by Aly Martinez
"Come on. Get up here." I scoot over to the edge, allowing her just enough room to squeeze in next to me. She doesn’t move, so I just shrug and hit the menu button on the remote. "Okay, looks like Vision Quest will be playing at the James Cinema today after all."
"This is blackmail."
"Just a little," I reply, patting the couch next to me.
She groans before crawling forward and tucking herself into my side. She rests her head on my chest but keeps her arms at her sides. I almost find it comical. However, before Tom Cruise even starts running through Times Square, she drapes her arm across my chest and begins stroking up and down my side.
We spend the rest of the day lounging on the couch. We talk, sleep, and laugh—a lot. We both feel like utter shit, but I’ll admit that I’m actually enjoying my time lying around with her. It is a million times better than being miserable alone. She is always touching me. It isn’t sexual, but it is definitely flirty. And it doesn’t feel forced or awkward either. It feels, well…normal.
"THANK YOU for calling the Chicago Tribune. How may I direct your call?"
It’s an endless cycle.
"Please hold."
All day.
"Thank you for calling the Chicago Tribune. How may I direct your call?"
Fuck my life.
I’ve worked this job for approximately two point five days and I’m officially ready to quit, but unfortunately, I don’t have that luxury.
"Please hold."
"Sarah!" I hear the Wicked Witch call from her office. "Time for lunch," she informs me then quickly begins explaining, for the third day in a row, how to forward the calls to one of the secretary’s desks. It’s two buttons. Not exactly a difficult task, but she clearly doesn’t think I can handle it.
It’s only a lunch break, but I walk out of the building eager for all sixty minutes of freedom before I have to reenter that hell. No sooner than my feet hit the sidewalk do I get an eye full of a gorgeous man leaning against a motorcycle, waiting for me.
His delicious lips lift in that genuine smile I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.
"I didn’t take you for the stalking type," I tease, stopping in front of him. "Or a biker."
Fucking hell. Leo leaning against a Harley is a sight to be seen.
"Stalking isn’t usually my thing, but I was willing to make an exception for you." He reaches forward, pulling me against him and wrapping me in his arms. This man and his freaking hugs. I would complain if I didn’t enjoy every single second of them.
When Leo dropped me off around ten on Sunday night, he gave me a quick kiss on the cheek then promised to call. We made plans to go out again on Wednesday since he would be gone on business in Indianapolis until then. True to his word, Leo called both nights that he was away. He listened to me ramble about the new job on Monday. Then, on Tuesday, I listened to him complain about one of the new guys he’d had to fire for hitting on a client.
Up until now, I was a little concerned about the direction this thing with Leo was headed. During our phone calls, he never once became the flirty man I have grown to know. He called to chat like an old friend. Granted, we don’t know each other well. It’s not like I was expecting him to whisper sweet nothings or anything. It just felt like the heat in his voice was gone. However, now, as his hand drifts over the small of my back, I know I couldn’t have been more wrong.
"Hey," I finally respond, taking a step away, but Leo doesn’t release me.
"How long do you have for lunch?" he whispers into my ear, sending chills down my spine.
"Um, an hour." I grab his biceps for balance and, for some strange reason, turn my head to give him access to my neck.
A small moan escapes my throat as his breath teases my skin. Leo and I haven’t even kissed yet, but I’m completely okay if he wants start with my neck…in the middle of the street…in front of my office. Shit.
I clear my throat and back away, fully expecting to find him smirking at me. Only Leo looks just as affected by our brief moment as I feel. His eyes are hooded and full of absolute trouble.
He sucks in a deep breath. "Okay, so I’m going to take you to lunch—sans food poisoning this time. Then we are going to discuss that moan tonight over dinner," he says bluntly.
As much as I would like to be shy and timid in this moment, I can’t resist the impulse to deflect his flirty advance. "Oh, we are most definitely not talking about that. Besides, if we are going to talk, we should start with how long you sat outside waiting on me," I respond with a sarcastic laugh.
