by Kelly Myers
“Sure, I have trust issues.” I hope my sarcasm burns him. “I’m judgmental. I need my space. Tell yourself whatever you need, just leave me alone.”
Then I hang up.
I turn my phone off so I can’t see if he tries to call or text me. I still have half an hour left for my lunch. That’s enough time to eat a sandwich and let my fury evaporate. I can do that. I’ll get back to work, and my life will go back to normal.
I was blindsided this morning, and it was a dreadful situation, but it’s over. I dealt with it. I can move on.
In a way, that’s what I’ve been doing my entire adult life: moving on from bad situations.
Chapter Fourteen
I’m grumpy when I get home. I have zero energy to cook dinner, and even if I did, there’s not much in my kitchen. I was too distracted by Zach to go grocery shopping for myself over the weekend.
I change into sweatpants and an old college hoodie. Then I rifle around in my fridge for some cheese to eat with crackers and an apple. It’s a pathetic meal. I sit on my couch and contemplate running to the corner store for a pint of ice cream. Or I could order a pizza. I usually don’t order in during the week unless it’s an emergency.
I consider the question: does my ex-not-really-a-boyfriend reentering my life, giving me one amazing night of sex, then making me think that maybe we could have a fun fling, only it turns out he’s in cahoots with my mother and also maybe deals drugs as well qualify as an emergency?
It’s a tricky debate, riddled with half-truths and big suspicions. Because Zach could be perfectly innocent. Or as innocent as a tough guy from the wrong side of the tracks can ever be. He could have been telling the truth when he says that he only sees my mom every now and then, and he turned Finn in, and he absolutely does not deal anymore.
He could have been honest. I want that to be the truth.
My gut says it’s only partly true. I don’t know how close he is with my mother. I don’t know if he actually washed his hands of Finn. Maybe he turned Finn in only to take over the business for himself.
I’m tempted to grab my computer and do some light research. Surely there will be a news story or police announcement about arresting Finn? I groan and shake my head. I’m not going down some stupid Nancy Drew rabbit hole.
It’s over.
I nearly jump out of my skin when my buzzer rings. For a second, I think it must be one of my friends. Elena with her super sympathy skills has sensed my stress and come to visit. Or maybe Marianne got in a fight with one of her roommates and needs a place to crash. Either way, I would be delighted for the company.
“Hello?” I speak into the intercom.
“It’s me.”
It’s Zach. I stand with my mouth agape.
Damn it.
“Please let me come up,” Zach says. “Just for a second, I brought you food.”
My stomach lets out a sharp cry at his last word. The cheese and crackers were not satisfying.
Before I can even think, I buzz him through.
I look down at my growling stomach.
“You are an idiot,” I whisper.
When he knocks on my door, I put on my best scowl before I open for him.
To my utter irritation, he is grinning. His dark eyes flick from my head to my toe and back up again.
“Nice sweat suit,” he says.
I feel a brief spurt of embarrassment over my outfit before I remember that I’m not trying to impress him. I don’t care if he thinks I’m a slob.
I tighten my grip on the door and consider slamming it right in his face, but he must read my thoughts because he takes an assertive step inside. I turn on my heel and walk into my kitchen.
“You have five minutes,” I say over my shoulder.
He sets the box of pizza down on the counter, and then continues to smile at me. “You seem distressed.”
I cross my arms and glare. He’s acting like I just happen to be upset, and he’s not at all the direct cause.
Zach shrugs. “It doesn’t have to be such a big deal. No talk about the past, no mention of she-who-shall-not-be-named. I know your rules now, I’ll follow them.”
“Is this supposed to be an apology?” I grit my teeth. I wish he wasn’t wearing a tight t-shirt that emphasizes his broad chest. It’s distracting.
“Sure,” Zach says. “I’m sorry, now can we please just relax again?”
I let out a garbled groan of frustration and clasp my hands over my eyes. I can’t look at his cocky little smile for another second.
