Missed Connections

by Tamara Mataya

  “Thank you, I appreciate that.”

  “—but I really like him. And he’s asked me to give him a fair chance at being something more than friends with benefits. And I really want to.” I’m going to wear a hole in the varnish from pacing on it. “But there’s this other guy I met online, and we have this amazing connection. We didn’t really meet online. Technically, he works with me. Well, not with me; he’s that massage therapist I told you about, but he’s not a hippie, and we have these amazing conversations, and I think I’m falling in love with him too. I don’t know what to do, Pete.”

  He clears his throat and is quiet for a minute. “Wow. Holy first-world problems, girlie.”

  “What?” He sounds so uninterested that I get a weird feeling in my chest. “Okay, are you mad at me because you think I’m cheating on Jack? Because Blake and I have barely even touched—and we’ve never kissed. Or even hugged. I’d never do something cruel to Jack. You know me better than that.” I need his validation that it’s not really cheating despite the gnawing in my gut telling me it is.

  “It has nothing to do with that. Jack’s a big boy, and you’re a big girl. But your problems are so fucking meaningless. You have a job and two guys who want to be with you, and you think those are problems?”

  Shock springs tears to my eyes. “I can’t believe you’re talking to me like this. We always talk to each other about our lives.”

  He sighs. “You know what? Maybe I’m being harsh, but it’s the truth. Today, I worked on someone whose hair was falling out from cancer—a regular client who’s full of life. She’s an emergency room nurse who busts her ass every day helping people. She’s one of the best people I’ve ever met, best attitude, brightest smile in the world. She started chemo a couple of weeks ago. Today, when I was washing her hair, it started falling out in the sink in these huge, sickening clumps that stuck to my hands and clogged the sink, and she apologized and cried over a disease that’s killing her.”

  The tears that gathered for myself fall for a stranger, burning my face. I feel an inch tall. “Pete, I am so sorry. I can’t imagine how scary and sad that must have been.”

  “No, you can’t imagine it. This woman, a bright spot in my salon who I see every two months, might die. She’s really sick and she could be gone, and the only way I’d know is an obituary. So I just can’t muster the same amount of worry for your situation.”

  I don’t know what to say. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Look, I know I’m being harsh, but just make a decision and stick with it. In your case, nobody’s dying, Sarah. You can change any of the things you just told me. You have the power to do that. My client doesn’t. She’d probably love to have any or all of your ‘problems’ right now instead of the things she’s facing. I don’t know. I’ll talk to you later.”

  He hangs up, and I’m at a loss because he’s right, but that still doesn’t help me make a decision. It just makes me feel even shittier about myself than I did ten minutes ago.

  Chapter 27

  How do I know you’re not some curvy Norwegian housewife? I ask, hoping to provoke Blake into giving me a little more. After eight days, I’ve caved and answered Blake’s last message, asking if the hippies chained me to my desk and he needs to come rescue me. Just knowing he’s here helps soothe me—something I don’t deserve right now but desperately need.

  No reply for a moment. Not a good sign. Have I offended him? Then, Check your email.

  The photo quality isn’t great, taken with a webcam in a dark room, but the sliver of his skin I can see is still damp and he’s wearing nothing but a towel clinging to his hips. A hand-written sign says “Norwegian housewife” and covers his abs. Damn. All that’s visible is a very prominent bulge behind the towel. Damn.

  Wow. Oh my God.

  Him: Yeah?

  Me: Mmm-hmm.

  Him: You’ve seen what I’m wearing. Are you going to return the favor?

  Man, I shouldn’t, but I need a distraction right now. And Blake definitely fits the bill. I’m not wearing anything sexy.

  Him: Can I be the judge of that?

  My heart pounds and I bite my lip, but I trust Blake, so I angle the laptop down and take a picture. I send the shot of me in a tank top and panties back to him.

  Him: Holy shit.

  My face is going to start a fire. Yeah?

  Him: You couldn’t have picked a sexier thing to wear. I wish I was there right now.

