by Molly Harper, Stephanie Haefner, Liora Blake, Gabra Zackman, Andrea Laurence, Colette Auclair
“Fuck, go hard and fast now, move that sexy little body so I can see everything. I want to hear you scream when you come all over me, baby, do it for me.”
That’s it. Once I give in, I’m falling apart almost immediately. I scream out, with no care for anyone else in the hotel, no care that the shades in the hotel windows are drawn back completely, no care that the housekeeping staff might report a crime in this room from all the noise and cursing.
Right as I stiffen, blind to everything but this feeling, he starts to thrust his hips up into me, taking me so hard that my screams become ecstasy with a shade of pain. Just before pain eclipses the rest, his wild grasping hands tighten around the soft skin at my waist as he shouts a litany of dirty, cursing words.
When we both come down enough to focus, I’m sitting upright but motionless on top of him, my head fallen back and hanging uselessly. Suddenly, I start to giggle, low and quiet because every part of my body is both exhausted and alive.
“Jesus Christ. You know how to make a girl want to miss her flight.”
Flopping forward to lie on his chest, I kiss along his chin gently. Trevor chuckles softly, a weak and content sound.
“It’s all part of my diabolical plan. For my next move, I plan to venture out of this room to bring you the best coffee in LA and . . . wait for it . . .” He lifts one arm and points toward the ceiling, signaling that he’s about to reveal something important. “A cronut.”
Lifting my head, I stare at him, befuddled. “What the hell is a cronut?”
Trevor cocks his head to see my face. “You haven’t heard of a cronut? It’s a cross between a donut and a croissant. Filled with stuff. I don’t know exactly what, but it’s awesome. If you think last night was good, wait until I lay one of these on you. I’m not too proud to admit that the cronut may surpass all of my previous efforts to please you.”
“Doubtful. But I am intrigued by this ‘cronut’ you describe.” I roll off him and point toward the door. “Go. Bring me this exotic concoction. With strong black coffee. I’ll get a shower while you’re out.”
Leaping up from the bed, I head toward the bathroom because if I don’t, our naked bodies will convince us otherwise and I’ll never get anything in my now loudly growling belly.
“It’s a good thing I’m staring at your perfect little ass while you make demands. I don’t normally let people order me around.”
Shutting the bathroom door, I call out, “I’m sure you don’t. It’s good for you, though. Now hurry up!”
In the privacy of the bathroom, I glance at my reflection in the mirror. Between the marks around my waist from his hands gripping me and the small red welts that dot my neck, my breasts, and my jaw from where his teeth nipped the skin, I look like I’ve been ridden pretty hard. Which I have, in the best ways.
Tracing my hand over each spot, the feel of my fingers brings a flood of tactile memories to my skin. The sensation is potent, making my breath slow. I gaze at my face and grin, widely, almost laughing aloud. Scrubbing my hands down over my face, I try to push away from the powerful feeling and focus on practical things. Like brushing my teeth, for example. A simple task to focus on. One even I can handle right now.
I load up my toothbrush and scrub away, still grinning at myself in the mirror. As I start the faucet and rinse my mouth, I can hear Trevor dressing and then his phone ringing, all loud and jarring. He must be in the sitting area, probably trying to find his shirt, because I can hear him clearly.
“Hello? . . . Hey, my little panda cub, how are you?”
A light, playful tone fills the air as he speaks. He laughs and then snorts into the phone.
“No, no, I’m not there right now. . . . Yup, I’ll be there to get you this afternoon. Don’t forget your bike helmet; we’re going to ride bikes after school. . . . Sure, maybe we’ll get a frozen yogurt after. . . . OK, little one, have a good day at school, all right? . . . Yeah, put her on the phone for me, OK? . . .”
My breathing gets shallow as I try to listen to him. Eavesdropping is what some might call it. Who is he talking to? A kid? Oh God, does he have a kid? I feel like an idiot that I just spent the night doing all sorts of utterly naughty things with a man and I don’t even know if he has a kid or not. Surely, it has something to do with that dress I wore last night. A woman can make only irrational decisions when her dress is that small.