I stiffen when I feel him move closer. He takes my wrists in his hands and holds them in a gentle grip as he pulls them away from my face. I stare at the smooth tawny skin of his neck and chew my lower lip.
“That was the worst apology ever,” I mumble.
He leans over me until his mouth is right by my ear. “You know I’m not good with words.”
My nose is so close to his chest that I imagine I can almost feel the warmth of his skin.
“I can show you how sorry I am,” Zach says.
My mouth falls slack. He is actually trying to seduce me right now. His audacity renders me speechless. I’m about to sputter out in shock, but then he kisses me.
It’s no gentle warm-up brush of the lips. He presses his mouth against mine with heat and hunger. His tongue pushes my lips apart and plunders my mouth. I press my palms against his chest, but instead of pushing him away, I clench my fists around his shirt and kiss him back.
His hands roam down my back and grip my bottom. He holds me flush against his hips.
Strangely enough, the scent of the pizza yanks me back to my senses. I remember that he is here despite the fact that I told him not to come, and I remember that I am mad at him and trying to cut him out of my life. Not to get kissed senseless.
I pull away and shove him back for a good measure. His shirt is wrinkled in the two spots where I was gripping it.
“You’re not supposed to be here.” I gasp for air but my lungs seem to never get enough. “It’s over.”
“That kiss didn’t feel over to me.” Zach grins as he touches his thumb to my swollen lower lip, and I don’t recoil. “Did it feel over to you?”
His fingers skim gently across my flushed face until his palm cups my cheek.
“Let me make up for stressing you out today,” he says. “ We can just have fun, and that’s it.”
It’s an appealing offer. In fact, if anyone had asked me yesterday, I would have said that’s exactly what I wanted. A fun hook-up, nothing more, no strings attached.
But him talking to my mother? That’s a pretty big string.
Then again, he seems willing to forget about that and keep everything physical. Am I able to forget about it though?
“I don’t want to see you anymore,” I whisper.
Zach’s eyes darken with sensual energy as he gives me a grin so wicked that my knees start to tremble.
“Then don’t look at me,” he says.
In a flash, Zach has his hand at my waist, and he’s spinning me around so that I’m facing the counter, and he’s pressed against my back.
He pauses with his hand laid flat against my stomach, as if he’s waiting to see if I pull away. When I don’t move a muscle, he lets out a soft hum of approval. Then he pushes aside my hair and begins to kiss and nuzzle at my neck. A murmur of pleasure escapes my mouth, and I can feel Zach’s satisfied smile on my skin. It sends a zip of sensation straight down my spine.
His hand slips under my sweatshirt and moves up to cup my breast. He chuckles when he feels that I’m not wearing a bra. He squeezes a few times before rolling my nipple with his finger. The tension and anger leave my body, and they’re replaced with raw desire.
I can feel his erection, hard and insistent, pressing against my lower back. I instinctively grind my hips and arch my back.
My hands drift to his firm forearms, and I relish the wiry muscles holding me on either side. I feel so secure in his arms, and I know I should be ana
lyzing that and dissecting it what it means, but I can’t think of such things. All I can think of how one of his hands is slipping beneath the waistband of my sweatpants.
His mouth moves to just beneath my ear, and he sucks on my earlobe before giving it a slight nibble with his teeth.
Then he slides his hand beneath the elastic of my panties. He slides just one finger over my smooth flesh. I’m wet beyond belief. He rests the tip of his finger lightly on my clit. I suck in my breath.
“I’ll stop if you want,” Zach murmurs into the nape of my neck. “What do you want.”
“Don’t stop.” My eyes flutter shut. “Please keep going.”
If I didn’t want him so badly, I would have been mortified by my begging. But all such inhibitions are drowned out by the heat of desire pulsing through me.
“I was hoping you’d say that.” Zach’s fingers return to my clit, and he strokes me with more firmness this time. “God, I want you so bad.”
“Then take me,” I say. “Now.”
