After Hours

by Melinda Di Lorenzo

  Well. I like it. But I’d like it better if I could take it off.

  Is that right?

  A half a dozen thunderous heartbeats passed, and a second picture came to life. Marc again. His tie loosened. His top button undone.

  Something like this? He wanted to know.

  I swallowed. It’s a start.

  Lunch today?

  I’m definitely hungry.

  Oh, yeah?

  I could practically hear his chuckle. It made me shiver, thinking about how it would fill my ear if he was next to me, and I shifted a little on the bed.

  What were u thinking about eating? I typed.

  What I’m thinking about eating…nice guys don’t write down.

  R u back to that? Pretending ur a nice guy?

  U saying I’m not?

  I’m not falling for that.

  So we’re at an impasse then, he texted.

  Does this mean I don’t get lunch? I replied.

  U pouting again?

  Possibly.

  3321 Alice Street.

  What?

  There’s a nice little bed and breakfast there.

  U rented us a by-the-hour place? Trashy.

  B&B.

  I smiled. Technicality.

  It’s ours from now until Sunday, he sent back. Unless u want to keep staying at ur mom’s?

  No. But if it’s a B&B…are u sure they serve lunch?

  Yes. And it’s the only place I know for sure I can eat what I want.

  Another delicious lick of heat zapped through me. Which is…

  It’s pink. Sweet. And right between those sexy fucking thighs of yours.

  Now I didn’t just shiver. My whole body quaked, and a little gasp escaped my lips. I thought of Marc’s mouth. Of where he’d put it. Of how damned good it would feel.

  My phone buzzed in my hand again, sending another wave of want over my body. I peeled open my eyes—which I hadn’t even realized I’d closed—to read the text.

  Really gotta work now, honey. Baby. Honey-baby.

  U really want to leave me like this?

  No. But I’ve got a meeting in an hour. See u at lunch?

  Fiiiiine.

  More than like u, he told me. TTYL.

  I smiled. More than like u, 2. Bye. Baby.

  As I pressed the phone to my chest, my stomach filled with butterflies. Giddy ones. They were almost as good as the desire-laden tingles.

  Almost? asked a voice in my head.

  I didn’t argue. There was no point in lying to myself about it. The rush of my heart wasn’t just a literal one. I could feel that warm, ready to explode with happiness sensation all over. It was the kind of feeling that made it seem not-so-strange—or so bad—to be curled up in my old bed. Even if I was there because I’d been broken into. And even if some pervert had rifled through my underwear drawer. Because being with Marc made everything else seem secondary. It was a weird feeling, to know that someone was there for me. And he was so patient. So understanding.

  Feeling determined to reciprocate in some way, I threw back my sheets, stretched quickly, and grabbed the clothes I’d packed. I dressed as fast as I could and tossed my hair into a bun. I took a breath. Then I marched from the bedroom to the kitchen. There, I found my mom exactly where I knew I would—sitting at the table with her coffee and her paper and her muesli.

  “He’s my boyfriend,” I announced without preamble.

  She set down her mug. “I figured.”

  “And we work together.”

  “You didn’t meet at the bar?”

  “No. I mean, yes. We did. But he turned out be the new marketing manager. At Eco-Go.”

  “Not at the sex shop where you moonlight?” she asked.

  “What? Mom!”

  She lifted and eyebrow and took a sip of her coffee. “Just pointing out that I know where you work, Aysia. There’s no need to remind me.”

  “So…”

  “So…what, sweetheart? Are you not okay with it?”

  “Me?”

  “You look worried”

  “I just want to make sure you were okay with it,” I said. “I mean. I know it was a huge source of conflict for you and dad.”

  “That’s what you think?” she replied.

  “Isn’t it true?”

  She shook her head. “It’s factually true, I guess. I was damned good at what both of us did and would’ve been a hell of a piece of competition for him. But when your father asked me to leave the advertising business, I said yes so that I could stay home with you.”

  “But you didn’t have me yet when you quit.”

