Reasonable Doubt (1-3)

by Whitney Gracia Williams

  I was angry, I was hurt, and I wasn’t holding anything back as I showed off just how well I could dance en pointe.

  The second the violinists struck the last note, the audience let out a collective gasp and applauded the loudest they had all night.

  “Wow…” Eric whispered as he took a bow next to me. “I don’t think anyone will talk shit about you getting the swan role after that…”

  “People have been talking shit about me?” I raised my eyebrow, but I already knew the answer to that. A junior landing the top role over all the seniors was unheard of.

  “Bravo, Miss Everhart.” Mr. Petrova walked over to me. “She’s going to blow you all away in the spring, I’m sure of it!”

  Another round of applause began to build and he moved the mic away from his mouth. “Where are your parents? I’d like for them to come up for a picture.”

  “They’re out of town.” I lied. I hadn’t wasted my time even attempting to invite them to this.

  “Well, that’s too bad,” he said. “I’m sure they’re very proud of you. You can exit the stage now.”

  “Thank you.” I headed into the dressing room and changed into a short white silk dress and a grey feathered headband. As I looked myself over in the mirror, I smiled. There was no way anyone could tell that I was an emotional wreck inside.

  I pulled out my phone and noticed a new voicemail from GBH. I knew it was about me missing my internship for the fourth day in a row, so I deleted it. Then something came over me and I googled “Andrew Hamilton” for the umpteenth time this week—hoping something would pop up.

  Nothing. Again.

  With the exception of his perfectly poised photo on GBH’s website and that less than telling bio, there was no information about him anywhere.

  I’d even tried “Andrew Hamilton: New York, lawyer,” but the results were just as dismal. It was as if he hadn’t come into existence until starting at GBH.

  “Great performance, Aubrey…” Jennifer, one of Duke’s top seniors, suddenly stepped into the bathroom. “It really is an honor watching someone so young and underdeveloped get unnecessary credit.”

  I rolled my eyes and zipped my purse.

  “Tell me something,” she said. “Do you honestly think you’re going to last until the spring performance?”

  “Do you honestly think I’m going to stand here and continue this dumbass conversation?”

  “You should.” She smirked. “Because between you and me, four years ago—back before your time…There was a certain dancer picked to be the lead in Sleeping Beauty, a double major. She was quite talented—a natural really, but she caved under pressure because she couldn’t devote as many hours to the craft as the dancers who only wanted to dance.”

  “Is there a point to this story?”

  “I took her spot and I was only a freshman.” She smiled. “Now I’m a senior, and a certain someone is dancing in the role that belongs to me. So, just like back then, I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure I get what’s rightfully mine.”

  I shook my head and moved past her, ignoring the fact that she’d whispered “stupid bitch” under her breath. I was supposed to return to the gallery room and watch the other performers, but I needed a break.

  I slipped past the sliding doors on the other side of the room and stepped into the gallery’s bistro. It was much quieter on this side, and the people sitting at the tables seemed to be preoccupied with conversations not centered on ballet.

  “Miss?” A tuxedoed waiter stepped in front of me with a tray. “Would you be interested in a complimentary glass of champagne?”

  “Two, please.”

  He raised his eyebrow, but handed me two glasses anyway.

  With no grace whatsoever, I tossed one back, then the other—licking the rims to make sure I didn’t miss a drop.

  “Where’s your bar?” I asked.

  “Our bar? I don’t think the patrons of the art gallery are permitted to—”

  “Please don’t make me ask again.”

  He pointed to the other side of the room where a few smokers were sitting, and I walked toward them.

  “What can I get for you tonight, Miss?” The bartender smiled as I approached. “Would you like to try one of our house specials?”

  “Can any of those help me forget about sleeping with a married man?”

  The smile on his face faded and he set out three shot glasses, filling them with what I could only hope was the strongest liquor in the house.

  I slid my credit card across the counter and downed the first one in seconds—shutting my eyes as the burning sensation crawled down my throat. I held the next one against my lips, and I suddenly heard a familiar laugh.

