by Lisa Lace
Our eyes catch as I lick the last of the ice-cream from my lips, and my heart skips a beat. Henry is looking at me with the same expression—like someone who’s enjoying a wonderful date; like someone who feels a spark.
He leans forward to kiss me. I taste the sweetness of dessert on his lips, along with the rich flavor of Liatiko red wine. We’ve shared a bottle over dinner.
When it’s time to pay the bill and leave, I’m disappointed that it’s over.
“That was wonderful,” I say. “I’m a convert. Take me back there any time.”
Henry grins widely. “It’s not over yet.”
He holds my hand tightly; they swing between us as we walk down the street with a spring in our step. I listen to the sound of my heels echoing against the brickwork and can hear how light my step is.
“Hang on a second,” I say. “I need to check in on Connor.”
Henry waits patiently as I stand under a streetlight to make a call to Connor back home. I want to make sure he’s not wrecking the apartment or getting too high. When I’m reasonably convinced that he’s doing all right without me, I put my cell back in my purse and turn back to Henry with a smile.
He doesn’t say anything about the call, but I can see the frustration in his expression.
The call is soon forgotten, however, when we arrive at the Lizard Lounge on Mass Avenue. We go inside and are seated at a low, round wooden table.
The club is intimate and exciting. The whole place is lit by red lights, making everything seem sensuous. There are more shadows in here. I see them dancing across Henry’s face as he looks across at me and smiles, then takes my hand across the table.
A live band is playing something indie. Accompanied by sleek, vibrant music, the singer has a soulful voice. The whole club seems to vibrate along with the instruments.
Henry orders a Dark and Stormy cocktail—black rum and ginger beer. I have a Mai Tai.
Once again, we sit close to each other at the table; this time so we can hear each other over the sound of the music.
Henry tells me more about his life in the UK. I tell him about my undergraduate degree and some of my best stories from waitressing over the years. Between sharing stories, we share kisses.
By the end of the night, I’m smitten. Despite all my doubts and reservations, Henry is a breath of fresh air in a life that’s been drudgery and hardship for too long. His sense of fun and adventure is addictive. He’s like the light at the end of the long, long tunnel I’ve been walking down.
After our date, we go back to Henry’s apartment. As soon as the door is shut behind us, Henry pushes me against the wall and presses his lips down over mine.
“Here we are again,” I tell him, embarrassed at the awkwardness of the situation.
“Yes, here we are. Can you please wait for me to get into the bedroom before you take advantage of me this time?”
Did he really say that? My mouth drops open, and I glare at him, noticing his humorous smile. “You’re teasing.”
“I am. I was actually hoping you’d start taking your clothes off in the car, but a man can’t have everything, can he?”
“Cute.” I’m trying to relax, but our relationship feels different this time. There is more between us.
“Come here,” he says, taking my hand. He leads me to a different room and turns a knob, illuminating the room with a dim light. The room contains a massage chair and matching table. I watch as he lights a couple of candles and turns another knob, adding colored lighting to the room. He leads me to the middle of the room and offers me the choice of the table or the chair.
“What is all of this?”
“I want to help you relax. May I? I’m pretty good with my hands.”
I feel a warmth on my face, remembering how good he was. I hoist myself up onto the table and lay on my stomach, putting my face into the cushioned hole.
His hands work their magic on my shoulders, kneading my muscles and working down my back. I feel an arousal begin between my legs, but I try to concentrate on relaxing. His touch is intoxicating. He softens his when he massages my legs, sliding his hands up underneath my dress. His hands work their way between my legs, opening them to the sides of the table.
“A little oil,” he says softly.
I swallow hard and turn my head to watch as he turns a bottle of massage oil upside down and douses his hand with a clear liquid. When he touches my legs with it, the feeling is incredible.
He caresses my inner thighs with his fingers as he presses the back of his hand up into my pussy. The pressure causes my muscles to contract and my breath to catch. I feel his fingers slide between my cheeks and down to the table, grazing my pussy through my underwear before he hooks them and pulls them to the side.
I tremble with the anticipation of what is next when his fingers slide into the folds of my pussy, maneuvering up and down, then sliding inside me. I open my legs further as the muscles in my legs tighten. He slips his fingers deep inside me and holds them there, the weight of his body pushing across my back. I feel his warm breath on my ear.