  “Seven months later I did.” She smiled. “Your dad always liked the idea that he won because he got to stay at work. I let him think what he wanted. But he didn’t win, sweetheart. I got to spend the next eighteen years dedicated to you. I’ve never regretted it.”

  “That’s…” I trailed off, unsure what to say. I stared at her. Hadn’t she been the one who’d told me she’d quit because of him?

  Maybe not, I admitted silently.

  Maybe I’d just filled in the blanks over the years, letting my own resentful feelings toward my dad cloud my view. It was like a curtain had just been drawn back, revealing a deep truth. One of the building blocks that made me who I was…wasn’t. But instead of it being a bad thing, it was a good one. All I felt was relief.

  “Are you all right, Aysia?” my mom asked.

  “Fine,” I managed to say. “Just…thank you.”

  “Words every mother longs to hear,” she replied with a smile. “Are you staying home today?”

  I shook my head. “The doctor cleared me.”

  “Cleared you for work? Or for Marc?”

  “You’re almost as funny a Liv.”

  “Speaking of Liv…”

  “She knows. She even approves.” I said.

  “Well. Just this one time. We agree.”

  “You approve?”

  She flicked open her newspaper. “He likes Monty Python. How could I not?”

  I snagged a piece of toast from her plate and brought it to my mouth to cover my smile. I didn’t need her approval, just like I didn’t need a boyfriend. But it felt damn good to have both.

  Chapter 17

  Marcelo

  I folded my hands on top of the little table in the corner of the coffee shop and waited. I had it on good authority that each morning after he checked in at work, he headed to this very spot. The woman at the front desk had been more than happy to exchange that tidbit for nothing but a smile.

  I glanced down at my watch.

  8:31am.

  Any minute now, Carl would come through the door. Something made me sure he wasn’t just a plain black coffee kinda douchebag. He’d get something deliberately overdone. Maybe something he didn’t even like. Something he used just to make himself feel complicated and superior.

  Asshole.

  Under the table, my leg twitched with anticipatory irritation. I knew I was being a judgemental jerk myself. But it was the only thing keeping me from thinking of plowing my fist through Carl’s face.

  Another look at my watch told me it was now 8:34am.

  What’s the hold up, Carl?

  My eyes lifted toward the entrance. From my spot, I could just see the top of the glass and the bells hanging off the frame. I was positioned so that he wouldn’t be able to see me as he ordered, and probably not even while he waited for his drink to be prepared. Once he picked up his stupidly detailed beverage, though, he’d have to turn around. Then I’d be right in his line of sight. He’d spot me. Maybe spill his coffee a little. With any luck, scald his hand and yelp like a baby.

  I forced aside the smug satisfaction at the imagined scenario. My goal was to keep calm. To catch him off g
uard and use his arrogance against him. I hadn’t been all that surprised that he hadn’t called in sick. He was so full of himself, so confident that he held all that cards that he’d never expect to be called out for his actions. I had some of my own ammunition, though. All I needed was to see that fucking split in his lip.

  I looked down again.

  8:37am.

  Then the bells on the door jangled, and I heard him. His voice carried over the hiss of steaming milk and grinding beans.

  “Decaf triple soy no foam latte,” he said. “Medium, please, sweetie. And don’t make it too hot.”

  I gritted my teeth. It almost annoyed me that I was right. His drink was as pretentious as the rest of him. I closed my eyes for a second, but I couldn’t block out the sound of him as he tried to flirt with the barista.

  “Hey Katie?” Carl’s voice was full of inflated ego. “You think about what I said about you and me and the bathroom?”

  “It’s Kaylee,” the girl corrected. “Like my nametag says.”

  “I’m more interested in what’s under the nametag, sweet thing.”

  “Kaylee,” she repeated, just this side of impatient.

  “And the bathroom?” Carl asked, clearly not taking the hint.

  “It’s pretty filthy in there, Mr. Reeves.”

  “Just the way I like.”

  She sighed loud enough that I could hear it. “Here’s your latte.”

  “Thanks, babe.”

