“Oh hey,” Emerson calls out, stopping mid-stride. She’s got her bag on her shoulder, ready to go home. “I thought I was going to miss you again. How was your day?”
“Wish it was better.”
“That bad, huh?”
Covering my eyes, I take a few deep breaths and stop myself from having a mini-meltdown. As much as I love my job, some days the unfairness of the world hits me a little too hard. There are too many kids who need protecting and too many restrictions on how much support I can give them.
“Why don’t you worry about this paperwork tomorrow? We can wind down, have a few drinks and dinner across the road.”
Looking at the paperwork that surrounds me, I mentally calculate how many extra hours I’ll have to put in this week to finish it.
“You know you want to,” Emerson teases.
“You’re right. Fuck it.” I toe the inside of my heels, slipping the rest of my feet in and stand up. I do an awkward shimmy on the spot, straighten up my clothes and grab my handbag. “Let’s get this show on the road. My favourite chicken schnitzel is waiting for me. See you, bitches,” I call out to an empty office, before joining Em in an empty elevator.
“You letting the future husband know you won’t be home for dinner?”
“He’s not my husband,” Emerson retorts. Finishing her text, she drops the phone back in her bag, her attention back on me.
“Don’t act like you’re going to be marrying anyone else.” She smiles, and I know she’s imagining herself in a wedding dress, walking down the aisle to her man. If I didn’t love her so much, I’d probably make fun of how romantic and cheesy her life has become.
“He wasn’t going to be home tonight anyway. He stayed back at the PCYC with Drix, they’re training some of the kids from the youth centre. Boosting up his volunteer hours.”
“How is that sexy brother of his?” I keep the tone of my voice as neutral as possible, playing it cool. Like I haven’t been thinking about him since he dropped me off at home on Sunday morning.
“I actually thought you would know, I haven’t spoken or seen him since you guys left on Sunday. Tonight is the first time Jagger has seen Drix since then too.” The conversation stalls as we concentrate on crossing the road, and getting seated in the bistro-style establishment as quickly as possible.
Leading us straight to our favourite booth, Ben, one of the regular waiters, pulls out his mini tablet, ready to take our order. “The usual ladies?”
“Yes, please Ben,” Emerson responds. We’ve been coming here for the last five years, only changing our orders when the menu itself has changed.
“Can we just get an extra side of fries,” I add. “I’m going to need some carbs to soak up that second bottle of wine I plan on drinking.”
“Right on top of it, ladies.” He slips his stylus in the front of his shirt pocket before giving us a slight nod and walking back to the kitchen. My eyes move from his retreating form to find Em raising her eyebrows at me expectantly.
“What?”
“I'm just waiting for you to tell me what happened with Hendrix after you left.”
“What made you think something happened?”
“You looked like the drooling emoji all weekend.”
“Well,” I sigh, dramatically playing up the story for entertainment purposes “As true as your observation is, things got a little too complicated a little too quickly, and it just confused the fuck out of me.”
“How?”
“Try the red neon sign flashing the letters S-A-S-H-A.”
“I had my suspicions something went down when she hightailed out of our place, even after agreeing to spend the day with us.”
Ben comes back with our wine glasses, pouring us each more than the normal, one standard drink of Sauvignon Blanc, he's required to. I bat my eyelashes at him and raise my glass as if I'm about to make a toast. “Ben, my love, you know me so well. It's only fair that I marry you one of these days.”
He chuckles while filling up Emerson’s glass. “As soon as the dick doesn't do it for me anymore, you'll be the first to know.”
“I can't wait.” I wink at him as he leaves, and catch Em rolling her eyes at me. “You're just jealous you don't have a Ben.”
“That's definitely it.” She takes a sip of her wine and my actions quickly follow. “So, are you going to start the story or not?”
“I always wondered why you never worried about Sasha and Jagger being together. I mean, they had a kid together, and that's a bond you won't share with anyone else, you know?” My fingers slide up and down the stem of the glass, as I use Emerson as my own personal sounding board. “But then when I saw the way she looked at Drix, it all started to make sense.” She nods, and it’s obvious that none of this is a surprise to her. “And when she asked me if something was going on between me and him, I realised just how complicated drooling over him might actually be.”
“Wait, what?” She grabs my arm in surprise. “She confronted you?”
“Yep. It wasn’t a full-on accusation, but it also isn’t something you ask someone you barely even know.”
“Did you tell Hendrix?”
“He walked up just as the conversation finished, but the tension was inescapable. Between her and I and her and him.”
“Honestly, it’s better if you don’t get caught up in that.” Ben arrives, the conversation pausing in his presence, as we make room for him to put each meal down on the table. “He’s not really into anything serious.”
“Thanks, Ben,” we say, veering off the Hendrix topic for a split second.
“Who said anything about thing serious?” Grabbing my cutlery, I start cutting up my panko crumbed chicken schnitzel. “Sex doesn’t mean I’m tying myself to him.”
“I’m just think anything can happen. He’s a great guy, and you could actually like him,” she says in between bites. “But there’s so much shit between him and Sasha, I just don’t see how sex is worth the risk of a head fuck.”
