Love [Literally]

by Maria Monroe

As I was leaving my apartment, I noticed my black journal on the coffee table was open. A smile immediately formed on my lips as I sank down onto the coffee table to see what Julian had written. On a blank page he’d printed JuLIAn, with the LIA darker and capitalized to make sure I could see it. That’s it. No hearts or flowers; that’s not Julian’s style. But happiness flooded me like never before, like a school girl getting a “yes” circled on her “Do you like me?” note to the boy she’s crushing on.

  I considered taking the day off, calling in sick—surely my boss would understand—but the story I'm working on was tugging at my brain.

  Today Michelle's wearing a simple but elegant navy blue dress with buttons down the front, black heels, and, as we leave the building, she places a navy beret with a huge flower on her head.

  "You look like…Kate Middleton?" I say.

  "I do. I'm into dressing like celebrities lately." She smiles at me, her red lips perfectly glossy, then her face gets a scolding look to it. "But do not try to make me forget about the real reason we're taking a coffee break before we even do any actual work."

  "And that is?" I ask, hurrying to keep up with her quick pace as we head to the nearest Starbucks.

  "Why you have the look of a girl who got fucked good and hard." She says it so casually that I burst out laughing. "Oh please, don't try to tell me it didn't happen," she says as she pulls open the coffee shop door.

  "I'm not pretending anything!"

  We wait in line, then order our drinks. When they're made, we find a table near the window, and Michelle scoots her chair up as close to the table as she can and looks hard at me. "Julian?" she asks.

  I could deny it. I'm not supposed to tell anyone. But lying to Michelle would be, it appears, useless when she has such an innate ability to read people.

  "Yes!" I squeak. I am, truthfully, dying to talk about it.

  "Oh god. In my fantasies, he's a fucking terrific lay. Please tell me he's that good in real life, since I'll never find out for myself."

  "Michelle!"

  "I'm serious. Just give me something. A tidbit. Anything."

  "Fine! He was—he is—amazing. I mean, not that I have anything to compare him to."

  "I still can't believe he's the only guy you've slept with. It's sort of fucked up. And actually kind of romantic. And I don't even really like romance. Wait. What about his girlfriend? Weren't you and Ben going to go on a double date with them?"

  "They broke up. He broke up with her."

  "Because of you?"

  I take a sip of my coffee. "Yeah. He said it wasn't fair to her that he thought about me all the time."

  Michelle nods. "She did seem worried about him being distant the other night when she talked to us at the bar."

  "I feel kind of bad about that," I say.

  "Don't. He's yours, Lia. He's always been yours. The way he looks at you? I'd die if a guy ever looked at me that way." She sounds suddenly wistful and so different from the hard-core Michelle I've gotten to know.

  "Michelle, you are so freaking gorgeous! I can't believe I'm hearing you talk that way! You can get any guy you want, and they all look at you like that."

  "No. They look at me like they want to fuck me. Which they do, of course." She raises an eyebrow at me before opening her coffee cup and dipping a finger into the whipped cream on top. Then she shrugs. "Relationships are overrated anyway. Except for you and Julian," she says. "What about Ben? You going to let him know you're off the market?"

  "Yes. He's nice and really cute. But Julian…" I must turn a deep shade of red because my cheeks are burning.

  Michelle nods. "You know," she says, "Scarlet seemed a bit taken with Ben. I wonder if they'd go to the movies together?"

  I almost choke on my coffee as I laugh out loud. "So Scarlet and I should exchange boyfriends? That's like… swinging. Or partner swapping. Or something weird and gross like that."

  "Oh please. Ben wasn't your boyfriend. You didn't even make out with him, which I totally don't understand because he's completely hunky."

  "Why don't you go for him then?" I demand.

  She shrugs again. "I like playing matchmaker."

  "So what? You and Darren will double date with Ben and Scarlet?"

  "No. Not with Darren. Why is everyone always shipping me with him?"

  "Shipping?"

  "Yeah. You know. It's a fanfic term? When you write about two characters getting together but in the real show or book they don't?"

