by Cynthia Sax
If I bump into Edward, he’ll see that I’ve changed. I can be the woman he needs. He’ll apologize. We’ll enjoy wild makeup sex. Everything will be okay again.
I work hard, forgoing lunch, losing myself in invoice processing, trying not to think about my relationship problems.
When my workday ends, I prove that I can be spontaneous. I take a different route home. This route coincidentally requires me to change buses outside Edward’s law firm.
I fail to not-so-casually bump into him. He doesn’t call me.
***
By eleven a.m. on Saturday, I realize there’s a hole in my brilliant plan. How will Edward know I’ve changed if he doesn’t see me?
I can’t ask Azure for advice. I haven’t told her the entire story, only that Edward and I are on a ‘break.’ She doesn’t know he has found someone new.
Smoke knows everything. I crawl across the bed, search through the pockets of my coat, find his business card. He’s a guy. He’ll have the insights I need.
I brush my thumb over the raised font.
Smoke Sheridan. He must have been teased as a child, having that name. They would have called him Smokey the Bear, asked him where the fire was.
Kids called me Jell-O Jenella, greeting me with ‘How does it jiggle?’ I’ve always been plump. My gaze drops to my round belly.
I didn’t think Edward cared about my weight.
Judging by the super-thin physique of the girl he has replaced me with, I was wrong.
Determined to get my boyfriend and my sinking self-esteem back, I input Smoke’s number into my phone. It rings once, twice, three times.
“Ugh.”
Did he answer the phone with a grunt?
“Good morning.” I try to sound as cheery as possible, faking a smile. “This is Jenella Whyte. You probably don’t remember me. We met on Thursday at your club.”
I pause. He doesn’t say anything. He must meet a lot of women at his club.
“You told the doorman, Tyrice, I was with you.” I expand. “I wanted to surprise Edward.” My feigned happiness fades. “That didn’t go well. Then you kissed me and I pushed you away. I wasn’t rejecting you. I’m in love with Edward and—”
“I remember you.” Smoke’s voice is seductively deep. Tremors of awareness roll along my spine. “You have great tits.”
“Yes…well…ummm…” My face heats.
“Bring me a coffee, black, I don’t care from where, and I’ll fuck you into the mattress.”
He thinks I desire meaningless rebound sex, that I want to use him like a human dildo, not caring about his feelings or his own needs.
What type of man allows himself to be treated like that?
“That’s not why I’m calling you.” I push away my concerns about the club owner’s emotional health and focus on my own problems. “I need your advice about Edward.”
Smoke grunts again. “You called me at this ungodly hour to get relationship advice?”
“It’s eleven.”
“Exactly. It’s eleven in the morning on a fuckin’ Saturday.” He says as though this somehow proves his point. “And why are you asking me for advice? I’m not Dr. Phil or some other TV shrink. Call someone else.”
“Oh.” I don’t know why I thought he’d help me. We met once.
And I also don’t know why I’m fretting about speaking to Edward. Five days ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated to press his number.
I might be his ex at the moment but we can still talk. That’s allowed, isn’t it?
“You’re right.” I nod, having decided that yes, talking is allowed. “I’ll call Edward.”
“What? No, that’s a bad idea.” Smoke is now fully awake, his words crisp, his voice strong. “Men like the chase. They want either what they don’t have or what they’re scared of losing. If you call him, you’re in neither category. He’ll think you’re desperate and wonder why no other guy wants to wear your lush ass like a hat.”
That must be a figure of speech. Who wears an ass like a hat? “So I’m supposed to wait?”
“You’re lucky your voice make me hard,” Smoke mutters. “That’s the only reason I haven’t ended this conversation.”
“What happens if he never calls?” I ignore his grumbling.
He sighs. “I saw the way Eddy was staring at your tits. With his new bims standing right there, that was a dangerous move but one he couldn’t resist taking. He’ll call.”
“Bims?”
“Bimbo.”
I frown. Chelsea is Edward’s new bimbo. Does that make me his old one? I’m an accountant, an intelligent woman.
