by Rome, Ada
“Goodnight, Kat,” he said softly, his eyes traveling hungrily over my lips and my chest.
Before I had a chance to respond, his mouth was on mine, kissing me deeply and forcefully. His lips were strong and supple, his sinuous tongue twisting and winding. My mind reeled with desire. I returned his kiss with a passionate intensity, biting and sucking his lower lip. He groaned lustily, pressing his body against mine. I felt the rigid strength of his erection between my legs. I arched my back as his fingertips gripped me with a bruising pressure.
Then, just as suddenly, he pulled away. With a final delicate kiss on my still-throbbing lips and a brief fingertip caress that skated along the tops of my half-exposed breasts, he lay back and closed his eyes.
“Goodnight, Trent,” I whispered, my pulse still pounding in my temples. I think I’m falling in love with you.
At some point between midnight and sunrise, we both drifted off to sleep under the great dark sky.
***
I awoke to clean morning sunlight slanting across my body. My sleepy brain, confused and disoriented, tried to piece together the events of the prior night.
I sat up and scanned the roof. Much to my surprise, I was completely alone. Trent was nowhere to be found. I felt chilled in my flimsy camisole and immediately donned the blouse that was spread neatly on the cushion beside me. I grabbed my shoes by the heels and picked my way barefoot across the cement roof.
As I descended the winding staircase, part of me expected the succulent aromas of a fresh-cooked breakfast to waft in from the kitchen. Instead, the stove stood cold and bare. The apartment was desolate as a tomb.
“Trent?” I called into the silence with the shaky and timid voice one might use when summoning a ghost.
I heard no response. I tiptoed through the halls and peeked through open doorways. I checked the kitchen counter for a quickly jotted note that might explain his absence. Maybe he went to the store to buy milk or to the newsstand to grab a paper.
There was no note. The duffel bag was gone from the floor. I had the eerie sensation that the previous night’s events were a mere figment of my imagination and that I was now an unwelcome intruder. The reality of the situation struck me with a shocking blow that nearly knocked the air from my lungs and brought hot tears to the corners of my eyes. How could I have believed, even for a second, that Trent possessed any kind of feelings for me? My brain spoke a cruel truth that my heart was not yet willing to accept. I mean nothing to him. I am just a joke.
I stepped into my shoes and bolted through the door, hearing it slam shut behind me. A few minutes later, I hurried toward the uptown subway, the fresh morning breeze swiftly drying the tears from my dampened cheeks.
Chapter 8
The next week passed in a miserable blur. As each day shaded into the next, I resigned myself more and more to the fact that Trent was not only ignoring me but actively avoiding me.
On Tuesday, I glimpsed his broad-shouldered figure walking fifty paces ahead on the sidewalk and bounding up the stairs into the magazine building. I quickened my stride, not sure what I would say if I did manage to catch him in the lobby. He was gone by the time I surged through the revolving door, panting and sweating from the summer heat.
Miklos led the weekly staff meeting, remarking off-handedly that Trent was occupied on other important matters. Kill glowered and fumed at the edge of the room.
I jumped every time my phone buzzed. Trent’s name never appeared. I tried to steel myself against expectation, but I proved unable to quell a surge of disappointment whenever the message turned out to be from someone else. I invented excuses to walk past his office during working hours. The door remained closed, no sound emanating from within.
“Are you alright, Kat?” Tony asked with a hint of concern on Wednesday as we sat across a small bistro table outside of a coffee shop on 25th Street.
I didn’t respond, absorbed in my thoughts as I stared at the foam in my steaming mug and clinked my fingernails against the white ceramic. When I looked up, Tony eyed me with a suspended air of anticipation.
“Hm?” I said absently.
He laughed and shook his head. “I asked if you’re alright. You’ve been a real space cadet so far this week. Did something happen?”