“What is it between them anyway? Are they exes?” Remembering how little he spoke about what happened, but how wrecked he was from seeing her, I anticipate a huge breakup.
“I only know Jagger’s version, but even that has a twelve-year hole in it. Obviously.”
“You still didn’t answer my question.”
“They’ve never been together as far as I know.”
“That makes no sense.” My brows furrow in confusion. “The way they were looking at one another…. Fuck, I don’t even know how they can stand being in the same room together when they’re feeling that way.” Wanting to get as much information about their history as possible, I press on. “So they fell in love when Jagger was on the inside?”
“No. They’ve been in love since they were kids.”
“But Dakota?”
She takes a long sip of her wine before dropping a curveball of epic proportions. “How would you feel if the love of your life had a kid with someone else. Your brother nonetheless.”
“How did you never tell me this? Why would she do that?” A million different scenarios play out in my head, thinking of a teenage Drix looking even more shattered then he did over the weekend.
“There are three sides to that story, and I don’t think we’ll ever know all of them. What I do know is everybody is different and what’s forgivable for one person isn’t for the other.”
“So, he won’t forgive her, but he’ll pine for her.”
“I’m sorry I don’t know more about this.” Placing down her cutlery, she folds her arms and lets them rest on the table. “But my priority is you and Dakota and Jagger. There is so much pent up shit between them, it’s dangerous.” She reaches for my hand, giving it a light squeeze. “And I don’t want you caught in the crossfire.”
A huff of frustration leaves my mouth; at the situation, at being indirectly told what to do, and because of my impulsive need to do just what I want anyway. “I get it. I do. But he gave me his number, and it’s just sex.”
<
br /> “Taylah,” she chides.
“I haven’t had good sex in a really long time,” I whine. “Do you know how fucking sexy he is?”
“Actually,” she smirks. “I kinda do.”
“You bitch,” I shriek, throwing a french fry at her. “I’ve heard you and Jagger, and I bet Drix could fuck me from here to next Sunday. Why would you deny me that?”
Em gives her head a slight shake. “I know you’re going to do whatever you want to anyway, and if this were any other guy, you know I would be waiting to hear all the sexy details. But this time.” Her tone takes on a seriousness Emerson has never used with me before. “If you plan on using that number, please be wise about it. For your own sake.”
Emerson and I shelve the conversation as we get through our meal and the two bottles of wine. While the night helps wash off the grime from my day, Drix still sits at the forefront of my mind.
I think about him the whole way home, his number in my phone taunting me. I make a pros and cons list of all the reasons why I should and shouldn’t call. The list is fairly equal, yet Sasha’s name in the cons column holds more weight than any other of my bounds.
I’m not an insensitive bitch, and I’m empathetic for both of their heartache, but there’s also a physical pull between him and I that I’m not sure if I want to walk away from.
If I’d known any of his history with Sasha, for Emerson’s sake, I would’ve pulled back from him this weekend. In front of everyone it was sexual banter at its finest, but every time we were alone, it felt like something more.
When it comes to my career I am nothing but straight-laced, focus and goal orientated, but when it comes to my life outside the courtroom and away from all the injustices I can’t fix, I live with reckless abandon. Usually listening to my own instincts, I jump head first and think later. Life experiences teaching me to regret nothing. Everything is a lesson waiting to be learned, and even if I was to get hurt, every now and then it might be worth it.
Showered, and relaxed, I jump into my bed and turn the television on. Flicking through Netflix, I stop at a new young adult movie I’ve already seen a thousand times and let it play in the background while I attempt to fall asleep.
Just as my eyes begin to give in to the heaviness, my phone vibrates on my nightstand. I groan loudly into the empty room, kicking myself for not switching it to do not disturb mode.
Punching in my passcode, my eyes adjust to the light. A message from Emerson lights up the screen.
Em: I’m feeling really guilty about tonight.
Looking at the time, I figure whatever it is, is playing on her mind, because she never sacrifices sleep time for late night chats.
Me: It’s late. What are you talking about?
Em: Drix
Another message follows seconds after.
Em: It’s none of my business if you want to call him.
Me: It’s not that big of a deal Em, we can talk about it tomorrow.
Em: I know, but you’re a grown woman who can take care of herself. No matter what the outcome is.
Me: I appreciate that, more so that it’s 11pm and you’re up.
Em: LOL. Jagger got home late and I waited up for him.
Me: Waiting up for the dick. Good job, boo. I hope you got off at least twice.
Em: He just got out of the shower. Might make it a trifecta.
Seeing as she’ll be occupied until further notice, I don’t bother writing back. Instead, I take her messages as approval and pull up the number, I had almost given up on using.
I agonise for a good ten minutes, typing and retyping the text. In the end, I settle for something witty and fairly closed. No questions, and no expectations of a reply.
Me: I figured the three-day rule was bullshit and decided to message right before it was up. Sleep well, Sexy.
Debating on whether or not to switch my phone off and sleep, a message comes through quicker than I expect.