I decide to let Smoke’s comment slide and concentrate on the situation with Edward. “Then I guess I’ll wait.” I’m not happy with this plan. I prefer to take action, to do something.
“You don’t wait. You continue with your life, show him you have shit to do, shit that doesn’t involve him.” Cloth rustles. “Many women take this opportunity to fuck a near-stranger, someone they trust enough to phone at an obscenely early hour when they need advice.”
Smoke is relentless. “I’m not having sex with you.”
“I’d settle for a hand job.” There’s a smacking sound, like bare feet connecting with hardwood floor. “Or a titty fuck.” Water runs.
“You’re not getting either of those from me.” I shouldn’t be flattered that this worldly man wants to use me as his personal sex toy. But I am. Very much so. “What are you doing?”
“You woke me up. I’m taking a piss.” He states this as though this is obvious. “You wanna help?”
“Uh, no.” I make a face. “You’re a big boy. You can make tinkle by yourself.”
“I am a big boy.” Smoke chuckles. “You wouldn’t regret fucking me, Jenella. I’d fill that sweet cunt of yours.”
“I’m sure you would.” I pamper his fragile male ego. “But I love Edward.” When Edward sees I’ve changed, he’ll remember that he loves me too. “Thanks for the advice, Smoke.”
“Any time, baby. Preferably after two in the afternoon.” He ends the call.
I won’t call Edward. That’s decided. I set the phone on the bed. Instead, I’ll tackle his list of grievances, show him how much I can change. I can take him to the next level.
I start a new diet, buy red patent-leather shoes with super high heels, paint my toenails blue. These aren’t actions of a boring stagnating person.
Azure tries to talk me into attending a free reggae concert in Yonge-Dundas Square, Toronto’s Times Square. I say no, not wanting to miss Edward’s call.
He’ll call. Smoke said he would and I trust the club owner. He’s seen quite a few break-ups in his line of business.
I change into my pajamas, crawl into bed and look through my collection of photos, photos of my time together with Edward, four years of coupledom. He looks stern in some shots, happy in others. He never looks bored, never looks like he’s stagnating.
I stop at one photo, taken a mere six months and three days ago, at my thirtieth birthday dinner. I’m laughing, my head tilted back, my cheeks flushed with happiness, my hair cascading down my back. Edward, seated across the table, is looking at me, his lips curled into a small smile, his eyes shining.
With love.
I brush my fingers over his face, hope warming my stomach. Here’s proof of his feelings. He loved me then. He’ll love me again.
I clutch this photo to my chest, close my eyes and dream.
***
Edward stands in a dark alley. His tall form is clad all in black, his suit, shirt, and shoes the same color. The streetlight illuminates his thin blond hair, makes his face appear even paler than it normally is. He’s waiting for someone. Every couple of seconds, he checks his watch, the gold Rolex he inherited from his grandfather.
“Edward,” I yell, waving at him.
He doesn’t turn his head, doesn’t acknowledge me.
I call his name again.
Edward makes no indication he’s heard me. He continues to peer ahead of
him, continues to glance at his watch.
I step forward and bump into wall of nothing. My palms flatten against this invisible barrier. I push. It doesn’t move.
I gaze at him. We’re separated and he doesn’t know it. He could be waiting for me for hours, thinking I stood him up. I open my mouth.
“Eddy.” A shape detaches from the shadows.
“Chelsea.” The love shining in his eyes twists my heart. “You came.”
“Not yet,” she purrs. “But I hope to soon.” A tight black leather corset pushes her small breasts upward. Her skin is so white; the blue veins in her neck are visible. “You’ll come first.”
She drags her red fingernails over his chest, down his stomach, and he shudders.
“No,” I shout.
Chelsea glances over her shoulder at me. She reaches behind her, hitches her corset upward. The hilt of a knife hugs her spine, the blade concealed in her skin-tight pants.
“Run, Edward.” I pound against the invisible wall. “She plans to kill you.”
“You’d never run from me, would you, Eddy?” She smiles.
