“So can you believe—” Megan stopped when Mark leaned over and brushed some sand off of her face. They locked eyes.
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
“It’s dark out here.”
He leaned in for a kiss and she met him halfway. “I hope that when we get back to school you’re not going to forget my name,” he whispered into her ear.
“Never, Brian.”
He pushed her on her back and rolled on top of her. “I knew it!”
She smiled up at him, and as he lay on top of her and they started to kiss, she was relaxed and happy.
————
Mark was happy too. What an awesome break; the fling with Megan had been an unexpected bonus. This was turning into an unprecedented spring. He had just found an amazing drummer, a freshman that took his band and their fans to a new high with his chops. And with a girl like Megan in the front row while he rocked his guitar, he couldn’t lose. He had a real thing for redheads, especially curvy ones, and she had brains to boot. He didn’t just bide his time through their conversations, he actually enjoyed talking with her, even learned a few things. And her innocent coquettishness, the whole start-and-stop game she played really turned him on. The week had been one long, quivering foreplay. The explosion was going to be mind-blowing.
He had devoured all the rumors about this girl; well, maybe not about her, more about her entourage, but those four girls were like glue, and one for all and all for one, right? Two of them had gone out with Gavin Keller for Chrissake, and he had seen her friend Allie wrapped around one or another brother in a dark corner on more than one occasion.
Mark moved his hand up Megan’s smooth calf and lifted her dress as he slid his hand up her thigh.
————
Megan groaned a little with pleasure and anticipation and moved her hips into Mark slightly. She was confident that they were not going to go all the way—she had made that point very clear all week—so she felt safe relaxing into the moment. She continued to kiss him hard as she played with his hair on the back of his head. She was feeling wonderfully warm and woozy—the rum worked its magic from the inside, the thick blanket of sand cradled her underneath, and Mark’s warm body was on top of her. His hand was gently caressing her thigh, which was sending delicious chills up and down her spine. She moved her hand from behind his head and slid it slowly down his smooth back. His hard penis strained against his dry bathing suit and she reached underneath the fabric to caress it. She gasped as his hand touched her cotton underwear; he reached inside and stroked her.
She suddenly wished she had put on more than a sundress and cotton panties; she wanted zippers or buttons or some kind of additional boundary between her and…
“Mark.” Her voice was ragged as caution and thrill caught in her throat at the same time. This felt so good, her body yearned to keep going, but she shouldn’t. She didn’t want to. She’d regret it if she made love with him now; that was not the person she wanted to be. She knew he’d understand. They’d gone far enough.
“Mark,” she said again in one sharp syllable. She grabbed his hand and moved it away from her. She wiggled her body in an attempt to slide out from under him.
He began to move off her. She was just about to utter a blanket “I’m sorry” that was more about acknowledging collective remorse than accepting blame, but before the words could find air, he was in motion. In one swift movement he rolled to the side and yanked her underwear down. Just as quickly, he ripped his own bathing suit down past his knees and plunged back down on top of her, his knees forcing her legs apart.
Megan’s mind reeled. “Wait!” Her earlier excitement vanished in her rising alarm.
“It’s okay, baby.” His tongue was in her ear.
“No, wait!” She tried to push him off, but her muscles were weighted with rum. Her earlier blissful wooziness was now a detriment; everything worked in slow motion. Could he hear her? He must not be hearing her; maybe she was so drunk she was speaking gibberish.
His gentleness had now become agitated action; he was kicking his suit off and at the same time rubbing her all over with his hand, on her breasts through her sundress, on her now unclothed vagina. His weight on top of her made it impossible to get any leverage to move. She tried to clamp her legs together, but he was lodged in between them. She could feel his penis between her thighs; his legs were trying to pry her open.
Megan’s shock exploded into panic. Every bone in her body was desperate to get him off her, to make him stop. At the same time, it was inconceivable that he wasn’t going to pull back, to hear her, to understand her adamancy and quit. She tried to sit up, to again push him off. He was so heavy and she was pinned underneath him, lying deep in a sand compression of her own body.
She couldn’t move.
“NO!”
“It’s okay, Megan.” Mark jammed his penis into her.
“NO! Mark, don’t!”
“It’s great, baby.” He pumped manically. He was on another planet.
“MARK!” Her forearms were the only things she could move. She clawed at his back. His eyes opened wide as he came inside of her and at the same time seemed to realize that something was wrong.
He was panting as he rolled off of her. “Megan?” He looked confused.
Megan rolled on her side away from him and hugged her knees to her chest. Her dress was hiked up over her hips. In a distant part of her mind she wished for her underwear, but once she was cocooned, she couldn’t let go of herself. She was numb. She didn’t speak, she couldn’t cry.
“Megan?” He peered at her over her shoulder.
She stared out at the blackness, at the rhythmic sound of the waves.
