Drift (Lengths)

by Steph Campbell

  “Lydia?”

  My head whips around and I half stand. Richard is waving for me to sit. He’s never looked better. He’s lost a few pounds. It makes his jaw sharper. His hair is cut better, so it disguises his receding hairline. When he smiles, all big pearly teeth and crinkling eyes, he looks genuinely happy. He has this glow about him, and I feel my heart squeeze tight.

  He’s with someone new. I know it.

  Not that I give a shit. I am, too, and have never been happier. It’s just that, immature or not, I wanted him to suffer a little. Wallow in his misery a little. I didn’t want…this happiness, this confidence. He doesn’t look guilty, overworked, unhappy…none of the low-grade evils I wished on him in retaliation for what he did.

  “I love this little place. Mind if I sit for a quick second? I’m so glad I ran into you.” He beams at me, and a thought flashes through my mind. It’s like he’s smiling too hard.

  I should tell him to go to hell and get away from me, but I wave a hand so he can take a seat, then look nervously over his shoulder. What will Isaac think if he sees us lunching like old pals?

  “You love this place?” I raise my eyebrows and purse my lips. “You never wanted to come here. Said it was too spicy and gave you indigestion.”

  He shakes his head and smiles, like I’m just the most adorable grouch ever. “My doctor gave me some prescription grade antacids. Don’t look at me like that, Lyd.” His smile falters for real this time. “Damn, you always were a killjoy.”

  The old me flashes back to life, roars into being before I can control it. She fits badly. Too inflated, claws sharpened to points, too many teeth. The old me was all about intimidation and fight.

  Which makes sense now that I really survey Richard. Who could ever have felt safe with someone like him? Someone who was always waiting for any chance to tear me down or make a joke at my expense? He was the opposite of protective. The opposite of loving. And I sacrificed all I worked for to be with him.

  The anger in me swells into a whipping fury.

  “Why didn’t you tell Sandberg those files were yours?” I demand out of the blue.

  Richard balks. “Lydia, that was all a big misunderstanding on both our parts. I mean, we were both culpable—”

  “Both of us? Both culpable? Really, Richard? Because you seemed to walk away without a fucking scratch while I was left out in the cold.” I grip the edge of the table to stop myself from making a fist and delivering it, fast and hard, to his nose.

  “Trust me, babe, you should be glad you’re not there. This case is getting out of control. I think Sandberg is trying to reel in a fish that’s going to break his line. You get to stay home doing pilates or whatever while you collect a check. I wish I’d been the one who was id’d.” He laughs, waiting for me to join in.

  I used to find Richard’s laugh so contagious. Now it makes my vision blur red.

  “See, that’s the thing. You could be ‘staying home doing pilates.’ But you were too much of a coward to come forward.” I sit back and watch the humor wash off his face. It twists into something ugly. Something accusatory.

  He leans forward, his voice nothing but a growl. “Look, you wanted this whole fucking fantasy romance. I wanted to keep my damn job. That’s the difference between you and me, Lydia. I never wanted anything more than I wanted to partner. You and I had some fun, but I would never have taken the risks you did. I kind of thought we both got what we wanted.”

  I feel like I’m about to vomit.

  “Both got what we wanted?” I repeat, the shock too profound to wrap my head around. “I lost my career. I lost my reputation. I lost everything.”

  “But you were getting what you wanted before you got caught. And you’ll come back after you take a break, better than ever. Weren’t you the one who kept saying you needed a sabbatical? Time to decompress? Here it is.” Richard holds his arms out like he’s personally spread my best life out for me to enjoy. “Come on, Lydia, you and I had to end things eventually, right? And now we’ve had some time apart to move on.” He leans forward, tries to take my hand in his, and shakes his head in defeat when I snatch my hand back. “You’re not still upset about that, are you? I think we both knew it was winding down.”

  And now I do know. It’s all crystal clear, and it doesn’t hurt my feelings as much as it hurts my pride. How could I have been so damn blind? I know better now. And wonder how long, exactly, he was fooling around behind my back.

