Slower

by Deana Birch

  He cleared his throat and hung his arm over the back of the chair. “As you said, tired.”

  “And the tour’s good?” I usually hated small talk, but now I praised its creation and vowed to offer sacrifice to its altar as soon as the bulldozing ass left my office. Bulldozing ass who looked exhausted and broken. Part of me wanted to be happy he was suffering—Lord knew I still was—but it just made me sad instead.

  “Yep.”

  “New album?”

  “It’s all fine. Listen, I want to see Fern and Archie. I miss them.”

  Ouch. My imagination had convinced me he’d come to see me. Beg me for forgiveness. I blinked a few times before saying, “Well, you should. They would probably love it.”

  “I wasn’t sure I had permission.” He crossed his arms and sat back in the chair.

  “What?” I squinted and shivered. “It’s not like we got divorced and I have sole custody. You can see them whenever you want.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I just thought you probably told Fern …”

  “I didn’t tell her anything.” I silently dared him to say it. That he was a fucking cheater.

  He licked his lips and rubbed them together.

  “I didn’t …” I stopped myself. None of it mattered. We were nothing. “Tell her anything.”

  “Whatever. Listen, can you just call her so that she knows you’re okay with me stopping by?”

  “Fine. Was there anything else?” Cocky bastard.

  He sank down deeper into the chair and ran a hand across his chin. He looked away, then back, this time with a faint smile. “It’s nice to see you.”

  I swallowed hard. His charm was a quick draw. It made me want to shut the office door and jump him—and, in equal measure, to murder him for breaking my heart.

  Distraction was my only defense. I dug my phone out from my bag on the floor and dialed Fern. She was a little concerned to hear from me during the day but was giddy Jake would be stopping by. Before hanging up, I took a final inventory of the tattered man in front of me and added, “Oh, and feel free to let him in to raid my fridge if he’s hungry.” It was my olive branch, I hated seeing him empty. The urge to take care of him tugged at the place in my heart he would forever occupy.

  I glanced back to Jake, who now had a satisfied grin on his face and had uncrossed his arms. He cocked his head like he had just remembered something.

  “You know, I never really thought you’d do it.”

  I scrunched my brow.

  “Cheat on me,” he explained. “Deep inside, despite it all, I never thought you’d really do it.” He shook his head. “I just want to know at what moment you decided to stop loving me and to get back with your ex.”

  That was what he thought had happened? What an ass. What a total ass. I opened my mouth to refute it, but the hurt on his face stopped me. My God, he really believed that I’d gotten back with Dimitri.

  I had to look away. I silently begged the pens and documents on my desk to find the right thing to say back. I knew telling him someone, most likely Shane, had sent me pictures of him with the actress would lead to him quitting the band, and I couldn’t risk him ruining his career. We were done. He was on tour. There was no point in bringing up the past.

  “This really isn’t the place …”

  “Fine. I’ll wait for you at home.”

  Home. He still considered my apartment home. And he was still a fucking bulldozer.

  He could see the objection in my eyes, but before I could voice it he added, “The girl who hated to text broke up with me via. You owe me a conversation and an explanation.”

  Big fucking surprise he wanted to talk. Nothing about a conversation or explanation regarding our breakup appealed to me. But I couldn’t argue with him. I did owe him more than I had given him. We had been in love for months, and I’d ended our relationship like the chicken shit that I was. Once a conflict avoider, always a conflict avoider.

  Worse, now that I had laid eyes on him, I couldn’t deny that all those feelings I had tried so hard to run out every morning while I trained were pouring back into me. One dose of Jake and I was hooked back into the whirlwind. Worst of all, I knew deep down I still craved him. Even after what he’d done.

  “I’ll see you later,” I said, dismissing him from my office.

  Jake got up and turned around to walk out. When he reached the doorway, he looked back at me one more time. He let out a small sigh, and I saw a hint of sadness in his eyes before he turned and left. The emotion resonated over to me and blended with my own.

