by Ruby Lang
“A bouncer threatened to send me to jail. I’m hardly perfect,” Sarah muttered.
“Yeah, I know, but you’ve got a good act going, don’t you? I was there. I saw how you made that off-duty officer think it was somehow his fault that you were drunk and crazy. Seven feet tall with a giant gun, and a mouthy Asian woman almost has him crying like a baby. I don’t know how you did that. I never know how you do that. And let me tell you, I am not about to crumble like the Portland PD under you, all right? I’ve known you too long and I’ve taken too much of your shit to let you make me feel terrible. I’m tired of being the one in our friendship who always apologizes and is always wrong, okay?”
“Okay.”
“And don’t give me any bullshit about asking for help. You are constantly asking me for help, even though you won’t fucking admit it, and I am tired of being kicked down for doing it. I am tired of being the fixer. You and Helen have a problem with each other? Who do you both yell at? Me. Who do you both call instead of each other? Me! Who do you tender your regrets and half-assed apologies to? Guess who, fucker. Do you have any idea how fucked up that is?”
Sarah opened her mouth. Then closed it again. “You’re a physician. You love other people’s problems,” she finally said.
“You’re a physician, too, and so is Helen. Heal thy own damn self.” Petra resumed digging for her key. “I hate other people’s problems,” she muttered. “It’s sick, that’s what it is, this stupid thing with you and Helen.”
She turned to yell at Sarah again.
“My mother is getting married again, Sarah. For the third time. Do you know what she wants from me? She wants me to simply sit back, trust her decisions, and support and love her. Well, why couldn’t she fucking do that for me for, what, her entire life? Couldn’t she have stopped worrying, stopped second-guessing me for one minute? She’s always asking, How’s business? Are you sure you’re doing the right thing? And what if I wasn’t? Couldn’t she just accept me? Isn’t that what she was supposed to do, because she was my mother and that’s what parents do?”
She felt breathless, as if she had been sobbing, but her eyes and cheeks were dry. “Maybe I am tired of shouldering everybody’s problems and making people all better. Maybe I just want to be me, faults and all. Maybe I just want somebody to love me.”
Of course, somebody did love her and she couldn’t understand why.
“Petra, it’s late. Maybe we should get you inside.”
“You’re not invited up, asshole.”
“Petey, if I create another public disturbance tonight, I probably won’t be able to stay out of jail. When they find out you’ve been doing the majority of the yelling, I doubt that the police will look upon you kindly, either.”
Petra stood in the cold.
“I am a total asshole, all right?” Sarah said. “I admit it. Let’s go upstairs and I’ll make you hot chocolate and we can talk about exactly how terrible a friend I am.” She touched Petra’s arm. “I’m sorry about tonight. I’m sorry about me and Helen. I’m sorry about your mom.”
She took the keys from Petra’s hand and opened the door. Petra let Sarah lead her upstairs, then plunked down on the sofa with her coat still on. She still felt chilled and the lack of sleep was starting to catch up with her. Sarah busied herself with finding a box of Swiss Miss in the cupboard and putting the kettle on.
Where had all that anger come from, Petra wondered, as Sarah set a mug in front of her. “All I could find were these gross chocolate chip cookies,” Sarah said.
“Helen came over last night for her own meltdown and she left these. I know kale chips and rooibos tea are usually more your style,” Petra said.
“Yeah, well, sometimes I need a vacation from myself,” Sarah said, taking a cookie.
They clinked mugs.
“What happened tonight?” Petra asked.
“I went to karaoke and I wouldn’t relinquish the mike. They were about to call security, so I left. Well actually, I was about to vandalize the door of the club with lipstick and the bouncer stopped me, so I kicked him. He happened to be an off-duty cop. Plus, I did it in front of another cop. I lost my purse in the scuffle. Someone stole my stuff in front of two cops. I’m going to have to cancel all my cards and I don’t want to think about my phone. Anyway, they held me there and debated whether to haul me to the station or just put me in a cab—like I wasn’t there. I talked the bouncer into lending me his phone and, luckily, remembered your number.”
