by A. L. Brooks
The photo was a standard corporate pose in half-profile with an overly bright background. But still… Justine drank in the sight of her. Alex’s hair was pushed back behind her ears, and her face seemed slightly fuller than Justine remembered. The green of her eyes was enhanced by the lighting used in the photo, and her mouth was parted in a soft smile. Justine shivered as she remembered that mouth on hers.
A knock at her door pulled her from the heat-inducing memories and she shut down the directory.
At five thirty she slapped the lid of her laptop closed with a satisfying thunk. Her latest project plan was complete and e-mailed out to all relevant parties. She stood and stretched, then glanced at the clock on the wall. Her stomach performed a flip that brought a nervous laugh from her lips. Thirty minutes before her arranged time to meet Alex.
Assuming Alex showed, of course.
Justine sighed and again mentally ran through what she wanted to say to Alex. She’d taken a break from her project plan an hour or so previously to try to put her thoughts in some sort of order, as they’d been spinning like planets in erratic orbits since she’d got back to her office. She didn’t want to go into tonight’s meeting with a script as such, but at the same time she had a couple of key things she wanted to talk about and knew she’d need to word them carefully to get Alex to open up.
At ten before the hour, she packed up her bag and slipped out of her office. The walk to the bar took only a few minutes, but it chilled her—they’d had more light flurries of snow during the day, and the cold air fogged her breath as she walked down Rue McGill. Weaving in and out of rush-hour commuters, she reached the bar and yanked open the heavy wooden door. A blast of warm air hit her and she rushed into the room to let it envelope her.
She took a quick look round but didn’t see Alex yet. She spotted a small empty table halfway along the room and swiftly unwrapped her layers as her body temperature climbed in the cosy heat of the dim bar. A waitress appeared and took her order for a glass of Pinot Noir—her go-to warming drink on a cold evening—and Justine sat in the chair facing the door, willing her feet to still their tapping and her hands to cease their trembling. Her actions and reactions in the past forty-eight hours were a mixture of mystery and revelation. She’d worked so hard to convince herself these past few months that she was perfectly fine being a single lesbian, hopping from one bed to the next, never bothering with last names or phone numbers. But a combination of Sylvie’s words and her own response, both physically and emotionally, to Alex, had her defences down and some hard truths forcing their way through.
She was lonely. And, to some degree, still bitter. She knew now she didn’t want to be that person, not anymore.
Alex wasn’t the answer to that. Justine knew that too, deep down.
But…
The door to the bar opened and Justine’s breath stalled in her throat. She was here. She’d actually turned up.
Justine rose from her seat to catch Alex’s attention. She noted Alex’s nervous glance around the bar and her hesitation before she moved in Justine’s direction.
“Hi,” Justine said, sitting again, knowing Alex would not appreciate an attempt at a kiss in greeting, even though Justine ached to do so. Alex looked adorable with her cheeks flushed from the cold.
Alex smiled wanly and peeled off her coat and scarf, draping them over the back of her chair before sitting in it. Justine took a moment to re-admire the way Alex wore a pants suit. It had blown her mind in the training session, and the repeat performance now had no less impact. The material clung everywhere and emphasised everything in the best of ways. She tore her gaze away as Alex looked up—being caught in full lust mode would probably not be conducive to coercing Alex into talking.
“Would you like a drink?” She motioned for the waitress before Alex could respond but snapped her hand back down to the table when she noticed it shaking.
Alex motioned to Justine’s glass with her head. “What are you drinking?” she asked quietly. She wouldn’t meet Justine’s gaze.
“A Pinot Noir. Very smooth.”
Alex nodded. “Sounds good.”
The waitress smiled and within a couple of minutes was back with a glass of the ruby liquid, placing it in front of Alex.
“Thank you for coming,” Justine offered after the waitress had walked away and they’d each taken a sip.
Alex put her glass down and clenched her hands together on the edge of the polished wood of the tabletop.
“I…I’m still not really sure this a good idea,” she said, finally meeting Justine’s gaze. She cleared her throat. “What happened last night was—”
“Fantastic. Incredible,” Justine interrupted, impatient and already concerned Alex would run off before she got to say her piece.
She could see Alex’s blush even in the subdued lighting of the bar. “Yes, but…” Alex closed her eyes briefly before continuing. “But it was a mistake. I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to—”
“Wait. Please.” Justine held up a hand. “Before you write it off, can I please just say some things?”
Alex slouched back in her chair and dropped her hands to her lap. When she didn’t say anything, Justine took that as her opening.
She took a deep breath. She was hyperaware of Alex’s distance right now and knew she was probably fighting a losing battle. But she had to know.
“You… Last night, we had an amazing connection. Actually, over both nights. At least, I thought so.” She waited for some acknowledgement from Alex, but none came. Alex simply stared at Justine, her face an emotionless mask.
All of Justine’s prepared words went out the window.