I’ve never been shy about what I want in bed. Once I want something, I ask for it. Never mind that ten minutes ago I wanted to slam a door in his face.
Zach doesn’t hesitate. He keeps one hand stroking me and moves the other to my back. First he lifts my sweatshirt off, then he presses down on my bare back until I’m forced to reach out and grip the counter. I brace my arms and press my bottom against his crotch so I can savor the thick eagerness of his cock.
With a grunt that tells me he is just as desperate for satisfaction, Zach begins to unbuckle his belt. His knees knock against the back of my thighs as he kicks off his shoes. With one hand I yank at my sweatpants until they slide to the floor. My underwear is right behind my pants.
I step out of the discarded clothes just as Zach nudges his own jeans and boxers to the side with his foot.
He pushes a finger inside me, and I cry out at the sensation. With his other hand he grips my hip and pulls me even tighter against him.
I let my head drop to the counter, and I can feel my pussy sliding over his erection. I spread my thighs apart until I’m wide open for him.
“Yes,” I say. “Please.”
With one swift movement, he plunges into me. I moan as my body clenches around him in delight. He’s hitting the spot deep inside me at an angle that sends electric jolts through my core.
He grips my breast in his hand and begins to thrust into me over and over in a relentless rhythm. I cry out in ecstacy and move with him, desperate for him to go harder.
I’m rising into a swift climax, as if my body has been waiting all day to erupt. As he moves to his swift beat, he slides one finger over my clit, again and again.
Stars dance across my vision and my moans blur with his gasps as I orgasm. Pleasure pulses from my center all the way down my legs and arms until my fingers are tingling. My toes curl, and I’m practically lifted off the floor as he explodes with his own orgasm.
We both pant as we come down from our heights. He slides out of me, and my knees buckle. Before I slide to the ground, he catches me with a sturdy arm. He turns me around, and I let him. I lean my head against his chest. A sheen of sweat covers his body, and I press my own damp forehead into him. He cradles the back of my head with one hand, and holds my lower back with the other.
I sigh and inhale his masculine scent. He smells like a peppermint deodorant mixed with sweat and something else that I can’t name. I love it. I know that long after he’s gone, I’ll be sniffing around my apartment, nostalgic for his distinct smell.
“Did that make up for what I did earlier?” he asks.
I don’t have an answer. In fact, I’m not even sure what he’s referring to. Does he mean talking to my mother? Or not telling me that he’s been talking to my mother? Or maybe he’s referring to years earlier, when he got sucked into the nasty underworld of Torrins.
I’m far too exhausted and satisfied to ask any questions. So I just tip my head back and let him kiss me.
A few minutes later, we pull our clothes back on and eat cold pizza together.
We don’t talk much, but when he leaves, he kisses me goodbye. He grips my face in his hands and tells me he’ll see me later.
I collapse into my bed and fall into a deep and dreamless slumber.
Chapter Fifteen
On Friday, Zach wants to come over again. For more fun, he says.
I’m glad that Marianne’s open mic performance in Wicker Park is tonight. It gives me an excuse. If I didn’t have any plans, I know I would say yes.
Clearly, I just need to get Zach out of my system. We’ll have fun sex for a while, and then, once I grow bored, I’ll cut him loose.
It should be nice and simple.
The problem is, it doesn’t feel simple. It feels like a dangerous game. All day after we had sex in my kitchen, I was riddled with guilt. What one earth was I thinking? In my kitchen?
He never even explained his actions. It was just about the worst apology ever.
And yet I still can’t stop thinking about him as I leave work and head to the bar where Marianne is performing.
Wicker Park is hip and trendy, so it’s a good diversion. As soon as I arrive at the large bar, I see Zoe waving from a table near the makeshift stage.
I roll my eyes. Of course Zoe is front and center. She’s the biggest stage mom who isn’t actually a biological mother. I swear sometimes that she thinks she’s Marianne’s agent.
I pull out a chair and sit down.
“I already ordered you a drink.” Zoe pushes a beer towards me. “It’s two for the price of one night.”