  I arch a brow. “Who is she?”

  “Who? What are you talking about?” he asks defensively. You’d think lawyers would have more convincing game faces.

  “It must be inner office. I know Leslie has a boyfriend who’s some kind of high-powered CEO. No way she’d go for you.” I watch Richard flinch and I love it. “So who is it? Someone from a competing firm? One of the patrons at the charity ball we hosted? Some young socialite?”

  He stares down at the table, his face beet red. When he looks up, his eyes are cold and his smile is smug. “I shouldn’t tell you. But if I tell you now, it’ll give you some time before you come back to process. That way this will all be blown over. It’s Tanya.”

  He announces her name like he expects trumpets full of confetti to blare and cover us with glitter.

  I know Richard. Really know his reptilian, chicken-shit heart. He’s with Tanya for three very shallow reasons.

  One: she’s very hot with gigantic knockers.

  Two: she completely adores and worships him and has since day one. Very, very good for his bloated ego.

  Three: he thinks it will make me jealous. Richard always admired me, even if he never really liked me. I think he always wanted me to fawn over him more, caress his ego more. He hated being one-upped by me in cases and in front of the bosses.

  This, in his mind, is retribution.

  I could point out that Tanya will never be his intellectual partner. I’ve watched her struggle with the crossword puzzle in the back of People on her lunch break. Richard and I used to do the Sunday Times’s together.

  I could highlight the fact that Tanya is a total schemer and climber. My best guess—and I’m excellent at guessing—is that she’s using Richard as a platform to Sandberg, who’s been on the prowl since his last pretty young wife left him for a surfer in Bali. Why stick with a lowly partner when you could snare the boss?

  I could bring it to his attention that Tanya is just coming into her own. She has quite a few years of pretty extreme hotness to cash in on. I bet she’s used to romance. Doting. Sex that lasts for hours and hours. And Richard fails miserably in those departments. It wasn’t just me; he told me every one of his girlfriends had dumped him because of his apathy.

  Tanya might be the trophy most recently adorning his shelf, but there’s a very limited shelf life to this romance.

  But I don’t say a single one of those things, even though I could crush him and his superior ass.

  Instead, I say, “I hope the two of you are very happy together.”

  I won’t go so far as saying that I mean it. I’d be happy to see both of them suffer a little for being such frauds. But I’m intensely happy that Richard isn’t my problem anymore.

  And I guess he can sense that. Because the smug look clouds over, and his face takes on the exact color of a bruised plum. I actually think that he might be choking. And I realize he is. On his temper.

  “Don’t think you’re fooling anyone with that holier-than-thou bullshit, Lydia. I know what happened between us wasn’t ideal, but you can’t seriously lay blame for that at my feet.” He makes and angry gesture that knocks the bowl of green chili sauce on the table over.

  “You’re saying I can’t blame you for screwing Tanya behind my back—”

  “We never had intercourse until you and I were done,” he hisses.

  I wonder when exactly we were ‘done.’ Because there was never an actual blow-out, drag-down ending. Maybe because neither one of us cared enough.

  “How technically kind of y
ou,” I deadpan. “The bigger issue is you leaving me to take the blame for your screw-up.”

  “I thought you’d check the package. You always check. Religiously. I was relying on you to catch anything like that.” His voice is whiny. Like a three-year-old throwing a tantrum.

  “Ah. So, still my fault. Right. You know what, Richard, I’m meeting someone and you really need to leave,” I say flatly.

  “See.” He points at me in triumph. “You’re with someone new too! How do I know you weren’t cheating on me?”

  It’s honestly difficult to look at this man-child gloating nonsensically across the table from me and register that he was someone I thought I could spend my life with.

  “What’s the point of all this, Richard? You said I got everything I wanted. I think that observation is much truer for you. You’re free to screw Tanya till you’re both cross-eyed. You’re on the case, just like you wanted to be. You don’t have to compete with me—”

  A rough, faux bark of a laugh interrupts me. “That’s it, isn’t it? You honestly think you’re competition for me? You really believe that?”