“Are you okay?” He gently tried to roll her over. When she didn’t respond, he sat back on his knees. The ocean thundered. “Was that not good?” He paused in the darkness. “Let me make you feel good.” He couldn’t move her, so he started to caress her back.
“Don’t. Please don’t.” She tried to curl further into herself. She prayed for him to go away.
He sat there for a minute or two in silence. “Just go, Mark,” Megan whispered. She cleared the anguish from her throat. “Please go.”
“Megan.” He started to lean in.
“Don’t touch me.”
Mark leaned back, waited another moment, and then got up and walked slowly off. A minute or two later, she heard a splash as he dove into the dark, rolling water, and then a series of smaller splashes as he waded back out onto the beach.
Megan stayed in the fetal position for a long time, not moving a muscle except for her mind. I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have done that.
And as the inky black sky relaxed ever so gently into blue, the seagulls screamed their elation for the coming day.
————
At first, Megan didn’t tell anyone what happened. The only person she wanted to talk to was Allie, but in the scramble to pack and make the flight there was no time. Megan was quiet, bordering on mute, and although Allie noticed, there were too many chattering friends around to ask her outright, so all she could do was shoot Megan some questioning looks. She answered back with a somber stare that verged on tears. And one word. “Later.”
Allie gave her a squeeze and stayed close to her for the rest of the long travel day.
————
All of the girls were ambivalent about getting back to school. They were now in the final stretch of their college careers, with graduation and all that it symbolized lurking just on the other side of exams. Most hadn’t thought twice about choosing an escape in the sun over a week of more mundane job hunting and future planning. And so most of them thought it was strange when Zoe of all people—who’d probably never had to work a day in her life—had decided to forgo the spring fling and pound the pavement in New York City. Now o
n the heels of their vacation, some of the girls on the plane back to school quietly wondered whether Zoe, or any of the other students who had decided to be proactive about their careers, had had any luck. They would feel better about their own sunny choice if they hadn’t.
But Zoe had indeed had luck. Not with any career advice or new job, but with the real reason she had been city-bound: attending to an essential item on her to-do list. For once in her life she had tackled her homework with gusto, and it had paid off on the third consecutive night of dragging her high school friends to a specific Upper East Side bar. This time, surprise, surprise. There was Gavin.
Zoe’s heart skipped a beat when she spied him at a corner table—she had only seen him from afar since their breakup a year ago—but she willed her heart to slow and forced herself to bide her time at the long mahogany bar. She half-listened to her friends’ conversation, tossing in a one-word response when indicated, but her attention was focused on the back of the bar and on Gavin. Out of the corner of her eye she watched his every move, his every gesture. He looks so good. It was all she could do not to go over and melt into him, into what they used to be. She shifted in her seat and dragged herself back into the conversation around her. Her friend Jane was debating the merits of living in LA.
“I’m only looking in New York; I’m not interested in being anywhere else,” Zoe said.
Jane continued to talk, flabby words that floated beyond Zoe’s reach. In her mind, Gavin’s green eyes gazed into hers. And then, because she couldn’t guarantee that he would ever look at her that way again, the familiar fury at Tess raged up inside of her along with her desire for Gavin. She reached into her purse for her red lipstick. She swiped it expertly across her lips and was tucking it away again when she realized the girls had gone quiet around her. They were clearly waiting for a response.
She looked up. “I’m just going to the ladies room.” She finished her half-full vodka collins, checked herself out in the mirror above the bar, and walked slowly through the masses, ignoring as always, the attention she garnered as she brushed by people. She didn’t look directly at Gavin, but she was never more aware of the angle of his head, the direction he flashed his smile. Finally, as the people at his table began to notice her approach, Gavin’s head turned. Electricity connected them.
Zoe couldn’t breathe.
“Zoe.” Gavin was so startled that he knocked his beer over, but true to his athleticism, he righted it before it fell.
“Gavin, oh my God.”
Gavin pushed back his chair with a loud scraping noise and came over to her to give her a hug. It was an acquaintance hug, and Zoe was disappointed with its brevity.
“How are you?” His smile was genuine.
Zoe didn’t have to fake her happiness to see him—she felt like she was going to float away.
He took a good look at her. “Wow. You look great.”
She knew she did. Her outfit had been picked out carefully (the third fabulous outfit of the week): a dark red sweater that contrasted with her light blue eyes, tight black pants and black leather boots that made her look even taller and more lean than she was already.
“Thanks, so do you. I’m not used to seeing you in a suit.”
“What can I say? The corporate uniform.”
The waves of curiosity tumbling from Gavin’s friends at the table almost knocked the two of them over. They both started talking at the same time, and then laughed.
“Let’s have a drink,” he leaned over the table and grabbed his beer. “Over here,” he indicated another table with a tilt of his bottle. He suddenly hesitated. “Or are you here with someone?”
“No. I mean, yeah, I’m here with friends. But I’d love to have a drink with you.” Internally she was applauding herself; she couldn’t have orchestrated it better.