“Thanks.” I take a quick sip. “How did you get here so quick?”
Zoe is a workaholic. She’s usually the first person in her office and the last one to leave, even on a Friday.
“A client cancelled a meeting,” Zoe says. “Shame, really, I was gonna nail the presentation.”
“You’ll get ‘em next time.” I lift my glass in a salute.
“Well, obviously.” Zoe shakes her dark hair over her shoulder and grins.
I scan the crowd seeing if I can catch a glimpse of Marianne. I glimpse her wild golden hair. She’s over in a corner tuning her guitar with a few other performers. I give her a wave, and she beams back at me.
A minute later, Elena arrives. Instead of her usual colorful sweater with tailored pants or a skirt, she’s wearing athletic leggings and a sweatshirt.
“I had to sub for the basketball coach,” Elena says as she throws her purse down. “Literally, spent the whole game pretending to know what a ‘lay-up’ was.”
She looks at me in curiosity. I laugh. “It’s when you shoot from right until the hoop.”
Elena just shakes her head. “I’m gonna get a drink, I’ll be right back.”
By the time she has returned, I’m ready to talk about Zach. As hard as it is to discuss this topic, I know I can’t sit alone with my thoughts anymore. I keep going in circles. I need outside perspectives.
“So Zach and I have hooked up,” I say. “Twice.”
Zoe chokes on her sip of beer, and Elena’s eyes nearly pop out of her head.
Both are surprised, but Zoe recovers faster.
“So are you together?” she asks.
“No, it’s just sex,” I say. “Don’t act like you’ve never done the casual thing.”
“How can it be just sex if it’s with someone you have such an intense history with?” Elena asks. “That doesn’t make sense.”
I smirk to cover my discomfort. “Since when do teenage hormones qualify as ‘intense history’?”
“You know what I mean,” Elena says. “He’s not just some random guy.”
“You’re right,” I say. “It probably won’t last long.”
“Do you want it to last long?” Zoe asks.
“No,” I say. “Not really.”
“Why not?” Zoe never shies away from asking the tough questions. It’s one of her top skills, but it can be annoying when she’s interrogat
ing you.
“He’s just not the one for me,” I say.
I could tell them everything. I could explain that I just found out he sometimes talks to my mom, and I’m still not really sure the extent of that relationship. I could also confess that I’m not always certain if he’s given up dealing. Both are extremely valid reasons for our fling to be short-lived.
I don’t say anything though. I’ve spent so long avoiding the top of my mother. I’ve more or less become an expert at it. I know how to change the subject when people start reminiscing about their mothers strict rules. I know how to pretend to get distracted by my phone when people ask casual questions about my holiday plans or tell family stories. I’ve even trained myself to never go on social media on Mother’s Day.
After all that, it’s difficult for me to willingly bring up my estranged mother.
And as for my suspicions about Zach’s drug dealing, I can’t tell my friends about that. They’ll judge him. They’ll judge me for sleeping with him. They would never be cruel, but I know they would be shocked. They can’t help it. It’s not their fault they come from wholesome backgrounds.
Zoe purses her lips at my reticence, and Marianne stares at me as if she’s trying to read my thoughts.
I’m relieved when the emcee starts talking into the mic. He’s introducing the first act, so we all turn towards the stage.
Just before the first singer starts, Zoe leans forward and whispers in my ear: “We are so not done with this conversation.”
The performances are enjoyable. Over the years, Marianne has worked her way up into the better gigs. When we first moved to the city after graduating, she would go to any old open mic, so we would trek out to random neighborhoods and sit through loads of mediocre performances. Now she is good enough to get into the ones that require auditions and sometimes even pay.
I’m always impressed by Marianne’s spirit. I can’t imagine what it’s like to pursue such a risky career. She’s so talented, but even so, in another ten years, she could have nothing to show for it. That never seems to scare her though. She always says that she would rather be chasing her dream forever than sitting in a dreary office.