by Kelly Myers
The train shrieks to a stop, and I slip past him and out the doors.
The crisp November air hits me in a wave as I let the crowd move me over the wooden planks and towards the stairs.
I know he’s behind me. I know without even needing to look.
He’s not letting go of this. Not unless I force him.
But I have no idea how to force him. Even worse, the silly emotional part of me doesn’t want him to stop.
Once on the sidewalk, I head down Fullerton until I reach a quieter street. The crowds have dissipated, so there’s no one around.
I turn to face him. He’s practically shaking with fury, and my breath catches. Maybe it’s good that he’s so angry. Maybe if I can make him angry enough, he’ll give up already.
He points at me, and I can only stand still as he approaches.
“I think you’re just scared.” Micheal is no longer talking in a quiet voice. “You’re scared of real feelings.”
“I’m not,” I say. “I’m not scared.”
I may be many other things, but I’m not a coward. I’m just being practical.
“You are terrified to take this risk,” Michael says. His words seem to rattle my very bones, and I feel my own anger rising to meet his. “And you’re scared to be with someone who might be right for you.”
I scoff and give him my most withering look. “I am not scared.”
I want him to cower, but instead he only gives me a wicked grin and steps closer. As if he relishes my anger. As if he feeds off my emotion. The words pour out of my mouth before I know what I’m saying. “And you’re not right for me –”
He opens his mouth to argue, but I speak over him: “I know when someone isn’t right for me, that’s why I ended things with Dean.”
Michael stands stock still. My blood starts to pound through my head when I see his anger evaporate, and his eyes widen with glee when he hears I’m not with Dean anymore. I open my mouth to say that it has nothing to do with him, but the words don’t come out.
In a heartbeat, Michael has his arms around me. He loops one around my waist and another hand rests on my neck. I gasp, but I don’t pull away.
That’s all the assurance he needs to press his mouth against mine with fervor. My hands float to his shoulders of their own volition, and my mouth opens for him. I can’t help it. I want him. I need him.
I forget that we’re in the middle of the street. I forget that just seconds ago, I wanted him to disappear from my life forever. I forget all my anger, and all I have is my desire, pulsing hot and adamant through me, pushing me to cling to him as if this was the last time I might see him.
When he pulls away, the world is spinning. And the strangest thing is, I can tell he feels it too. He stares down at me, as if I’m the center of everything, and I can tell that for this moment at least, we are totally in sync.
“Where’s your apartment?” he murmurs.
“Just around the corner.”
I grab his hand and lead the way. We stumble into the lobby of my building and wait for the elevator. He reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
His fingers are so gentle that I have the most bizarre urge to cry. Instead, I smile up at him and lean into his strong chest.
We ride the elevator in silence, and as soon as we enter my apartment, his hands are on me.
He grabs my waist, my bottom, and then he unzips my coat and shoves his hands over my torso once more.
My own mouth roams along his jaw and down his neck.
My coat is on the floor, and I kick off my shoes as well. There’s no stopping this now. I know enough about my attraction for him. I have so much outright lust, I couldn’t push him away even if I wanted to. I don’t want to. I want this final moment with him.
Maybe it’s what we need. A goodbye of sorts.
I lose the ability to analyse that as Michael scoops me up in one smooth motion. I wrap my legs around his waist and run my hands over his back. He has also shrugged out of his coat, and now all I want to do is tear the light blue button-down shirt off him.
He moves across my apartment and towards my bedroom. I press my lips against his and kiss him hungrily.
When we reach the bedroom, he kicks open the door, and I can’t help but grin with manic excitement.
We collapse onto the bed in a tangle of limbs. I sit up and tear my shirt off and then get to work on his buttons. There is no slow and sensual undressing. We are both too crazed with desire to go slow.
“I’ve wanted you so bad,” Michael says. “For weeks, it’s all I’ve been able to think about.”
I suck in my breath at the fire lacing his words. He means it. And I’ve felt the same way. Since that day in the bathroom, I’ve been starving for this. I run my hands over his bare chest and relish the warmth of his skin beneath the soft layer of chest hair.
“I’ve wanted you too,” I murmur.
I can admit it here. When it’s just him and me, and we’re lost in our primal urges, I can confess the truth.
His hands start tugging at my skirt, and I lift my hips in order to wiggle out of it. I kiss him again, firm and deep, while my hands rip at his belt buckle.
And then he’s touching me between my legs and I cry out with pleasure. He doesn’t go slow; he doesn’t tease. His fingers are eager and desperate, pushing me into a frenzy of sensation.
I cry out and finally push his pants off. He stands up, leaving me desolate for a few seconds as he steps out of his pants and boxer shorts. I twist over to grab a condom from my night stand. He grabs it from my hand and puts it on.
Then he is on me again, covering my body with his firmness. He yanks at my underwear, and I gasp as his fingers finally slide over my wetness. I feel his erection, its rock hard length pressed against my thigh.
I whimper as one finger relentlessly strokes my clitoris and the other slides inside me.
