Just a Number

by A. D. Ryan

  After finishing up at the clinic, I make a quick stop at the florist, where I grab a huge bouquet of red roses, and then I stop at the market after work that afternoon since I have yet to stock my fridge and cupboards. I want to have dinner ready for us when Amelia arrives, and since I have a couple hours, I decide to prepare a rack of lamb with a side of roasted asparagus and butternut squash. While everything cooks, I set the table for two, putting Amelia’s flowers into a vase and lighting a few candles to set a more romantic mood. By the time six-thirty rolls around, the condo has been infused with the delicious smell of our dinner, and I’m just pulling out a bottle of wine for the two of us to share.

  At quarter-to-seven, my phone rings, and I pick it up, seeing that it’s the front door. The doorman is off at six on Fridays, meaning that any visitors have to use the buzzer system to gain entry into the building.

  “Hey,” I say, knowing it’s Amelia on the other end. “Come on up.”

  “Thanks,” she replies before I hit the pound button, granting her access to the main entry, and I head over to the apartment door and unlock it so she can just walk in.

  About five minutes pass before there’s a light knock on the door and she steps inside. “Hey, sorry I’m late.” She pauses, and when I turn to her, I see her wide eyes as she takes in the room, from the flowers and wine, right down to the candle-lit dinner I’m just setting out.

  “Wow,” she exhales softly. “This is gorgeous…and it smells delicious.” Smiling, she puts her fingertips to her lips. “I’m afraid I might be drooling a little,” she jokes.

  I finish putting the lamb on the table before I cross the room to her, taking her bags and jacket and putting them in the hall closet before I whisk her into my arms and kiss her heatedly. When I pull away, a soft sigh falls past her lips, and her eyes flutter open. “Well that was quite the welcome. Had I known that’s what was waiting for me, I’d have hijacked the bus and driven here myself.”

  Laughing, I take her hand and lead her to the table, pulling her chair out for her. “Yeah, but had you done that, then I’d have had to bail you out of jail.”

  “Good call,” she agrees, leaning forward and lifting the lid off of the roasted vegetables and inhaling deeply. “Owen, this is amazing.”

  Over dinner, I tell Amelia about my day, telling her that I’ve spoken with Stephen again and he’s started drawing up the divorce papers and has even been in contact with Gretchen’s attorney. I don’t dwell on this part of the conversation for long, because it’s really not how I want our evening to go. I change the topic, asking about her study session with Liz.

  By the time our plates are empty, we’ve almost polished off the entire bottle of wine, and I can see that the wine is having the same effect on her that it is on me; her eyes are slightly hooded and her posture is a little more relaxed as she leans back in her chair and eyes me from across the table…then I feel her foot slowly sliding up my jean-covered leg until it rests in my lap.

  She smiles, sinking her teeth into her plump lower lip and eyeing me coyly. “I missed you,” she confesses, lightly running her foot over the fly of my jeans and making my cock stir.

  Shifting in my chair to get a little more comfortable, I clear my throat. “The feeling was more than mutual, sweetheart.”

  Amelia places her foot back on the floor and pushes her chair away from the table, the feet scraping over the tile as she stands and slinks toward me. She straddles my lap and wraps her arms around my neck, leaning in and ghosting her lips over mine. “Well, what do you say we…reconnect in an effort to get rid of that loneliness?”

  Laughing softly, I nod, my nose brushing hers softly. “I think I like it when you talk dirty,” I reply, letting my lips graze a fiery trail over her jaw and toward her ear.

  With a soft sigh, Amelia cups my face in her hands and forces my eyes to hers. “Oh, you think that was dirty? You haven’t even heard the half of it.”

  She crushes her lips to mine, and I groan, my hands ensnaring her hips and pulling her against my growing erection. Admittedly, it’s not the most comfortable feeling in the world, having my dick trapped behind a denim prison, but Amelia’s quick to wiggle back a little so she can unfasten my jeans. With my fly wide open, Amelia yanks my shirt up my body, forcing my hands from her hips until she’s removed it. She throws it on the floor before ridding her body of her own top and leaving her above me in a black lacy bra. It’s so sheer that I can see the dark pink flesh of her hardened nipples, and my hands fly to them like magnets.