Petra stared at her friend. She was torn between telling Sarah that it was kind of awesome and wondering what the hell was wrong with her.
“Look,” said Sarah. “I realize that my behavior tonight was really immature, which is why I kind of don’t want to talk about it. But I also realize that you deserve an opportunity to gloat, given what a hard time I’ve given you. That cop had more important people to attempt to arrest tonight. I wasted people’s time and hurt them because I was tipsy and petty. I should hold myself to a higher standard than this. I’m thirty-two and I’m a physician, for god’s sake.”
Petra was quiet for a moment. Then she started laughing. “God, you’re a self-important little prick sometimes.”
“Um, yeah, don’t hold back, Petey.”
“I should hold myself to a higher standard than this. Why? Because you’re better than everyone? Because you’re a physician? You prescribe pills and I stick needles in people. What the hell makes us think that we’re such holy healers that we can’t be a little human, or a little imperfect sometimes?”
“You saved a woman’s life last month.”
“All I did was stick a needle in someone. The kind of needle that she could easily stick in herself, I might add. The only thing I really, really did was show her the importance of just doing it on the spot without embarrassment, before something terrible happened to her.”
They brooded, lost in their own thoughts.
Sarah drank more hot chocolate. “I love this stuff,” she said reverently. “Last weekend, I went to San Francisco and Bryant—he’s the new boyfriend, the new ex-boyfriend, actually—bought me some of that Ghirardelli hot cocoa. And it was delicious, of course, but I took three sips and couldn’t finish the rest of it. I love this cheap-o Swiss Miss. It tastes like chemicals and drugs.”
“The new ex-boyfriend was the cause of this tantrum.”
“Well, yes. And no. I accept trade-offs. I know that. I won’t be with anyone long-term, so I pick men who are imperfect. Take-away lesson: people always disappoint you. Don’t get overly involved.”
Petra was quiet. At some point, maybe she had agreed with Sarah. But now, there seemed to be a lot wrong with those feelings. “I don’t think it works that way,” she said. “In fact, I disagree with almost everything. But I’ve never really been able to change your mind, and in the condition I’m in, I doubt that’ll happen. You’re used to these late nights what with birthin’ the babies and whatnot. I’m not. I’m going to sleep.”
For the second time that week, she left a friend on the couch.
• • •
The next evening, Petra leaned in the doorway of Ian’s office at Field. She had never seen it before. She had never seen him at work before. She pursed her lips as he glared sexily at a laptop screen.
The office was crammed with the kind of touches that his apartment lacked. There was a corkboard covered with pictures of Stream at various stages of construction. A hard hat stood atop the file cabinet, and two shirts in their dry-cleaning plastic hung on hooks on the walls. His long desk held stacks of paper and a lamp, and he sat in one of those fancy ergonomic task chairs that reminded Petra of a bewinged Amazon insect.
“Cuppers,” she said quietly.
He looked up. His smile was instant and glorious.
She pushed out of the doorway and took a step toward him. “It was the best I could come up with on short notice,” she said. “All in all, I’d say you’re much better at coming up with alternate underwear words than I am.
”
She took off her coat and draped it on a chair. He looked at her, in her tall chocolate boots and short skirt.
“Cuppers,” he said, turning the word over slowly on his tongue.
He rose slowly. There was a hint of a smile on his lips.
Petra’s heart began to beat very fast.
She almost felt the release of adrenaline into her bloodstream as he started to prowl toward her. But she was frozen, her lips slightly parted. She was in grave danger, half exhilarated, half terrified. Her mouth curved up into a crazy smile.
“Interesting choice,” he purred. “I never would have thought to go that way, to go with something that holds your pussy and ass in place, maybe even warms them.”
She nodded.
“Which, I suppose,” he added conversationally, taking another step toward her, “would make me jealous of the underpants.”