I practically come undone as his fingers move. I’m not myself anymore. My brain is reduced to raging desire. My body is just a bundle of nerve endings and sensitive spots and tangled arms and legs. And as he touches me, I’m his, all his.
Just as he is all mine.
I reach for his cock and grip it in my hands. He lets out a sound that tells me he is just as close as I am.
I push his shoulders until he’s on his back, and I straddle him.
I look down at him for a moment, and my entire body trembles with desire. His hands slide up my thighs and to my hips, and I nearly whimper as I press myself against him.
Then I lower myself onto his erection. I try to go slow, but I can’t help it. The deeper he is inside me, the more my body loses control. It’s clear that he feels the same way, as he lifts his hip and thrusts himself, deep inside me. I gasp as pleasure radiates through my limbs. I press my hands onto his chest and start to ride him.
He’s so big and hard, and he fills me to the very brim. I lose myself entirely in the way he feels when I tilt my hips forward.
His own eyes are glazed over, and he cries out as I move in a faster rhythm.
“Zoe,” he gasps. “Zoe.”
He says my name over and over, and every time I hear it, my core clenches with another spasm of delight.
I am beyond words. I can only gasp and moan as I start to approach my climax. I press my fingers into him as if I want to never let him go. As if I want to mark him somehow as mine. And then I shatter as my orgasm seizes me.
I tip my head back and cry out as the sensations of utter fulfillment flow through my body.
He moans my name one last time and thrusts hard as he falls into his climax. I watch him through hooded eyes as he shudders and gasps in ecstacy.
Because of me. I’ve brought him to this point. I feel sensual and powerful and good.
The final wave of my orgasm evaporates into the air, and I roll off him and collapse onto my back.
I’m breathing heavy, and I can hear him panting next to me.
It feels like as soon as he kissed me on th
e sidewalk, I entered an alternate reality. One where I could be a different version of myself. I became a Zoe Hamilton without reservations, without a plan, without a job she had to worry about.
I know this was just a result of our attraction. I know it’s an alternate reality. I know that every second that passes is taking me back to my real life where there are real consequences.
I should be panicking, but instead I sigh and close my eyes. Every inch of my body is satisfied and warm and heavy.
Along my arm and hip and thigh, my skin is flush against Michael’s. He’s so very warm and solid.
I decide I’m going to enjoy being in this alternate reality. For just a few seconds more.
22
Michael rolls onto his side. I glance up at him as he props his head on his elbow. He’s grinning down at me like a kid in a candy store.
A knot begins to form in my stomach. I thought of this as just a wild way to get something out of our system. But maybe he has been thinking of it differently.
I curse myself for being so brainless. It all comes rushing back to me. The million reasons why Michael and I can’t work. It will always be a bad idea.
I glance away from Michael and stare at the ceiling instead. I am going to need to do a lot of reflecting to figure out why I have now made the same error three times with this guy, despite every logical instinct in me knowing that this is a dead end.
I’ll also need several cocktails for that reflection to happen. And the counsel of my friends.
I wince when I realize how disappointed Beatrice is going to be. She’s going to wonder what is happening to me. She’s going to think aliens have abducted the real me and replacd me with a stupid robot with poor impulse control.
I know I’ve always been awful at love and men and relationships. I know I’m a coward. I know I have trouble giving my heart. I’ve always figured that at some point I would find someone who worked. Something would just click.
Never in my worst nightmares did I imagine that I would get even worse at relationships. I never thought I would have to choose between my career and a guy.
I sit up, and as I do, I pull the folded duvet at the foot of my bed over my chest and legs.
I suck in my breath as Michael sits up as well. He puts his arm around me and places a light kiss on my shoulder.
“You should get dressed,” I whisper.
I stand up, still clutching the duvet around me and drift into my bathroom. I close the door and sit down on the toilet, tears pricking at my eyes.
This is too painful. Him being in my apartment. Seeing my personal space. Lying in my bed. The other times were jaunts. Risky little adventures. First we were in a different city, and then we were in a bathroom at work.
This is not an adventure. This is me bringing him into my home because I couldn’t resist him. Not when he kissed me like that. And now I have to tell him that this is it. For real, this time.
I let the duvet fall to the floor, and I pull on a baggy T-shirt and athletic shorts that I tossed into the corner of my bathroom.
Then I creep out to the bedroom. Michael has got his pants on, but his shirt is still unbuttoned. My eyes can’t help but drift over his exposed chest.
Michael sees the look, and he flashes a knowing grin. In an instant, he’s standing beside me and wrapping his arms around my waist. He leans down and places a gentle kiss on my mouth. I let him because I’m weak. He caresses my cheek with his hand.
“I knew you’d come round.” Michael’s lips twist into a teasing smile, even as I stiffen in his arms. “I’ll go to HR tomorrow.”
I frown and pull away. I cross my arms and stare at the floor. He knew I would “come round”? Like I’m some stubborn kid who refuses to eat vegetables? Like I’ve been unreasonable these past few weeks?
He misunderstands my silence.
“I’ll take care of everything, Zo,” Michael says. “I’ll file a report that we’re dating with HR, and then we’ll be in the clear.”
