by Raquel Belle
Tate’s just an annoyance. Yes, he’s attractive in a meathead kind of way. But he’s a big flippin’ asshole. He’s arrogant. He makes me feel stupid.
He kisses like a boss, though. I’ll bet he has a big …
Nope. Not going there.
That night, I text Rob and tell him I’m sorry about earlier. I invite him over and he passes, saying he’s got grades to enter, but then he shows up like twenty minutes later. He’s brought a bottle of wine and a basket of treats.
He pours two glasses of wine and prepares a little plate of cheese, crackers, and chocolate. We sit on my bed, a few candles lit.
“I’m sorry I’m being such a territorial dog,” he says. “It’s stupid.”
I give him a small smile. “It’s okay. I’m just … this is new, you know? I’m still processing.”
“I know.”
“I really appreciate you,” I say. “I probably don’t thank you enough for all the ways you make our lives better.”
He smiles. “That’s a nice thing to say.”
“It’s true. The kids were funny earlier. I told them you and I were trying something beyond friendship, and they were like, ‘Meh, he’s like a dad anyway.’ I had no idea they thought that way.”
“I’m glad they think that way.”
I sip my wine. “They surprise me sometimes. I worry I’m not doing enough or giving enough. There’s not enough of me to go around.”
“We all feel that way sometimes. Is that why you’re worried about getting into a relationship with me? Are you worried I’ll distract you from other needs or responsibilities in your life?”
No, I’m worried because I think I’m using you to distract me from Tate, I think. “Maybe,” I say. “But really I just can’t afford to lose you. You’re my best friend, Rob. If this goes sour, I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”
“You don’t have to be without me, Hope. I’m here. I’ve always been here.”
“You have,” I say, “ and it makes me feel bad.”
“Huh?”
“Well, you always tell me how much you love me. I know your feelings, but here I’ve been sitting on it for all these years, afraid. I’m still afraid.”
“But look how good we are together,” he says. “We fit.”
I nod and change the subject, asking him to dig into the basket of goodies. We eat and drink, kiss, and listen to music for a few hours, before he quietly slips inside me, slowly making love to me as guilty tears burn behind my closed eyes.
Chapter Five
Megan is there to greet me when I pick up the kids. Tate’s nowhere to be found. I’m ridiculously grateful. Life will just be so much easier if I can avoid him. I’ve broken the heel of my favorite work shoes, Amy’s got me signed up to provide a class snack tomorrow, and our oven needs a repair. The last thing I need is an argument—or whatever—with him.
“Connie at the front desk needs you,” Megan says. “I’ll have the kids gather their things while you run down there.”
I nod and wander off, wondering what I’ve done this time. Hopefully nothing that costs money.
Connie, a super-fit, grey-haired menace of a woman, doesn’t bother to say hello as I approach. She just hands me an envelope. My heart lurches in my chest. Has something happened? Is this a letter dismissing Eric from the program?
I take it, holding it like it’s a snake about to strike. “Can you tell me what this is about?”
She sighs, overdramatic. “It’s a check, Mrs. Elmore.”
“Miss,” I mutter.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not married. Elmore is my maiden name.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Nothing, I suppose. Why am I holding a check?”
“Tate was feeling charitable, I suppose? He’s refunding your late fees.”
My eyes go wide. “Why?”
She shrugs. “Not good business practice, in my opinion. You’re always late, and you need to have a consequence for that.”
I breathe out through my nose and roll my eyes. Not the most mature response, but hey … I don’t have appropriate words to form a response, so I turn and leave, collecting my children and loading them in the car before opening the envelope. It’s a check for more than $300. This is so huge for me. I can get my oven fixed. It’s like a whole year of $30 late charges, all refunded.
I feel tears welling, and ask the kids to sit tight, while I run in to the restroom. As I walk into the doors of the community center, I run into someone.
I mumble an apology, but a hand on my arm stops me in my tracks.
“Are you okay, Hope?” Tate asks.
Everything is blurry through my tears. I nod and Tate gently tows me toward his office. Inside, he shuts the door and hands me a tissue. I dab at my eyes. “The kids are out in the car. I can’t stay.”
He says, “Why are you crying?”
“That refund check … I needed it.”
He regards me for a moment, his face overall impassive but his eyes crinkled in concern.
“Your money situation is that precarious?” he finally asks.
I tilt my head back and look at the ceiling. “Alex left me with no support. We have a mortgage that we took on assuming two incomes. We had credit card debt that he defaulted on, leaving me to figure out a payoff plan. I have student loans. Kids are expensive. We do the best we can, and I juggle two jobs to make it work, but sometimes …”
He nods. “I refunded everyone who wasn’t egregiously late. Five, ten minutes … I refunded. Not just yours.”
“Why?”
“You were right. I’m too militant, not flexible enough. I’m alone. I forget what it’s like to juggle the needs of other people.”
“Just like that?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“Just like that?” I repeat. “You have one, two conversations with me, and suddenly you’re in tune with your philanthropic side?”