Hendrix: I’ve been waiting for you to text me.
Me: Three days is hardly a long time.
Hendrix: Long enough when I’ve been jerking off to the very thought of you every single one of those three days.
My insides coil at the image of him fisting his cock, the words on the screen enough to suck the air out of my room. My pulse quickens, as I take deep, long breaths. My fingers finding their way dangerously close to my underwear.
The phone vibrates in my hand, another message coming through.
Hendrix: Cat got your tongue?
Two can play this game, Sexy.
I call him.
“Oh, so you can talk,” he says sarcastically.
“Of course I can, it’s just really hard to text with one hand.”
“One hand? Where’s th—” I hear his mind tick over, my innuendo registering. “Where’s your other hand, Crazy?”
I click my tongue. “A woman never tells.”
Low and gravelly, he asks, “Are you thinking about me?”
Yes
“Maybe”
“Let me stay on the phone with you.”
Yes
“No. I’d rather have you drive yourself crazy imagining it.”
“Meet me after work tomorrow.”
Yes
“I’m busy for the next week,” I lie. Tonight’s warnings still playing devil’s advocate in the back of my mind. “You might have to jerk yourself off for a little bit longer.”
“Don’t leave me fucking hanging, I want to see you.”
Me too
“Sorry, Sexy.”
“Crazy,” he growls, sounding hoarse and needy.
“Night.”
Despite wanting to drive him crazy, I end the call and read back the text that started it all.
“Long enough when I’ve been jerking off to the very thought of you every single one of those three days.”
Fuck. Me. Hendrix Michaels is going to set my body on fire, and I have no doubt I’m going to enjoy the burn.
9
Hendrix
It’s Friday and I have never been so happy to see the back of a working week. Sunday night was a complete write-off. Instead of an early night to set me up for a good Monday morning, I drank until the numbness took over my body and my mind. Until I couldn’t feel, until I couldn’t remember, until darkness was my only companion. I made sure that I would feel so shitty every time I thought of Sasha, there would be nothing but bile and revulsion, because anything before that was a fantasy land, and I need reality. I need it quick. I need it to hurt, I need it to be honest with myself, and more importantly, I need it to be happy.
Monday arrived with a vengeance. Physically, I welcomed the fog. It provided a temporary relief from how shattered and destroyed I felt on the inside, but my brain had to work overtime to compensate for the sluggishness. Especially when an email lands into your inbox before you’ve had your morning coffee telling you your whole site and program is being audited.
The whole process is equivalent to getting all your teeth pulled out. Working with teenagers as a youth worker has been my calling for as long as I can remember. There’s something so fulfilling about being able to help someone who would otherwise fall in between the cracks, and not in a self-righteous way, but more in the privilege of watching someone so vulnerable accept help and want to do better for themselves. Even if they don’t know how important those first simple steps will be in their future, it’s the effort that is life-changing. That’s why I do this job. It’s the one thing that makes the paperwork, the politics, and all the injustices, worth it.
Governed by the Department of Youth and Community Services they always love to surprise us with random file checks. Especially when we’re in the process of requesting funding for our program to be extended for another three years. Every single kid has a file, more than three hundred clients, and every encounter documented. It’s probably our fault they’re not always up to date, but you always think you have time, and before you know it, time’s up. So, it’s been a cr
azy week, and I’ve earned the right to a drink, but after Sunday night, I don’t think that’s the answer.
What I do think will have my week ending on a high, is Taylah. I didn’t think she’d come through, and after a heated discussion with Jagger at footy practice, I was pretty sure my life would be made up of fleeting moments where I wondered where she was or what she was doing.
Repeating his earlier sentiments about fucking around with Emerson’s friend, he decided to remind me of the lifetime load of baggage I have with Sasha. Like I could forget. And even if there was a moment I did, the universe is ready to shove it right back in my face.
Not even forty-eight hours since our first text and she’s got me in a constant state of arousal. Every second message is laced with sexual tension, every other one is me asking when she’s free.
I want to fuck her. More than once. And if there’s any way I can make it happen, I will.
Leaving the office a little later than everyone else, I climb into my car and call her number. It’s the end of the week, and I’ve got energy to burn.
Four long rings pass before her a muffled voice answers the call. “Hello.”
“Taylah?”
“Hold on a second.”
“Hey.” With the background hustle fading into nothing, her voice comes through much clearer. “Sorry about that, I just had to find somewhere quieter.”
“Where are you?”
“Central Station. Just waiting for the train home.”
My eyes flick to the clock on my dashboard. “Overtime?”
“Ha,” she scoffs. “Is it still called overtime if you don’t get paid? I don’t usually get out any earlier than seven, but when the words on all my paperwork began to blend with one another, I decided I’d had enough.”
“Week from hell?”
“How did you know?”
“Must be the season.” The conversation goes silent, and I can’t pick whether she’s uncomfortable or shy, but I proceed to get to the bottom of it anyway. “So, I was calling because I thought we could upgrade from the texting. Maybe have dinner, and you can tell me about the week from hell.”
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