  My fingers fly over the keys, and I hit Enter before I can talk myself out of it. What would you do if you were here right now?

  Him: You don’t even want to know.

  Shivers cascade across my skin. Oh, but I do. Are we really going to do this?

  Him: You’d feel me standing behind you. I’d gently move your hair to kiss the back of your neck.

  Me: I really like that.

  Him: I’d kneel beside you and kiss the delicate skin just below your ear where it meets your jaw. Do you know that place?

  Yes. Yes.

  Him: Touch that place. On the right side.

  I do. Then what?

  Him: I’d reach down, and through the tank top, I’d gently palm your left breast. Are you doing it?

  My skin burns, nerves hyperalert as though it’s Blake’s hand, not my own, moving to my breast. Yes.

  Him: I’d run the pad of my thumb over your nipple, maybe use my thumbnail over the material to tease it until it’s hard. I’d make it hurt just a little bit, then squeeze and release it, and move my hand…down.

  Heat flows through me and gathers between my legs. They’re just words on a screen, but I’m already wet. And then what?

  God, Sarah. I need to hear your voice. He sends a request for a voice chat and I click Accept, fingers fumbling like I’m drunk. I feel drunk.

  “Are you there?”

  Him: I’m going to keep typing, but I need to hear you.

  I want so much more. I want his voice too, but I’ll take what I can get. “Okay.” My voice is barely louder than a whisper. I’m afraid to speak too loudly and shatter whatever this is that’s happening right now. “Please don’t stop.” I’m afraid I’ll chicken out, and I need this so much tonight, need to feel a connection with someone who cares about me. Life has rubbed me raw, and I need someone who treats my heart with delicate hands.

  Him: I can’t stop, Sarah. I’m so hard. I want you so bad right now it hurts.

  A moan escapes my throat at the thought of him looking at my picture, thinking of me and touching himself. “Please, don’t stop.”

  Him: I’d pull the chair out, turn you in it so I could kneel between your legs, stroke your thighs up and down, getting closer to your clit each time until I just barely brush against it. Slowly slide your panties off, Sarah.

  Like I’m under a spell, I comply. “They’re gone.”

  Him: Are you wet?

  Without even touching myself, I know the answer. “Yes.”

  Him: I’d kiss a trail down your chest and belly, and I’d lick and suck at your clit until your hips were jumping all over the place.

  My hand starts to move between my legs.

  Him: Agonizingly slowly, I’d finger you, watching your skin flush and burn until you begged me for more.

  “I want you inside me.” Desire loosens my tongue and my reservations.

  Him: I’d make you come first, then I’d pull you with me to the floor and take off that little tank top and bra, and cover every inch of skin beneath it with kisses.

  How can I be so close already?

  Him: I’d move back down and tease your clit more, then when you couldn’t stand it any longer, I’d thrust my hard cock inside your tight, wet pussy. But I’d go slow to make it last, so you could savor every inch of me filling you.

  I slide my fingers inside, imagining it’s his dick, feeling myself clench around my fingers, gasping at how sensitive I am, how close I am to coming. “Yeah. More.”

  Him: God, your voice is doing things to me. I couldn’t take i
t a moment longer. I’d fuck you as hard as I could just to see how loud I could make you scream my name. Just to fill the room with your pleasure.

  Incoherent noises come from my mouth.

  Him: Say it, Sarah. Come with me. Say my name.

  “Blake,” I moan. A few more seconds and pure heat crashes over me. “God, Blake!” My back arches and I shake with the intensity of my orgasm. When I come back down to earth, a shyness slightly taints the moment. “I’ve—” Oh. He’s disconnected the voice chat.

  I’m going to sleep well tonight. I smile.

  Him: I should be going too.

  Me: All right. Good night.

  Him: Good night.

  I disengage and take a long, long bath. I cannot believe I just had cybersex with a coworker. But when I brace myself for the shame that should follow, nothing happens. Blake made me feel too good for me to make myself feel bad about what just happened between us. It’s strange being so uninhibited and intimate with someone I haven’t even kissed.