“No, never.” Edward stares at Chelsea as though he is besotted, completely under her spell. “Why would I run? You’re perfect—adventurous, fun, young.”
“Yes, I’m young and thin and beautiful.” Those almost-hypnotic fingernails lower, trace the ridge in his dress pants. He’s hard for her, his arousal increasing my torment. “I can take you to the next level.” She unzips his pants.
“She won’t take you to the next level. She’ll murder you,” I warn, smacking my palms against the barrier. There must be some way to stop this.
Chelsea reaches between the flaps of fabric and frees Edward’s long thin shaft. I press my thighs together, remembering how that cock felt inside me, that delectable fullness, the weight of him on top of me, his warmth.
I might never experience that again. Another woman is touching my lover.
“You’re so big and hard.” Chelsea strokes her slender hands over him, exploring every inch of his cock.
This touching isn’t enough for Edward. He unbuckles his belt and pushes his pants downward, revealing his smooth flat stomach, his pale hips, his base covered in fine blond hair. His balls already hug his shaft.
It takes me many minutes of endless pumping to get him to that point. Chelsea accomplishes this almost immediately.
Because she’s a serial killer, I justify. Serial killers are masters of manipulation. That’s how they fool their victims, lulling them into complacency.
Chelsea lowers to her knees before him, giving him the illusion of power. Edward rocks into her hands as she fondles him. I’m helpless to do anything except watch as the man I love is ravished by my rival.
A bead of pre-cum forms on his tip. I lick my lips, the taste of him as familiar as his pale blue eyes. Chelsea extends her tongue and I tense. She moves closer and closer. A band of dark emotion tightens around my chest. She flicks his cock head. He calls her name. I howl with outrage, beating my hands against the invisible wall.
The torment isn’t over, not for either of us. Chelsea pushes her blood-red lips over him, taking my man inside her mouth. Her cheeks indent. The damn woman is sucking on him. Edward groans, a sound I drew from him in the past.
She takes him deeper and deeper. Even Chelsea, with all of her talents, can’t inhale all of him. He’s too big. She covers his remaining shaft with her hands.
Edward threads his fingers through her brown curls, holding her to him as she bobs. Chelsea works him as though he belongs to her, as though she’s done this a thousand times.
She brushes her knuckles against his balls and his lips flatten. That area of his body is always sensitive. I know that.
She does also. Chelsea playfully slaps her tongue against his shaft.
Edward moves, rocking his hips. His tempo increases more and more.
Soon, she isn’t pleasuring him. He’s taken control, fucking her face, gripping her head, forcing her to take him. The sounds of hard cock plunging into a hot wet mouth fill the space.
If I was watching another couple going at it, I’d get turned on, but this is Edward having his cock sucked. I want to drag Chelsea away from him, take her place before him, show him he doesn’t need anyone else.
I can suck cock as well as anyone.
Can’t I?
I don’t know. Edward is too much of a gentleman to criticize my sexual performance. Before him, there were the two university boyfriends. They were boys, not men, coming as soon as I touched their dicks.
Chelsea’s brown curls bounce against her face. Edward grunts, adding this noise to their sexual symphony. Their pace escalates, grows more frenzied, more desperate.
He’s close to coming. I detect this in the strain in his face, in his rigid stance.
Chelsea’s gaze slides toward me. She can somehow see past the barrier. She knows I’m watching them.
The woman-child reaches behind her and grips the hilt of her knife.
I stiffen, sensing what she plans to do. She waits until he drives into her mouth, his base nearly touching her lips and then she plunges the blade into his lower back.
Edward jerks against her, his eyes closing, a strangled cat noise originating from deep in his throat. He’s coming, mindless of his imminent death.
Damn it. He’s filling another woman’s mouth with his essence, sharing this private piece of him, a part I once exclusively owned.
As she sucks on my man, Chelsea’s eyes glitter with triumph. Edward is dying. She has taken him from me forever. He’ll never be mine again.
***
I wake, sobbing quietly.
It was a dream. Chelsea isn’t a serial killer. Edward isn’t her victim. The meeting in the alley didn’t happen.