“Why did you run off? I just don’t understand.” It came out sounding more hurt than she’d been prepared to reveal. Alex’s eyes widened slightly, but still she said nothing. A muscle twitched in her jaw.
Justine leaned forwards. “Last night was wonderful, Alex, and I don’t just mean what happened at my apartment. I know you felt it too. I know it.” She stared at Alex intently, as if by willpower alone she could get Alex’s armour to crack.
That muscle in Alex’s jaw twitched again, and Justine pushed on. “You don’t live in Montreal. I get it. But you’re here for the rest of the week. We could have a very lovely time while you are.”
Alex’s eyebrows rose and she straightened up in her chair. Ouch, that had probably been the wrong tack to take. Alex stared at her and shifted forwards in her chair, her gaze landing anywhere but on Justine. Understanding dawned and Justine’s insides squirmed even as she laughed ruefully.
“Oh, wait. I get it. I think I’m being beaten at my own game.”
She exhaled sharply and slumped back in her chair. Her embarrassment was back in full force, and her cheeks were blazing. Oh, how ironic was this? Christina and Sylvie would have a riot with this one. Maybe she wouldn’t tell them. “God, I’m an idiot. You only do one-night stands.”
“No!” Alex cried and ducked her head in embarrassment when heads turned from nearby tables. “No. It’s not that.”
Alex closed her eyes and let out a slow breath. When she opened her eyes again, Justine leaned forwards, holding out a hand. Alex recoiled and pushed her chair back.
“I have to go,” she said sharply. “I’ll give you some money for the wine.”
“Fuck the wine. What is going on? Why won’t you stay and talk to me at least?” Oh God, could she get any more pathetic? Why not just let her go? Alex didn’t want anything to do with her; she’d made that crystal clear. But there was something there, something she couldn’t give up on until she knew for sure just what the hell had happened.
“Justine, please. Leave me alone.” Alex was pulling on her coat and scarf, her fingers fumbling in her haste.
Anger spiked in Justine’s belly. “Okay, fine. You know, last night I real
ly didn’t see this side to you. The bitchy side. Guess I’m lucky you’re walking away again.”
Alex whirled to face her, her eyes blazing. “I’m not a bitch, for fuck’s sake,” she snapped. “I have… It’s complicated. That’s all. I should never have gone home with you last night.”
“So you keep saying.” Justine couldn’t stop. Something about how much this was surprisingly hurting her kept her arguing when she should just get back to her wine and watch Alex walk away. “I guess I didn’t realise just how awful it was for you when you came so fast over my fingers.”
Alex looked like she’d been slapped, then her jaw set once more. She took a step forwards, and through gritted teeth she said, “You know very well none of that is true. Please don’t make it like this.” Her hand flew to her mouth as a sob escaped her lips. “Justine, please. I’m sorry. So sorry, but I can’t do this. No matter how good last night was.”
Her eyes widened as if she’d only just realised what she’d said. Justine leapt at her chance and stood. She rounded the table to stand almost toe to toe with Alex. She held back from reaching out for Alex, but she could see her proximity was unsettling Alex enormously.
“So if it was so fucking good, why the hell are you walking away again?”
“Because I have a partner!” Alex hissed, and recoiled as if she’d been shot. She took first one, then two steps backwards. “I-I’m in a relationship. It’s—”
“Oh my God,” Justine interjected, her heart racing and her body flushing with a mix of horror and anger. “You…you used me to cheat on her?”
How could this be true? Alex was another Nadia?
“It’s not—”
“No!” Justine stepped away, agony ripping through her. “No, I can’t believe this.”
“Justine, please. Let me explain.”
Justine held up a hand, her face burning with fury. “Trust me, there’s nothing to explain. Get out. Go on, go.”
Alex stared at her for a moment, then turned and walked away.
Chapter 11
Alex strode along the empty street, the cold air chilling her face and hands. Thank God she only had one more block to go before she was back at the hotel.
This trip was a disaster, and she’d only been here a few days. Christ, it wasn’t even just the trip that was a disaster. Her whole life was one enormous mess right now, and she couldn’t see a way past any of it to a happier place.
For the umpteenth time she admonished herself for giving in so easily the night before. Going home with Justine had been an error of judgement so monumental in its stupidity she felt sick just thinking about it.
If only it hadn’t felt so good spending time with her. Being held by her, touched and kissed by her.
If only she could find the courage to walk away from the remnants of her relationship with Terri.
If only she could win a million fucking pounds on the lottery and move to a deserted island so she’d never have to deal with anything like this again.
The warmth of the hotel lobby greeted her like an old friend, and she hurried into its embrace. She needed a drink. A large one. She’d barely touched her wine in the bar, and now the oblivion a few glasses of something strong would bring her was the only thing she could focus on.