“How does that feel, Melissa?”
“Incredible.” I breathe a heavy breath out. I push myself toward his hand, wanting more.
“Do you want me to continue your massage?”
I want to tell him exactly what I want him to do to me.
“Or do you want me to peel your clothes off and make love to you, right here in this room?”
I look up at him, and he knows. He pulls me up to a sitting position and takes his clothes off in front of me. I admire his physique as I remove my underwear and pull my dress up over my head. He stops me, pulling my dress back down, and lowering the straps over my shoulders and tight around my arms. He lays me down on my back, on the table, my arms partially imprisoned by my own attire. He slides his hands up my legs, taking my dress with him until I’m exposed to him.
“So beautiful,” he says, his eyes devouring my body. He climbs up onto the table and hovers over me like a hungry lion ready to consume his prey. He pulls my breasts out of my dress, his fingers toying with one nipple while he licks the other, teasing me with his teeth as they graze the hard nub.
My legs open for him, silently begging him to fuck me. I push my pelvis up to him, and he pleases me, a hand cupping my pussy. He moves the palm of his hand in circles over my pubic bone until my orgasm brings me to the edge again. Familiar territory, but no easier when he pulls away to admire the frenzy he has created within me.
I look up at him, hungry, but he teases my appetite. I force the air from my lungs and swallow before taking in another ragged breath. I watch him lick his lips, stroke himself, and lower his cock between my legs. Holding my breath, I close my eyes in anticipation and relish the feeling of him sliding into me.
He fucks me deliciously. I quake with an intensity that seizes my entire body.
Henry
The next morning, Melissa doesn’t rush away. I make her breakfast in bed, and we sit together under the covers, enjoying freshly buttered toast and hot coffee.
Melissa has put on one of my shirts. It’s oversized on her, and she looks adorable with the sleeves rolled up and her long legs in full view. Her hair is loose down over her shoulders, her glasses off to the side.
She kicks the covers away and draws her knees up, clasping her cup of coffee in both hands. I let my gaze travel over her long, shapely legs.
I’m wearing only my boxers. I swallow my last bite of toast and put my plate down on the side, brushing the last few crumbs off my stomach.
Melissa looks across at me and smiles. “I didn’t think I’d be here again.”
“Because I blew your mind too much the first time?”
She laughs. “Because I had sworn off men.” She leans across and kisses me on the lips. “There’s something about you that makes me put my guard down.”
“You have no reason to have your guard up around me. I know you’ve worked hard to be here, and you have to work hard to stay—I won’t get in your
way.”
She puts her coffee down, then shuffles across the mattress closer to me and lays her head on my shoulder. “Thanks, Henry.”
I put my arm around her and kiss her head. Although this is only our second time in bed together, it seems natural. “I feel like I’ve known you a long time,” I tell her.
“Me, too. Like, usually it takes me a while to relax around someone, but I feel like we’re already there. It’s funny—I never expected to meet someone I clicked with at Harvard.”
“That’s because you were imagining Americans.”
“Don’t be a prat,” she says, grinning up at me as she uses the new British slang I’ve taught her.
I stretch my arms out above my head, then relax back into our comfortable snuggling together. “No lectures today.”
“Nowhere to be,” Melissa echoes. She cuddles up against my chest with a happy smile, wrapping her arms around me tightly.
As she says it, I hear the now-familiar sound of Melissa’s ringtone screeching from her handbag. She sighs and pulls away from me. “That’ll be Connor.”
“Don’t answer it,” I say. I wrap my arms around her and pull her back close to me, nuzzling my face into the nape of her neck. “This is our morning.”
She runs her palm up my arm and twists to kiss me but still pulls away. “It could be important.” She jumps out of bed and dashes across the room to pick up her handbag. She pulls out her phone and quickly answers.
As usual, I listen to one half of a conversation with her brother.
“Connor—is everything okay? There should be. I left a twenty on the counter. Well, if you spent it last night, there’s nothing I can do about it. You’ll have to survive with what’s in the fridge until I get home. I don’t know when. I don’t know. Connor—I’m not going to rush home because you wasted the money I gave you on God knows what.”