  “I know that, Richard. You relied on me to double check all the details for you. All the time. Which is exactly how I got into the mess I’m in. You never did careful work, and that’s going to catch up with you one day. I’m pretty sure you can’t rely on Tanya to double check all your legal papers for you.” I raise my eyebrows at him.

  I should stop. I just want him to leave. But I never did get a shot at closure, and it feels good to have him squirming.

  Which he is.

  And I realize that it’s not because he believes my prediction will come true in the future. It’s because my prediction is his present reality.

  He’s already messed up, and I wasn’t there to dump the blame on. I wonder how that panned out for him.

  It’s like he can read on my face that I know, and it makes him pissed all over again.

  “You think that place can’t run without you? You always were a fucking egomaniac bitch,” he snarls.

  I’m tough.

  I’m Lydia Pitbull Rodriguez.

  But the nasty edge of Richard’s words is a little bit of a sucker punch. I can tell myself he’s a sniveling asshole. That his opinion of me means nothing. Less than nothing. But to have someone I thought cared about me telling me what a terrible person he thinks I am hurts.

  I blink fast, and Richard snorts.

  “Seriously? Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft since you left.” The gloating look is back. “Maybe you should consider a career change. Though I have zero clue what the job market is for a washed-up egomaniac bitch.”

  I bite my lip hard and stare down at my hand on the table, willing myself not to cry, not to give this piece of shit the satisfaction, but his chuckle stops midway through and is replaced by a gasp.

  I look up and Isaac is standing there, Richard’s tie wound around his fist, Richard half lifted from his seat. The chair falls back, and Isaac gets right in his face.

  “What the hell did you just say to her?” Isaac snarls.

  His angel face is frighteningly beautiful when he’s pushed to the edge.

  “Isaac, Richard was just leaving,” I say calmly, half-standing.

  Isaac snaps me a look that sets me back in my chair. It’s very alpha, very commanding. I bristle at it.

  I also feel a heat tingle low and fast through my body.

  “Richard can leave after he makes his apologies,” Isaac says, his voice so serene, it seems impossible that he’s saying those words as he’s strangling Richard with his own necktie. “Apologize to the lady, Richard,” Isaac orders, yanking up hard.

  “Sorry,” Richard gasps, his bugged eyes looking at me and back at Isaac. A busboy is dashing toward our table yelling something frantic. “Sorry. Let me go!”

  Just as the busboy reaches us, Isaac releases Richard, who slumps over, choking and rubbing his throat. Isaac kicks the back of the chair Richard’s sitting in. “No one told you to sit. Get the hell out of my sight before I beat the shit out of you.”

  Richard’s eyes flash. I know he’s biting his tongue. I know he wants to ridicule me because my protector is so young and so violent. I know he wants to string my emotions along and yank my chain, enjoying the way I respond to him.

  But he scuttles back like a coward, not even bothering to mutter his contempt for fear of Isaac, who still stands tall, his shoulders thrown back, his teeth bared, his eyes on fire.

  “Was that your ex-lover?” he demands.

  I nod, my voice lost.

  “Get up.” He jerks his head toward the door, ordering me to it.

  “Should we…should we get food?” I ask, my voice hoarse.

  His green eyes never leave my face. He puts one hand out to help me up, but it’s not an offer of assistance. It’s a command to go where he tells me to go. “I’ll take care of you.”

  I take his hand because I believe him. And because I want him.

  I want to be taken care of by him right now.

  He rushes me to his car and gets me in, then drives back to his place, where he’s wanted to take me for weeks. I kept wiggling out of it, I guess because I loved playing this game on my own turf. But he’s not playing by my rules anymore.

  Or by any rules.

  He leads me up the stairs, and I walk into his space, modern, simple, and full of light. So much light. Light radiates from places I never would have expected to find windows. I turn in a circle, my head tilted back, and drink it all in.

  “It’s beautiful,” I breathe.

  “You’re beautiful,” he says, tossing his coat on the chair, yanking his tie from around his neck, tearing his shirt from his body so fast, a few of the buttons fly off and ping on the floor. He twines his arms around my waist, his chest to my back, and whispers in my ear, “And I want you. Now.”

