Leakage: A Friends-to-Lovers Romance

by Harley, Karen

  It was the middle of August, barely a month after his mom's suicide.

  The girls were over. It had been Jasmine who'd noticed the packet of contraceptives on the kitchen counter. She'd picked up the case, looked at it with raised brows, looked at Matt, and put it down.

  Matt wandered over and fingered it, trying to recall who had left it. The names blurred together. Just another body passing through the revolving door. Escape as much as biological release. Temporary. Ineffective at keeping away the cold these days, even for a few minutes.

  Jasmine opened her mouth and he could read in her eyes what was coming. Not a vicious cut, merely an automatic one, to put him in his place. Normally, he'd take it with hardly a wince.

  But not today. Right now even a flick was too much, so he offered the case to her with his own defensive stop-thrust. "You want, Jas?"

  She recoiled. "No, thanks."

  "What are they?" Sara asked.

  "Contraceptives," he said. "Left by a visitor."

  "Jasmine's never been on the pill," Sara offered. "Me, neither."

  "Why?" Matt said, and Harrison said, "Really?"

  Jasmine shrugged. "I'm touchy with all the hormonal methods. They do crazy things to me."

  "Plus they make you sloppy about barriers," Sara said. "Maybe I'd go on it or the patch or the ring or any of those if I were with someone I knew super, super well. But then I'd probably want kids with them, anyway, so condoms would be the way to go. Easy on, easy off!"

  "You want kids?" Harrison said.

  "Oh, yeah," Sara grinned. "Love the little buggers. What about you?"

  "Sure, yeah."

  "Jasmine?"

  "Why don't you ask Matt," Jasmine said coolly. "He'll tell you I'd make a lousy mother."

  Matt wasn't prepared for that one.

  "I think you'd make a great mother, Jasmine," Harrison said. "You're extremely consistent and you look out for people."

  "I'm a control freak, like my folks," Jasmine said. "Control freaks make shitty parents. Don't they?"

  She was looking at Matt. Asking him what he thought of her as mother material.

  Oh, sweetheart. I'm the last person to judge.

  He shouldn't have started this.

  "Do you want kids, Matt?" Sara said then, looking a little pitying.

  So I can ruin their lives with addiction, fatal selfishness, and a Class B felony? Here's to role models and their quality offspring.

  "Could be fun," he said.

  Sara considered him. "I actually think you'd make a good father." She turned to Jasmine. "What do you think, Jas?"

  "Oh, lovely, if he could stick to one designated mother. And scrounge a sense of responsibility from somewhere."

  "Lovely." He tasted the word on his tongue. His blood surged. No woman he'd ever taken had made him ravenous like he still was for her. She was wearing a short white sleeveless dress that night that emphasized the swell of her belly. So easy to envision it globular, breasts bursting with milk.

  His beautiful tiger.

  She'd caught him looking and sucked in a breath.

  "Do you want them, Jasmine?" he'd said frankly, suddenly not giving a fuck, ready to shake her if she evaded the question again. "Kids?"

  And Jasmine seemed to respond to his need, because she tossed her head and said, "Sure, who doesn't?"

  "Oh, lots of people don't want kids," Sara said.

  "How many, Jas?" Matt asked. "Two? Six? Ten?"

  She said in a low voice, "I mean in an ideal world. I don't see it happening. Men are crap. And like I said, I'd probably screw it up as badly as my parents."

  Other people went on to say things. He didn't hear. He just looked at her and knew what he wanted beyond any lingering doubt, furious for the barriers that kept her afraid and him even more of a chicken-shit coward. And he'd almost done it. Right then in front of everyone he'd almost grabbed her, shoved up her dress, and fucked her bare. He'd been so close it was insane….

  And afterward, he was changed. He shut out his remaining family and all their pressuring. Got rid of leftover crap in his life. Put kids into his life by way of the library. And the revolving door stopped. If Jasmine couldn't love him, he'd find a woman he could settle with. It was no longer okay for him to keep butchering his life because his parents couldn't care less about their kids. So he'd looked…and looked…and nobody else even came close to being the one who could rescue him instead of vice versa.

  Then on that crazy night, Sara had proposed the Challenge, and for God knows what reason, Jasmine had agreed.