  It was low and gravelly, and I’d heard it a million times before.

  I turned around and spotted Andrew sitting at a table with a woman who was not his wife. I didn’t want to admit it, but she was pretty. Very, very pretty: Auburn hair with blond highlights, deep green eyes, and perky breasts that were too perfect to be natural.

  She was rubbing him on his shoulder and giggling every ten seconds.

  Andrew seemed undaunted by her affection, and as he signaled for the check, I could only assume how their night would end.

  I tried to turn away—to act like seeing him with someone else wasn’t affecting me, but I couldn’t help it.

  His date was now leaning over the table—purposely putting more of her cleavage on display, and whispering words that were hard to read. As she playfully licked her lips and stroked his chin with her fingertips, I realized I couldn’t take it anymore.

  Subject: SERIOUSLY?!

  Are you really on a date right now with someone who isn’t your wife?! It’s bad enough that you’re a cheating and lying philanderer, but are you really that much of a sex addict?

  —Aubrey

  His response came within seconds.

  Subject: Re: SERIOUSLY?!

  I’m really on a date right now with someone who’s not going to leave third degree burns on my dick. And I’m not a sex addict, I’m a pussy addict. There’s a difference.

  —Andrew

  Subject: Re: Re: SERIOUSLY?!

  You are a disgusting and vile asshole, and I honestly regret ever sleeping with you.

  —Aubrey

  No response.

  I watched as he looked down at his phone and raised his eyebrow. He turned around in his chair—slowly scanning the room until he found me.

  His eyes widened the second they met mine, and his lips slowly parted. His gaze traveled up and down my body, and I could feel him undressing me.

  There was suddenly no one else in the room but the two of us and I could tell that he wanted me to come to him—right here, right now. I felt my body responding to his stares, felt my nipples hardening as he dragged his tongue against his lips.

  I swallowed as I looked him over, realizing that I’d pictured his hair entirely wrong in my dreams this week. I’d finger fucked myself for hours on end last night—using his face and the memories of his voice for inspiration, and seeing him in person only made me want to feel his cock inside of me again.

  I leaned forward, wanting to go to him, but my tunnel vision quickly cleared and I saw that we weren’t alone in this room.

  Far from it.

  His date’s perfectly manicured hand found its way to his chin, and turned his head away.

  I followed suit and asked for two more drinks. I downed them both and when I looked over my shoulder, I saw that Andrew was staring in my direction with undeniable want in his eyes.

  I forced a smile and opened my mouth very slowly, mouthing, “Fuck. You.” before leaving. I snatched a handful of mints from a random waiter’s tray and rushed back toward the gallery.

  I was halfway there when I felt my phone vibrating. An email.

  Subject: Meet me in the bathroom.

  NOW.

  —Andrew

  I turned off my phone and continued walking toward the galler
y doors—damn near running. I reached the lobby, but someone grabbed my arm and pulled me across the room.

  Andrew.

  I tried to jerk away, but he tightened his hold and looked back at me—giving me a ‘Don’t Fuck with Me’ look as the people around us whispered.

  He pulled me into a bathroom and locked the door, narrowing his eyes at me. “You think I’m disgusting?”

  “Extremely.” I stepped back. “I’ve lost what little respect I had for you and if you even try to put your hands on me, I’ll scream.”

  “I don’t doubt that.” A trace of a smile grazed his lips, but it didn’t stay. “You haven’t shown up to work for four straight days. You think just because I fucked you that I won’t fire you?”

  “I don’t give a fuck whether you fire me or not! Have you ever thought about why I haven’t shown up to work?”

  “Incompetence?”

  “You’re fucking married! Married! How could you—” I shook my head as he closed the gap between us. “How could you leave that part out?”

  “I didn’t,” he said. “And for the record…I’m not technically married, Aubrey.”

  “I’m not technically stupid, Andrew.”