He came just far enough that he wasn’t touching her, just close enough that he could reach around her to slide one finger down her skirt-clad rear. “’Course, cuppers don’t exactly describe thongs, do they?”
“I hate the word thong,” she said, her voice coming out as a whisper.
He slid his hand to the hem of her skirt.
“I wanted to talk to you about something,” she said quickly.
His hand stilled. Her breath, his breath, rasped.
“I miss you. I want to be around you. But I lose my head around you, and that scares me.”
He dropped his hand. “I love you,” he said.
Her heart fell into her boots and swooped up again until she felt dizzy.
She closed her eyes to still herself, to stifle the ecstatic smile that threatened to crack her face and overwhelm her whole body. She stamped her foot, hard. “Dammit, this kind of thing is exactly what I’m talking about,” she half shouted, half whispered.
Her fingers had curled into fists, but Ian grabbed them and laughed softly. When she opened her eyes again, he was still laughing, and relieved, and dazed, and backing her into the doorway. Without turning from her, he shut the door and locked it. “I love you,” he repeated wonderingly, putting his arms around her waist and pressing himself against her.
“I love you, too, but—”
In a moment he had unzipped her skirt. “You aren’t wearing any—”
“Don’t say it.”
“—thing. You walked out into the winter without a single cupper to keep you warm.”
“I was feeling optimistic,” she said, kissing his neck. “It’s a new thing I’m trying.”
She gave a wide lick to his throat and started to undo his shirt buttons. “Although I don’t think we should settle on cuppers,” she added.
He took his hands from her momentarily to remove his pants and shoes. Naked, she thought with a shiver. He pulled her into his warm body again. “I was trying it out in a sentence,” he whispered in her ear. “As one should.”
They worked their way to his dark wood desk. He smoothed his hands across her shoulder blades and down her spine as he kissed her neck. She wedged her arm between their bodies to grasp his erection, but he was holding her too close. She settled for maneuvering her fingers around the head and moving her thumb back and forth, but that was hardly satisfying. She wriggled back and parted her legs. It was difficult to sit on the surface, especially with the laptop computer just inches behind her, so she held on to the edge and arched her back to rub herself against him. Ian complied with her demand. He dropped his mouth to her chest, opening his mouth wide over one breast, while his tongue flicked over her nipple.
She gasped with the pleasure of it and pressed herself forward. She wanted more: more pressure, more lips, more stubble, more teeth, more cock, but he was holding back. She hooked a leg around his waist to pull him closer. She was still wearing her boots, she noticed. That excited her even more, and she rolled her hips, sliding her greedy pelvis against his prick.
He pulled his head up, teeth gritted. “I don’t have a condom,” he whispered, his eyes flashing almost angrily behind his glasses.
“I’m not on the pill.”
“I know.” A pause. “I don’t see why you haven’t written yourself a prescription.”
She got off his lap. “That’s not really right,” she said. “I should really go in for a checkup.”
But Sarah was her ob/gyn. Both of them had conveniently forgotten that fact. Petra was going to have to point that ethical lapse out to her…later.
Despite the large outpourings of emotion, the mood had been somewhat dampened. Petra grasped the edge of the desk so that she wouldn’t wring her hands. But Ian pried them off. He brought her to the chair and set her gently on the waffled seat. She was going to have red hashes on her bottom, she thought, as he pushed her legs apart and looked at her. He blinked gently. “Scoot a little forward,” he said.
“Ian, you don’t have to—”
He fiddled with something just out of her sight and the chair rose with a psshhh of air. Her knees were now level with his face. His breath skittered over her skin and she squirmed in excitement and embarrassment. He smoothed his fingers up her thighs. “Let me do this,” he crooned, turning the chair gently.
He followed the line of her inner thigh muscle with his thumb. She could feel his breath warming her knees.
Why was she protesting? It wasn’t as if they hadn’t done this before. Why was she afraid of letting him give her this at this moment?