  Over the next few hours, the only thing I got done was a highly organized desk. I went through every pen to test if it still worked and even triple-checked the printer for paper. But I would have to suck it up. I needed to go home and face Jake. If anything, maybe it could offer the final closure I’d been putting off.

  Fern and an adorably exhausted Archie greeted me in the courtyard. She gave me a tight-lipped smile. “He went in around 5:00 and hasn’t come out.”

  There were no pointers or bits of advice, just the facts from Fern. I nodded and headed for my door.

  As it closed behind me, I noticed the still air inside. Jake was not on the couch, at the table, or—I confirmed after a quick check—in the kitchen. The bed. That pushy, beautiful man was in my bed.

  He wore only his black boxers and spooned the duvet and my pillow. On his side, he was passed out for what was probably the first solid sleep he’d had in three months.

  I loved and hated the sight. On the one hand, it showed the pushy side of his personality I struggled with. On the other, it emphasized how much he really needed rest. I moved from the doorway to my closet and took off my work clothes. When I got down to my lace cream-and-black matching bra and panties, my body turned my brain to mute.

  I walked back to the bedroom and lingered at the end of the bed. There he was, the man I wanted to scream at, nurture, and jump all at the same time. The attraction was too much. Maybe he hadn’t slept in the last three months, but I hadn’t gotten laid. And my favorite sexual resource was in front of me and ripe for the plucking.

  I knew my judgment was foggy. A big part of me even knew I was doing the abso- fucking-lutely wrong thing, but I didn’t care. If he was bold enough to take a nap in a bed where he was no longer welcome, I was ready, willing, and oh so able to have sex with him in it. A few more warning signals pounded between my ears, but when I saw his new tattoo which looped and ultimately formed an “L” around his shoulder blade—the rest of my body took charge. Just one more dose of Jake Riley. Then I would quit him forever.

  After padding over to the head of the bed, I lifted my duvet and curled in, bringing us nose to nose. I squinted, taking in the changes to his face. There were new wrinkles, and his scruff was unkempt. He looked more weathered and exhausted than I had ever seen him. Not that it had one negative effect on his beauty. Somehow, lying there, vulnerable and shattered, he was the most beautiful I’d ever seen him.

  With my left hand under my chin, I took my right and gently brushed away a bit of hair from his cheek. He woke a little, eyes still closed, and let out a slow hum.

  I couldn’t help myself and, since my brain had been excluded early from the party, I gently kissed him on his mouth. So wrong. Such a mistake. A terrible, horrible mistake—and exactly what I wanted. But my soul let out a breath, and the overwhelming flood of me missing him crashed into my heart.

  The embrace woke him, and he stared at me in disbelief. I brought my lips to his and did it again. Tasting him again was too enticing; I already needed more. When I pulled away and looked at him, his eyes searched mine for an explanation. I repeated the act yet again, giving him permission to move forward. It was bad. It was probably the worst judgement call of my life. But stopping wasn’t even an option.

  He moved on top, rolled me to my back and took charge of the kiss. I melted as his tongue parted my lips and he pressed into me. Jesus Christ, no one on the planet could kiss like Jake Riley. Kiss
me like Jake Riley.

  After a full but welcome ambush of my mouth, his attention turned to my neck. Our ravenous moans and whimpers blended into unbearable need. I pushed him onto his back and climbed on top. Once there, I slowed our pace and sat up. As I unlatched my bra, I blinked a few times while staring him down, then moved his hands to my chest, where he knew exactly how to twist and squeeze me into ecstasy.

  I grinded against him, and he pushed his thumb into my mouth to suck and play with. Our eyes met, and I silently begged him not to deny me. He closed his eyes as he dropped his head back and whispered, “Oh, my God, baby.” Neither one of us could go back from that point. The heat between us was so thick that the only thing to do was dive in.

