by Jana Aston
His lips brush against my sensitive skin, the added friction—even as slight as it is—making me fist his hair and buck my hips, begging for more, even as my mouth is spewing forth claims that it’s too much.
He crawls over me, mouth crashing over mine. I can taste myself on him, and I like that too. Sex is messy if you’re doing it right.
One of his hands cups a breast as the other reaches for the condoms in the bedside table. He’s tearing it open when I place a hand on his forearm, stopping him.
“You don’t have to,” I say, glancing towards the condom in his hand. “If you don’t want. It’s not the right time in my cycle anyway.” We’ve never had sex without a condom before. I’ve never had sex without a condom, period. But it’s Sawyer.
An unreadable expression crosses his face, then he shakes his head and slides the condom out of the package.
“No, it’s not worth the risk. I never should’ve asked that of you,” he says, referring, I’m sure, to a conversation we had early on when he asked if we were going to ditch the condoms anytime soon, since I’m on the pill and both of us are clean.
I told him no.
Now I have a moment of surprise and a sting of rejection, if I’m being truthful, that he just turned me down. I don’t have time to linger on it, because he’s rolled the condom on and is nudging into me.
“I love you, Everly,” he says, smiling down at me, that fucking dimple a shotgun to my heart. Then he slides into me an inch at a time.
I exhale a groan and tilt my hips up, welcoming him, my heels planted on the bed by his thighs, digging into the mattress for leverage.
He fills me, sinking into me until our bodies are flush. His hands slide under my back, his palms cupping my shoulders to hold me in place before he thrusts.
“I love you, too,” I tell him, as he presses his forehead to mine and begins to move.
We stay like that throughout, my arms wrapped around his neck, his face inches from mine. Whispered words of lust and love from beginning to end.
After, I grab the phone from the tripod and lie with my head on his chest, arm extended so we can view the recording.
“Hmm, that didn’t really go as I’d planned,” I say sleepily, dropping my arm and stopping the playback with a flick of my thumb.
“No?” he questions, his fingers combing through strands of my hair and down my back.
“I think we recorded ourselves making love instead of the dirty hard fuck I assumed we’d document. It’s kind of a shitty sex tape.”
His hand stills on my hair, his lips pressing the top of my head before he speaks. “No, it’s perfect.”
Forty-One
“Good day student teaching?”
Chloe has just walked in, hanging her coat on the back of the door. She gets home every day after five, exhausted and smiling.
“The best!” She grins. “The kids are amazing. I can’t wait till the fall when I’ll officially be a teacher and have my very own class.” She sighs happily as she pops a mug of water into the microwave to heat. “What are you working on?” she asks, nodding to the laptop open on my lap, notes strewn about me on the bed.
“Paper,” I reply, closing the laptop with a snap. “It’s not even due for two weeks. Impressed?” I tend to cram projects into the last minute while Chloe turns in assignments a week early.
“Whoa, hold on.” Chloe peers out the window, looking at the sky. “Is it a full moon tonight? What is happening?”
“Ha, ha. Cute.”
“No, seriously. What’s going on? And why are you doing homework on a Friday night instead of getting ready for Sawyer to pick you up?”
“He cancelled. Emergency or something.” I pull my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. “So I ordered a pizza and I’m working on a paper.” I make a face. “Ugh. It’s even worse out loud than it was in my head.”
“Don’t worry, staying in one Friday night won’t make your hymen grow back together, I promise.” The microwave dings and she dunks a tea bag into the mug of hot water.
“No, I don’t think that’s possible in my case. Sawyer’s pretty big.”
“I’m sorry I brought it up.” She groans.
I cross my legs and plop my chin in my hand. I miss him.
“So you’re not going over at all tonight? I haven’t seen you on a Friday night in weeks.”
“No.” I shake my head, chin still in my palm. “Don’t worry, I won’t interrupt your Criminal Minds marathon.”