  I opened my eyes just in time to see him reach out to take it. Only instead of grabbing the cup, he grabbed the girl’s wrist. I was halfway out of my seat before she bumped the latte, sloshing some over the side and forcing Carl to jump back.

  I forced my ass down and waited for their interaction to finish playing out.

  The barista smiled and moved out of reach. “Oops. Sorry, Mr. Reeves.”

  Carl wasn’t fazed. “If you ever want a hand getting out of this dead-end job, I can put in a good word.”

  The girl stared him down. “In exchange for what? A favor?”

  “If that’s a possibility.”

  “I’ll tell you what. If I ever decide to leave my girlfriend, become straight, and get a hankering for an asshole in a cheap suit, you’ll be the first person I call.” Then she tossed her ponytail over her shoulder and flounced away.

  Carl stared after her, muttering about his suit not being cheap. I noted that he didn’t say a word about reporting the girl to her supervisor.

  Because the guy knows he’s a giant fucktard.

  The thought added a tinge of self-righteousness to my smugness. Both fell away, though, as the other man snagged his drink and spun. Ice cold anger took their place as I spotted exactly what I was looking for—the raw red slice up his bottom lip. There was a surprisingly low amount of satisfaction in seeing the proof.

  I lifted my eyes and met his gaze.

  Immediately, he took a step back, smacking into a rack of mugs that rattled under the sudden assault and looking around in search of a hasty escape. A crowd of teenagers blocked the way back. His only choice was to push through them or walk straight past me. I didn’t want him to do either.

  Borrowing a gesture from Aysia, I lifted an eyebrow. Then I pulled out my secret weapon. I set the red-lingerie-wrapped item on the table and watched as Carl’s eyes widened to caricature proportions.

  I smiled. Slowly. Then I crooked my finger and gave him my best, mob-boss-esque come hither. Like he couldn’t help it, the douchebag moved in my direction, his nervous stare flicking between me and the object on the table.

  “What are you doing, Marcelo?” His question was a snarled whisper.

  “It’s Mr. Diaz, actually,” I corrected, my own voice edged in steel. “Sorry that I don’t have nametag like your barista friend.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Likewise.” I nodded at the chair across from me. “Sit down.”

  “Don’t think so.”

  “You know what’s under that sexy little piece of fabric.”

  “Like hell I do.”

  “Are we really going to play games?”

  “Are you really carrying women’s underwear around in your pocket?” he countered.

  “Better than spending my mornings going through them,” I said back.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Cut the bullshit, Carl, and sit down so that you’re not embarrassing yourself. People are starting to stare.”

  He cast a glance around the coffee shop, then yanked out the chair and seated himself on the edge. “Couldn’t have had this conversation at the office?”

  “I chose the public venue for your safety.”

  “What the hell—”

  “Shut up and listen. I know you were in Aysia’s apartment. Twice. That little booboo on your mouth was a gift from me. The only reason I haven’t already called the police is that I’m genuinely unsure of your intentions. Are you just a pissant pervert? Obsessed, jilted ex-lover? Or are you actually dangerous? If it’s the latter, you’re fucked. But if it’s one of the former two, I might be willing to make a deal. You can quit your job at Eco-Go, and I’ll keep my mouth shut. So convince me that you’re just a complete asshole, Carl. Because the other option is looking good.”

  Fury played over his features. “You’re kind of forgetting something important, aren’t you?”

  I shook my head. “You mean your attempt to blackmail me? No longer matters. You committed a crime. Hell of a difference between that and dating a co-worker.”

  “Tell that to Miss High-and-mighty.”

  “I did. Or I should say that we decided together that we’ll be coming clean about our relationship. You’ve got nothing to hold over us. So what’s it going to be, Carl?”

  “The video,” he said.

  I stiffened. The stupid thing kept biting me in the ass. And it was about to again. A soft, familiar voice came from over the other man’s shoulder.

  “What video?”

  Aysia. Shit.

  She stepped into view, a reusable coffee cup clutched so tightly in her hand that her knuckles had turned white. Her pretty blue eyes moved from me, to Carl, then back again.

