by Megan Hart
"Try not to break his heart," she said.
* * * *
"So..." Arden trailed off, looking at the menu, while she tried to think of something to say. Greg hadn't stopped staring at her since the moment she'd introduced herself to him. She could still feel his eyes burning a hole in the top of her head. "The pasta looks good."
"Garlic makes me bloat."
Startled at such an intimate revelation, Arden looked up. "Oh. Um. Well, maybe you'd better stay away from the pasta then."
Greg glanced at his own menu. "I'm going to order the low-carb special. I'm trying to watch my carbs."
"Ah." Arden looked again at the menu, still feeling his intense gaze on her. "I think I'll try the grilled chicken salad."
With that decided, she put aside the menu and sipped from her iced tea. The lunch crowd at the restaurant was bustling and a bit noisy, but since Greg wasn't saying anything, she didn't have to strain to hear him. Arden tapped another sugar packet into her glass and squeezed a few more drops of lemon, though the tea had been fine before.
If I look up and he's still staring...
"Heather says you're a seamstress."
Relief that he'd finally chosen to have a conversation made Arden answer too brightly. "Yes. Yep. Sure am."
Great, now I sound like Miss Susie Sunshine. She smiled at Greg, her teeth gritted. His return smile seemed forced.
"My ex liked to knit."
Arden sighed inside, but kept up her smile. "Really? I never learned how."
"She used to make me scarves."
"Ah."
Greg drank from his glass. Water dribbled over his chin and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. His gaze still pierced her. "I didn't expect you to be so pretty."
"What?" Arden tucked her hair behind her ears. "Oh, well. Thanks."
"Heather told me you were pretty, but I didn't believe her. I mean, I didn't think you'd really be pretty. But you are."
"I guess you got lucky." Arden's laugh sounded hollow.
Greg didn't smile at her admittedly poor sense of humor. "She didn't tell you I was cute, did she?"
He sounded so sure she'd say no that Arden felt compelled to answer, "Of course she did."
Greg sighed. "She told you what happened to me, didn't she? How Jennifer ran off with her ex the day we were supposed to get married?"
Ouch. "Yes. She told me. I'm sorry, Greg."
Another sigh lifted his shoulders. "It's okay. I guess I should be past it by now."
He might have been going for pity, but Arden didn't have much for him. Being dumped at the altar somehow, in her book, didn't quite compare with losing your spouse to cancer. Still, she had agreed to go on this date and wanted to make the best of things.
"So, Greg. What do you do in Doug's office?"
He launched into a complicated but blessedly brief description involving integers and statistics, and the conversation soon trailed off, but the food arrived, so the next few minutes were taken up by eating.
"My salad is delicious. How's your steak?"
Greg nodded around a mouthful of red meat. "It's okay. I haven't had much of an appetite...since...you know."
Arden watched him polish off an entire steak and a side of broccoli smothered in butter without even pausing to breathe. If that was not having an appetite, she didn't want to see him when he was hungry. She was being uncharitable, but Greg's Sad Sam routine had worn thin within five minutes.
She'd never been so glad to see a check arrive in her life.
"I'll be right back to get that," said the waiter.
Arden waited, but Greg didn't reach for the paper. He just sat, staring at her. Arden looked down at the check, a scant inch from Greg's fingers. He didn't move.
"I'll get this," she said and snatched up the paper, anxious to get out of there.
"No, you don't have to." But he didn't reach to take it from her, just sat back and bored holes in her boobs with his eyes.
"Nope. Got it." Arden stood, calculating a tip she knew was too generous, but not wanting to take the time to figure out the right amount. She dug out a twenty and some change from her purse and handed it to the startled waiter. "Keep the change. Greg, it's been nice--"
"I'll walk you to your car."
Deep breath, Arden. "Okay."
Once there, he followed her around to the driver's side and stood so close she couldn't open the door without smacking him in the knees. "Thanks for lunch. I didn't expect you to treat me."
Sure you didn't, buddy. "No problem."
He was on her so fast she didn't have time to get away. Trapped between the car and his saggy trying-to-watch-my-carbs gut, Arden had no room to move. Greg's face loomed in front of her like a scene from a very bad B-movie, the leer on his lips as unmistakable as the gleam of lust in his eyes.
Arden managed to duck the kiss at the last possible second, so his mouth landed on the corner of hers instead of full-on. She'd been trying to catch it with her cheek. As it was, his mouth squirmed on her skin like a worm on a hook, and--oh, mercy, yuck, oh no--she felt the tentative tickle of his tongue before he withdrew in apparent surprise at her ducking maneuver.
He didn't pull away far enough for her to escape. Despite what he'd said about garlic making him bloat, he must have had some of it sometime recently because she smelled it on his breath. His body pressed against hers as he pinned her with his gaze.
"I don't have to be back at the office for another half-hour," Greg whispered.
"Greg?"
Now he smiled, a dreamy yet lascivious grin that turned her stomach. "Yes?"
"If you don't get off me in three seconds, I'm going to knee you in the nuts."
He stepped away from her, hands up, like she'd threatened to shoot him. Which wouldn't have been a bad idea either, Arden thought. She wiped his slime from her face and fixed him with a level glare.
