One Good Thing

by Lily Maxton

  “Dani,” Drew muttered as I moved forward.

  “I’ll be right back,” I told him, trying not to let my irritation ring through in my voice. Evan followed me out into the hall, and I turned to face him. I noticed the hair that curled around his nape was wet and dark, little drops of water threatening to fall.

  “You forgot your umbrella too,” I said stupidly.

  “I let Alyssa use it,” he said.

  Ah, that sounded more like him. Helping someone in need instead of forgetting. “She saw you in the parking lot?”

  “Yeah, I’d just pulled in, and she saw me as she was getting out of her car. She came over to introduce herself.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  He didn’t answer. “That’s your ex-boyfriend.”

  I nodded, even though it wasn’t much of a question.

  “The position you were in didn’t look very ex.”

  “He said he wants another chance.”

  He stared down at me for a long time. “And you’re going to give him one?”

  “Maybe … I don’t know.”

  “You shouldn’t,” he said. “Not if he was stupid enough to let you go in the first place.”

  “But you don’t understand,” I said helplessly. “We were together for quite a while. He was my first boyfriend.” I winced after I said it; revealing I hadn’t had my first boyfriend until I was twenty-two didn’t exactly make me look like less of a loser.

  “He’s a security blanket.”

  “What?” I blinked. “No. What does that even mean?”

  “You’re smart,” he stated, voice flat. “Figure it out.”

  He started to walk past me. I put my hand on his arm, nearly shivered at the heat of his wet skin. “You’re leaving?”

  “Yes,” he said simply.

  “You can’t—not until you tell me what you meant.”

  He gently extricated himself from my grasp. I felt the loss of his warmth a little too keenly. “The way you were looking at him when I walked in, like you didn’t want to be there … I don’t think you love him. So if I’m right; if you don’t—why did you stay with him so long? And why are you thinking about getting back together now?”

  It must have been a rhetorical question. Evan didn’t stay to hear me answer it. And I stared at his back as he strode down the hallway, wishing I’d never asked.

  I slammed my door on the way back in, channeling my anger into one hard swing that resounded around the apartment. “You should leave,” I immediately told Drew, who was still kneeling on the floor. Alyssa had made herself scarce.

  “What did he say to you?”

  “That’s none of your business. This isn’t the 1800s—I’m not your property.”

  The belligerent angles of his face softened as he stood, stepping toward me. “I’m sorry. I just don’t like the thought of you with someone else.”

  “I’m not with him,” I said, stepping back. I pressed my hands to my cheeks. “Can you just leave?” I asked; my voice sounded as frayed as a well-worn pair of jeans.

  “Is this a no?”

  I stared at him, helpless. And reluctant to take the final step—the step that would push him out of my life forever. “It’s not a no. Just give me more time.”

  “Okay,” he said. He placed his hand on my shoulder, leaned toward me, his eyes on my lips, but at the last second his mouth changed direction and grazed my cheek. A dry, gentle pressure. Had he felt me tense? I thought I might have.

  “Later, Dani.” I locked the door behind him, safeguarding against anymore unexpected visits, and then rested my back against it.

  “Are they gone?” Alyssa asked, creeping out of the hall that went to her bedroom.

  I straightened. “No thanks to you.”

  She lifted her hands in supplication. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know Drew was here or I never would have let Evan in. So what’s going on?”

  “Drew wants to get back together.”

  Her eyes widened. “What will you do?”

  I answered honestly. “I have no idea.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Evan’s sturdy black umbrella slanted against the wall of my cubicle. Alyssa had forgotten to give it back to him, so I’d brought it with me to work, planning on going over to him like a mature adult and handing it over.

  Then I could go back to ignoring him. I could go back to dating Drew. I could go back to a life I was familiar with, a life that felt safe, emotions and desires that were even-keeled and easy to handle.

  I should have paid more attention to that saying about the best-laid plans.