When he starts to speak again, I hold my breath and lean toward the door, listening as closely as I can.
“Yeah, I didn’t make it home. . . . I was at the studio all night. Damien is riding my ass to get the rough cuts done before we leave town. . . . No, I’m good, I just left the studio, and I’m going to get something to eat now. . . . I crashed on the couch. I’m getting too old for that shit. . . . Yeah, I’ll be there to pick her up this afternoon. Make sure she has her bike helmet, OK? . . . Thanks. Yeah, love you, too.”
Suddenly, I can’t see straight. Pressing my forehead against the door, all I can focus on is the wood grain. Each dark, spotted trail of knotted wood, enmeshed with lighter sections that look like flat little swirling cyclones. If I focus on it enough, perhaps I can forget what I just heard. Outside the door, I hear him pull the zipper up on his pants and the clink of his belt as he secures it.
Shit. How different that same noise sounded last night, going the other direction. Then, it was anticipation, desire, and longing. Now, in the harsh light of this bathroom, with his phone call ringing in my brain, it’s regret and a vague sense I might be sick.
Turning the lock on the bathroom door, I move slowly across the small room to start the shower, bracing my arms against the counter and the wall so I don’t collapse from the yuck-filled panic coursing through me. Slinking down the bathroom wall as the room fills quickly with steam, I hear him leave, the heavy hotel room door slamming behind him.
How did this happen? How did I sleep with someone without knowing he has a kid and a girlfriend? A baby mama? Please, no, a wife? Regardless, it’s someone he had to lie to about where he was. Someone he would say “I love you” to.
The air in the room is so thick with steam, I start to feel dizzy, even sitting down. I move to the shower and turn the dial so the water is cool enough to step into. Under the strong stream, my body starts to ache, a soreness that feels so different from the last twelve hours. This ache is uncomfortable and heavy, as if I’ve been thrown around like a rag doll instead of ridden blissfully hard.
Why would I let this happen? How could I not know, or think to ask, if this man couldn’t be mine alone? Now, in light of this pain, it seems so clear. The whole time, I knew none of it made sense; his effort to be with me simply didn’t reconcile. All the while, some poor woman is at home with his kid. Taking the kid to school and remembering bike helmets. Being lied to about long studio nights and demanding producers who just won’t let up.
Framed this way, it’s obvious. All of it. The pieces come together like a sad lite-rock song about heartbreak. Convenient. Cliché. Fucking typical for a goddam rock star in LA. Christ, Kate, bury your head in the sand much?
The anger seeping through my blood makes me scrub my scalp violently with the sharp ends of my fingernails. I want to have every single minute of the last few weeks run down the drain and into the sewer system of this disgusting city. Suds run along my body, over my breasts, and between my legs, where everything stings. I force my hands to caress tenderly, trying to bring some type of reassurance to myself, so that I can stop hearing the tirade in my head. What a pathetic, naïve idiot I am.
Tears well in my eyes and I let them fall. Somehow, the tears prick warmer against my face than even the steaming shower water. Why does this hurt so much? How can a single night, strung together with a few phone calls, sting so badly in the morning light? Something about this blind, headfirst tumble into bed with a man I hardly know makes it so much worse. I could blame it on him, but he owes me nothing. There is a pathetic woman at home somewhere to whom he really owes an apology. Not me. I’m jus
t last night’s conquest.
Shutting off the water, I step out to dry my raw body, drawing the towel over each limb gently so that I don’t start to cry again. Standing unsteadily from the smothering mist in the room, I swipe away the steam from the mirror and see my reflection differently. Instead of grinning this time, all I can do is look for a moment, then turn away in loathing.
The click of the door opening echoes in the entryway as I hear him rustling bags and dropping his keys on the coffee table. I realize that I bounded into the bathroom naked, not thinking to bring clothes in with me, and now I’ll have to go out there without looking at him or having him see me naked again. Turning the scenario around in my mind, it’s easy to decide there’s no need for yelling, demands, or drama. I can end this by shutting the door on my memories of last night and turning the lock for good.
