by Max Monroe
Her tongue sweeps out of her mouth, licking the line of her top lip as I pull out and push back in slowly.
I lean down and take her mouth with my own, the only thing I can do to stop her from making me lose myself before making her come.
I skate my hand up the line of her side so I can grab the column of her throat and use my thumb to tip her chin up even higher toward mine. She wraps her legs around my hips and sinks her nails into my back as she holds on tight.
I break our mouths apart and squeeze at her throat just enough that she opens her eyes so I can look into them.
They’re full of so many things I know she’s got to be seeing in mine. Affection, pleasure, wonder, happiness.
The connection between us is undeniable—both physically and emotionally.
I slow my strokes and move them into rhythm with her breaths. In and out along with the sweet air of her lungs.
She lifts a hand to my throat, dragging the tips of her fingers against the skin just below my jaw almost manically. She’s desperate for release, and as her breathing speeds up, so do my strokes. I hold her eyes relentlessly, begging her to show me her release with all the power of my own, and when she finally falls over the edge of the cliff, it is, without a doubt, the most beautiful moment of sex I’ve ever had in my entire life.
Holley Fields is everything I never gave myself a chance to dream of wanting in my life and then some.
I tumble over the cliff too, dragged by the hold of her hand. It feels so fucking good, my vision tunnels and blurs, and I have to tuck my face into the sweet skin of her neck to stop myself from passing out.
She takes all of my weight as I give it to her, lying there in the sweaty, perfect mess we’ve made for just a minute.
I shift, pulling out of her slowly and settling my elbow into the bed so I can rest my head in my hand, and by the time I complete the movement and look down at her, she looks beyond sleepy, just skating the line between dreamland and reality.
She’s vibrantly comfortable and, perhaps, a touch vulnerable, and it might make me a monster, but I can’t help myself—now that I’ve had her like this, now that I know all the wonderful ways she is, I have to know where the pain in her eyes comes from.
“Holley,” I say softly, squeezing her at her hip just hard enough that she’ll reopen her eyes.
“Mm,” she hums.
“I have to know…where does your pain come from? Did someone hurt you?”
She shakes her head, but I’m only half convinced she even knows what I’m saying.
“Tell me what happened to you, and I swear, Holl, I’ll make sure it never happens again.”
She sighs, her eyes closed, but somehow manages to mumble. “Don’t worry, Jake. I hardly even think about my bastard ex-fiancé Raleigh, his wife Meghan, and their baby anymore.”
Her ex-fiancé? She was engaged to a man who is now married and has a baby?
Holy shit.
My heart lurches at the possibilities of what she could mean, but before I can get clarification, she’s asleep.
“Holley,” I whisper, watching the rise and fall of her chest to make sure I shouldn’t be concerned for her well-being. She curls into me then, throwing a leg over my thighs and smiling a little in her sleep. I pull her tighter into my body and sigh.
And then I chuckle. I swear to God, I’ve never met a weirder woman.
Softly, I brush a strand of fallen hair out of her face and wrap my arms around her.
I lean forward and place a gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth. The same corner of her mouth I first touched with my lips the night of our first whole day spent together.
I watch her for a little while, letting my mind settle into the fact that we made a move we can’t go back from tonight—a move I don’t want to go back from—and then finally, fall into a peaceful sleep.
Holley
I almost didn’t show up today, to Jake’s fifth and final date. I almost packed a bag and headed for the Mexican border. It wouldn’t take me long—under an hour even in heavy traffic.
I could get drunk in Tijuana and get abducted by a cartel or thrown in a Mexican prison, and honestly, any of those options sound better than dealing with facing Jake after last night…and this morning.
I’m not exactly proud of myself, but I am what I am. And even if I don’t know how to do anything else, boy do I know how to panic.
In the end, however, even after I let my flight response take me to crazy heights this morning, I decided to show up for myself—for work—but to do it while avoiding my issues with expert dedication.
Every time the front door opens, slicing a ray of sunlight into the dark ambiance of the bowling alley, I jump, so when he finally does walk in, I’ve already given myself a case of the hiccups from all the sudden movements.
It’s okay, though. Jake scans the alley, a scowl in place, and the fear his intensity awakens in me scares those fuckers right out of me.
He walks toward me intently, and I back slowly into the wall behind the table I’ve placed between us as a protective barrier. It doesn’t stop him. Frankly, it doesn’t even slow him down.
Because in what seems like the breath between one moment and the next, he’s there, looking me in the eyes. His are turbulent—almost alarmingly so as he tosses his discarded sunglasses onto the top of the table and puts his hands to his hips.
“We need to talk about what happened last night.”
“No.” I shake my head manically. “We don’t. The last thing we need to do is give a voice to it.”
“Why?”
“Why? Are you serious? How many reasons do you need?”
“At least two,” he challenges, and I narrow my eyes.
“I’m an employee of the paper, and my behavior was completely unprofessional. Not to mention, you’re about to go on a date with another woman,” I hiss. “I hardly think this is the time to rehash…everything.”