  "Never heard of it, but OK. And no, I'm not shipping you two. You just like to hang out a lot. You're always kind of, I don't know, in sync. I wasn't suggesting anything else," I say, taking another drink from my to-go cup to hide the smile I can't quite fight.

  She narrows her eyes at me. "You better not be. We only kissed. Once. A long time ago. And we were both drunk, which means it didn't count."

  "Of course."

  For a few seconds she glares my way, but underneath her sarcastically angry look, I see a tenderness—and maybe a fear—that I've never seen in her eyes before. I know if I press her she won't talk, so I pretend I don't notice a thing.

  Then she switches on a broad smile. "Tell me more about last night," she says. So I do.

  Every time Julian walks past my desk, I keep my eyes down, but my entire body is giddy and tingling. I'm trying to be discreet, though, and looking at him would give everything away because I'm certain I'd blush and stammer and possibly faint from sheer excitement. So yeah. I just don't even look. I do have to shoot Michelle a few dirty glances when she mutters things under her breath, like, "Have you seen his ass in those pants?" or "Too bad his office walls are glass, right Lia?" which is definitely something I've already thought about. Darren seems oblivious, and, like he's been lately, sort of distant. He's started dressing nice again, ever since Julian called him out for being a slob, and I can't help noticing how handsome he is. Not that he wasn’t cute in flip-flops, but lately I guess I just have a thing for guys in suits. Or one particular guy in suits, at least.

  "Hey, I need help with something, Darren." I'm coming up with nothing when it comes to identifying my original contact, and Darren's good at tracking down stuff online.

  "Watcha got?" he asks as I scoot my chair over to his desk.

  "OK. Check this out," I say and bring up Melanie George's Facebook page. "She's the one whose body was found in the lake."

  He shakes his head. "That's so fucked up," he mutters.

  "I know, right? I hate to think it's related to this whole mess with Randolph Meyer because that would be scary as hell. But you never know."

  "So what you are looking for?"

  I tell him about my contact, how the only thing I know is that she used to work for Hope International and Melanie George used to be her boss. "I don't know what else to search for," I tell him. "So, you know, do your magic."

  "My magic?" He laughs out loud. "What you call magic is actually the extremely time-consuming process of poring over information until I see a clue. So, in fact, it's not magic at all. It's the dullest thing you can imagine."

  "And to think we went into reporting for the glamour!" says Michelle, walking past with a sashay.

  I laugh, but Darren doesn't respond. He doesn't even look up at her. I miss the way they usually tease each other. Something's up, but now isn't the time to worry about that.

  Darren scrolls down Melanie's Facebook page. "Can't see her friends," he mumbles, still scrolling. "Looks like the only thing we've got to look at is her profile pics." He keeps looking—a cat, a sunset, huge snow banks, a group of smiling people.

  "Wait!" I say suddenly.

  "What?"

  "That one picture. Go back. The one with the big group of people? It looks like it's from an office. Let me see that."

  He brings up the picture and I lean towards the screen to see better. "Oh my god. Look! That's her!" I point to the screen where, in the group of about ten coworkers, I see her. The woman from the practice rooms at the library. "That's my
contact, Darren!"

  "Alright. I have an idea." Darren saves the photo to his computer, then brings it up in Photoshop and crops out the woman's face. "Watch this," he says. "We can use Google reverse image lookup to see if we can figure out who she is."

  "What? Will that really work?"

  He shrugs. "Maybe."

  He uploads the photo and in a few seconds a page of results comes up. Her picture is right on the top. "Click," I urge. "There she is."

  "That was easier than I thought it would be," he says as he clicks on the picture, and we're taken to a news report. "And this is why. Holy shit."

  There's her photo, next to a headline. Chicago Woman Dies in Overnight Fire. Arson Suspected.

  I gasp and sit back in my chair. I want to read the article, but I can hardly breathe. The woman from the library, the one who played the Moonlight Sonata when I left, is dead. I just saw her! And it cannot possibly be a coincidence that she and her previous boss are both dead, both in situations where foul-play is a definite possibility.