  But amazing too. It’s a whole new layer, a type of intimacy I’ve never had before, and I want more of it. Am I really in love with someone I’ve never kissed?

  Yes, I really think I am.

  So strange that this is my reality.

  I’ve dried off and applied lotion when someone knocks on my door. Damn it. Who the hell is that at this hour? Thankful for my fluffy robe—which covers a hell of a lot more than a towel would—I pad over to the front door and peer through the peephole. As soon as I see his face, I throw open the door.

  “Jack?”

  He shakes his head and slumps against the door frame, eyes focusing on the floor.

  “What’s wrong?” Did someone die? “Tell me what’s wrong. Is Pete okay?”

  “Pete’s fine.” His voice is raw.

  “Then what? You’re scaring me.”

  He just shakes his head.

  “What happened?” He doesn’t resist when I pull him inside my apartment and close the door, locking it behind him.

  “There are things I have to tell you. Things I’ve done that I’m not proud of. You have to know I’m not this type of person. I’d never normally do something like this.”

  This isn’t my Jack. The Jack Devine I know is strong, cocky, fun, and alive. He doesn’t stand like he’s defeated and look like this.

  I step closer and wrap my arms around him, expecting him not to respond, but he clings to me, coming alive at my touch. Did he sleep with someone else? I’ve been in an online relationship while we’ve been seeing each other and didn’t tell him. He doesn’t owe me an explanation. “It doesn’t matter what you’ve done, Jack.”

  He pulls back and strokes my arms and back like he’s memorizing my body. “Sarah, I needed to tell you—” He’s struggling to find the words.

  “I’m here.” I’m the worst person in the world. Because I love Jack as a friend—and as way more than a friend. I’m awful because my body is still warm from what Blake and I did earlier, but Jack’s eyes are breaking my heart, and the only thing in the world I want is to make him feel better, to take away the stark loneliness in his expression. By any means possible.

  “Sarah, I’ve done—”

  “It doesn’t matter. That was the past. This is now.” Maybe it’s to assuage my own guilt at not telling him about Blake. All I know is that I can’t stand Jack hurting.

  His eyes close when I palm his cheek and stand on my tiptoes to kiss him gently—so gently it’s more the idea of a kiss breathed against his mouth.

  “I can’t find the words now,” he admits, his words almost lost against my lips.

  “It’s okay. You don’t have to. Let me make you feel better, baby,” I murmur.

  He gasps as though a live current zings through him at the endearment. His hands knead their way down my back and cup my ass as his kiss grows deeper, more urgent, aggressive, and I respond in kind.

  Jack always knows just how to touch me to drive me crazy, to drive all other thoughts from my mind. As if I can absorb him if we are close enough, I press our hips together and wrap my arms tightly around him. Why is it never enough?

  He scoops me up and holds me close, walking us through the hall and into my room. He sets me on the bed and keeps his gaze on mine while undoing the belt of my robe, parting the material to reveal my naked body. The shivers that dance across my skin are as much from the cool air as from the expression on his face.

  “I’m going to make you come harder than you ever have before.”

  I’m supposed to be making him feel better, but there’s no way I’m going to protest that. I nod.

  Bathed in the glow of the light spilling onto my bed from the hallway, Jack decorates my skin with kisses and caresses. With each kiss, the broken sorrow in his eyes fades until it’s just me and my Jack in the room, his pain no longer the third party driving us together with dizzying intensity. His caresses turn from gentle to passionate, and soon he’s lighting my skin on fire with ruthless pleasure.

  Shrugging out of my robe, I sit and he lets me strip his shirt from him, unbuckle his belt, unzip his jeans slowly. His throat is warm beneath my kisses, his chest warmer under my tongue. With a few sensual movements, he’s moved me up the bed and stretched out beside me, spooning my side, giving his hands access to everything.

  His hands, his mouth, his eyes treasure me and claim me. He touches me like I’m his, and oh God, I am, but there’s a tension humming through his movements that makes me want to show him how much.