  Loving her had been heaven. Beyond his hopes. He'd watched her remove the wall of caution she'd built between them brick by brick until she was bare to him and exposed. She'd given herself completely, the way he needed her to do. She'd let him drive her beyond yearning into pain in an absolute storm of trust that had shaken him to the core.

  Freaking heaven.

  Until last Friday and the drop to hell.

  It read now like a bad porn movie.

  Sexual adventuress lured by innocent sexy romp. Feels sorry for man. Asks man to bare soul, finds out man's family is a cesspool and man is demented, then confesses just wanted innocent sexy romp. Almost gets raped in the process. Regrets asking. Atones on knees.

  It was almost laughable, that Matt found himself playing the role so many women had played for him—a convenient outlet for lust. Extreme irony. The stuff of poetry.

  How could you hurt me? It's not like I'm in love with you.

  And there it was, clobbering him, the truth he'd been too stubborn and blind and stupid to see. In her mind, she'd never been his.

  That's why it took the Challenge for her to come to you. That's all it was. Something to break down her inhibitions. A chance to fuck a cute guy. Like every other woman.

  A two-year-long illusion, finally over.

  He was supposed to say something now. His throat hurt. He relaxed it consciously, carefully chose his words. "She's going because of me. Sorry. Sara went and plucked the apple. Chance of a lifetime. Had to try for it with Jasmine."

  Harrison was silent for a minute, then said. "The Challenge really screwed things up for all of us, didn't it?"

  Screwed things up? Matt knew about risks; they promised ecstatic rewards and devastating punishments. So you were punished. At least you finally had her. For believing, even briefly, that she could keep him from the cold, he had the Challenge to thank.

  "No," he said meditatively. "I wouldn't say that." Regrets are way worse.

  "I'm ending it anyway," Harrison warned.

  "Do what you have to do."

  "Do you want me to wait until after tonight? It's almost eight. We could have one more Challenge night. If you want the time with Jasmine."

  "I don't care, do whatever you like."

  Harrison sighed. "Sara thought you guys were hot and heavy. She was matchmaking."

  "Yeah. Twice over."

  Harrison looked blank. "You know about that?"

  Matt smiled kindly. "Sara's like sunlight. She illuminates, can't obscure."

  "Fuck, yeah. Except I can be blind sometimes."

  "We all can."

  Harrison stood up, then snapped. "There's something else. Sara said their furnace has finally conked out but good. Hasn't been on since yesterday morning. Do you know anything about furnaces?"

  "Not a clue," Matt admitted. "Jasmine would if anyone would. It's below freezing, isn't it? How cold is it in there?"

  Harrison shrugged.

  Matt said wryly, "Two clueless guys are better than none. Let's go."

  It was the first time since that Tuesday five weeks ago that they'd gone to the girls' place together. Jasmine answered their knock in her blood red coat, looking stunned.

  Matt was fairly stunned, himself. Stupid. Of course she'd be there. Why not?

  Then came the inevitable threefold float-cock-throat reaction that assaulted him every time he encountered her unexpectedly.

  Gravity exits body. Fixed b
y muscular contraction.

  Cock wakes up. Quickly mastered.

  Throat hurts. Relax that.

  "What's going on?" she said now. A cool draft blew past her from inside the apartment, carrying her scent. She was shivering.

  Matt put his hands in his pockets to keep from doing something about her chill, her scent. "Sara says your furnace is toast. Can't you fix it?"

  She shook her head. "The manager says someone's coming tomorrow. He said get a hotel."

  Harrison said, "Is Sara in there?"

  "She took Pencil around the lake."

  "All the way around? It's dark and fucking freezing."

  "She thinks it's the same temperature, in or out. I think she's cold." Jasmine gazed intently at Matt, then back at Harrison. "Her bag's mostly packed."

  "When she gets back, send her over," Harrison said, sounding irritated. "She's staying with me tonight."

  Jasmine smiled. "Okay."

  Harrison lingered awkwardly. "We heard you were leaving."

  "Yes. In March." She glanced at Matt, seeming to expect something from him. When he gave her nothing, she searched his eyes.

