, laying it on top of her purse to further conceal it.
“You don’t know that. I don’t always get carded.”
I can barely see the arc of her cheekbones through the hazy moonlight. “I don’t know. It’s New Year’s Eve. They might let you slide.” I reach forward, my fingertips skimming over her knee-high tights, landing softly on the top of her thigh. “Or they might take one look at you in that skirt and those schoolgirl socks and decide you’re just too much of a risk.”
Rory and I had never role-played, but ever since I saw her slink into this outfit, I’d thought of nothing else but bending her over a desk and fucking her as if our grades depended on it. Being three years apart, Rory and I didn’t share any classes. But that didn’t change the fact that I thought of nothing but her while sitting through hours of boring lectures. Fucking her in that schoolgirl outfit would make up for all the times I’d sat in class trying my damnedest not to get hard while fantasizing about her mouth around my cock.
I began sliding my fingers beneath her wool tartan skirt, but she grabbed my hand. “Stop trying to distract me.”
She threw open the passenger door and twisted around to get out. My eyes locked on the curve of her hips, the bounce of her ass as she plopped down onto the asphalt. It hadn’t quite been twenty-four hours since we’d last fucked, but I was already hungry for her again. I stepped out of the truck and headed her off near the tailgate.
“What are you doing?” she said, making a move to sidestep me.
I moved with her, my hands reaching forward to grab her waist. “Don’t move.”
“Houston.”
My gaze fell on her chest, the rise and fall of those soft mounds. The way they curved down into her waist made me dizzy. The snug cream sweater she wore left just enough to the imagination. My eyes raked over her entire body, landing on her lips, my mind lingering on the memory of the sweet taste of her. Finally, I looked up, and the moment our eyes met she knew.
Her arms stretched up, latching onto my neck as I bent down, my arms locking around her thighs to lift her up. Her legs clenched around my waist as our mouths collided in a hot fervor of passion. I carried her past my truck, toward the back wall of the restaurant, my muscles saturated in my need for her.
“What if we get caught?” she whispered.
I pressed her against the brick wall, leaning my weight into her as I kissed her deep and hard. Without saying a single word, I was answering her question: Who gives a fuck?
“Fuck me,” she breathed as I ground my hips into the wet cotton of her panties.
“Not yet. I want to watch you come undone.”
I set her down on the asphalt and knelt before her. Her chest heaved with anticipation as she watched me lift the edge of her skirt. Sliding my hand behind her thigh, I lifted her leg to rest it on top of my shoulder, opening her up to me.
“Oh, God,” she whimpered, as I slid her panties to the side and spread her swollen lips.
My tongue found her clit easily and she tasted just as sweet as she did the night before. The leg she was standing on buckled at the knee as I sucked on her flesh.
“Is it time to learn your ABCs?” I muttered against her hot skin.
“Holy shit” was her only reply as I moved my tongue over her clit in the shape of an A.
When I made a B, her body folded inward, her fingers digging into my shoulders to keep herself from collapsing. The tip of my tongue curved around her clit to make a C and she whimpered softly.
“What letter comes next?”
“D,” she replied with haste.
“Nuh-uh. The D comes after the O.”
She chuckled as I buried my face between her legs again, making her say each letter aloud as I traced the shape of it over her throbbing clit. We never made it to O before she begged me to stop.
I undid my pants before I lifted her up again. She couldn’t stand on those jelly legs if she tried. Then I slid into her and I almost fucking collapsed myself.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I hissed into her neck.
She tightened her leg-lock around my waist, beckoning me deeper inside her. Each thrust of my hips sent me into a frenzy. I pounded her harder and deeper as she clutched my hair, pulled so fucking hard I swore she’d tear it out.
“Houston!” she screamed as I came inside her.
“Uh, Earth to Houston. We have a problem.” Kenny’s voice cuts through the hazy sultriness of this memory.
The heat in my cheeks rises the moment I see Patricia staring at me. What the fuck? I’m actually blushing.
Is that scene behind the restaurant the kind of stuff Patricia has been reading about in Rory’s book?
I clear my throat. “What’s the problem?” I say, shifting my gaze to Kenny.
“I don’t know what it is. I talked to Rory last night and she sounded off.”
“Off? How?”
“Yes, how?” Patricia echoes my concern.