With his other hand, he rounded his palm gently under her and brought her forward. The chair hissed again and tilted toward him and he began to touch her. He ghosted his fingers over the line of her folds, up and down lightly until she felt herself become liquid. She sighed and settled back. Her bunched skirt hid him from view except the top of his head. Sometimes his brows appeared, sometimes the inscrutable shine of his glasses. She saw, briefly, one eye flicked upward.
She felt him open her inner lips slowly, circling, circling until she wasn’t sure if she was moving or if he was. A finger teased her entrance and she shifted toward it. She wanted to wrap her legs around his head and pull him in. She wanted so much, so much of everything, but even as she longed for it, it seemed he was moving away. A sob of frustration choked in her throat and she wanted to cry out at him. She almost felt angry. “Please,” she said, shifting restlessly. “Please come back.”
As if he knew what she’d been thinking, he glided the chair closer and moved her legs, still heavy and encased in her boots, over his shoulders. She dug her thick heels into his back and whimpered. He moved his head closer and licked her and she jolted. She could hear the wet lap of his tongue, drinking her up, sucking her in. She moaned again. Her hips lifted and his stubble-covered cheeks pulled at the skin of her thighs. He delved deeper now, his thirsty sounds driving her wild, until he reached her clit. She could feel the tip of a digit tracing her delicately and she cried out. She was close. He pulled her wider, pulling her apart. His fingers dug heavily into her and his mouth continued to move, licking and pulling ever so gently. She wanted him forever, she thought, shivering. Her hands were at her nipples now. She was all open, and every touch from every part of his body made her surge up and up. She couldn’t hold together. She was going to fall into pieces under his hands. His lips gave another tug on her and she came with a cry, her body jerking. The chair bumped with her, swinging gently left and right. He had pulled away, although his hands still worked her. His face, appearing above her skirt, was pleased and wondrous.
She was sweating when she fell back into the seat. Ian fiddled with the chair again and it moved down with another puff of air. She couldn’t wait for its slow mechanics, so she pulled him into her and kissed him, kissed his lips wet with her. His glasses were smudged and completely askew. He got up and picked her up and sat down himself, arranging her in his lap. They pressed their foreheads together and Petra found her heart slowing and slowing until her body was calm again.
• • •
Later, Ian had some food packed up
in the kitchen. He snagged a bottle of champagne. He wanted to take her home and celebrate properly. They had condoms there. They could have more sex there.
He was happy.
Walking back to his apartment in the winter air, his arm wrapped around her, his body pressed as close as it could to hers, he fretted over how cold she must be and grinned like an idiot at everyone they passed.
She loved him. He loved her. How simple and wonderful it was. They kissed in the elevator and in the hallway. When they got in the door, they dropped their bag with a clunk and shed their clothes on the way to the bedroom. Afterward, he wrapped her up snugly in blankets and spread the food out on the bed. He opened the warm champagne and they drank it out of mugs. They ate too much and she fell asleep. He watched her and in the morning, they woke up together, fuzzy-mouthed but happy. He insisted on driving her back to her apartment so that she could get warm clothes. He set out for Field for an early start. She went to her office.
And that’s when it all started to go off the rails.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The first phone call came from Ellie. “Petra, where the hell are you? I’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”
Petra contained her urge to squeal, I was with my boooyyyfriend, and simply said, “I was out.”
Nonetheless, a tiny hiccup of delight managed to escape her. Ellie ignored it.
“Well, the divorce came through and Mom and Jim decided not to wait. They’re getting married the weekend after next,” Ellie said. “You didn’t pick up your phone so Mom, in her usual Lisa Lale fashion, assumed you didn’t want to talk to her.”
A few days ago, Petra would have been dismayed by the news of Lisa’s rapidly impending nuptials. Today, it barely managed to squelch her. “I will call her, I promise.”
“Pete,” Ellie said, “what are we going to do?”
“What do you mean?” Petra asked.