  “You’re making it very difficult to talk to you right now…” His lips were brushing against mine.

  “That’s because you’re not making any fucking sense.” I freed myself from his grasp and headed for the door, but he grabbed me and slammed me against the wall.

  “It’s a contested divorce,” he hissed. “If you were a real lawyer I’m sure I wouldn’t have to explain what the hell that term means, but since you’re not—”

  “It means that you’re still legally married. It means that if you die before the papers go through, that your wife—which is what she is, will still be entitled to everything you ever owned. It means that you’re a LIAR! A fucking liar, who is apparently exempt from his own stupid and ineffectual rules!”

  “I filed.” He gritted through his teeth. “She refused to sign, and there’s a lot of complicated shit that I’ll never feel like discussing, but we’ve been separated and out of touch for over six years. Six. Years.”

  I shrugged and tried to put on my best poker face, ignoring the fact that my heart was skipping every other beat as he wiped my tears away with his thumb.

  “I’ve never lied to you, Aubrey,” he said sternly. “You asked me before if I’d ever lied to you and that answer is still the same. I don’t talk about my life before Durham with anyone, but yes, I did once have a wife and she showed up to my office on her own. I didn’t call her, I never will, and I haven’t called her since I left New York. Our case is extremely complicated and I prefer not to think about it.”

  “I don’t care,” I said. “You’re still wrong. You still neglected to tell me about her for six months. Six. Months!”

  “At what point was I supposed to bring that shit up?” His face turned red. “In between fucking you over the phone? When I was begging your lying ass to meet me in person? When I was unknowingly helping you with your fucking homework?”

  “How about before you fucked me?” I hated that being around him pulled emotions out of me. I couldn’t pretend to act unaffected if I tried. “How about then?”

  He clenched his jaw, but he didn’t say a word.

  “That’s what I thought,” I said, knowing that I’d won this. “Now, I’m sure you and your lovely D-cup date have a room reserved across the street, so if you don’t mind—”

  “There’s nothing going on between me and my soon to be ex-wife,” he said harshly. “Nothing. And I do have a room reserved across the street. I’ve had the same one reserved for the past four nights with four different women, but I’ve been unable to fuck any of them because I can’t seem to stop thinking about my incompetent-ass-intern and how I only want to fuck her.”

  Silence.

  “Do you…” I shook my head. “Do you honestly think saying shit like that is a turn-on?”

  “Yes…” He trailed his fingers underneath my dress, slightly brushing his thumb against the crotch of my soaked panties. “And apparently you do, too…”

  “Me being wet just means that I can’t control my body’s reaction to you. It doesn’t mean that I want to have sex with you. I hate you.”

  “I’m pretty sure that you don’t.” He slipped his hand around my waist and pulled me close—making my breathing slow.

  “Get your hands off me…”

  “Say it more convincingly and I will.” He waited for my request, raising his eyebrow, but I couldn’t bring myself to say those words.

  We stood staring at each other for several minutes, letting that raw, palpable tension build between us before I finally broke the silence.

  “I think you should get back to your date…” My voice was a whisper. “You’ve said all you had to say so…What more could you possibly want from me?”

  “In this moment?” He trailed his finger against my collarbone.

  “In general.” I turned my cheek before he could kiss me. “I’m never sleeping with you again, I’ll be formally resigning by the end of the week, and I think we need to end our so-called friendship for good.”

  “You mean that?” he whispered.

  “Yes, I mean that.” I ignored the feel of his hand squeezing my ass. “I want to be friends with someone who’s interested in more than my pussy.”

  “I’m interested in your mouth, too.”

  I had no response for that, and he must’ve sensed it because he tightened his grip on my waist.

  “I know how hard it is for you to tell the truth,” he said softly, “so I need you to be completely honest when I ask you these next few questions. Can you do that?”

  I nodded, breathlessly, and he leaned closer to my lips. “You don’t enjoy fucking me?”

  “That’s not the issue.”

  “That’s not the answer. Tell me.”