"I'm not sure exactly what made you think I was willing to hop into bed with you after knowing you for oh, let's see"--she looked at her watch--"one hour and seven minutes. But you're so wrong, if wrong were rain, we'd be building an ark."
For an instant, anger flashed in his eyes, but maybe the pity-me routine had worked for him too many times before. Greg's brow creased and he frowned.
"Sure. I get it." He sighed. "I should've known better. I mean, after what happened to me, I should've known. I don't expect you to understand..."
His sob story persona had been working her nerves from the beginning, but now, with his garlic stench still clinging to her nostrils, Arden's temper exploded.
"What don't I understand? Why your fiancée left you? If you behaved with her the way you acted with me, that's easy to figure out. But if you're saying I don't understand what it's like to lose somebody you love, then you are riding the bus down Wrong Street again. My husband died, Greg. Died. He didn't run off, didn't cheat on me, didn't find someone he liked better. He died."
Arden paused to take a breath, realized her hands were clenched, and unclenched them. She calmed herself. "My advice to you would be get over it, move on, and quit trying to play the wounded soldier to get a sympathy fuck. It's not a pretty sight."
And, leaving him to stand gape-mouthed on the corner, Arden got into her car and drove away.
* * * *
"Don't ask," she said later to Lida on the phone while she washed the dinner dishes. "I already talked to Heather about disaster date Two. She's promised to buy me cheesecake to make up for it."
"That bad, huh? Hold on a minute. Henry, put that screwdriver back where you found it! Sorry, Arden. Anyway, that bad?"
Arden looked at her two angels, each ensconced in her favorite chair, doing homework. She laughed at the vision of the chaos reigning in Lida's house. "Yes. That bad."
"You're laughing. It couldn't be that bad. Henry! Cats do not like to wear underpants!"
"You'd better go."
Lida sighed. "I'm going to beat that child."
"You won't, and you know it."
"And you love him."
Lida laughed. "Yes. I do. But I'd better go before he destroys something. Tell me about your date later, okay?"
"Sure."
Arden hung up and helped Aislin and Maeve finish their assignments. They played a quick game of Clue before bed, she read a chapter of Mary Poppins, and then the lights went out, her children slept, and she went downstairs to grab a few minutes of work time before going to sleep herself.
The moment she opened her email and saw the little red numbers, she thought of her last correspondence with Shane. It had been two weeks since his last message to her, and though her fingers had itched to type a reply, she had resisted.
"No game playing," she told herself.
She had been half-expecting him to email her, even though she hadn't replied to his last message. None of the messages were from him, though. Instead, she got another surprise.
User erectorset1241 has sent you an instant message. Do you wish to accept it?
She'd forgotten to log off her instant messaging program earlier. She rarely used the program, preferring the chat on the phone or through email, so she was rarely online long enough to get soliciting messages from strangers.
Her fingers moved the mouse to hover over the Deny button, to delete the message. Ignore it. With a twist of her wrist, she changed her answer to Accept.
I hear the Come Inn has great midday rates.
She stared at the screen, pulse quickening. The words twisted her stomach, and not totally in dismay. He'd remembered, but why shouldn't he? They'd been his words, way back when.
"We'll end up sneaking around in hotel rooms when we're in our thirties," he'd told her when she said she was going to marry Jason.
"I hope not," had been her reply. "Because that means everything I'm hoping to have in my life will have been a lie."
She'd just turned thirty-four. He'd have turned the same age this past July. She wasn't angry that he was trying to see if she remembered the last words they'd shared. She was furious he'd assume she'd be willing to cheat on her husband.
He didn't know about Jason, of course. Couldn't. He was being his typical self, cocky and arrogant, teasing her into a conversation she knew she shouldn't have. If he thought she was married, he'd be testing her to see how far he could get her to go.
A full minute had passed while she processed his words and thought about deleting them. And yet, when she moved the mouse to the small red "x" at the top of the message window, she couldn't quite do it.
The pure and dirty fact was she wasn't married any longer, and Lida was absolutely right. Arden needed to get laid. And even now, years later, with a good marriage and a hundred thousand wonderful memories filling her brain, she still had room to remember the brief time she'd spent with Shane.
Good sex--really, really good sex--was hard to forget. Almost as hard to forget as first love. She wouldn't have said she loved him, knew he hadn't loved her, but they had been tied together for that time, had forged a link that had been tenuous but powerful.
It hadn't been love, but it had been something strong enough to make her dream about him.
There was no reason for her not to flirt with him now. No reason to pretend she wasn't curious about him. Her time with Shane had been a roller coaster ride, all high peaks and deep valleys, screaming with the wind whipping her hair. The question she needed to ask herself was clear: was she ready to get back on the roller coaster?
Who's this? she typed to give herself a few more minutes to think of how she wanted this to go.
It's Shane.
How'd you get my username?
It's on your sig line.
Of course it was. She knew that. She'd just never dreamed he'd use it.
We were talking about the Come Inn.
You were talking about it.
And?
And? It's been a long time, Shane, but it hasn't been that long. I remember what you said.
I'm flattered you didn't forget me.