"You’re probably right. Talking would only prevent me from making you moan again. I like the way you think." He winks before grabbing my hand and walking down the street.
I’m left with my jaw hanging open at his forwardness.
He releases my hand and guides me into a very well-known chain restaurant; obviously, Leo isn’t any more willing than I am to take another chance on a random food.
"COME ON. I can’t afford to be late," I say, dragging Leo from the restaurant.
Lunch went much like everything does with Leo—easy, comfortable, and fun. We didn’t talk about anything profound. No deep, dark secrets were revealed. We just ate lunch and enjoyed each other’s company. It was by far the best date I’ve ever been on. All fifty minutes of it. I’d give anything to make it last longer, but knowing that we will be going out again tonight makes it sting a little less when I see the tall tower of the newspaper building only a block ahead of us.
"How long do you have?" he asks.
"Six minutes."
"I only need two." He grins mischievously. I want to be alarmed by the flicker in his eyes, but as he pulls me down the side street, I lose any desire to care. "I need to talk to you for a second."
"Five minutes." I count him down to distract myself from getting lost in his hypnotic ways.
Leo abruptly stops me, pushing me off-balance. I slide my hands over the curved muscles of his shoulders to keep on my feet and…well, just to cop a feel. I close my eyes. As if looking at Leo weren’t hard enough, touching him gets me every time.
Fuck. I just moaned again. And Leo verifies it with his smirk when I peek open my eyes.
"Just so you know, I’m going to kiss you."
I stumble back at his honesty. My shoulders meet the cool brick of the building. It’s lunchtime on a busy Chicago sidewalk, but I’m with Leo James. Fuck the rest of the details. The sounds of the city whirl around us as I close my eyes in anticipation of finally feeling his lips pressed to mine. Yet they never come. My eyes flash open to find him watching me.
"Not right now," he corrects, and I sigh with a mixture of relief and disappointment, causing his smile to grow. "Sarah, tonight. I’m going to kiss you. Not on a sidewalk, but in my bed."
"You’re pretty confident, huh?" I snark, needing some way to disguise my desires. I know there is no way to deny that he turns me on. I won’t even try to pretend otherwise.
"Nope, just optimistic." He leans in close, pinning me against the building. His lips taunt me, but it’s the look in his eyes that silences my response. "When’s the last time someone kissed you, Sarah?" His hands move up my sides as he licks his lips, holding my gaze hostage with his every move.
"Forcibly or by choice?" I ask with my head lost in a fog.
"Excuse me?" he growls as his eyes flash with an odd combination of anger and something else I don’t quite recognize.
"No! Nothing like that!" I exclaim.
"Then what’s it like, Sarah?" He lifts his eyebrows questioningly.
"It’s just… My last kiss wasn’t one I wanted. It was from my ex and it was…weird."
"Right. Weird." His reaction leaves me puzzled, but when his shoulders relax, so do mine.
We stare at each other for a few seconds, but the moment is officially gone.
"I need to get back." I push myself off the wall, attempting to regain some sense of composure that doesn’t make me look like a starstruck teenager.
Leo catches my ar
m, stilling me. "I was serious about tonight. I’m just giving you some notice so you could work it out in your head first," he tells me with a surprising amount of understanding.
"We’ll see about that." I give him a patronizing smile that only causes the heat to flare back into his eyes.
"Oh, we will, ángel," he says in a Spanish accent that pretty much guarantees that we will, in fact, be kissing tonight. Maybe not in his bed though. I can at least stand my ground on that one, although I’m not really sure why I would want to.
"I’m going to be late," I reply in a dry, bored tone even though, on the inside, I am anything but.
"I’m picking you up tonight."
"I can just—"
"You’re going to be late if you stand here and argue with me. I’ll see you at seven." He smiles a knowing grin.
I glance down at my watch and realize I have less than a minute to clock back in from lunch. "Shit."