  I ignored the loud beating in my chest. “I do enjoy it…”

  “Are you really resigning?” He kissed me.

  “No…I just—” I sucked in a breath as his hand cupped my right breast, as he squeezed it. Hard.

  “You just what?”

  “I want to be reassigned to another lawyer, and I don’t want to see you any more than I have to.”

  He stared into my eyes for a long time, not saying a word as he let me go. “That’s how you truly feel?”

  “Seeing as I’m the only one between us who actually feels anything, yes. Yes, that is how I really feel about you.”

  He blinked. Then he suddenly pulled me back into his arms and crushed his lips onto mine.

  “Why are you such a fucking liar, Aubrey?” He hissed. Pushing me against the vanity, he bit down on my bottom lip and snatched the feathered headband out of my hair.

  Keeping his lips on mine, he pushed my dress above my waist—ripping off my panties with one pull.

  “Andrew…” I tried to catch my breath as he picked me up and set me on the sink. “Andrew, wait…”

  “For what?” He grabbed my hand and placed it over his belt, telling me to unbuckle it.

  I didn’t answer him. I slipped my fingers underneath the metal clip and unclasped it as he pressed his mouth against my neck.

  Trailing his tongue against my skin, he whispered, “You haven’t missed me fucking you?”

  “It was only twice.” I sucked in a breath as his hands caressed my thighs. “Not enough to miss anything…”

  He bit me harshly and leaned back, glaring at me.

  My breath caught in my throat as he slipped two fingers inside my pussy and teasingly moved them in and out.

  “It feels like you’ve missed fucking me…” He pushed his fingers as deep as they could go, making me moan.

  I arched my back as he stroked my clit with his thumb.

  He suddenly pulled his fingers out of me and brought them up to his lips, slowly licking them. “It tastes like you’ve missed fucking me, too.” He pressed another finger a
gainst my throbbing wet clit and then he brought it up to my face—placing it against my lips. “Open your mouth.”

  I slowly parted my lips, and he narrowed his eyes as he slid his finger against my tongue. I felt his cock rub against my thigh, felt him using his other hand to wrap my leg around his waist.

  “Tell me that you don’t want to fuck me,” he said. “That you don’t want me to bury my cock deep inside of you right now.”

  He grabbed my face and pressed his lips against mine, drawing my bottom lip into his mouth with his teeth.

  I was sliding off the edge of the counter, about to fall, but he pressed me back against the mirror.

  I kept my eyes locked on his as he unwrapped a condom, as he put it on and stared at me with that same angry expression he’d been wearing all night.

  He grabbed me by my ankles and pulled me forward, sliding his cock into me as my legs gripped his waist.

  My hands clawed at his neck as he pounded into me again and again.

  “I’ve missed fucking you,” he rasped, threading his fingers into my hair and pulling my head back. “But you haven’t thought about me at all?”

  “Ahhh!” I screamed as he sped up his thrusts. I squeezed my legs around him even tighter, trying my best not to give in.

  I shut my eyes and heard him saying my name—panting, “Fuck, Aubrey…Fuck…”

  “Put your hands on the counter…” he commanded, but I ignored him and tightened my grip around his neck.

  “Aubrey…” He bit my shoulder again, still fucking me harder than ever. “Put your hands on the counter. Now.”

  I slowly unclasped my hands from around him and lowered them to my sides—gripping onto the cold counter. The next thing I felt was his tongue swirling around my nipples, roughly sucking my breasts.

  I gripped the tile harder as his kisses became more ravenous—more possessive, and as he fucked me harder and harder, I felt myself on the verge of losing control.

  “Andrew….” I moaned. “Andrew….”

  He released my nipple from his mouth and slid his hands underneath my thighs, picking me up and pinning my back against the wall.

  “I know you love the way I fuck you, Aubrey…” He looked into my eyes, forcing his cock even deeper into my pussy. “And I know you’ve touched yourself every night this week, wishing it was my cock inside of you instead of your fingers.”