  And the tables turned again. My longing gave him every blessing to take me fully. He spun me to my back again and yanked down my panties. When his hand found the readiness between my legs, he didn’t try to hit a home run. He took his time, making figure eights slowly and deliberately around home plate, and he kissed me with tenderness I knew was only for me. I couldn’t tell if he was teasing me as a reward for my boldness or punishing me for what he imagined were my transgressions. My body didn’t care either way. When he perfectly hit the fastball into center field, I shook with release.

  Jake let me settle as he slowly kissed around my jawline. When we were face-to-face, I said as quietly as I could, “Condom.”

  He paused and searched my eyes but reached for the bedside table and found what I was asking for.

  As he ripped open the wrapper and put the condom on, I tried to forget we were no longer together and did my best to lose myself in the moment.

  When he pushed inside me, everything became familiar. The smell of him hot and bothered that I loved evoking, his occasional swears of delight, the taste of his sweat and mouth. It all made me drunk. The haze surrounded me, transported me, and pacified the part of my soul that had screamed his name in agony for three months.

  His thrusts were slow but deliberate, and when I dared look him in the eyes, the heartbreak in their dark center was overwhelming. I closed my lids, half willing back tears of mourning and guilt, half unable to witness his mixture of bliss and sorrow.

  After he found his climax, we both fell to the bed and I rolled to my side to escape. I didn’t say anything but got up and went to the bathroom. As I sat on the toilet, stunned at what I had just initiated and Jake had very much reciprocated, he walked in.

  “Do you mind if I shower?”

  Apparently, I wasn’t the only one feeling bold.

  “Uh, sure.” Parallel universes were a thing, right?

  When I had finished on the toilet, I absentmindedly got up, grabbed him a towel, put on a tank top and pajama pants, and went to the kitchen to cook. I honestly couldn’t think of what else to do.

  The familiar movement in the kitchen calmed me. I knew how to boil water for the linguine; I knew how to cook the asparagus and salmon for the sauce. I did not know how to deal with what had just transpired in the other room.

  Jake came in without a word, opened a bottle of red, grabbed two glasses, and poured. He left me one on the counter top and moved to the couch with his own. Oh, how the habits of life come back.

  When dinner was ready, I served us and set our plates on the table. We tapped our glasses and said cheers.

  Jake wrapped a bite of pasta into his big spoon, ate it and was working on the next when he said, “So which elephant would you like to tackle first? What happened to you in France or what happened just now in that bedroom?” He grinned. He knew he had me cornered.

  “Nothing happened to me in France and that was just sex.”

  He choked and coughed before swallowing and taking another drink of wine. “Really? That’s how you’re gonna play this?” There was a dare in his words I needed to ignore.

  With my own glass at my lips, I narrowed my gaze.

  “Okay, then explain to me why a girl who hated to text broke up with her boyfriend by texting after pictures of her with her ex showed up on Instagram.” His false air of casualness hit me in the chest. He was right. That had been a shitty thing to do. But what fucking choice had he left me?

  I desperately wanted to interrogate him about his own pictures. I had already done it hundreds of times in my mind since I’d seen them. But now, after witnessing him broken, after feeling him and his desperation, I only had the courage to lie.

  “I was thinking of breaking up with you before France…” I hooked my finger around the stem of the glass, moving it under the top of my plate.

  “Bullshit.” His damp locks shook with his head. “We were fine before you left. I want to know the exact moment you stopped loving me. Or if you ever even loved me at all.” The volume of his voice fell to almost nothing with his last words.

  How could he possibly think I’d never loved him? Fuck me, I was pretty sure I still did. I’d already decided not to bring up the actress and ruin his career. So, instead I said, “I don’t know” and looked down at my half-eaten plate.

  He brought his hands to his cheeks and rubbed back and forth.

  “You know, as jealous as I was, I still can’t understand why you cheated. It’s like everything you showed me was a lie, and I know that can’t be true. I really feel like I’m missing something.”

  I stacked his plate on top of mine with a loud clank.

  “You didn’t miss anything. We broke up.”