  Amelia throws her head back as I palm her sensitive flesh through the lacy undergarment, and I crave more from her. While I lean forward, I tug the right cup of her bra from her tit and place my mouth on her nipple, letting my tongue circle and flick the pebbled peak. She fists my hair, holding my mouth against her warm flesh, while my free hand moves down her body, unfastens her jeans, and slips inside to find her already wet. I move my fingers back and forth as much as I can between her legs, and her hips move in time with me.

  “Oh, Owen,” she sighs, resting her head on top of mine as I move my mouth to her other breast and discard her bra to the floor.

  My teeth graze her hardened flesh at the same time I circle her clit, and she gasps, thrusting her hips forward again, making the chair tip back a little and knock against the table…or, at least I thought it was the chair knocking on the table until there were three more knocks that came from the front door.

  Panting and startled, Amelia and I turn our heads toward the door and look at it as though we’re waiting for it to burst open and have our secret revealed to whoever’s behind it. Nothing happens right away, but soon four more loud knocks echo through the apartment, mirroring the pounding of my heart against my ribs.

  As if the unannounced guest isn’t enough to deal with, the knowledge of who it is only adds to my distress.

  “Owen! It’s me!” Alan says through the door. “Open up. I know you’re home.”

  Amelia inhales sharply, holding her breath and slapping her hands over her mouth. “Oh, god,” she mumbles through her fingers. “What the hell are we going to do?” She’s panicking. I can see it in her eyes and feel it in the tremble of her thighs.

  “Easy,” I whisper, easing her off my lap, handing her shirt to her, and pulling mine on as well. “Head to the bedroom and close the door. I’ll get rid of him.”

  Amelia nods, pulling her sweater over her head and dashing down the hall to wait as I adjust my dick and do up my pants. Things have the potential to blow up in our faces right now, and I’m trying to remain calm for the both of us. Once I reach the door, I unlock it and pull it open, forcing a smile that I pray comes across as genuine and not nervous.

  “Alan, hey,” I greet. “How’d you get in? I didn’t hear the buzzer.”

  “Oh, one of your neighbors was leaving and held the door for me.”

  I nod in understanding and secretly curse this unknown person. “So, what brings you to the city?”

  “Well, I have the next couple of days off, and I decided to come into the city to take Amy to dinner, but she’s not home.”

  Does he know she’s here? The question repeats in my mind, and my heartbeat picks up. I’m certain he’s going to hear it.

  He shrugs, stepping past me and into the main entry, even though I didn’t think I’d left that much room for him to do so. “She’s seeing someone,” Alan says. “That neighbor of hers told me that some guy’s been coming and going this past week.”

  I relax a little because it seems he doesn’t actually know, and I casually lean against the wall. “Oh, yeah?”

  “At first, I didn’t understand why she wouldn’t tell me,” Alan says, looking a little upset. “But then her neighbor told me that this guy looked like he was about fifty.”

  I’m going to fuck that guy up.

  Down the hall, there’s a low wooden thud, and I very briefly grimace, hoping Alan hasn’t heard it. But he has, and he instantly looks down the hall and then into the kitch
en, his eyes widening.

  “What the hell’s going on here?” he demands quietly as he absorbs the scene in the kitchen.

  We’ve been found out. I stand up straight, shaking my head as I move with him to keep him from going anywhere. He may know, but I can keep him from laying into Amelia. I’ll take the fall for this.

  “Listen, Alan, I can explain,” I begin. “I didn’t mean for this to happen, but—”

  He turns his eyes back to me, and that’s when I see that he’s not shocked and angry, but shocked and…proud? Now I’m confused. “You dirty dog,” he proclaims in a hushed tone. “You took my advice, didn’t you? You went out and found some hot piece of ass to help you get over Gretchen.”

  Okay, so he doesn’t know, but this could turn out to be so much worse.