"See ya tonight!" he shouts as I take off speed-walking around the corner and toward the door of the Tribune.
JOHNSON DOESN’T say a word as he drives through town. He silently smokes as I stare out the window feeling utterly lost. After an hour of driving in circles, he pulls up to a building about ten minutes from my apartment.
"It’s safe to assume I’m going to lose my job for this." He puts the car in park and gets out.
"What the fuck are you doing?" I ask as I catch sight of the Building Foundations sign above the door.
He rounds the hood and opens my door. "Get the fuck out," he growls.
"Fuck you," I respond.
"Sorry it’s not one of those fancy-ass richy-rich places Slate would have taken you to, but this is all I know."
"You can’t check me into some nuthouse without my permission." I look at him like he’s the one who should be checking in.
"No, but at three p.m. every day, there’s a grief therapy group session. I come on Wednesdays." He shrugs.
I knew Johnson had a dark past, but we’ve never talked about.
"I’m not going in there. It won’t help."
"Well, you won’t know until you try." He takes a long drag off his cigarette.
"You don’t think I’ve tried!" I yell, jumping out of the car and stepping into his face.
"Well, get your ass in there and try again. It obviously didn’t take the first time." He blows smoke into my face. "That bullshit back there about offing yourself is ridiculous. You went through hell and back to save Erica. Now walk your bitch ass in there and take the first step to save yourself."
I open my mouth to tell him to fuck off, but he stops me first.
"Or maybe I’ll call Erica and have her meet us up here. You can deal with her face to face. Tell her all about that shit you spewed to Slate back there. Your choice." He smiles, knowing that he’s won.
"Goddamn it," I mumble to myself as I head inside.
The meeting is already in progress, and a thin woman is standing on the makeshift stage. I grab the chair closest to the back and try to blend in while planning my escape.
"Hey, y’all. I’m officially done with this place," she says, and the room claps, making me roll my eyes.
This is ridiculous. Just as I ready myself to leave, the frail woman stills me.
"This might be my last day, but you should all know that I’m not healed, fixed, or magically restored to be the person I was before guilt and self-loathing took over my life. I’m still just as broken as the day I walked in here." She sucks in an emotion-filled breath before continuing. "I think it’s important for you to know that I sat right where you are sitting for two years. I listened to people tell me how fantastic they felt as they said their goodbyes, but I’m here to inform you that it’s all a load of shit."
Her honesty intrigues me and keeps me rooted in my chair. And when she smiles, it’s guts me. Even though I’ve never seen this woman before, I recognize that pain-filled smile. I’ve seen it almost every time I’ve looked in the mirror for the last four years. That’s my smile.
"This may be shocking to some of you, but even after what seems like a billion hours of therapy, I still hate myself for the things I have done. I physically ache when I think about the people I have hurt. The only difference is that, now, I know how to handle that pain. It doesn’t shred me anymore, and that in and of itself is more than I ever could have asked for when I walked into this room for the very first time. So, today, as my final parting words, I’m not going to fill your head with false hope of ever completely reclaiming your life. I’m going to fill it with the truth about overcoming and starting over. Today, I’m going to tell you my story. It’s a long one, so I hope you grabbed some coffee."
She smiles again, and I know I won’t be able to budge from the chair even if the building suddenly catches fire. She never even looked at me while she was speaking, but her words hit me harder than any counselors’ ever could.
It’s as if she were speaking directly to me.
For over an hour, I sit, riveted, listening to her recount her years of struggle— from the attempts to end her life to her seclusion from everyone who ever loved her. She doesn’t pull punches or spin it in a way that places her in a positive light. She gives every gory detail. She speaks about her emotional breakdowns, and it’s exhausting just to hear her talk about it. I can’t imagine how she must feel reliving it. But with every word spoken, I can see an invisible weight lifting from her shoulders.
She’s not being broken down—she’s being freed.
For a minute, I’m so jealous of this woman’s strength and her ability to overcome everything she’s been through, that it makes me ill.