I sipped my latte while I thought of an appropriate response. I certainly could not tell Tony about my romantic entanglement with Trent. Aside from the fact that I had solemnly promised to keep Trent’s secrets, which I assumed included his participation in an underground fighting ring and his tendency to kiss hapless interns, I was utterly embarrassed by the entire situation. At this point, I felt more like a pathetic schoolgirl with an unrequited teacher crush than a grown woman on the cusp of a passionate liaison. I had come to the magazine to advance my professional career, but so far I had merely managed to turn myself into a lovesick fool.
“No, nothing at all.” I forced a cheerful smile. “I guess I’m just preoccupied. I’ve been racking my brain for story ideas for the cover contest, but I’m not having any luck.”
Tony knit his eyebrows suspiciously but allowed my lie to pass unquestioned.
“I was thinking about doing a story on this boxing gym up in the Bronx.” He leaned over the table and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. “I heard about them through a friend. They got priced out of their lease when the university decided to build some medical school dorms across the street, but the neighborhood banded together and raised the money to pay their rent for another year.”
“That sounds like a great story,” I said weakly. I really did like his idea, but I had trouble mustering a ton of enthusiasm for any topic at the moment.
“Yeah, I don’t know.” He leaned back, his shoulders drooping slightly. “Maybe it’s too heartwarming, not edgy enough.”
I sat up, my journalistic instincts momentarily winning the battle against my sad-sack emotional state.
“You should explore it some more. You never know. Maybe there is an edgy angle that you haven’t yet discovered. Maybe there is more to it than just the heartwarming tale of a small gym battling against the forces of greed. Maybe there is another side to the story.”
He nodded, his arms crossed over his slim chest and his lips pursed in thought.
“That’s good advice. I knew there was a reason that I bothered hanging out with you.” He reached over and poked my shoulder with brotherly affection. “So…uh…what’s going on with your roommate, Marcie?” I could tell that he was trying very hard to sound casual and detached. “Did she break up with the guitarist yet?”
Unfortunately, I was forced to be the bearer of busted hopes, at least for the time being. On Sunday morning, I had crawled out of bed after a late-night marathon binge of cheesy 80s sitcoms and tripped over a battered guitar case on my way to the bathroom. Fucking Vaughan, I muttered under my breath. Sure enough, there was Sleeping Beauty himself, sprawled like a snow angel across Marcie’s bed while her tiny form huddled in a corner pocket.
Marcie looked sheepish when I approached her later that day.
“He apologized,” she said with a vague shrug.
I didn’t press the issue. I was certainly in no position to dole out romantic advice.
“Not yet,” I told Tony.
“That’s a shame.” His posture noticeably wilted. “She deserves better.”
Same here, I thought with a flash of anger at the absent Trent.
***
Late Friday afternoon, I sat stooped over my laptop, immersed in a research project that I’d promised to complete by the end of the day. A shadow passed through the left side of my vision. When I lifted my head, I was stunned to see Kill leaning on the side of my desk, gazing down at me with a pleasant smile that lit up his normally sour countenance.
“Hi, Kat,” he chirped.
“Um, hi, Kill,” I stammered.
I readied myself for a turn of the tables. Surely, he was just messing with me. Any second, he would shift into a vicious scowl and order me to perform
some humiliating task. Buy my groceries. Shine my shoes. A host of snarky responses bubbled into my consciousness.
“Listen, I think you and I got off on the wrong foot,” he said. I stared back at him in dumb shock. “It’s my fault,” he continued. “I’m sorry. I hope that we can be friends from now on.”
Kill seemed unaware that I’d overheard his argument with Trent a week earlier. After automatically assuming that Trent was the valiant hero and Kill the cowardly villain, I now began to wonder. What if my assumptions were wrong? What if Kill wasn’t the bad guy after all? I had to at least consider the possibility, especially given Trent’s behavior toward me over the past week. Maybe Kill was something that I never expected. Maybe he was an ally.
“No need to be sorry,” I said matter-of-factly. I did not want to be overly forgiving – the guy had acted like a huge dick so far – but I also did not want to alienate him until I determined the real truth.
We remained awkwardly silent for half a minute.