  I ended up chickening out. The umbrella remained in my cubicle the whole morning, niggling at the back of my mind like an itch I couldn’t scratch.

  At 1:32 p.m. (I knew that because I’d been looking at the clock way too much that day), Evan left the office for a late lunch.

  It took a few minutes of internal debate, but I grabbed my purse and the umbrella and forced myself to follow him.

  He must have been walking quickly; even though I trotted most of the distance, I didn’t reach him until he was in the parking garage, pulling his keys out of his pants pocket. I heard the click of the doors being unlocked from the remote.

  “Evan, wait,” I called.

  He glanced over his shoulder at me, his face smooth. It made my chest ache—he looked at me like I was a polite acquaintance at most, at worst, a stranger. I didn’t want to be a stranger.

  I lifted the umbrella and shook it a bit, trying to manage a smile. “You left this at my apartment.”

  He threw it in the backseat. “Thanks.”

  I patted my hands against my thighs. “Well, that’s all, I guess.” But something kept me from moving, some invisible force rooted my shoes to the pavement.

  “Did you have sex with him?” he suddenly asked.

  My lips parted on a sharp breath. “That’s none of your business.”

  “You’re right,” he said, but neither of us moved.

  I felt angry all of a sudden, irritated by his calmness, by the force of his gaze and how I felt like I couldn’t get out from under it. And a renewed anger filled me as I remembered his comment from the night before. “Of course, since I’m not staying with him because I love him, it must be the awesome sex, so maybe you shouldn’t even ask.”

  His lips tightened. A line appeared at one corner. “I might be thought of as a nice guy, but you know I won’t just lie down and take it when you try to push me. Here’s what I think—”

  “Maybe I don’t care what you think.”

  He acted like I hadn’t spoken. “I don’t think the sex was that good. I’ve felt you respond to me; would you react like that if he’d satisfied you?”

  “I don’t have to listen to this,” I hissed, furious. I stepped back, but he caught my hand. His grip wasn’t painful but it was firm.

  “You’re lying to yourself, Dani.”

  “How dare you—”

  “You were with him so long because you thought your heart was safe. You knew he would never touch it. And right now, you’re still using him.”

  “How can I be using him?” I cried. “He showed up at my door!”

  “You think staying with him will keep you safe from me, from what you feel when you’re with me. You know you already want me more than you ever wanted him.”

  I wrenched out of his grasp. “You egotistical …” Words failed me.

  “You want me,” he repeated. “Things would be a hell of a lot easier for both of us if you’d just admit it.”

  “No,” I said, and then was angry with myself because it sounded more like I was saying, no, I wouldn’t admit it, not no, it wasn’t true.

  “You could have left the umbrella by my desk. There’s no reason you had to talk to me. And that phone call the other day … what was that?”

  “What do you mean, what was that?”

  Evan’s lips tightened. He was starting to look about as furious as I felt. “So you’re sayi
ng that happens to you all the time? There was nothing special about it. You just text a guy with your problems and things start to get sexual as a natural course of events?”

  I shook my head wordlessly.

  “Maybe there’s a list? Dani’s bored, who should she mess with today?”

  “Stop it,” I said tightly, but he didn’t listen. He just kept going, each word starting to feel like a spike through the skin.

  “I at least hope I’m higher on the list than he is. If you were my girlfriend, I wouldn’t sit around whining about how I’m not having fun with you. We’d be too busy fucking to—”

  I placed my hands on his chest and shoved. Hard. He actually stepped back from the force of it.

  I’d never shoved anyone before in my life.

  But still, it did nothing to ease my furious breathing, or the white-hot feeling that swept down my spine.

  “Coward,” he said, softly.

  I gritted my teeth. I moved forward just to shove him again. That was my mistake. I put myself within easy reach of him, and he took advantage of it.

  His hands circled my arms just above my elbows; he dragged me forward, and I stumbled toward him. I tilted my head up to look straight into his eyes as I said something nasty, but my words were cut off by his lips. A soft, sweet pressure.