“Okay.” She grins, grabbing her laptop and tapping it to life.
“Is it weird that he cancelled?” I ask, giving voice to the nagging worry that’s been bouncing around my brain for the last hour.
“I don’t know, is it?” Chloe glances over at me then back to her keyboard, flipping through the options on her Netflix account. She selects an episode and sets the laptop on top of the microwave where we can both see it. She doesn’t need to pay close attention since she’s seen every episode already. Honestly, I think she just enjoys having it running in the background, the way most people enjoy music.
“I don’t know.” I twist a piece of hair around my finger and stare at her open laptop while I think. “We had a great time on Wednesday, his birthday. I slept over, he dropped me off on his way to work yesterday morning and I haven’t talked to him since.”
“So you spoke to him yesterday?”
“Yeah, I know.” I nod. “I know it was just yesterday. But it feels off somehow.” I give my hair another twirl. “Let’s just watch your serial killer show and eat pizza.”
Chloe grabs a slice from the box on my desk and sits on her bed, legs kicked out in front of her, totally content with a Friday night spent with her beloved fictional federal agents.
We’re quiet for a few minutes, the show playing while Chloe catches up to me on pizza consumption.
“Why do you like this show so much? It’s kinda dark,” I observe, cracking open a fresh can of Diet Sun Drop.
“They’re like a little family,” she says with a shrug. “Hotchner’s like the dad figure, he keeps them all together, you know? Morgan’s crazy hot, kicking in doors on every episode. Dr. Reid is the most adorably awkward genius ever. Penelope’s kinda like the mom. She stays behind at the BAU worrying about her team out in the world, but she’s really running that whole operation, right? She’s the glue. JJ proves you can be a pretty girl and still take out a bad guy with a single shot. And Agent Rossi’s the one you’d confide in if you needed advice about a secret.”
“So you haven’t given this much thought then,” I mock.
“You asked.” She shrugs.
“You officially have an agent fetish.”
“It’s comfort television.”
“It’s a show about a group of FBI agents profiling serial killers,” I say incredulously.
“Well…” She pauses, thinking. “It’s comforting knowing they’re gonna catch them.”
“You’re nuts.”
She smiles and stuffs another bite of pizza in her mouth.
***********
I wake up at ten the next morning and check my phone. Nothing from Sawyer. By noon the feeling of dread has settled firmly in my stomach. I could text him, sure. Call him, absolutely. Yet I’m not going to. Something feels off and I’m wondering why he hasn’t contacted me. I open up the text chain between us and review the ones from yesterday afternoon. There it is, the last message from him that said, ‘Talk soon.’ Talk soon? It was weird to me yesterday but I brushed it aside. Because Sawyer and I are solid.
He’s never given me a reason to doubt him, and I’m not a girl to go looking for reasons that don’t exist. I might have doubted his intentions during that first car ride, when he drove me back to school from Ridgefield the Sunday after Thanksgiving. He chipped away at my doubts during that week of Sawyer-style wooing, ending with a goldfish complete with a fancy self-cleaning tank. I look at Stella, swimming happily in the mini-fish tank with Steve, and smile. Who does al
l that? Not a guy just interested in a quick fling.
From the day that I showed up at his office, I knew he was all in with me.
Until today.
He’s had a stressful week, I tell myself. I’m being crazy. Paranoid. He’s going to call any minute, tell me he’s on his way to pick me up.
But he doesn’t.
By late afternoon I pick up the phone. This is silly. Maybe he thinks I’m mad about last night? Maybe I’m making myself sick over nothing.
He doesn’t pick up. I get a text a moment later. Can’t talk right now. I’ll call you tomorrow.
Okay then.
Not really. He’s never sent me to voice mail.
He doesn’t call the next day.
He texts me at 9 pm on Sunday. I need some time, Everly.
Is he fucking kidding me? I don’t reply. I stare at the ceiling of my room all night, numb, drumming my fingertips against the bedspread, my mind blank.