Kenny raises an eyebrow as he thinks of a response. “I don’t know. She was asking me weird questions. Like, she asked me how I was liking the new neighborhood. I mean, I’ve been living in her apartment for a month. She hasn’t asked me how I like it there in, like, two or three weeks. Now all of a sudden she wants to know. So I told her I love Goose Hollow. I love being close to 23rd Street and the MAX Line and, I could be misinterpreting this, but she seemed kind of bummed to hear me say that. Like she wanted me to tell her I hate it.”
“Maybe she was just hoping you’d say it’s not the same without her,” Patricia says.
“No, I don’t think so,” Kenny continues, glancing at me for just a split second. “I don’t know what it is, but I’ll work on trying to figure it out.”
“Kenny?” I say, trying to keep my voice even. “If you think Rory’s in some kind of trouble, you’d better tell me. If that fucker hurts her, I swear to God I’ll never forgive you for keeping this to yourself.”
“Houston, calm down,” Patricia says, waving a finger at me as if I’m a dog that can be chastised into compliance. Turning back to Kenny, she adds, “He’s right, Kenny. If you think Rory’s in any kind of trouble, physically or emotionally, you need to tell us.”
Kenny leans back a little, trying to distance himself from this inquisition. “I don’t know. She didn’t sound scared or hurt. She sounded kind of… agitated. Like she was annoyed with my answer. Then Liam walked in and she—”
“She what?” I demand.
Kenny’s eyes widen and he finally looks as if he’s going to crack under the pressure. “She got off the phone really fast, like she didn’t want him to see her on the phone.”
“That motherfucker. He’s got her on fucking lockdown. I know it.”
Patricia holds up her hand. “Hold on. We don’t know that. We don’t know anything about what’s going on with them.”
“Because she’s probably too fucking ashamed to talk about it. Why else would she rush to get off the phone with Kenny?” I insist, the tension I worked out at the gym this morning coiling its way back into my muscles. “I’m going to California.”
“No!” Patricia points her coral fingernail at me again. “You are going to wait until she’s finished with that book. Do you hear me, young man?”
Holy fuck. I’m bringing out the angry teacher in her.
I slide off the barstool and stare at the surface of the table, my chest heaving with fury. “Two weeks.” I look up and they’re both waiting for me to finish this statement. “I’ll give you two weeks to finish as much as you can, then I’m going. I’m done waiting.”
January 16, 2015
When I arrive at the SaltMedia corporate office, I’m not at all surprised to find it’s just around the corne
r from the Googleplex in a shiny new business park where the parking lines are a bright reflective white and the building gleams like diamonds in the late morning sunshine. I’ve had about six days of rain in the past six weeks since I moved to California. It’s winter, for God’s sake.
I guess you really don’t know what you have until it’s gone.
I lock up my bike outside and enter the reception area wearing a smile as phony as the receptionist’s boobs. Her dark hair is pulled into a messy braid that hangs over her shoulder, drawing even more attention to her cleavage. She beams at me, her silver earpiece glinting with her smile.
“May I help you?” she asks in a husky porn-star voice.
“I’m here to see Liam Murray.”
She reaches for the touchscreen tablet propped up on her sleek glass desk. “May I tell him who’s here to see him?”
“No, you may not.”
The girl stares at me blankly. “Excuse me?”
“Only kidding. You can tell him Rory is here for him.”
She flashes me a tight smile, not at all impressed with the joke as she touches the tablet, waits a few seconds, then Liam’s face appears on the screen.
“Yeah, what’s up?”
“There’s a Rory here to see you. She didn’t give a last name.”
“What? No way. I’ll be right there,” he replies excitedly, quickly disappearing from view.
I do feel a twinge of guilt as I flash the girl a shit-eating grin, especially knowing what I’ve come here to do. But it does feel a bit nice when she clears her throat and pretends to busy herself with something on the tablet screen.
I wait a few minutes for Liam to come down from whatever floor it is he works on. During those minutes, moments from our relationship flash in my mind, all the way back to when we took that Art of the Sentence class together our junior year at UO. Moments I’ve been suddenly seeing through a very different lens. Hindsight is a microscope.
I remembered recently a bit of the conversation Liam had with his girlfriend after we spent four hours at Starbucks working on our class assignment. I distinctly remember him saying the word ugly. Like he was trying to convince his girlfriend he’d been hanging out with an ugly classmate for the past four hours. I’m not sure why it took so long to remember that, but it came to me when I realized Liam had enlisted Matt to help him spy on me.