A few drinks, a few appetizers, and lots of voltage later, all of their friends had gone and Gavin and Zoe remained tucked away in their own little corner of the world. Zoe had done her best to restrain herself and start the evening with subtle flirting, allowing herself with each new drink to ratchet it up a notch and increase the frequency with which she accidentally touched his hand or bumped him under the table. She knew she had her work cut out for her once they left the bar, and she was trying to think of a way to get herself up to Gavin’s apartment. If she could do that, she was home free. It was out on the street, when they were physically and symbolically between the innocent public flirting and the much more inappropriate being alone together in his apartment, where she knew she could lose him.
Gavin seemed reluctant to leave, which Zoe reasoned might be a good thing. Maybe he knew that he had a decision to face once they were out of the safety of the crowded pub. Finally though, they were out on the street.
“I still can’t believe we ran into each other. It was great to see you, Gavin.” Zoe took a deep breath, preparing for the plunge. “So great, in fact, that I hate to end it.” She held his eyes, willing him to dive in after her.
Gavin looked like he was searching for a neon sign telling him what to do.
“You know what?” She lightly touched his hand, drawing his focus back to her. “I’m still hungry. Do you feel like picking up a pizza and going back to your apartment? I’d love to see it.”
Gavin smiled. “Sounds good.”
Zoe nearly clapped.
“You realize my apartment is nowhere near your standards. No decorating theme, no curtains, and definitely no cleaning lady,” Gavin said.
“Please don’t tell me that there are weeks-old pizza boxes all over the furniture.”
“Nope. The pizza boxes are the furniture.” He laughed. “No, let’s just say that I’m organizationally challenged. And speaking of furniture, you may recognize some of it from school.”
She made a face. “The couch?”
“The couch.”
She swatted his arm. “Maybe your apartment needs my attention.”
“Just your money.”
They laughed. Only Gavin could joke with her that way. God, I miss him. She locked her arm in his and they set off for his apartment.
Once there, the hot pizza was extraneous. Gavin grabbed beers from the fridge and Zoe pulled off her boots and made herself comfortable on the tattered mustard-yellow couch, a piece of furniture that had always made her cringe, but that now represented a shared history. After he sat down, Zoe slid in close and swiveled so that she was turned sideways, pretzeling her long legs so that her knees touched his thigh. He didn’t flinch, which she took for a good sign.
She started talking as if there was nothing odd about the fact that she was sitting so close to him. Although everything about her demeanor suggested nonchalance, she was so desperate to physically connect with him that she had to concentrate on keeping her hands to herself, and she picked at her beer label to keep them occupied. A remote part of her was disgusted at her longing for him; she had never wanted something or someone so much, had never been in the vulnerable position of risking herself for something. And although she tried not to think about it, this same tiny part of her recognized that if Gavin knew how much she loved him, he would shut her down in an instant. He wouldn’t want to risk Tess with something that was emotionally poignant. Physical betrayal was easier to justify. He was only here now because she was making it all so casual.
She kept up the lighthearted banter while she plotted how to move in for the kill. He was obviously fine with what was happening, but he was never going to make the first move. It had to come from her. Finally, when she thought she was going to jump out of her skin, she looked at Gavin with a sly smile. “No one will know that I was up here.”
“That’s probably a good thing.”
“And I was wondering,” she leaned in a little closer, “what it would feel like to kiss you again.” She gazed into his eyes. “We used to have some pretty intense moments.”
She wasn’t sure who moved in first, but a minute later they were kissing and touching each other as if something between them had combusted. Any thoughts of Tess flew out of both of their minds as they became totally immersed in igniting each other.
Her plan was working.
For the next few days, Zoe made it her mission to keep Tess in deep background. Whenever she thought those puppyish brown eyes might be haunting Gavin’s thoughts, Zoe scared them away with a wickedly sexy smile or a wildly sarcastic comment. She had nothing else planned for her New York visit—Gavin was her agenda—and so when he wasn’t in the office, Zoe was by his side, prohibiting reflection or second thoughts by remaining composed and in charge. Everything about these few days, everything about Zoe, was spontaneous yet measured—she was a ballerina executing a gorgeous leap, appearing to soar effortlessly, while her every muscle strained imperceptibly with the exertion of precise position.
Tess’s name never slipped into conversation; they never spoke of her or of their respective relationships with her. Zoe didn’t dare mention her for fear of bursting the fragile and iridescent bubble she had carefully blown around the two of them. She wasn’t sure why Gavin didn’t mention her and she didn’t care.
The only time Tess permeated their space was when the phone rang in the apartment. The first time it happened, they were happily squashed into Gavin’s small kitchenette, chopping tomatoes with spreading knives, trying to make spaghetti sauce with a bachelor’s paucity of utensils. The cheap chianti was flowing, Bruce Springsteen provided a raw, fervid soundtrack; whether or not the meal was a success, there was no doubt what the post-dinner entertainment would be.
The Truth Is a Theory Page 11