Wrapping a towel around me, I dry my hair quickly, leaving it in loose waves and slightly damp. Staring at the door handle, I turn the lock and step out into the room, where the cool air-conditioned environment allows me a full breath, unimpeded by thick steam from the shower. Pulling the towel tighter around my chest, I step to my suitcase and dig out some jeans and a T-shirt.
“OK, get over here. I want to watch your face as you experience your first cronut.” Trevor is half lying on the bed, reading a spread-out newspaper. A pastry box is open in the middle, so I can see the infamous cronuts, and my stomach growls loudly. I’m famished, but I won’t take another thing from him even if it means I die right here from starvation.
“No, I’m good.” Grabbing the stack of clothes, I head back into the bathroom. After I dress and wrap my hair into a loose side braid, I sweep all my things off the bathroom counter into makeup bags and kick the wet towels under the sink.
When I step back out into the bedroom, Trevor is sitting upright, holding his coffee in his hands and staring down at the lid. He looks up at me with a confused and wounded expression on his beautiful face, and I can barely stand it. Pulling away, I start to throw clothes in my suitcase haphazardly. Looking around the room for anything I might have missed, I wave my hand in his direction nonchalantly.
“I’ll get a cab. I’ve got to get going so I don’t miss my flight. Let me get you some money for the coffee.”
I stride into the sitting room and pick up my purse off the floor where I left it last night, when my dress was around my waist and his hands were on my bare skin. Fishing out a five-dollar bill, I stand and Trevor is right behind me. I hold out the money to him and he looks at it like I’m handing him a dead rat.
“What the hell happened in the last twenty minutes? Give me a clue, because I feel like I walked into the wrong hotel room.” His arms circle my waist and he takes a step forward.
“Don’t.” I shove his arms away, escaping his touch. “Go home and take your cronuts with you. I’m sure someone is expecting you.”
Trevor crosses his arms over his chest, pulling the fabric of his shirt tight across his taut shoulders and strong arms. It distracts me for a millisecond, but I find my anger again, by thinking about how he made me feel last night and then how he took everything away in only a few minutes.
“No way. I’m not leaving until I get a straight fucking answer. After last night, I think I deserve at least that.”
Sputtering out a choking laugh, I walk back to the bedroom, calling over my shoulder. “That’s rich. You deserve at least that, huh? Just go or I’ll—”
“What? Call the cops? News flash, I’ve been arrested a million times and I don’t really give a shit. Just tell me what the hell is going on.”
I stuff the top of my suitcase down and tug the zipper closed. Lugging it out to the entryway, I toss it against the wall where he stands. “I heard you on the phone.”
“So?”
“So? Are you kidding me? You think because I opened my legs like a slut for you that I don’t care about being your latest side dish? I was married once and I take that shit seriously. The whole ‘forsaking all others’ thing.”
Trevor shakes his head and looks around the room.
“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not married. I’m not with anyone.” He holds up his left hand, presumably trying to show me his bare ring finger. Like that even matters.
As much as I want to scream at the top of my lungs, I steady my voice and steel my bones so I’m standing as tall as I possibly can. Out of heels, I’m significantly shorter than he is, making my tough stance harder to maintain.
“Call it whatever you want. I heard you. Talking to your kid and then whoever it was you had to lie to about being in the studio all night.” I use annoying air quotes about the studio time and feel like a moron when I realize it. “So, this thing, whatever it was, is completely over.”
A smile creeps across his face and he starts to laugh. Really laugh, and without shame. My mouth drops open in astonishment. The fricking nerve of this guy.
“I don’t have a kid. I was talking to McKenna. She’s my six-year-old niece.”
I stifle a sudden sense of regret and confusion. His niece. No matter, because that only explains one small piece of the puzzle.
“Fine. Good for you, being such a great uncle. You’re a dreamboat. But, I’m guessing whoever you said ‘I love you’ to wouldn’t appreciate being lied to about your whereabouts last night.”