  I pulled my hand back, ready to hit him, but with one more tug I tilted, crashing into him, my breasts pressed against his chest.

  His mouth shaped mine, coaxing, persuasive. Opened mine. I tasted warmth and mint. As fast as quicksilver, my anger shifted, changing to something else entirely. I lifted my hands, not entirely sure what to do with them, and ended up bunching the fabric of his shirt into my fists like I didn’t want to let him go.

  He stroked me through my dress, just over my back at first, and then down the backs of my thighs. He pressed kisses along my throat. He drew out sensations, shivers, shocks of heat.

  From somewhere not too far off, I heard music from a radio and the slam of a door. Evan paused but he didn’t release me. He spun me around so my back was to the car, pressed me in. My upper back hit the roof of the car.

  Evan stopped kissing me long enough to cradle my face between his hands and stare down at me. “Dani.”

  My name ended in the softest lilt. A question. He was asking me a question. My hands, still tangled in his shirt, tightened. “Yes.” I pulled down hard on the shirt, bringing his face to mine. “Yes,” I answered, just before I pressed my mouth against his, my body against his.

  Behind me, he fumbled with the car door. Once it opened, I folded down, into the backseat; Evan followed right behind me. He shut the door and crawled forward, over me, forcing me to lay back. I could feel the heat of his body, radiating above me, but the leather underneath my back was cold.

  His hand curved around my calf before sliding up, pushing the hem of my dress to my waist. Cool air touched my thighs, replaced by the warmth of his hand as he pushed my legs wider to accommodate his body. Evan’s clean scent surrounded me, mingling with crisp leather and new car.

  His lips found mine again in a series of harder, desperate kisses. He traced a line down my jaw and throat, kissing and nipping, his hands shaping my breasts until my hips rose to meet his. I felt the hard length of him against my thigh.

  The distant sound of talking and laughter drifted to us and for an instant, we both stilled. Then we heard it again, farther away this time. I nearly laughed in relief.

  Evan’s hands covered my thighs, flexing as though he wanted to memorize how I felt. Then his fingers slid along my inner leg, slowly pulling down my underwear, searching, teasing the delicate flesh, slowly pushing a finger inside. His thumb brushed over my clit as his tongue pressed against the throbbing pulse above my collarbone.

  It wasn’t enough.

  He’d dropped a match and started a wildfire. It wouldn’t stop until it had consumed everything in a potent, frenzied blaze.

  I shifted underneath him, restless for more.

  Anything, I thought in a daze. Do anything you want. Just don’t make me wait. I might have whispered it. I found his mouth again and bit his lower lip, sharply enough that I worried I might be causing him pain. But he groaned, his thumb pressing down harder.

  I fumbled with the button on his slacks and then the zipper. I pushed down his pants and boxers.

  From some distant corner of my brain, I remembered the glow-in-the-dark condoms in my purse, which had tumbled to the floor of the car. With one hand, I dug into the bag and triumphantly pulled out a condom wrapper.

  Evan made a noise that was halfway between a laugh and a groan, his breath huffing against my throat. He withdrew his finger to take the condom from me and roll it on.

  I ached from the loss of him, but then a larger pressure than his finger was pushing into me. And I wanted it. I wanted the pressure with a mindless need that I’d never experienced before.

  I lifted my hips, drawing him deep, relishing the weight of his body crushing mine into the seat.

  He started off slow, easy, until I fully opened for him and then he stroked faster. I was jostled each time, the top of my head bumping against the inside of the car door. The cushions squeaked with each movement but I barely noticed. All my concentration focused on meeting him, thrust for thrust, and the friction that built between my legs.

  There was too much clothing between us, I realized belatedly. I fumbled with the buttons of his business shirt, slipping my hands inside, tentatively exploring his chest.

  He stopped me, holding both of my wrists with one hand. He drew my arms over my head, holding me there, and I felt more vulnerable than I ever had before. The backs of my knuckles brushed against glass.