  “Honey…” I started.

  She put up a hand and said again, “What video?”

  “She doesn’t know?” Carl suddenly looked entertained.

  “I don’t know what?”

  “Honey,” I repeated. “Give me a second.”

  “Stop calling me honey,” she snapped, then looked taken aback at her own tone. “Sorry, I just…what video?”

  “The one where you’re wearing that.” Carl nodded at the table.

  Aysia drew in a sharp breath. “Is that my lingerie? And my vibrator?”

  She asked the questions so loudly that three people turned our way. She didn’t seem to care. With another inhale, she inched closer to the table. “Someone tell me what’s going on. Please.”

  “You?” Carl asked, throwing a shit-eating grin my way. “Or me?”

  “Shut the fuck up, Reeves.” I snarled, then turned to meet Aysia’s eyes, guilt eating away at my anger. “I found the video that night I met you at the bar.”

  “Carl’s video? The one of me?” Her face had gone pale.

  “Yes. It was in his e-mail.”

  Her gaze flashed to him, but when she spoke, it was to me. “And when you came into the bar…”

  “I recognized you. And him.”

  “And you didn’t think you should mention it?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “I did think I should.”

  “Until you took me out to the alley.”

  “I didn’t know at that point that you worked at Eco-Go.”

  “And that made it okay?”

  “Can we talk about this alone?” I sounded d
esperate because I felt desperate.

  Her responding gaze was cool. “Sure. Right after you tell me why you didn’t fire Carl. And why the two of you are sharing coffee with my vibrator as your centerpiece.”

  “The video.” For some reason, it was all I could get out.

  Understanding dawned on her face. “He blackmailed you.”

  “You made it pretty clear that you didn’t want anyone at work to know what was going on between us,” I answered.

  “So you let him blackmail you?”

  “Aysia. Let’s go somewhere else.”

  “Francois?” she whispered insistently.

  “It was Carl,” I replied. “I caught him in your place again last night, trying to steal it.”

  “You went back?”

  “Yes.”

  “So why don’t the police have him?” She stepped back, her face crumbling for a moment before she composed herself. “I’m going to go.”

  “Don’t. Please don’t.”

  But it was too late. She whipped past, her expression stony, and she was gone so quickly that I couldn’t even follow the blur of her disappearing back. I rounded on Carl.

  “You’re fired, asshole. And the cops’ll be by to drag your ass to jail before the end of the day.”

  I slid my chair back and tore out the door.

  * * * *

  Aysia

  I pressed myself to the brick wall outside the coffee shop, my breaths coming in shallow gasps. My chest ached. Each inhale made it squeeze. Each exhale made it want to burst. Tears pushed to the surface, then overflowed. Despair rocked me, and there was nothing I could do to hold it back.

  I’d only felt this way once before. Twelve years ago when Walt lost his battle. And that’s how I knew what it was. The burn of a broken heart.

  A broken heart.

  It confirmed what I’d been refusing to admit to myself. I loved Marc. And God, how it hurt right then.

  It wasn’t supposed to be this way. This moment of realization should’ve been sweet rather than sorrowful. My mind knew it. So why couldn’t my body keep up?

  I gasped, trying futilely to snag enough oxygen to ease the pain. But no matter how hard I sucked in the crisp, morning air, nothing changed. If anything, it was growing worse. Filling the rest of me with pain.

  I breathed again, and the lungful seared. Then froze. Marc had stepped out onto the sidewalk, and from my vantage point, I had a clear view of his face. It was ragged. A perfect match for the emotions swirling through me. I wished it felt good to see him hurting the way I was hurting. But there was no satisfaction in seeing his eyes pinch with worry and his shoulders slump in defeat. It just felt awful instead. Not because I wasn’t angry. I was. Maybe more than I’d been, ever. He’d betrayed me. Not trusted me enough to tell me that he knew about the stupid, meaningless video. And instead of calling the police on Carl when he should have, he tried to take matters into his own hands.