She walked to the lifts, and minutes later she was throwing off her coat, scarf, and boots and striding across the carpet to the minibar. She needed the burn of a whisky and poured out a measure into a tumbler she found by the bed. The large mouthful made her wince as it worked its way down her throat. It hurt, but in a good way.
Sitting on the end of the bed, she stretched her legs out before her. She ought to change out of her suit, but right now she couldn’t muster the energy. She couldn’t even be bothered to take off the jacket. Another mouthful of whisky, and this one burned less but glowed more.
It was working.
She poured another measure. Probably stupid, but she yearned for oblivion. Three more mouthfuls and she placed the near-empty glass on the side table and lay back on the bed. Her empty stomach gave the whisky free rein through her bloodstream, and it was just what she needed.
She stared up at the ceiling. Annoyingly, despite the wonders of the whisky, her brain wasn’t shutting down like she wanted it to. Instead, it insisted on revisiting images from the aborted evening. Justine’s horror at Alex’s confession. Alex’s own distress at being looked at like…like she was something less. Something dishonourable and dishonest. Never in her life had she been that kind of person.
But now she was.
The tears came out of the blue. They tracked down into her hair and her ears, but she made no move to wipe them away this time. She didn’t deserve not to cry, and she didn’t deserve to be comfortable. By going home with Justine last night, she’d lost all right to consider herself a victim or somehow morally better than Terri. Now they were on the same level.
Cheaters, both of them.
At the agony that label caused her, Alex’s stomach rebelled. She only just made it to the toilet.
Hours later, woken again from tormented dreams, she got out of bed and poured a glass of water. As she sipped it she pulled the curtains open and gazed out at the dark street below.
Having shaken off the remnants of the disturbing dream, she was now, for once, devoid of all but one thought.
She needed help. She had to talk to someone, purge herself of all that had happened and somehow find a way forwards. Although forwards to what, she didn’t know. Right here and now, the future was as about as inviting as jumping off a cliff into a mile-deep chasm.
Finishing her water, she picked up her phone and tapped out a text to Danielle.
If you’re around at about midday your time, can you call me?
By the time she slipped back under the covers, there was still no response, but she felt marginally better just for sending the message. Confessing to Danielle would not be easy, but she had to talk to her. The guilt was eating her up. If she didn’t get at least some of her thoughts out of her head, she’d go mad.
Justine slammed the door behind her and threw off her coat. Her bag and shoes landed in a heap across the hallway where she flung them.
Stomping into the kitchen, she reached for the bottle of red she’d opened on Sunday. She sloshed the liquid into a glass and took a big swig, not even bothering to sit. After she’d watched Alex leave the bar, she’d finished her own glass of wine as well as Alex’s, so this was her third of the evening on an empty stomach. Her head was already spinning, and a tiny part of her brain suggested food might be a good idea. She found a can of soup in the cupboard and heated it. She sat in the window seat as she ate and stared vacantly at the street below as each mouthful was consumed without any awareness of its flavour.
All her brain could focus on was Alex and her stunning confession, even though that was the last thing she wanted to think about.
She just didn’t understand. She hadn’t known Alex that long, of course, but she never would have thought Alex was like…that.
Dishonest.
A cheater.
She flinched. It seemed so incongruous with the woman who’d shyly responded to Justine’s friendliness at Lèvres. The woman who’d seemed to be torn between staying out a little later and being the sensible professional who should get back to her hotel. The woman she’d talked with for nearly two hours at Gabrielle’s about anything and everything. Unless that was Alex’s big game. Play the innocent, tempt someone like Justine, take what she wanted, and split.
But…
Tonight, Alex had seemed genuinely distraught at what had happened between them, despite how much she admitted she’d enjoyed it. Genuinely upset at Justine even thinking she was into one-night stands.
None of it added up, and Justine was going crazy turning it over and over.
Sorry, I’m not comfortable doing that. Call me?
She stared at the message, bewildered. What was Sylvie talking about? Then she scrolled up to see the chain she was responding to, and an acidic flicker disturbed her stomach. Oh yes, she’d asked Sylvie to see if she could get Alex’s number from Sonia. Yeah, so that wasn’t necessary now.
Sorry to have asked. Will call you tomorrow.
She couldn’t possibly talk to Sylvie now. While it might be good to confide in someone, she was still reeling from the course of events. She would take some time to calm down a little, think it all through herself before she had to listen to Sylvie’s disappointment in how Justine had fallen so quickly back into her old ways. She definitely didn’t need to hear that tonight.
She padded across the room back to the window seat, where she’d left her wine.
“Everything okay?” Danielle’s voice was tinged with concern.
It was a little past seven. Alex had been awake for a while now, so Danielle’s call hadn’t woken her. Even so, having requested it, she now wasn’t remotely ready to tell Danielle what had transpired. Just the thought of having to say the words twisted her stomach into knots.
“Alex?”
She exhaled loudly. “Sorry. I’m here.”
“Are you okay? You’re worrying me.”