I stand, annoyed suddenly. What game is he playing? “I have to go,” I say. “The kids are in the car.”
I rush back out. The kids ask if everything is okay. I assure them it is, and we head for home.
Later that night, as I’m checking for bar shifts, my instant messenger pings.
McC: I still don’t understand why you’re angry?
HopeEl: I don’t understand your motivations.
McC: Our conversation at the bar was enlightening. I figured you were right.
HopeEl: No one changes just like that. I don’t trust it.
McC: I’m human. We evolve.
HopeEl: Not that fast, Tate. You made my life hell every time I walked in that place. Do you know the level of stress you made me feel, just with your body posture alone? And now you’re refunding checks and trying to take my kid out on outings. I don’t get it.
McC: I don’t want you to hate me.
HopeEl:
McC: Hope?
HopeEl: I did hate you. I don’t know what I feel now.
McC: Maybe a drink would help you figure it out? ;-)
Hope El: No. A drink will complicate things. I’m in a relationship.
McC: I see. Keep telling yourself it’s real and maybe it will be.
HopeEl: You have no right …
McC: I do. We kissed.
HopeEl: That was a mistake!
McC: Okay. Whatever. We’ll talk again soon.
HopeEl: No we won’t.
McC: I’ve set up a BBBS outing for Saturday morning. I’ll be by to pick up Eric around eight. Good night, Hope.
He signs off before I can reply. Fuck. I do not want him here. I don’t want to be around him.
What is it about him? His rigidity, for certain. But he makes me nervous, and I can’t articulate why. But yet … he’s lost something. His child. His marriage. And who knows what his military career was like. I feel like he’s made of stone, but that something like a beating heart is hidden underneath.
I ping him, hoping he�
��s still online.
McC: Yes?
HopeEl: I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m always such a bitch to you.
McC: I earned it, surely. But I’m trying to atone.
HopeEl: I can see that.
McC: I’ve been thinking about kissing you.
HopeEl; We shouldn’t be talking about this.
McC: The way your body responded …
HopeEl: Alcohol.
McC: No. I don’t think so. Because even when we argued at your house, I saw your flesh go pink. I saw the flush on your neck. I affect you.
HopeEl: I was angry. You’re confusing anger for lust.
McC: Hope, take off your clothes.
HopeEl: No.
McC: Fine. But I’ve got my clothes off now. I’m in my bed, and my hand is on my cock. It’s throbbing, Hope.
Okay, I’m a little horrified. This is totally out of my comfort zone. But yet … I’m a little turned on. Why am I turned on?
McC: I’m rubbing, back and forth. It’s hard, Hope. I’m thinking of you. Of your lips on my lips. Of the way you pushed that sweet pussy against me, your legs around my waist. I could feel your heat, even through our clothes.
HopeEl: Why are you doing this to me, Tate?
McC: Because I want you. Isn’t it obvious?
HopeEl: I’m in a relationship.
McC: Be here now.
I realize that I’ve idly spread my legs wide. Like I’m waiting for something. I reach down and find my panties are soaked. This is unlike anything I’ve ever done. I don’t know if it’s the fact that I’m alone, not facing him directly, but I feel bold, all of the sudden.
HopeEl: Can I tell you a secret?
McC: Of course.
HopeEl: I’m really wet right now.
McC: That’s what I like to hear. Do you have a vibrator?
HopeEl: blushing now… Yes. I don’t use it very often.
McC: Grab it.
HopeEl: Okay. I’ve got it.
McC: Spread those pussy lips apart, Hope. Find your sweet, sweet clit. Push that vibrator against it.
I do as he says, stimulating my clit with the vibrator, my hips rising, my muscles tensing. I’m building, building, building.
McC: I’m pumping harder now, Hope. I want you to come with me. I’m going to imagine coming inside of you.
McC: Does it feel good, Hope?
HopeEl: So, so good. Yes. So close.
McC: Imagine my cock inside you. Imagine me pumping in and out, kissing you, kissing your gorgeous tits. Imagine my tongue, my fingers, my cock…all over you, in you, fucking you.
HopeEl: I’m almost there.
McC: I’m a big man, Hope. I’d stretch you. I’d hurt you, but it would be so good.
What!?
HopeEl: I’m coming. I’m coming. I’m coming. Please hold …
I push hard against the vibrator, my clit pulsating, and my muscles clenched as I respond to the machine, and the words, and my imagination. My orgasm is a gale force wind, and I struggle to breathe when it finally subsides. Believe me when I say I have never, ever, had an orgasm like that when masturbating. Score one for Tate.
McC: Do you see what we could be?
HopeEl: This can’t happen, Tate. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let this happen.
McC: But it can. You’re lying to yourself if you think you can pretend your way through a relationship with that guy.
HopeEl: He’s my best friend. He loves me. All of us. He’s a good man and a good friend. And he makes me come, too.
McC: Maybe we could make you come together …
HopeEl: Goodnight, Tate.