I look up at him with wide eyes. What exactly is his definition of “in the clear”? He has to understand that HR is not the only force that can stand against us in our office.
Michael’s eyes twinkle at me in that irrepressible way as he reaches for my waist again. “Don’t worry, I’ll obviously take you on a real date.”
I lose it. All my composure leaves my body in a giant whoosh. I slap his hands away and bolt to the other side of the room.
“Are you crazy?” I throw my hands up in front of me. Michael stays frozen in place. “We are not going to date.”
For once, there is no mischief in Michael’s expression. All his playfulness, all his humor, it’s completely gone.
It’s terrifying and sad, but I remind myself that it’s a good thing. This is not the time to joke around.
“Zoe, I am not just some hook-up,” Michael says. “I’m serious about you.”
It’s what every girl wants to hear, isn’t it? But it’s coming from the wrong guy. He’s the one who I can’t have.
I turn away and stare out the window. It begins to dawn on me what a colossal disaster the last hour has been. I have done everything wrong. I shouldn’t have even engaged with him on the train. I shouldn’t have talked to him on the sidewalk. I should not have told him I ended things with Dean. And I should not have kissed him. Obviously.
After this, I wonder how I am ever going to think of myself as a smart, well-adjusted adult?
The worst part is, I am totally to blame for this. I’m the one who didn’t communicate today. The night out in New York was a surprise, so I have an excuse there. And the day in the office was also a shock. This evening, that excuse has officially worn itself out. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
“You don’t understand.” I turn to face him. “I can’t date you.”
“Then tell me.” Michael takes a step towards me, anger radiating off him. “I like you, and you like me, what is there to not understand here?”
His words spark inside me, and all of a sudden, I’m furious.
“I am not going to be that girl,” I say. “I refuse to be the girl who dates around in her workplace.”
Michael scoffs and rolls his eyes. “You wouldn’t be dating around, you would only be dating me.”
His snarky tone only irritates me more.
“It doesn’t matter!” I’m almost screaming now, and my raised voice forces Michael to take a step back. “Everyone will still talk, and I’ll still get a reputation, and if I were a guy, it might be pushed aside, but I don’t have any guarantee of that.”
The words come pouring out of me, and I can’t stop. Michael opens his mouth to argue, but I cut him off with my hand.
“We are equals now, but I want to get promoted someday,” I say. “What happens then? Will you leave if I am your superior?”
He has no answer for that, and I can tell he hasn’t thought this through. His intentions are good, I could never deny that, but he isn’t looking ahead. I can’t help but think five steps ahead. That’s how I am. I’ll admit, he makes it easy for me to live in the moment every now and then, but I can’t stay like that forever.
“Of course, if I get labelled as the girl who sleeps with co-workers, I’ll never get promoted,” I say. “And if I by some slim chance do get promoted, no one will respect me because they’ll think I slept my way to the top.”
My voice lowers as I state the things that have been so obvious to me from the very beginning. The cold hard truths about the world we live in.
“It won’t matter if it’s just you, don’t you get that?” My voice is beseeching. I’m begging him to understand. “People will label me, and then I’ll spend the rest of my career paying for this one mistake.”
Michael flinches as if I just dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. I clamp my mouth shut, and regret floods through me. I shouldn’t have said it was a mistake. I shouldn’t have called him a mistake.
But I don’t apologize. I stand by
everything I say. So I just twist my hands into the hem of my T-shirt and stare at him. His eyes harden as he looks back at me.
“You might be right about all that,” Michael says. “But I think there’s something else, something you can’t even admit to yourself. You are being a coward.”
He takes a step toward me, his eyes narrowed into little slits. I swallow. He reminds me of some sort of predator, stalking its prey as it prepares to make the killing blow.
“You’re scared.” Michael gives me a cruel smile. “You have all your little plans and rules, and you’re terrified to step out of line or take any sort of risk. You’re a rule-follower to the point of hurting your own interests, and it’s depressing to watch you living in fear.”
“Then don’t watch.” My words come out sharp and biting.
How dare he call me a coward? He has no right to psycho-analyze me.
Michael shakes his head and laughs. Only it’s not like his usual light chuckle. It’s dark and menacing. As if he is disgusted by me and can’t believe he was ever attracted to me.
It’s hard to believe this was the same man who held me in his arms just moments before.
I suppose it happened so fast, of course it makes sense it would fall apart fast as well.
“I thought you were better than this,” Michael says.
He grabs his shoes off the floor and stalks out of the room.
My hands are trembling at my sides. He’s leaving. It’s what I wanted. He’ll never pursue me again.
I drift to the door of my bedroom in time to see him yanking his coat on.
And then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
His final words seem to echo through my apartment.
I thought you were better than this. Better than this. Better than this.
Whatever illusions he had of me, they are gone now. He thought I was someone exciting and brilliant, but now he knows I’m just a square. I’m boring and predictable, and I don’t change my mind.
I’ve always been ok with that. Why am I no longer happy with myself?
Still in a daze, I wander over to my couch. I scan the room, checking to see if he left anything. His tie, a sock, maybe a scarf.