“You mean my mom?” He stares at me, not laughing anymore. His mouth stiffens into a hard line, clenching his jaw as he raises his eyebrows at me, waiting for my reaction. “I mean, I could have told her where I was last night, locked in a hotel room fucking you senseless, but it might have been kind of weird. We’re pretty close, but I don’t think she really wants to know what her son was doing with you last night.”
Without a thought, my hand shoots up to my mouth and my eyes go wide. Shit.
“Yeah. My mom. Why don’t you let that sink in for a minute?” He saunters off to the bed and grabs a cronut out of the box. I watch him take a bite and then lick a swath of frosting off the top. God, I’m starving. Now I’ll have to beg for it. Taking tentative steps, I cross the room and stand awkwardly in front of him.
“Can I have one of those, please? I’m starving.”
“One of these? These delicious, sugary, decadent little delights?”
He holds up the glistening pastry so that it’s right in front of my face. I lean forward and try to take a bite. Jerking his hand back, he takes another bite for himself.
“Say you’re sorry and I’ll consider it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” Licking more frosting off the top, he looks up at me. “Be specific.”
I roll my shoulders down and sigh. “I’m sorry I assumed you were married. I’m sorry I accused you of cheating. I’m especially sorry I told you to leave and take breakfast with you.”
“Here’s a question, Kate. What have I done so far that would make you think I’m that kind of an epic asshole?” Now, he won’t look at me. Instead, he stares at the floor and shakes his head slightly.
“Nothing. I jumped to conclusions. I’m sorry.”
Tired of waiting for him to offer me something to eat, I crawl on the bed toward the pastry box and reach for the remaining cronut. Just as I nick the frosting, he grabs me and flips me to my back.
“Oh, no damn way. I didn’t say you could have one. I’m not sure you’ve apologized enough.”
Straddling me, he brings my hands over my head, both wrists wrapped in one of his strong hands. In his other hand, he takes another bite of the half-eaten pastry, moaning and chewing.
“These are so fucking good. You can’t imagine how great they taste after a long night of screwing.”
Shoving the last bite in his mouth, he brings his hand down to me, and some frosting remains on his fingers. I lick it off greedily, tasting a sugary peach glaze that makes me groan. Glaring, I speak through semiclenched teeth.
“I said I was sorry. Do you really think I wanted to spend the last half hour frea
king out and crying in the shower, thinking last night was some kind of gross affair for you?”
Trevor lets go of my hands and leans back from me.
“You were crying while I was gone?”
“Yes.” I turn my head away and stare out the window.
“Sit up.”
I push myself up so I can face him and he gently brushes the hair back off my forehead.
“I don’t like the idea of you crying about me. Even if I didn’t actually do anything wrong.” Placing a single kiss on my forehead, he tips my chin up so that we are squarely looking at each other. “Here’s what you need to understand. As much as my rep might make you think otherwise, I’m not a complete asshole. Let me spell it out. I. Don’t. Cheat. End of story. No wife, no girlfriend, no kids. After my brother died, my mom started raising his daughter, McKenna, so my sister, Devon, and I help her out as much as we can.”
Great. His brother died and he helps raise his niece. He’s practically a saint and I just accused him of being every kind of jerk possible. Who’s the jerk now? I picture a large neon flashing sign above my head, with an arrow pointing toward me.
“What happened to your brother? Where is her mom?”
Dropping his hand from my chin, Trevor looks down and shakes his head.
“Long story. I’ll tell you about it sometime. Just not yet, OK?” He raises his face again and there is a concentrated pain etched across his features.
I nod. “OK.”
“See? You’re not the only one who has to protect herself. I know just as little about you as you do about me. The only difference is I would give you the benefit of the doubt or at least a chance to explain.”
Watching his face again, I feel worse and worse. I want to rewind the last hour and shout for another take. At this moment, in his eyes I can see a regular man, with a complicated history and a good heart, who seems to like me. Now I’ve wounded him after he gave me four insane orgasms and brought me coffee and breakfast. Way to go, Kate.