But it felt real.
And, when I confronted Edward at the club, he had Chelsea’s lipstick on his pants. There’s only one rational explanation for that.
He allowed another woman to suck his cock.
Feeling a howl creeping up my throat and not wanting to wake Azure, I stuff the corner of the duvet into my mouth. It will muffle any sounds I make.
The howling doesn’t happen. My mind is spinning.
Can I move past Edward cheating? As I told Smoke, neither of us were virgins when we met.
The club owner had a valid point, however. That was a different scenario. Those sexual encounters happened before I loved Edward, before I thought he loved me.
If he came back to me, would I trust him?
I don’t know.
All I know is I’m broken without him. I’m hollow, missing a piece of myself.
I miss him so damn much.
Chapter Five
Sunday morning, I set my phone on the couch, determined not to check it. If Edward calls, he calls. If he doesn’t, I have shit to do, a new me to become.
I clean the apartment, avoid eating cookies, go through my closet, constructing younger outfits from my existing clothes, pairing some of my suits with my sexy new red shoes.
At 11:30 a.m., I Fought The Law, the ringtone Azure jokingly loaded for me, fills the quiet apartment.
Edward is calling. I rush to find my phone, my heart pounding. Smoke was right. Edward can’t stay away from me.
I locate the device between the couch cushions.
I sit and resist the urge to answer immediately.
What did Smoke say?
Oh yes. Men like the chase. They want either what they don’t have or what they’re scared of losing.
Be sophisticated, restrained, classy and uncaring, I tell myself, trying to calm the hell down.
“Good morning,” I answer and then I think about my greeting. “Is it still morning?” I glance at the clock. “Yes, it is. Good morning,” I repeat, sounding like a complete dumb ass.
So much for playing it cool.
“Good morning, Jenella.” Edward’s voice is a verbal hug for my tortured soul. “Sorry to bother you but—”
&nbs
p; “Bother me.” This bursts out of me. “I mean…I don’t mind. I’ve missed you.”
There’s a long agonizing pause. Did I sound too needy? Should I have kept my messy feelings to myself?
I’m fucking this up beyond redemption.
“Did I leave my tablet at the apartment?” His voice is curt. “I’ve looked everywhere else and I can’t find it.”
“Oh.” This wasn’t what I expected him to say. “I’ll check. Do you know where it might be?”
“If I knew where it might be, I wouldn’t be asking.”
I wrinkle my nose. There’s no need for him to be snippy. “If I have time, I’ll look for it. I might not have time. I have shit to do.”
“Right.” Edward’s laughter holds no humor. He doesn’t believe I have a life. He thinks I’m waiting around the apartment for him to return.
Which is what I have been doing.
But he shouldn’t assume that.
“If you find my tablet, give me a call and I’ll pick it up.”
Before I think of a witty reply, there’s a click followed by silence. He doesn’t say good-bye or thank me for looking for his lost device or tell me he’s made the biggest mistake of his life and wants me back.
But he did say he’d pick up the tablet. Edward is a successful lawyer. He has more devices than an electronics store and can easily replace a tablet.
I bounce to my feet. Retrieving his missing tablet is an excuse to come to the apartment, to see me, talk to me, and when he does that, he’ll see I’ve changed. He’ll fall in love with me all over again.
I hum happily.
It takes me a while but I locate the device. It slid between the mattress and the wall during our last round of hot, steamy sex. Edward had been working. Wanting to play, I distracted him, casually taking off my shirt.
His reaction was immediate. Edward dropped his tablet and reached for me.
He hadn’t denied his desire then, flipping me onto my back, rutting into me with abandon, coming quickly.
A little too quickly. But he had been stressed. That happens.
I dust off the screen and inhale deeply, imagining that I smell his wool-and-man scent on the device. My body aches for him, for his touch. Being apart from him is killing me.
The space is necessary. After telling Edward I might not have time to search, I can’t call him immediately. That would communicate that I don’t have a life, that I made finding his tablet my top priority.