“I disagree,” he counters with a sharp edge to his voice. “We need to talk about it. Now. Before my date. You left your own house while I was asleep so you wouldn’t have to face me, Holley,” he whispers, his words laced with accusation. “We need to talk.”
I toss up both hands and start to walk away, but he reaches out and grabs my arm, turning me to face him. He holds me there, and I do my best to turn my flight instinct into fight. It’s the only option I have if he’s going to hold me in place. “Why do you want to talk about this, Jake? So it can be super awkward? This is not a good idea. That’s why I left this morning in the first place.”
It’s why I didn’t answer any of the many calls or texts he placed to me, and it’s why I found somewhere to hide out—somewhere there was no possibility of him finding me—until now. Luckily, my dad is out of town on a fishing trip or I wouldn’t have been able to hide at his house. He would have given me shit, too.
“What’s not a good idea?” he asks, searching my face for answers I don’t have. “Talking about it or what happened?”
“Both!” I snap.
His eyebrows smash together as he scowls, and I have to look away. I can’t stand to see him looking at me like that, and that, too, is the problem.
“I’m way too…close,” I say to the floor. “I never should have gotten this invested with you. This involved in your life. I’m just mucking things up.”
“You really think that?” He forces my chin up with gentle fingers, and I have to look him in the eye.
“You really don’t?”
He considers me for a moment before reaching out to try to grab my hand. I pull it back. I’m way too embarrassed by the mess I’ve made for myself. If my editor knew what I’d done, I’d be fired. If the women he’s been dating knew…they’d start a shitstorm that would make the T-Swift vs. Kim-ye feud look as intimidating as Mr. Rogers’ cardigan sweaters.
Trust me, I should know. I’ve been involved in one before. I was just on the other end of it.
God. I’m practically the other woman!
“Why not?” I plead. “I’m giving you a pass, okay? You don’t have to get bogged down in the details of yet another woman. I’m fine to just move on. Put it behind us. Focus on the contest and figuring out which one of these women you’d like to pursue something with, okay?”
“That’s what I’m trying to do, Holley!” he blurts out on a rush. “If you would just listen to me—”
“No!” I finally shout, breaking my wrist free of his grip. “I can’t, okay? I can’t do this! Last night was a mistake, Jake. Just move on.” The nanosecond those words leave my lips, I have the urge to reach out into the air and shove them right back down my throat.
But it’s too late.
The damage has already been done, and goddamn, why does it feel like my chest is going to crack in half?
He stares at me so hard I feel like I might faint, but the moment is broken when a tentative voice calls out from our side. “Sorry, but am I in the right place?”
It’s Lucy, Jake’s date for tonight.
I barely hold back from crying at her timing.
Jake doesn’t turn his eyes away from me, though, and I’m left to wade into the breach. Swallowing hard, I make the right decision for both of us. Any other option…just isn’t an option.
It’s all too messy.
Turning to Lucy, I throw on a bright smile. It’s fake, yes, but at least it’s something. Jake still looks like he ate bad seafood for lunch. “Yes!” I say so chirpily I sound like a fucking bird. “You are! Sorry about the confusion, it’s just been a little stressful.”
She smiles tentatively then, holding out a hand to Jake for him to take.
He stares at me for a long moment, a million things playing across his face before he finally, apparently, lands on something in mine.
When he opens his eyes from a blink, the contact is gone, and so is everything I’m used to feeling between us. His energy, as it were, has completely shifted to Lucy.
It’s what I wanted—desperately needed, even. I just don’t know why it feels so shitty.
I literally just told him to focus on Lucy, and that’s what he’s doing. For the first time on record, a man has actually listened, and yet, it doesn’t entirely feel like a victory.
Am I crazy? Because I feel crazy.
I shake myself out of my stupor as Jake and Lucy find their way to their lane and pick out bowling balls that will be the appropriate weight. Lucy seems attentive enough, listening to what Jake says and laughing. He smiles then, a real smile I’ve grown to know so well. Normally, he puts on a little bit of a fake grin to make the women feel better, but I haven’t seen him open up the gates.
Not, that is, until now.
Now, he’s smiling at her like he usually smiles at me.
Are you sure you’re not just being a self-deprecating, self-destructive psycho who is making herself see things that aren’t really there?
I mentally flip my stupid subconscious the bird. The nosy bitch needs to mind her own business. Yes, I know she’s technically me, but I’m nearly in the middle of a nervous breakdown over here!
No matter what’s really going down in front of me, I feel like it’s all my fault. Only I’m to blame for my petty, childish outburst or the sad reality that I left my townhouse before he woke this morning. Who does that? Seriously? Me. I do that.
Jake wanted to talk to me, to talk about everything that we should be talking about, and I shut him down.
As I watch Lucy step up to bowl, and then look back to see Jake watching her, I have to wonder if I’ll look back on shutting him out as the biggest mistake of my life.
I take my spot at the table behind them and do my best not to cry.
It’s pathetic, really, feeling sorry for myself. I want him to be happy, and Lucy seems like a nice, normal woman. She could be that for him. He could be the one for her.