  "Better go talk to Julian about this," says Darren, emailing the story link to me.

  I nod and head to his office.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  "Do not. Do any interviews. Without me." Julian's staring hard at me across his desk, and if I wasn't already freaking out about what I just found out, the controlled fear in his face would have set me off. I've never seen him look this worried about anything, so even the fact that he's blatantly telling me what to do—or not to do—doesn't get me riled up like it normally would.

  "You already said that, Julian." I roll my eyes at him, but the truth is I have no plans to go out like Veronica Mars and put myself in danger. I love that show, but I'm not stupid.

  "This isn't a game, Lia. Two people are dead."

  "I know, Julian."

  "I'm not trying to be a dick, OK? I just want you to be careful."

  "I will. Promise. No interviews without you."

  "I need you to be safe."

  "I get it, Julian!" Geez.

  His eyes glint suddenly, the concern from before morphing into desire. "You don't want to disobey me, Lia," he murmurs.

  "Disobey… what are you talking about?"

  He doesn't say anything, just lifts a corner of his mouth in a half-grin that makes my heart pound harder.

  "What, are you going to punish me if I don't do as you say?" I ask. "Does HR allow that? I'll have to check my orientation packet when I get back to my desk."

  "Are you telling me, Lia, that if I ordered you to bend over my desk right now you wouldn't do it?" His voice is low, commanding and full of desire.

  My pussy surges with wetness, but I try to keep my cool, looking over my shoulder at the glass walls behind me. "I bet they'd all appreciate the view," I say casually, though inside I'm feeling anything but casual. My stomach is swirling in excitement, my heart beating quickly, my body hot and tense with desire. And curiosity. And more than a little fear, but a pleasant fear.

  "Tonight," he says. "Come over."

  Oh my god. For what? Are my fantasies of what he would do with those toys we saw in the Pleasure Place back in college finally going to come true? And will I like it as much in real life as I do in my head?

  "OK," I whisper, a blush spreading over my cheeks.

  For a few minutes he says nothing, just stares at me, and I feel my blush intensify. "So," I finally say, "are we done?"

  He shakes his head. "We're far from done, Lia."

  "Oh."

  "You know," he says casually, tilting his head and assessing me, "I've been wondering something."

  "What?" My voice is a whisper.

  “Remember back in college when I took you to that adult store?”

  Oh my god. He was thinking the exact same thing I was!

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  “Have you thought about using any items other than the one I bought you?”

  I blush harder. I have thought about it. I remember being turned on as I walked through that store, thinking about Julian using different things on me. With me.

  “Answer me, Lia.” His voice is so low it sounds predatory.

  “I have,” I whisper.

  “Good." His voice is casual once more. "Are you aware, Lia, that if these walls weren't glass, you wouldn't be sitting in that chair right now." He adjusts his tie, keeping his eyes on mine the whole time.

  My eyes widen, my heart beating so hard I can feel it and hear it in my ears. "Where would I be?" I whisper.

  He smiles, his face so handsome, and leans back in his chair. "You'd have slipped off your panties, Lia, and you'd be here on my lap. Facing me. And I'd be balls. Deep. Inside you."

  "Oh my god." My eyes glaze over, the lids closing slightly, and I can feel my lips fall open in desire. "I'd like that," I manage.

  "You would more than like it, Lia. You would love every second of it."

  "Yes," I say, or I think I do. My body is so tense with desire, the feeling of being so turned on in such a public place so surreal.

  A knock on the door makes my eyes fly open, makes me sit up straight quickly, as I turn to see who's there. It's an intern, a young guy who works for Julian. Julian motions for him to enter, and when I glance over at Julian I'm shocked at how professional he looks all of a sudden. You'd never know he'd just been using the phrase "balls deep" and talking about taking my panties off.

  "I have some mail for you," says the intern. "Sorry to interrupt."

  "Lia and I were just discussing a few projects we have coming up," says Julian.

  I try to suppress a smile thinking about what "projects" he's talking about. "I better get back to work," I say, getting up and, for some reason, brushing off my jacket, though there's nothing on it.