“Well, I’ll let you get back to work then.” He strolled away through the wide glass doors. I watched him, my eyebrows knit together and my forehead crinkling in confusion.
A few minutes later, I was retrieving a snack from the breakroom fridge when Miklos appeared behind me.
“Miss Raney!” he said in bright welcome. “How is the world of magazine publishing treating its newest star?”
I had to laugh despite my pensive mood.
“I’m doing just fine, Mister Balik.”
“Please, call me Miklos.” He polished an apple on the sleeve of his very expensive suit jacket.
“Then you have to call me Kat,” I returned with a wink.
“Very well, Kat.” He leaned backwards on the counter, the round bottle cap lenses of his glasses reflecting the harsh overhead lights. “I am happy that I ran into you here. I have been keeping an eye on you since you started.”
“You have?” I asked in surprise. I had no idea that Miklos had even registered my existence beyond the few times we’d met in passing in the halls or on the street.
“I have. And don’t sound so shocked.” He playfully wagged a finger. His expression grew suddenly serious. He squinted at me in appraisal. “You know, I was once a wide-eyed young journalist such as yourself. That, of course, was a long time ago.”
His voice was smooth and gravelly. His dignified posture and sophisticated accent lent his words an air of wisdom.
“Back in Hungary?” I ventured.
“Yes, back in Hungary.” His voice turned wistful. “You strike me as a good soul. You have a true heart. I was once the same.”
“Are you no longer a good soul?” I said with a chuckle. I silenced myself when I realized that his expression had turned even more grave and thoughtful.
“We all do things of which we are not proud,” he said cryptically. “I was trusting. I trusted the wrong person. You are trusting. Be careful that you do not trust the wrong person too.”
“How do I know which person is the wrong person?”
I recalled my brief conversation with Kill, still fresh in my mind, and the doubts it had created. Is Trent the wrong person to trust? Is Kill the wrong person?
“That, my dear, I cannot tell you,” Miklos responded. “You must discover on your own. I simply advise you to be wary. Some people are not what they seem, and some people are exactly what they seem.”
I nodded as if I understood, but my brain reeled in a confused turmoil. Miklos tossed his apple upwards and snatched it out of mid-air, displaying the reflexes of a much younger man.
“Now I must leave you, Kat. I am glad that we could have this talk.”
“Me too,” I responded uncertainly.
He turned and headed for the door.
“Have a nice weekend,” I called weakly.
He waved a hand and disappeared down the hall.
***
The afternoon progressed toward evening. I kept working, intentionally stalling on a project that I could have finished hours earlier. Though I did not want to admit it to myself, I still clung to the vain hope that Trent would magically scoop me up like an office Cinderella and whisk me away to another thrilling Friday night of secret underground fights and rooftop embraces.
My heart sank when I glanced over at the glass doors around 8:00 and saw his distinctive figure pass by. He carried the telltale duffel and headed to the elevator.
I sent a final email and gathered my belongings, prepared for another lonely evening of sitcom binges and ice cream.
“Well, fuck that guy,” I righteously declared. My words echoed in the silence of the empty room.
Chapter 9
“Kat! Kat! Wake up, you fool!”
Marcie vigorously shook my shoulder. I groggily opened my eyes. An empty carton of ice cream sat on the nightstand beside my head, a sticky spoon propped against its edge. I was quickly becoming the cliché of a broken-hearted girl.
“What…what is it? What’s happened?”
Marcie thrust a phone into my face with a stern nod. It buzzed with an incoming call. The name on the screen was Trent Montaine.
“I’ll answer it myself if you don’t,” Marcie hissed.
I gave her a withering glare and shooed her away with the tips of my fingers.
“Hello?” My voice betrayed a gruff sleepiness.
Marcie split open the bubble gum pink curtains, admitting shafts of morning sunlight that hit my eyes with the force of a flare. I pinched my eyelids shut against the painful brightness.
“What are you doing right now?” Trent’s voice sounded slightly breathless, as if he were walking very fast.