  “We did not break up.” He motioned back and forth between us with his index finger. “You broke up with me because you got back together with your ex. By the way, do you think he would approve of what just happened in the bedroom?” His thumb pointed over his shoulder, and he sounded a little proud.

  “I told you that was just sex.” I turned with the plates and walked them to the sink.

  Jake laughed and followed me. “Who are you trying to convince? Me or yourself?”

  “Do you want to take any of this home?” I asked, already knowing that deflecting his question wouldn’t work.

  “I wanna sleep here.”

  Oh, that’s all.

  “What’s wrong with your place?”

  “My bed sucks.” I turned to find him hovering closer than I could handle.

  I stepped back. “Where is it, anyway?”

  “The beach, not far from Sam and Gina. It’s furnished—best thing Phil could find on short notice.” There was a dig in the “short notice” remark, subtle but present.

  “I have to get up early. You should go.” I shimmied by him, careful not to touch him, and walked to the front door, which I pulled open and held that way.

  “I don’t feel like we’ve talked about anything.” He reached out, and I flattened into the wooden plank behind me.

  “What size is your bed?”

  His cheeks bunched up. “What?”

  “I’ll buy you some bedding. I’ll bring it by Thursday night.”

  This gave him pause. Deep, deep down, he knew damn well I wanted to see him again. Otherwise I would never have offered. This wasn’t about me nurturing him, or him wanting to get answers from me. This was about the two of us, unable to stay apart now that we had briefly been back together. He wouldn’t say no. Even if he hated me to every end of the universe, we still had our electricity, our bond, our connection. Point proven in my bed.

  “Does it come with your chicken salad?” he asked with a smile.

  “Sure.”

  He held my gaze and said, “Call me pathetic, but even though you broke my heart and left me for someone else, I still love you.”

  How could something be everything you wanted to hear and nothing at the same time?

  “Good to know you’re still a bulldozer.” I rolled my eyes.

  He kissed me on the cheek and walked out with a little more pep in his step. I had the distinct impression he thought he’d won some kind of small victory, and he probably had.

  19

  JAKE

  * * *

  I greeted her with the
warmest smile I could muster in board shorts, a hoodie, and flops. How was it possible that just beholding her in the flesh charged my batteries? I unburdened her of the bag heavy with folded sheets—the saint of a woman had already washed them—and watched her hips sway up the steps to my apartment. I bet she thought her outfit wasn’t sexy: khaki pants rolled up to expose her dainty ankles and a blue-and-white sweater that hinted at her French origins. Or that the mess of hair piled on top of her head wasn’t perfect. She’d tried hard to be neutral and failed. There was no taking the gorgeous out of Louana Higgins.

  Inside, she laid the other bag on my small table, which separated the long kitchen from the bed in my studio apartment. My boxes of CDs piled in a corner, untouched since January, and my two suitcases lay open on the floor in front of the bed.

  “Great view,” she said as she moved over to the sliding glass doors that led to a small balcony.

  I grumbled an “uh-huh” and opened the food containers to discover their contents. I found a fork from the drying rack and speared a piece of chicken. My mouth had been the first part of me to fall in love with Louana, and it rejoiced in her return.

  She walked over to the bed and stripped the polyester sheets. She folded the flat bedspread and blanket and placed them on the floor. On top, she stacked the hard-ass pillows that had been killing my neck for the last three days.

  Leaning against the counter with my ankles crossed, I couldn’t help but stare. She bent down, and I almost laughed. Panty lines. She’d even thought of wearing boring underwear. I finished my bite and pointed the fork in Louana’s direction. “White cotton.”

  “Yeah.” She looked back to the bed. “Two-hundred-and-twenty-thread-count, organic American cotton.” She nodded.

  “Not the sheets, your underwear.” A smirk escaped, and I tried to push it back down, but the flash of horror in her eyes only made it reach higher. “You think that will protect you?” I asked and set her heavenly food on the counter behind me.