  There was something different about her tonight, he realized. She was open. Less skittish. Freer.

  "I wish you weren't," Harrison said honestly. "You sure it's what you want? I know Sara's concerned."

  Jasmine nodded once, still looking at Matt.

  "You can take the couch tonight," Harrison offered. "Right, Matt?"

  "All the way to the curb," he quipped. Harrison looked surprised, then uncomfortable.

  Jasmine reacted like he'd punched her. "A hotel will be just fine," she said.

  "Stay on the couch," he said. "Stay at a hotel. Whatever you like." And now it was time to go, before he smashed another wall, with his face this time. Nice job, Berne, you asshole. He swiveled on his heel and walked to his door.

  From below came the sound of the lobby door opening, the bell of a dog's collar. "Guess she didn't go around after all," Jasmine's voice said, echoing strangely down the stairwell. Sara called up from the lobby; Harrison called down. A surreal circus.

  His hand on the knob, Matt looked back at Jasmine and caught her watching him in that rapt way that meant he could have her.

  So reel her in. She'll come. And maybe she'll let you have her again. Maybe not, if she's smart. And then it'll start all over again. The elevator between heaven and hell.

  Sara reached the landing. "Hey, Matt!" Her cheeks were pink. Pencil attacked his legs. "Can I come over? I have brandy."

  "Any time," he said automatically.

  "You, too, Jasmine," Sara said and sneezed. "It's an iceberg in there."

  "I'm calling the hotel," Jasmine said.

  "Later. Brandy now," Sara insisted.

  And that's the way, without his knowing quite how it happened, all of them were ensconced in his living room a few minutes later. Harrison and Sara sat on the couch, Sara still bundled up in her coat. Jasmine was huddled in the rocking chair under a blanket.

  Together again. Four friends. Probably former friends. And liquor.

  Matt poured brandy and handed Sara a glass.

  "Thanks," Sara said, sounding woebegone, and drank down half the glass right there. "More." She held up the glass.

  He refilled, looked at Jasmine.

  She shivered. "No, thank you."

  Harrison refused the brandy and spread his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers lightly contacting Sara's shoulder.

  "Is it only me today?" Sara said, sniffling and taking a crumpled tissue out of her coat pocket. "It's funny, the last time we were like this, I only had a sip and it was everyone else who imbibed. Boy, you guys, doesn't that feel like a long time ago?" She blew her nose. "It's bitterly cold out there."

  "You're sick again," Harrison said with dawning awareness. "How did that happen?"

  "You must have picked something up on the flight back," Sara said, taking another long gulp. Matt expelled a short laugh. Good going, Sara.

  Harrison winced and rested his head on the back of the couch.

  "Oops," Sara said. Earnestly: "It was just one peck on Monday when he got back. Not really leakage. I've stayed away all week, I swear."

  "Sara, for Chrissake," Harrison said.

  Matt leaned back against the counter, thinking about leakage. He stared at the dent in the wall where he'd smashed his fist last Friday when he'd accepted once and for all that Jasmine didn't care a fuck about him. Jasmine followed his gaze, her expression dismayed.

  He recalled her singular email. She was sorry for that night. She wanted forgiveness.

  It's not like I'm in love with you.

  Forgiveness was going to be a long time coming. Maybe eternal. Do you ever forgive somebody for not loving you?

  Chemical ban be damned, he thought. Booze now. He turned and poured himself a generous glass of brandy.

  "Speaking of the Challenge," Harrison went on. "It's done. I'm out. Due to leakage."

  "What?" Sara sat upright, mouth falling open. "Harrison, it's Friday. Can't you —"

  "No, Sara. We've talked about this. I should have stopped it weeks ago."

  "Damn. What a crappy day." She swigged from her glass. "Matt? Jasmine? Do you guys want to keep going with the Challenge? You could. Just you two."

  "Sara…" Harrison's tone was warning.

  Matt didn't look at Jasmine. It was enough like cutting off his carotid artery as it was. "Nope. It's all over."

  One Challenge.

  Two winners.

  Two losers.

  All over.

  The brandy was too sweet for the volume necessary, he determined. He went to the liquor cabinet and contemplated his options.