I take out my notebook and scribble down some notes about the animated way they chat with each other and the fact that neither of them ever seems eager to get up and take their turn to bowl. It’s a regular romantic fucking comedy movie playing out before my very eyes.
She takes a sip of her soda and then spews it on him when he makes her laugh mid-drink. It’s ridiculous and awkward, but also really, really cute. He takes the cup from her hands and grabs a stack of napkins from the table, presumably to help her clean up the mess while they laugh together, and that’s just about all I can take.
My chest burns with indigestion from last night’s wine as I stand to my feet and scoop my things up off the table. I have to go to the bathroom and get myself together, and quite possibly, throw up some chicken parmigiana. I’m an emotional eater, and I had my dad’s house and refrigerator all to myself for lunch, okay?
I weave my way through the crowd, careful not to bump or shove anyone or otherwise alert them to my presence. I have a feeling my face tells a huge story right now, and it’s not one I’m particularly ready for anyone to read.
Once inside the bathroom, I head for the biggest stall and lock myself inside. I need a moment to collect myself before looking at my own reflection.
Truth is, even I’m not ready to see what my face has to say.
Almost out of habit, I put my notebook in my bag and hang it from the hook on the back of the door before going to the bathroom. I break off lengths of toilet paper to line the seat, and then sink into the seat like it’s a cushion of solace. I dig my elbows into my knees, and my head finds its way right into my hands.
Why do I feel this way? And better yet, why have I allowed it to get this far?
I should have called myself off this contest long ago—a woman who’s been cheated on and recently betrayed by the man she’s been with for more than a decade should not be doing anything even remotely related to love.
She should be writing articles on carb-loading and finding yourself through fitness. She should be writing a travel blog about solo travel around the world. Real Eat, Pray, Love kind of shit.
She should not, under any circumstances, be allowing herself to become so involved with the man at the center of her assignment that she can’t see beyond him anymore. She should not be even entertaining the idea of love.
No way.
“Fuck,” I whisper to myself before finally allowing myself to move.
I finish my business on the toilet and make my way out of the stall to the sinks. The lighting is bad, and the sinks are disgusting, but let me tell you, I put both of them to shame.
Dark circles mar the skin under my eyes, and red-bloodshot lines ruin the white sheen of my corneas—or whatever that part of my eye is. I’m not an ophthalmologist, so I can’t say for sure.
But I don’t need a medical degree to see the truth: I look like a woman who’s been through it—not like the professional reporter I should.
Quickly, I wet a paper towel under the faucet and put the cool paper to my forehead. It’s soothing to my hot skin, and I can’t seem to get enough. I wet the paper again, bringing it to my forehead again, but this time rubbing it around the entire surface of my face.
“You’re a strong woman, Holley,” I peptalk in the mirror. “Get your shit together, go out there, and write some damn notes to help with this damn article.”
I laugh to myself. I can order seventy-five pounds of Chinese food and gorge on it when I get home.
In fact, that sounds like a plan.
Decided, I finish up with my face, wash my hands, and make my way back out of the bathroom and over to the lane where I know I’ve left Jake and Lucy. Their scores are still on the board, but neither of them is anywhere that I can see. I scan the snack counter and the front desk, but in the end, I find nothing.
Is it really possible they just left? Together? Already?
I feel physically sick to my stomach, like the acid within has turned into the stormy seas on that fishing show Deadliest Catch.
It’s ironic, really. I dated Raleigh for well over a decade and he cheated on me for over a year, but getting attached to Jake—and sleeping with him last night—while he’s in the middle of trying to find love with someone else makes me feel like so much more of a fool.
I sink down onto my knees on the bathroom floor and allow the tears to flow. My hands shake and my heart hammers.
I’m scared…scared to fall in love with someone only to have it all fall apart again.
I just didn’t realize until now that the alternative is even scarier.
Did I just let the best guy I’ve ever met slip through my hands on purpose?
Jake
I slam the garage door behind me and toss my keys onto the counter with no finesse whatsoever. Then, I grab a beer from the refrigerator and put it to my lips and take a swig.
It’s only noon on Tuesday, and already, I’m fucking done. I’m done with the day, done with the week, just about done with the year, for that matter.
Matt was so unimpressed with my mood, he made me walk off my own job.
“Fucking ridiculous,” I say to myself, reliving it again. Nothing was going right, and the quality of work was shitty at best. I have a right to voice my displeasure to whomever I goddamn please until they get it right.
Yeah. But is that really what has you so angry? my mind taunts annoyingly, and I slam back another slug of beer to shut it up.
I grab my phone furiously and type out a message.
Me: You around to get a beer? Need to talk.
Garrett answers almost immediately, but it is the absolute last thing I want to hear.
Garrett: Sorry, dude. Beard’s gone again. ☹ On a chopper on my way up north. I should be back in a week if we get this thing under control. Meet then?
I chuck my phone at the counter and growl. “Fuck!”
“Dad?” Chloe asks from the other side of the island. I swing my gaze up and around to look at her, and she’s watching me and my very poorly concealed rage with wide eyes.