Don't fish for compliments.
Would I do that?
She laughed despite herself. Yes. You haven't changed.
Everyone changes, Arden.
Yes, she typed. They do.
Have you?
That was a loaded question, but one she couldn't automatically assume to know the answer he sought.
Of course. I'm older now. Got married. Had kids. You know, living the American Dream. You?
I'm not the angst-ridden, melancholy playboy you remember.
She smiled as the words appeared on the screen. No?
Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not that bad boy anymore.
That's good to hear.
So, I can't convince you to sneak away with me for some afternoon delight?
What a bold bastard. It was the perfect time to tell him the truth about Jason, to see how quickly his flirting ended when he learned she was, indeed available for afternoon, morning or evening delight. He'd only ever wanted her when he couldn't have her, and Arden all at once didn't want him to stop wanting her. Not yet. It felt too good to flirt. She thought of her dream, and how his eyes had locked with hers while they made love.
I doubt your wife would approve.
You should know better than that. I'm not married.
Girlfriend?
Ha, ha. Hell no.
Why hell, no?
I don't have time for a girlfriend and I'm not interested in having a wife.
But you're interested in sneaking off into hotel rooms with married women. I've never cheated on my husband, I would never do something like that. With anyone. Ever.
The cursor blinked at her for a long moment before his reply showed up.
Understood. What makes you think I'm asking you to?
Had she missed something? She scrolled upward to reread the previous text. It was easy to misinterpret words unaccompanied by expression and inflection, but she was pretty sure she hadn't mistaken his flirting.
You asked me to meet you at the Come Inn. I figured that was a pretty clear invitation.
You need a better sense of humor then.
She went from amusement to anger as fast as it took her to read those eight words, and that, too, was a familiar memory of her time with him.
My sense of humor is fine.
Then maybe a reality check. We were over more than twelve years ago. I've moved on.
Now that out and out pissed her off, and her fingers flew across the keyboard, uncensored.
I didn't know you could get over something that never existed. Ouch, cold. But she didn't care. Let him flirt with her, then turn surly when he thought she was turning him down. What an arrogant prick, she thought, fuming, waiting for him to reply.
He didn't. Instead, her computer notified her "That user is no longer online."
"Coward!" She spoke too loudly in the quiet nighttime house. "Stupid jerk!"
And she was stupid for letting him get to her. Arden scowled. She ought to have told him the truth, instead of letting him think she was married. It would have completely cleared up the whole misunderstanding.
But if he knew she were free, would he have offered an affair? Which was worse? Having him offer when he believed she would not take him up on it, or being rejected because she could?
"What the hell else does 'The Come Inn has great midday rates' mean? Son of a bitch. Trying to play me."
She'd brought it on herself, she had to admit it. She didn't have to like it, but she did have to admit it.
"No more games," she told herself. "That's the reality check!"
He'd packed up his toys and gone home, but did that mean she'd won? It didn't feel like it. As Arden went upstairs to bed, it felt like she'd lost, big time.
* * * *
This time, he took her from behind. Hard and fast. His cock slid inside her as his hands came around to cup her breasts. Fingers tweaked her nipples into upright peaks, and a moan leaked out of her.
Arden arch
ed into him, his heat along her back as he bent over her to bite the nape of her neck. She was kneeling? No, bending, hands flat on the table...the kitchen table, but not hers. She felt cold, bare floor. Felt the table's smooth surface. A dream table, in a dream kitchen, with a dream man fucking her.
And oh, it felt so good. She came, orgasm shuddering through her, and understood she was dreaming because her arousal didn't diminish. Sensation that in reality would have left her unfulfilled in this dream drove her closer and closer to climax.
The sound of his breathing, the roughness of his thrusts, the hard, unyielding surface beneath her hands worked together, part of the dream, and gave her the freedom to let herself go into it. This was not reality. This was a dream, and since it was her dream, she knew who her lover had to be.
She wanted to see his face, but couldn't manage to turn. His cock slid in and out, faster. His hands gripped her waist, hard enough to leave bruises if this had been real, and she leaned forward, elbows now resting on the table, forehead on the cold, smooth wood.
She came again, a slow rippling of pleasure. The dream shifted. She lay on her back, legs wrapped around her lover's waist while he thrust inside her. His weight materialized against her chest. His mouth took hers, tongues meeting and sliding free to stroke and tangle.
"Shane."
His intense blue gaze pinned her. The smug arrogance of his smile made her angry, and with her anger her passion soared.
"I love fucking you," he told her, no soft and gentle words in this dream, no tenderness.
She made to slap him, but his hand caught hers and forced it upward, above her head, where his hands pinned both her wrists. She couldn't move. Couldn't even struggle. His weight held her down, but he didn't stop filling her. His hips rolled, his pelvis pushed against her clit with every thrust.
It was wrong, this angry fucking. She should hate it. Hate him for doing it to her this way. And she would...in real life she would hate it, would get no pleasure from his force and dominance.
But this was not real life, this was a dream, and even here it was not some twisted rape fantasy. She wanted this. She wanted him. She wanted to fuck him, to be fucked by him, wanted to ride him until she came again and again.