“Um, I just woke up,” I admitted.
“It’s ten o’clock. What are you? A lady of leisure?”
“I didn’t get to sleep until two in the morning.”
“Pardon me, girl gone wild. Am I disturbing your hangover?”
“Not unless a pint of peanut butter fudge ice cream and a Facts of Life marathon can give someone a hangover.”
He laughed. “I would argue that those two things most certainly could give someone a hangover. Damn, you’re pathetic.”
“Screw you.”
“Is that an invitation?”
Yes, I wanted to say. I felt comforted by our easy return to a rapid-fire banter. I wanted to stay angry at him, but his charm was difficult to overcome. Perhaps I was simply grateful that he had once against decided to acknowledge my existence.
“You wish,” I responded boldly.
“Meet me downstairs in ten minutes.” My heartbeat quickened. I looked helplessly at my pajamas.
“Give me twenty,” I said, already leaping from the rumpled bed.
“See you then.” The line clicked dead.
Precisely twenty minutes later, I bounded down the steps after a hurried shower, my hair still damp at the ends and tossed into a messy ponytail. Trent leaned backwards against a motorcycle parked at the curb. His arms were crossed over his sculpted abdomen. His chin tilted inward, causing a lock of black hair to flop invitingly over his forehead. I wanted to pluck it with my fingertips and smooth it back into place. In the instant before my feet hit the sidewalk, I caught his shining blue eyes fixed on my bare legs.
He stepped forward. He wore a tight army-green t-shirt that accentuated his chest muscles. His battered jeans were worn to threads at the pockets and knees.
“Look, I know you’re probably pissed.” He held his palms outward in a gesture of pacification.
“Yeah, a little, now that you mention it. Thanks for noticing.” Now it was my turn to stand with my arms crossed.
He smirked and flipped back the errant lock of hair. “I’ve always been a sucker for a fiery redhead.”
“Don’t change the subject, Prince Charming.” I impatiently tapped the toe of my thin canvas sneaker into the cement.
His smirk spread into a wide grin that threatened to melt both my heart and my panties. He opened a compartment in the rear of the motorcycle and pull
ed out a helmet.
“I’ll explain everything when we get there.”
“When we get where?”
“You’ll see.”
“You say that a lot.”
“Have I disappointed you yet?”
He tossed the helmet to me across the width of the sidewalk. I bobbled it, but caught it just before it crashed to the hard ground.
“Should I change?” I looked uncertainly from the motorcycle to my delicate flowered sundress, the hem several inches above my knees and the bodice held in place by thin spaghetti straps.
“No, babe. You look perfect.” He winked. My cheeks and chest prickled pink with heat. Damn him, I thought. Why does he have to be so gorgeous?
I settled the helmet onto my head as Trent mounted the bike. I hesitated, my toes hanging over the edge of the curb. He hooked one finger in the air, signaling for me to come closer, and patted the seat behind him. Trying my best not to expose my panties to the entire street, I swung one leg over the side and positioned myself against his back. I tucked the hem of my dress under my thighs so that it wouldn’t fly into my face as soon as we drove away.
Trent clutched my naked knees and pulled me forward. My breasts, in their thin casing of flowered cotton, pressed against his brawny back. My inner thighs straddled his hips. I wrapped my exposed arms around his midsection, my palms flattened over his rippling six-pack.
This is no fair. I might orgasm any second. I swallowed hard, trying to steady my surging pulse.
Trent turned his helmeted head back toward me and nodded. I gave a thumbs-up salute.
The engine growled with a vibration that shook my spine. Then the tires squealed over the asphalt as we sped out into the Saturday morning traffic.
***
We zoomed along the Hudson River, leaving the bustling island of Manhattan and gliding through the quiet suburbs north of the city. The landscape shifted from huddled brownstones to green manicured lawns to cow-dotted farm pastures with rail-post fences. The clouds grew thicker the farther north we progressed until the sky displayed the bruised blue hues of an oncoming rainstorm.