  "Lia," says Julian, stopping me before I've left his office. "I meant what I said."

  When I turn to look back at him his eyes are dead serious.

  "You need to be careful. Don't talk to anyone without me there. Do you understand?"

  "Pinkie promise," I say, holding up my little finger.

  "I mean it, Lia." There's warning in his voice, warning that both thrills me and reminds me of the potential danger of the situation.

  Julian's condo is on Michigan Avenue, overlooking the lake which is currently frozen close to the shore, waves preserved in ice white sculptures I can just make out in the night lights along the bike path. I pay the cab driver, then head into the palatial building, where everything, from the floors to the golden light fixtures, gleams and shines. I head to the front desk, and a doorman stands to greet me.

  "Good evening!" he says.

  "Hi. I'm here to see Julian Barnes?"

  "Ah, yes. Ms. Hudson? He told me to send you right up. He's on the twenty-sixth floor. Just take the elevators over there."

  "Thanks," I say, smiling back at his warm face. I can't help feeling impressed by this place, by its beauty and elegance. My mind shifts back to college, when Julian lived with his twin sister Vanessa in an old purple Victorian house in the middle of the small town that housed our college. They had candles, sometimes shoved into beer bottles, and a beat up old couch, and posters, unframed, on the walls. This is so different. So grown up. It makes me nervous, once again, to think of Julian like this, as a real adult—a man—instead of a college guy.

  My body feels shaky from nerves, but I'm more than nervous. I'm excited too, my skin warm as I imagine the way he'll look at me, the passion and danger in his eyes. When I think about how his hands will feel as he pulls me to him I shiver in anticipation, my nipples growing hard underneath my clothes.

  Inside the elevator, I push the button and fix my hair in the mirrored, and flawlessly cleaned, elevator walls. Today I chose an outfit Michelle helped me select; it's a short black filmy skirt and knee-high fuck-me boots. They're not easy to walk in but, as Michelle reminded me, I'm not going to be doing much walking tonight. Underneath my coat I have on a tight black top, though it's more like a bustier, a corset shoving my boobs up
much better than even a miracle bra could do. I feel a wee bit slutty, but I know I look hot. I can't wait for Julian to see me like this, ready for tonight, ready for him.

  I knock on the door, so lightly at first that I have to summon up my courage and knock a second time, much louder. Why am I so nervous? When the door opens, the smile on Julian's face, a look of sheer happiness to see me, makes me relax. He's wearing a pair of distressed jeans riding low on his hips without a belt. I see a band of his boxers, and the gorgeous v of his hip muscles as they dip down into his pants. He's got on light blue button down shirt, all the buttons undone to reveal his chest, hard and chiseled. Those abs. So many muscles. I resist the urge to touch him right away, to slide my hand over his skin, feeling his firm body beneath my fingers.

  "Lia," he says.

  "Hi." I feel shy, like I'm a fifteen year old visiting my first boyfriend for the first time.

  He tilts his head, examining me for a second before saying, "Are you nervous, Lia?"

  I nod.

  His laugh is low, a rumble, and he pulls me to him suddenly, enfolding me in his strong arms. "It's just me," he whispers into my ear.

  Except that's the thing. There is no just Julian. He's so much. So everything. And he takes my breath away.

  "You look nice," he says.

  "Nice? That's an awfully lazy word for a writer to use," I counter.

  He laughs. "You're right. What I should have said is you look fucking amazing, Lia, like I want to strip you naked right here in the hallway."

  I gasp and blush.

  "Is that better?" he asks, running a finger down my cheek and under my chin, tilting my head up so I'm looking into his dark green eyes.

  "Are you going to invite me in?" I ask instead of answering his question. I'm flustered; so hot for him yet so nervous still for some reason.

  "I forgot my manners," he says, reaching out and grasping my hand. "When I'm around you I forget everything, Lia." He pulls me close so I can smell him, clean and soapy, with an underlying hint of mint. He bends down, moving his lips closer to mine. "Everything except this," he murmurs, bringing his lips to mine and softly biting my lower lip.

  I moan, a swirl of desire spinning all around me.