  “Alan, please—”

  “Well, where is she?” he asks, looking around me, but I continue to get in his way. “Is she hot?” He laughs. “What am I saying? Of course she is!”

  “Alan, seriously…I don’t think now is a good time.”

  “You mean you’re not going to tell me anything?” I shake my head, because I’m really not about to get into the details of my “hot piece of ass,” mainly because I value my life, and I can’t be sure he isn’t going to kill me.

  Thankfully, he relents, holding his hands up in surrender. “All right, fine. You’ll tell me when you’re ready.” He backs toward the door, opening it. Before he slips back out into the hall, he smirks. “By the way, congrats.” His comment confuses me, and I arch an eyebrow quizzically as he points past me and continues. “Based on her choice of lingerie, she’s got to be a wildcat in the sack.”

  I’m horrified as my eyes land on Amelia’s lacy bra in the middle of my kitchen floor, but I try not to let it show on my face. “Goodnight, Alan. If you decide to stay in the city, let me know. Maybe we could do lunch tomorrow.”

  Alan’s head bobs. “That’s actually a great idea. Maybe I’ll grab a hotel room…I’d ask to stay on your couch, but…” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, and I fight the impulse to bury my face in my hands.

  “Right,” I agree, hoping my voice is even. “Well, let me know about tomorrow, then.”

  “Will do,” he says, and I’m just about to close the door when he stops me. “Oh, and can you do me a favor?” I nod in response. “Check in on Amy every once in a while. I’m not sure I like the idea of her dating someone twice her age. You two have always been close, and I think she’ll listen to you. If I tell her to steer clear of this guy, it’ll just drive her further into his arms.”

  I laugh, and I know it comes across as nervous as it feels. “I will, Alan. I’ll, uh, talk to her.”

  And with that, he’s gone, and I click the deadbolt back into place before turning and pressing my back to the door. The bedroom door opens and soft footfalls pad down the hall. Soon she’s standing in front of me.

  “Well, that was more than I ever needed to hear my father say,” she jokes softly.

  I want to laugh—to pretend that nothing has changed, but the truth is, everything has changed. While Alan doesn’t realize that I’m the older man involved with his daughter, he’s already voiced his disapproval of the situation. We won’t be able to win him over, and I can’t tear her relationship with him apart.

  “Owen?” Her voice is soft, afraid, and her head starts to shake from side to side, like she knows what’s coming.

  “I think I should take you home, Amy.”

  13. Keep Holding On

  I still can’t believe what’s happening. Okay, it’s not that I don’t believe it; I guess I’m just stuck in a state of denial over the entire thing.

  Home. He wants to take me home.

  I had seen his decision before he even voiced it, but that doesn’t make his words sting any less. It shouldn’t surprise me as much as it does, given we had just come so incredibly close to being caught by my dad, but it does. I guess I’ve just been so caught up in how amazing it is to be with Owen that the reality of our situation just sort of evaporated slowly throughout the week.

  I can see how much my father’s comments have upset Owen, though, and I can’t just pretend like everything is okay. Because it isn’t. They can be, sure, but in this moment, it’s obvious that we have to figure things out sooner rather than later.

  “Owen, we should talk about this,” I whisper.

  He shakes his head, pushing himself away from the door. “We will, but…I need to process everything first.”

  “Okay,” I reply, dragging the word out and following him through his apartment as he searches for…something. “Well, don’t you think we should try and process this together? Maybe try to figure out what to tell him?”

  Owen stops searching, fisting his car keys from the end table in his living room, and my stomach drops. He’s taking me home, whether I want to go or not.

  “How could we possibly spin this into something he’d even remotely approve of, Amy?” he asks, his voice growing a little louder. The use of my nickname isn’t missed, either. One little word, and I no longer feel like his equal.

  He’s upset, and while I know his anger isn’t directed at me, I can’t help but keep my distance and wrap my arms around myself.

  “I get that he’s going to have a hard time accepting this.” My eyes catch his, and I swear I see his urge to blurt out “yeah, right,” but I keep talking, not giving him the chance. “I do. But don’t you think that once he understands how happy we are together, he’ll come around?”