I sign off this time, thoroughly embarrassed. Oh my god. I can’t believe that just happened, and I am a dirty, dirty slut who just did online sex things with awful Tate McCullough. Who I hate.
I do hate him, right?
Chapter Six
I can’t stop thinking about it.
I’ve been a complete horn-dog all week, and I’ve jumped Rob more times than I can count. He likes it, of course, because he is a man with a penis.
Equally ashamed, embarrassed, and titillated, I know I should figure out what to do about Rob. He means so much to me. I do love him. I care for him infinitely, and we do fit together. Sex is … it’s really great. He’s thoughtful and creative as a lover and as a person. I am a big jerky jerk for not telling him about Tate, for not being honest. But I can’t lose Rob. He is such a big part of all of our lives.
Still, while I love having sex with him and love having him in our lives, a nagging voice in the back of my mind is constantly asking if I’m only afraid to lose him because of the help and comfort and support he provides. Are we really a good fit? I spend so much time just making the logistics of our lives work, that I don’t even know if Rob and I have anything real in common.
And Tate? Ugh. Tate confuses me. I kind of still hate him. He’s absolutely not a man I would ever envision myself caring for. And right now, while I see the layers of stone cracking away, I have no idea who he is as a person. He’s sexy, no doubt, but what else is there, if anything at all?
Technically, I didn’t cheat on Rob, right? It was internet sex. Not quite anonymous, but Tate never touched me. And our kiss happened before I started things with Rob. And Rob slept with someone just days after we first did it.
This is a mess.
I feel sick with raw nerves and excitement. I feel naughty. It’s a new feeling. Kind of fun, and definitely in complete opposition to the way I feel as a worn-down, single mom of two just trying to keep it together. For the first time in many, many years, I feel sexy, and fun, and spontaneous.
It spreads to the rest of my life, too. I’m more energetic at work, less prone to frustration. I spend time taking the kids to the park and riding our bikes, realizing that I’ve been so focused on the logistics of life that I’ve forgotten to live.
Tate has been out of town, apparently, dealing with a death in the family, so it’s Friday afternoon before I see or hear from him after our online tryst.
Just outside the door to the after-school space, Tate waits for me. As I approach, he smirks, and I feel it all the way to my toes.
“I have something to show you in my office,” he says.
“I …”
“It’ll just take a moment.”
I follow him down the hall. Inside, he pushes me to the wall, his lips on my neck, his thigh between my legs, rubbing ever so lightly against my nether regions.
“I told you, I can’t …”
“I can’t stay away,” he says, finding my lips.
We kiss, my hands clawing his ass, pulling him closer. My body and my brain have different priorities, apparently.
“I have to go,” I say between kisses, pushing him away lightly. “I can’t do this. I really can’t.”
He backs away. My lips feel swollen, my hair is totally all over the place, springing out of its braid. I take a second to catch my breath and head out the door.
***
After an epic sexual marathon, I head for the shower, leaving Rob boneless in my bed. I spend a long time in the hot water, washing my tender skin. I cry a little, too, because while I’m sexually satisfied for the first time since … well, ever, I feel emotionally stretched to a breaking point.
As I’m lost in thought, I hear some commotion outside in my room. I hurry to finish rinsing off and throw on a bathrobe. Amy is crying and Eric’s little body is sprawled on my bed. Rob is on the phone.
I piece together that he’s calling an emergency squad. I rush over, and touch Eric. He’s cold. His eyes are closed.
He starts convulsing violently, throwing up. I turn him on his side, worried, he’ll choke.
Amy is a wreck. I put one hand on Eric as he calms, the other around Amy.
“What happened?”
“I heard a weird noise,” Amy says. “I went into his room, and he was on the floor, shaking. He stopped and looked at me. I told him we needed to find mom, but when we got i
n here, he …“
“He passed out,” Rob says. He’s hastily pulled on a pair of basketball shorts. “Then he seized again. The squad’s on its way.”
Eric calms, but his body temperature seems low. I cover him with a blanket and rub his back. He opens his eyes a crack.
While the squad assesses him and loads him on a stretcher, I throw on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. In flip-flops, no bra, hair dripping wet, I climb into the ambulance to ride with my baby boy, telling Rob to stay with Amy until morning.
After initial examination, the doctors decide he needs to be admitted for more testing. With no history of seizures, they have many avenues to consider.
As the night wears on, Eric comes to, though he’s sleepy and confused. His eyes look like saucers in his little face when he realizes he’s in the hospital. Somehow, the seizure knocked out a loose tooth, and he cries when he tells me the tooth fairy won’t be able to take it.
It breaks my heart. This is my baby. I’ve been sex-crazed, engaging in whatever mind-games with Tate and Rob, and my son was on the verge of … this. Whatever this is. I feel like my lack of attention to my kids is what caused this. My romantic situation has turned my attention from where it should be. I’ve been selfish, and dishonest and this is karma coming back at me like a bitch.