  Because I couldn’t touch him with my hands, my legs wrapped around him, tight against his waist as he plunged. My breathing roared in my ears; my body strained against his. He shifted position slightly, grinding against my clit with each thrust.

  I shattered, arching, moaning, and mewling as he caught the noises on his tongue. He stopped as I pulsed around him, held still and deep, and I felt his own shuddering release.

  For a long time, he laid against me, the smell of heat and sweat and sex permeating the car. My arms ached when I lowered them. I didn’t know if I should hold him or not. I wanted to. My fingers actually twitched.

  Evan drew back, looking down at me. He shifted his weight to one arm, using his free hand to brush a tendril of sweat-soaked hair from my face. The tender way he touched me made my throat tighten.

  I wiggled out from under him, pushing him away, and straightening my mussed clothing. Then, I stared at the back of the passenger seat for a while, feeling dazed. Oh my God … I’d just had sex in a car. And not even a car that was parked in a respectable private driveway … a car in a parking garage! I was sex-in-the-bedroom-with-dim-lighting girl, not wild-hot-sex-in-the-daylight-in-public girl. I didn’t get carried away like that. Ever.

  “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Evan asked quietly.

  “No.”

  It would have been a lot easier if he had. A lot easier to hate him. A lot easier to not want him inside me again.

  But I did want him. Again. Now. I felt new stirrings of desire low in my stomach as I remembered how good the hot, heavy slide of him had felt. It was too much for me to contemplate at that moment, with the scent of the soap he wore still crisp in my nose and the taste of him still on my lips.

  “I need to go,” I said miserably, pushing at the latch on the door.

  “Wait,” he said.

  I turned back, my gaze caught by his face. His lips were swollen, a darker red than usual. I wondered if mine looked the same. They felt bruised and sensitive.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine. Perfect. I’m behind on some things,” I said, “I should go back.”

  “Can I drive you home tonight?” he asked.

  “No. I need … I need time alone, to think.”

  “And the ex?” His face smoothed as he said it, turned int
o implacable marble.

  “What about him?” I asked, defiance edging my voice.

  “Will you run to him because you’re scared of what just happened between us?”

  “We had sex in a car,” I said shrilly. “Nothing that thousands of teenagers haven’t done before. Why would I be scared of that?”

  “It was more than that. You know it, even if you won’t admit it.”

  “If I want to see Drew, I can see Drew. I don’t owe you anything.” I jabbed my finger at his chest, nearly hurting myself as it collided with the solid surface.

  “No, you don’t owe me anything,” he agreed, much calmer than I was. “But that doesn’t mean I’m giving up on you yet.”

  *

  That doesn’t mean I’m giving up on you yet.

  He’d made it sound like a promise, a vow. If anything, that one simple statement caused the icy clutches of panic to close tighter around my heart. I turned it over in my head that night, dreamed about it, woke up with the words whispering in my ear.

  I ignored him the next day at work. Or I pretended to ignore him. My eyes had the bad habit of following him every time he left his office while memories of his touch invaded my senses. Evan glanced my way once or twice, but he was able to read my moods fairly well; he seemed to know I wasn’t ready to talk to him yet, even if it was a simple hello.

  I didn’t like that he could read me so easily. Did that mean what he’d said about Drew had been right?

  I wasn’t very good at self-analysis, but if I had stayed with a guy for so long simply because I knew I wouldn’t fall in love with him, that meant I had some issues to work out. And it would mean that I had used Drew, and even if I didn’t love him, I did care for him.

  I didn’t want to think I’d kept him from a more fulfilling relationship because he was my “security blanket”—someone to talk to and hang out with and occasionally lean on, but never fully let in.

  My fingers closed around a cold glass and I tipped back a swallow of my drink—just soda this time. I was taking a break from whiskey. And my head already hurt from the loud rock music blaring from the jukebox.

  I tried not to glance over at the corner and remember when Evan and I had stood there.