"So that’s my story." She finishes with a loud sigh. "Just so there is no confusion…I’m still that person. I’m just a better version with better resources and better support. I’m not alone anymore, and neither are you. Every single day, good people do bad things. And I’m no different. The hardest part about life is putting one foot in front of the other to move past that pain. But I swear to you, inch by inch, you will get past it. It doesn’t disappear, but it’s no longer staring you in the face. You’ll see—just like I did."
I watch in awe as a single tear drips down her chin. She nods to the doctor in the corner, who’s beaming with pride. He attempts to approach her, but she waves him off. Smiling, she tucks her head low against her chest and walks from the building.
I swallow hard as my eyes frantically race around the room. What the fuck just happened? My mind is left spinning. How did that woman know exactly the words I needed to hear? I only know one thing—just like her, I want to own my regret.
I grab my phone from my pocket.
"Leo." Erica’s sob comes across the line.
My voice is shaking, but I finally manage to say the one phrase I hope will release me too, "I need help."
"I NEED you to give me a creepy factor of one to ten."
"Oh God, Leo. This does not sound good," Erica says with suspicious eyes, placing her coffee on the table.
"Remember the woman I saw speak at Foundations?"
"Of course."
"Yeah. Well, her name is Sarah Erickson and I have a date with her tonight," I rush out with an unexpected pang of guilt.
"Excuse me?" Erica says, leaning in close. "I thought she was a severely broken, homely woman."
"Turns out, she is a broken, smoking-hot bombshell with a wicked sense of humor." I shrug and lean back in my chair.
"You are out of your mind. Don’t be that dick who takes her out because…well, because you are freaking weirdo," she whisper-yells, very aware of her surroundings—just like I taught her to be. I try to cover my prideful smile, but she snaps at me, "Don’t you dare grin at me. What the hell is wrong with you? You can’t be with her."
"Slow down. I’m not trying to marry her or anything," I quickly reply.
"Don’t say that! That’s worse!" she screeches at a decibel that is barely even audible.
"Um…okay?"
"Those are the one
s you end up falling in love with. It’s karma’s way of punking you," she snaps, annoyed with my inability to follow her invisible flow chart. "Jesus, look at me and Slate. I didn’t want to be with him either, but now, I’m married and five months pregnant." She rubs her stomach with the smallest tilt of her lips.
I know she’s trying to give me a stern lecture on why I shouldn’t pursue Sarah, but that brief moment where she reminds herself of her own happiness is overwhelming to me.
"Shit, you’re grinning again," she mumbles, recognizing that this is a lost cause.
"I’m going to be grinning for a while. You may want to start getting used to it." I glance down at her rounded stomach and swallow hard to fight the emotion.
"Slate won’t let me name him Leo," she whispers.
"Oh, thank Christ for that," I respond on a laugh, but the sentiment cuts me to the quick.
"I would though," she states firmly.
I have to wave her off before this conversation gets too heavy. She can’t name that baby Leo—he deserves more than that.
"So. Sarah Erickson? One to ten on the creepy scale?" I change the subject back.
"Twenty-nine," she answers frankly without missing a single beat.
"I guess that’s better than thirty."
"It was a one-to-ten scale, jerk. Twenty-nine is terrible," she bites out, but the concern on her face is endearing.
"I went out with her last weekend and gave her food poisoning."
"Food poisoning, huh? The second best gift you can give a date…besides an STD."
"Your jokes are getting worse. Slate isn’t helping your sense of humor." I take the last sip of my coffee.
"Leo, I love you." She becomes serious and reaches out to grab my hand. But as usual, her touch makes me retreat. "We have enough shit in our lives without adding broken souls into the mix. You need Suzy Normal who can remind you what something real feels like."
I’m sure she is probably right, but there is a woman I can’t stop thinking about who I bet would disagree. Erica knows me better than anyone, and while I’m sure she is just trying to protect my best interests, she has no idea what she is talking about.