  Owen is silent, contemplative for a moment, before he rakes his fingers through his hair roughly and shakes his head again. “You didn’t see the look in his eyes when he brought up the fact that you were seeing a man twice your age.”

  “Okay,” I quickly agree, interjecting as he lets his sentence hang there, unfinished. “Well, that’s because, right now, he thinks I’m just dating some random fifty-year-old.” The second I see his guard drop, I let my arms fall from around my body and take a step forward, placing my hands on his hips and smiling up at him. “And let’s be realistic, here,” I add on slyly, “I would never date a fifty-year-old…I have standards. Forty-three is kind of my limit.”

  While I’d hoped to gain a bigger smile and a laugh, I’m forced to settle for a weaker version of his crooked grin. “Come on,” he says, nodding his head for the door. “I’ll take you home.”

  There’s no arguing with him, so, defeated, I force a smile to my face, grab my things, and follow him out of his place and to his car. The entire drive back to my apartment is quiet, save for the soft jazz music pouring from the Lexus’ speakers. It confuses me at first when Owen slows down and starts scoping out the cars along the street outside my apartment, but then I realize he’s probably looking for Dad’s vehicle. When he doesn’t find it, he pulls up in front of my building and puts the car in park.

  We sit there for a few minutes in near-silence, and I’m looking at my fidgeting hands, not wanting to get out of the car and trying to find a way to tell him this. Before I can say anything, he gets out and comes around to open my door. I sigh, dejected, and take his offered hand. We stand by the car, looking anywhere but at each other, and I’m trying so hard to ignore the burning in my eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” Owen breathes softly, his thumb moving softly over the back of my hand; I hadn’t realized he was still holding it.

  “I know,” I reply, my voice breaking. This is starting to feel an awful lot like a breakup…which is ridiculous since we haven’t even defined whatever our relationship is. “It’s fine,” I tell him, even though nothing about this feels fine. Pretending to scratch an itch on my cheek, I discreetly wipe the tear that escapes and look up at him. He looks devastated and tells me he’ll call me when he figures things out.

  My heart clenches and my stomach flops as I step forward and gently place my hand on his chest, kissing his cheek softly and feeling his heart pound under my touch. There’s so much I want to say, but I know I won’t be able
to say any of it without breaking down, so I simply turn around and head for my apartment building.

  Little do I know, I won’t hear from him all weekend.

  “Hello…Earth to Amy.” Liz’s voice pulls me from the painful memory of Friday night, and I turn to her.

  It’s Monday morning, and we’ve just arrived on campus. I’m exhausted, having not slept well almost all weekend, and it shows in my eyes. Every time I’d lie down in bed, Owen’s scent on my pillows would remind me of what happened Friday night. Every time I’d open the fridge and see all the food in there, I’d remember again. At one point on Saturday night, I remembered that Owen still had my spare keys. Several times, I’d find myself hoping—even praying—that he’d come to his senses and show up, kissing all of this away and assuring me that, as long as we were together, we could handle anything the world had to throw at us. This never happened, so when I crawled out of bed on Sunday, smelling his smell and seeing all that food in my fridge once more, I gave up hope that he would come to me. Everything in my small apartment screamed of the past week that Owen and I had shared together; there was no escaping it.

  Hence my lack of sleep.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, smiling weakly. “What?”

  Liz shakes her head disapprovingly. “What’s up with you today? I hate to say it, but you look like hell, and you’re acting like something from another planet.”

  I’m too exhausted to feel insulted, and one look in the passenger-side mirror is all the proof I need to know Liz is totally right. I run my fingers through my hair, not that I expect this to do anything, and I pull it into a messy bun-thing on top of my head, hoping it looks intentionally disheveled and not as horrifying as the rest of me. Along with the dark circles of exhaustion under my eyes and the pile of slightly tangled hair on top of my head, my clothes also indicate my mood. Unable to find it in myself to really give a shit, I paired my favorite jeans—the faded ones that have holes in both knees from wearing them so damn much—with my high school sweatshirt. This isn’t normal for me, as I typically take a little more pride in my appearance.