  "You look horrible, Matt," Sara said wretchedly. "Everyone looks horrible. The Challenge was a disaster, wasn't it?"

  "Dude," Matt said absently, "You might want to…"

  Harrison leaned forward and plucked the glass out of Sara's hand.

  "What?" Sara sniffed. "I'm not drunk. I'm just sad everything's gone to pot. Jasmine, I'll miss you so much. Where will you go?"

  "I'm not sure," Jasmine said. "Out of state, I think. I'll miss you, too, Sara. I…" She didn't finish.

  "Out of state? You're kidding," Sara said. "But what about your job?"

  Jasmine took a deep breath. "Actually, I gave notice at work yesterday. I quit."

  Matt's hand stilled in the act of tipping the bottle of whiskey.

  "You quit?" Sara shrieked. "Working for your parents? No frigging way."

  Jasmine smiled tightly. "Yes. Not bad, huh? Just took me, what, eight years?"

  "Are you kidding? I'm so, so proud of you." Sara smiled brilliantly. "That's awesome."

  Out of state.

  Gave notice.

  She'd fucking done it.

  He didn't think. He was in front of Jasmine, crouching down, cupping her face. "You quit."

  She looked right at him. "I did."

  "Good." Understatement of the year. "I'm glad, sweetheart. You're not going to regret it. It all gets better from here."

  Her eyes got wet. It hit him what he'd said, what he'd done, like a fool forgetting everything.

  She's not yours.

  "Congratulations," he said inanely and stood up.

  He walked to the counter and focused carefully on his task. Six fingers into the brandy glass, two swallows. The warmth made him aware of how cold he felt.

  Sara was staring at him like she'd never seen him before. Even Harrison was looking a little bemused.

  "Matt, did you just call Jasmine—"

  "Hokay, Sara. Time for bed." Harrison pulled her up off the couch.

  "Bed? What are you talking about? It's just—what time is it, anyway?"

  Harrison grabbed his tablet. "Just going on eight. What do we need? Got your hankies? Check. What else?"

  "What do we need for what?"

  "We're going to bed."

  "You mean…"

  Harrison jerked his
head. "The bedroom, yes. Go get some clothes. Stuff you've packed. Didn't I say? You're staying here."

  "Here? But you told us the Challenge was…oh. Oh. You want—oh."

  Sara's face got very red.

  "Get your suitcase and anything else you need so you don't have to go back there tonight. Do you have a gate for Pencil to stay in the kitchen?"

  "Why does he need a gate? He's house-trained."

  "Not this house. Trust me, he needs a gate."

  The front door closed and they were gone. It was a relief. Watching Sara and Harrison together was acutely disturbing.

  Jasmine was getting up, looking wary.

  "You can stay here," he said formally. "Or go away. Your choice."

  Her chin flew up. "Do you have a preference?"

  Preference. Yeah, he had a preference.

  Run to the closet. Dig for handcuffs. Fasten you to the bed. Haul the whole kit to a remote cottage on a mountaintop. Plow you till you explode with babies. Die with you in my arms.

  Fucking pathetic.

  "Not really," he said. "Whatever you want is fine."

  "Then I might as well stay here tonight."

  He gestured to the door. "Get your stuff."

  He poured more whiskey, taking it like pills, then shut himself in his bedroom. For a moment he looked around, undecided. Run? No. Hit something? Yes. The shinai was in his closet, but it had been years since he'd done anything with it, and he had no space.

  The whiskey was starting to work, numbing him. Here's to you, Mom. At least I come by it honestly.

  Damn, he wanted more. Unconsciousness would be his preference.

  But there were other things that worked for a while, too. He went to his desk to play the song—a pulsing instrumental that he knew could, if not block out the thoughts, then send them through and on their way.

  He lay on the bed and zoned out with his eyes closed.

  Sometime later, the song ended. He heard Sara and Harrison come back. Their voices sounded for a while, then faded. An inside door opened and shut.

  He was cold again. The brandy and whiskey were burning up already. Unfortunately, like his parents and sister he had a ridiculous tolerance for alcohol; for it to work, he had to take too much. That's what he'd done the night he'd walked in on Jasmine and Harrison and it had backfired. Not going to do that again.

  He should have gone on that run.