By the following day my mind is anything but blank, thoughts racing, rethinking every encounter between us. I’m second-guessing myself and everything I know is true. I didn’t imagine the last eight weeks, so what the hell just happened?
Forty-Two
“You’re quiet today,” Sophie remarks, wiping down the counter with a wet cloth and tossing it in the bin to be laundered. “And you’re not making any horrible drink concoctions or stuffing your face with brownies from the bakery case.” She tilts her head and looks me over. “What’s going on?”
“I think Sawyer’s trying to break up with me,” I mutter.
“You think he is or you know he is?” Her eyebrows draw together in a frown.
“I don’t exactly know.” I cover my face with my hands and shake my head before dropping my hands again.
“Okay, Everly. What is going on? Did you have a fight?”
“No!” I shake my head, my ponytail whipping back and forth with the force. “Nothing like that. I saw him last week for his birthday. We made the sex tape. He seemed to enjoy that, then poof.” I gnaw my lower lip, thinking it over. “He didn’t want to fuck me without a condom,” I tell her, glancing at her face.
“Um, does he normally use one?”
“Always,” I say, glancing out the front window of the coffee shop. “But he’s indicated before that he didn’t want to use them. Then I offered and he turned me down. That’s weird, right?” I glance back at Sophie, teeth worrying at my bottom lip again.
“I’m not sure,” she says, shrugging. “Luke and I never use them anymore. Like, not since the first week or two.”
“Seriously, Sophie?” I huff out a loud sigh of disapproval. “How many times have I told you? Two forms of birth control at all times.”
“I think you’ve only told me that once,” she says with a shake of her head. “And your admonishment is a little lost when you’re in the midst of a story about trying to fuck your boyfriend without a condom.”
“Well, there’s that,” I agree. “But it was going to be a one-time thing. Probably.” I wave my hand. “Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that he turned me down. I’m not interested in having his illegitimate love child. Just what the fuck?” The sting of that refusal hits me again and my cheeks burn in mortification. I know I’ve done the same to him by refusing to have sex with him without a condom, but, well, that’s my prerogative.
“I don’t understand. You saw him last week and you haven’t had a fight. Why do you think he’s breaking up with you?”
“He cancelled our plans last weekend,” I say and then pause. “Then he sent me a text saying he needed time.” It’s tough spitting that last part out. It’s so stupid I want to punch him in the balls. Fucking time.
“Oh.”
“Right. Oh.”
“How did you reply?”
“I didn’t.” Sophie furrows her forehead in confusion at my response so I continue. “I have a sick feeling about it. Something is off, but I’m so pissed that he’s not talking and instead sent me a lame text about needing time.” I heave a breath out. “I’m sad, Sophie.”
She nods as the coffee shop door opens and her boyfriend Luke walks in. Her back is to the door so I see him before she does. His eyes immediately gravitate to her, softening at a mere glimpse of her.
It makes the back of my throat burn like tears are imminent. So I swallow instead and plaster a smile on my face, calling out a hello to Luke.
Sophie beams and slides around the counter so they can kiss.
I watch because I’m me. Plus Luke’s pretty hot.
Sophie returns behind the counter and fills a cup of dark roast for Luke, sliding a sleeve over the cup and securing the lid before placing it on the counter with a shy smile.
He reminds her about a hospital benefit they have to attend this weekend and I thank my lucky stars I’m not going because I’m bored just hearing about it.
“I bet you two fuck like horny little rabbits,” I comment as the door shuts behind Luke.
Sophie just holds up her hands, palms up, and shrugs.
“I still can’t believe you’re dating a gynecologist.”
“Someone has to,” she says in her practical tone of voice.
“You don’t think it’s weird that he’s on his way to the student clinic right now?” I push. “It’s not like he’s an ear, nose and throat doctor.”
“Please stop talking.”
Forty-Three
I leave work and head back to campus. I sit though an afternoon class but it’s a huge waste of time. I don’t retain a single word.