  I reach over him and grab a condom from the nightstand and roll it down his cock. Kneeling over him, I position him right where I want him. The fleeting thought of Blake and my earlier actions flits through my mind but disappears as I lower myself onto Jack and watch his expression change as I push down, impaling myself on his hardness. He moans and grabs my hips, holding me in place as though us just being locked together like this is all he wanted.

  “Do you feel that? How perfectly we fit together?” He pushes up and I gasp and nod, unable to form words. I trail my hands all over his abs and V-muscles and up his chest.

  His gaze singes my skin. “What feels better than this, Sarah?”

  “Nothing,” I moan.

  His lips curl into a dangerous smile, and with firm pressure, he guides my hips around, proving me wrong.

  Nothing feels better than this.

  I lean down and kiss him. Then I begin rocking up and down, back and forth. His hands roam all over my hips and thighs and breasts. Soon, I’m unable to maintain the slow pace, and my hips start circling wildly as I pump up and down, bracing myself on his shoulders, on the headboard, on the wall when he tells me to go harder.

  He thrusts his hips up as I push down, cock rubbing a place inside me that slams my eyes shut and throws my head back.

  “God, Jack, you feel so good.” My moans would be embarrassing if I didn’t feel so fucking right with him inside me.

  He flips me over and drives into me hard, harder, and the sensation of new places being rubbed from inside makes my thighs tense as I brace myself. But his fingers find their way between us, and there’s no way to brace for the depth of the pleasure he pistons into me. “Who makes you feel good?”

  I moan his name, pull him down to me for a kiss, bite his lip, and suck his tongue while I come. He stiffens and pounds into me a few more times before pulling me up so I’m sitting on his lap, moaning and shaking and smiling with him still inside me.

  He grinds his hips in tight circles, drawing out my orgasm. My hips twitch and my belly flutters as he wrings every bit of sensation he can from my body, and when I don’t think I can take any more, he stiffens and comes.

  “I’ve missed you,” I whisper.

  “I’ve missed you so much.” He holds me tight, but the urgency that brought him to my door has eased, and I’m glad—though still curious.

  After, we lie there under the covers not talking, taking in what happened. I’m still waiting for him to talk about what brought him here to
night. I don’t wait long.

  He flips onto his side so we’re facing each other. “What are you most scared of?”

  The usual glib comments—clowns and so on come to mind—but I answer with the truth since he’s trying to open up to me. “Something happening to my family. The people I love.”

  “Because of your dad?”

  Each of my dad’s heart attacks has been scarier than the last. “Yeah. You’d think they’d get easier to deal with because we’ve been through this already. He’s recovered every time and been okay. But it’s not like that at all. Every time it feels worse, like he’s a cat using up his nine lives, and this time will be the last. Like there are only so many narrow misses we can have.” And how it’s mostly because of stress that his heart’s bad. Whose heart will I break before this is over?

  Jack presses a kiss to my forehead and snuggles me closer.

  Death is final, but it’s not the only thing I worry about with my loved ones. “But not just them dying. I worry about Pete too, especially after that asshole followed him from the bar.”

  Jack clenches his teeth. “I still can’t believe that happened.”

  “I had a nightmare the other night that I hadn’t followed the guy out of the bar. That I hadn’t gotten in his way and forced him to stop following Pete. I—”

  “Wait, you got in his way?”

  Oh, right. I’d left that part out that night when I told him what happened. “Yeah.”

  “Sarah, what if he’d hit you, hurt you?”

  “I wasn’t even thinking about myself. I was trying to help Pete.”

  He clutches me close. “God, you’re amazing. And reckless. And the best friend my brother could ever ask for, though he doesn’t even know it.”

  “I never want him to know it either. As a woman, I get it. We’re taught not to walk down dark alleys. Don’t go out too late when you’re alone. Don’t let your guard down around strangers. Hold your keys like a weapon. Don’t leave your drink unattended. Always be ready to fight. Even when we’re okay, there’s always that awareness in the back of our minds that we could be attacked.