  “Now?” I stutter, but he’s already pressing me down onto my knees, kissing the back of my neck, and undoing my bun so my hair falls over my shoulders.

  “Now,” he says, reaching his hands up. He unties the ribbon that held the front of my dress tight and runs his hands over my breasts, massaging them through the fabric of my bra. Gently, he dips his fingers into each cup and pulls on each nipple, squeezing it between his fingers until my first moan breaks free.

  “That’s it, mi amor,” he says, his mouth dragging down over my shoulders. He presses hard against me, and I can feel the length of his cock against my ass through our clothes. His hands leave my breasts and run up and down my body, grabbing at my hem and pressing it over my hips. His fingers lock around the waistband of my underwear, the tiny lace pair I put on thinking of him this morning.

  He pulls them down to my knees and kisses along my back, the curve of my ass, and lower. I feel his finger slide deep, part my lips, and press in and out. He moans, dropping his head down, and then he’s not moaning out loud. He’s moaning against me. And licking. And sucking.

  My arms shake and I drop my head. I rock back and forth on my knees. “Isaac,” I sigh.

  His thumb glides to my clit and his tongue follows. His thumb works in quick, pressurized circles, and his tongue pets me like warm, sweet velvet. His free hand moves up and down, rubbing and pressing on my skin, wild and untamed.

  Like he wants it all, all of my body.

  All of me.

  And I know exactly how he feels. I arch my back higher, press harder, spread my legs to give him better access. He makes the best of all the opportunities I give him, and soon his rhythm undoes me. I rock back and forth hard, loving how his fingers sink and spread so deep, he’s touching places that have long wanted attention. My body shudders and slicks wetter and hotter, and I unwind, unfurl, spill out, and scream my pleasure, not caring who might hear. He pulls his mouth away while I’m still pulsing and tremoring.

  I hear the clank of his belt, the drag of his zipper, and feel him press the head of his cock into the slick heat he did such a thorough job preparing. He slides with
a single, solid push, jerking my entire body forward. My hands ball into fists and I squeeze my eyes shut while my body adjusts to him.

  “Do you want me, corazon? Do you want all of me?” he asks, his hands locked hard on my hips.

  I spread my knees wider and lift my hips. “Yes! Please! All of you,” I whimper

  He pulls back and presses into me, so deep I moan and cry out as he stretches me in a way that’s a heady mix of pain and pleasure.

  “Good?” he asks.

  “More,” I gasp.

  He groans and begins to rock in and out, his fingers gripping on my hips until they bite. His pace is frenzied, and each stroke brings me closer to a breaking point I didn’t think I’d hit so quickly again.

  “More, please, more, Isaac!” I beg.

  He falls forward, his chest hot on my back. He leans his head down and catches my shoulder, biting with a gentle pressure that sends waves of need through me. His tongue laps at the place he bit, then works its way up to my neck, biting and licking, shocking me with tender pain and assuaging it just as quickly.

  His fingers spread wide and press against my skin, up and down my thighs, cupping them and pulling them apart so he can sink deeper, harder, until I shake.

  So hard my knees knock on the floor.

  I buck. I try to crawl away from him, because what’s in me is stronger than anything I’ve felt before, and I don’t want it to loosen too much. I’m scared as hell to let it go.

  He pulls me back, the tight flat of his hips smacking against the rounded curve of my ass. His rough hands, his long, strong cock, the nip of his teeth and glide of his tongue are all too much. I break into a million fragmented pieces.

  My body sucks him close and douses him with a slick heat that only encourages him to drive harder, faster.

  “Lydia! Mi vida, mi corazón, mi amor!” he gasps, and I let out a choked, strangled scream as my body gives out.

  My arms, too weak to hold me up, slowly lower my body to the floor, but Isaac is there to lift me back up. His arms are crossed over my limp body, holding it tight as he plunges into me, deep, sweet, satisfying. And then he goes still and his muscles tense. He crushes me to him, and moans into my hair.