I head to the Clemens Corp building as soon as class lets out. I need to see him. Maybe this is all in my head.
The lobby is fairly deserted when I arrive. Sandra gave me a building ID weeks ago so I could swipe past the security turnstiles in the lobby. I have a moment of panic wondering if my badge will work, if it’s been deactivated, how far this ‘needing time’ thing goes.
But the light on the turnstile turns green and I’m through. I take the elevator to the top floor, reminding myself that Sawyer loves me, that I belong here, but the sick feeling in my stomach won’t be quieted. The elevator opens and I make my way to Sawyer’s office, my heart in my throat. I don’t even know if he’s here. Maybe this was a stupid plan.
I find Sandra at her desk and Sawyer’s office door open, the light on. I can’t see into the office from here, but I’m hoping the light indicates he’s in the office today.
“Hey, Everly!” Sandra beams a smile at me and that off feeling in my stomach subsides. It’s all in my head, surely. Sandra doesn’t think it’s odd that I’m here. Everything must be fine. Then she adds, “Have you met him yet?”
I don’t get a chance to respond because Sawyer is there, and honestly, he looks kinda pissed.
Sandra’s eyes widen and she glances between us. The movement happens in a fraction of a second, the kind of thing you know in your gut just happened but you’ll question later, wondering if you’re embellishing the encounter in your head after the fact.
“Sandra, tell Gabe I need to see him,” Sawyer says.
Sandra nods and picks up her phone.
“No, don’t call him. Find him and tell him,” he snaps.
That was the most obvious ploy to get rid of her, ever.
Sandra blinks and sets the phone back down. She’s rising from her desk when Sawyer nods to me, indicating I should follow him into his office.
I don’t want to.
This was a bad idea.
I feel like I’m about to get simultaneously broken up with and fired.
We make it three feet into his office before his cell phone rings. He glances at it, then back at me, before stopping in the middle of his office and turning in my direction.
“What do you need, Everly? Why are you here?”
He says it in a tone I’ve never gotten from him. He runs his palms across his face and I can see that he’s tired, not himself. He’s in jeans and a light brown sweater. I don’t think I’ve ev
er seen him wear jeans to the office in all the times I’ve stopped by. And I damn well know I’ve never been asked why I was here to see him. Not once.
“Are you serious?” I ask him, my voice rising. “What do I need? Why am I here?”
“Everly.” He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose as the phone starts ringing again.
My eyes dart over to the desk where the phone is flashing. His keys are resting next to the phone, jacket laid across the desk. He’s either just walked in or he’s about to walk out. It’s late afternoon so neither option makes sense.
He walks over to the desk and glances at the screen, silencing the call, phone clenched in his fist.
“Everly,” he starts again. “I can’t do this.”
I think I’m going to throw up.
“Do what?” I press my lips tightly together and tilt my head, eyes narrowed on him. “What exactly can’t you do?”
“Us.”
The blood pounds in my ears as soon as the word leaves his lips.
“Why is that, Sawyer?”
“We’re going in two different directions, Everly.”
He doesn’t even look at me as he says it. Instead he walks to his desk, back turned to me until he gets behind it. His eyes are flat when they catch mine again, the desk between us. I don’t move any closer to him, still rooted to the spot a few feet past the threshold.
The phone rings again and he turns the ringer off, placing it face up on the desk in front of him. He places both fists on the desk, his face expressionless.
“What directions would those be?” I press.
He pushes back from the desk, standing straight, his eyes distant. I’ve never seen him like this. I’ve always felt like I was standing in a ray of sunshine when I had his attention. I had no idea the sun was eventually going to set.
“You’re a lot younger than I am, Everly. You need time to grow up. Figure out what you want to do with your life.”
“What does that even mean? I know exactly what our age difference is and so do you. You’ve known since the moment we met. That hasn’t changed. Nothing has changed.”