I see Melissa getting stressed. She paces the room and runs her hand through her hair, tilting her head back to stare at the ceiling in frustration. I can’t hear what Connor is saying, but the buzz on the other end of the line has grown louder, so I know he’s shouting at her.
She lifts her hand in the air as she argues with him on the end of the line. “Don’t talk to me like that. I don’t deserve it. Of course, I’m going to assume that’s what you did. That’s what you always do.”
Melissa’s pacing comes to a stop, and she takes a deep breath. “I’m going to go now and give you a chance to calm down. Goodbye, Connor.”
She pushes her phone back down into her handbag and crawls back into bed. She huddles back up close to me, but the mood has changed. She rests her head wearily against my shoulder.
I put my arm back around her and pause a moment before weighing in. “What was he after?”
Melissa lets out a short, angry breath and shakes her head against my chest. “It doesn’t matter.”
“You shouldn’t even entertain him when he’s being like that. If it were me, I’d hang up.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I’d stop lending him money, and I’d make him get a job and pull his weight in the flat. If he tried to walk all over me, he’d be out on his ear.”
Melissa lifts her face to look at me. Her expression is tired and unimpressed. “With all due respect, Henry, I don’t need to hear what you would do if you were me. You’re not me.”
“I can’t help it, Lissy. From where I’m standing, it looks like he’s taking advantage of you, and you need to put an end to it sometime.”
“He’s only nineteen. He’s still finding his feet and getting over the death of our mom.”
“You got over it, didn’t you?”
Her eyes flash with anger, and she glares at me. “No. I didn’t ‘get over it.’”
“I’m sorry,” I say in a softer voice. “I phrased that badly. What I mean is, you haven’t let the tragedy of her passing lead you down the wrong path. You haven’t made excuses because of what happened.”
“Connor’s had it hard,” Melissa retorts. “He grew up without a father and all the pain of him walking away, and he was only twelve years old when Mom got diagnosed with cancer. He spent those years when he should have been hanging out with his friends and having his first kiss holding our mom’s hand while she faded away. Then being dragged through the court while I fought for custody. Can you blame him for not being able to focus at school, or for maybe wanting to see if a little bit of weed could help him forget? Because I don’t. Maybe I’d have even done the same myself if I didn’t have him to think about. And now he’s got to answer to me like I’m his mom when we’re both painfully aware that I’m not, and never could be. It’s a hard, heartbreaking situation. We’re both doing the best we can. I don’t need your judgment, Henry.”
“I’m not judging you. I’m trying to look out for you.”
“By talking about something you couldn’t possibly understand? What have you ever had to overcome in your life? You once told me you understood family drama, and all you had to say was your father didn’t want you getting into fist fights and arranged for you to get into an Ivy League school without even submitting a formal application. You can’t understand what we’ve been through.”
“I’m not emotionally brain-dead, Melissa,” I say. “Of course. I understand that what you’ve been through is awful. Of course, I understand that Connor has his issues. What I’m saying is that you think you’re helping him, but maybe you’re enabling him instead. Maybe if you stopped giving him money, he’d stop buying the drugs.”
Melissa’s eyes fill with tears, and I know I’ve gone too far. “You’re saying it’s my fault?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“That’s what it sounds like.” Her voice begins to break. “I’m working twenty-four seven between my job and school. All I’ve got to offer Connor is a little money now and then because that’s what a parent would do. I’m trying to be there for him.”
I kneel on the mattress and take her shoulders in my hands to turn her to face me. “You’ve done an amazing job. I can’t believe how much you’ve done for him. Nobody would ever say you haven’t done everything for him. But when do you start thinking about yourself? When does Connor start standing on his own two feet?” I gesture around me. “Look at all you’ve done in spite of what you’ve gone through. Don’t you want Connor to have that same drive and success? You’re trying to protect him from everything, but you’re only sheltering him from real life. In the real world, you turn eighteen, and you either go to school, or you get a job. When does Connor have to do the same? Does he get a free pass for life while you work yourself into the ground trying to give it to him?”
Melissa tears my hands from her shoulders and steps out of my bed. Tears are streaming down her face as she picks up last night’s clothes from the floor and gets dressed.
She points a finger in my direction. “You’ve no idea how easy you’ve got it! No idea at all. It’s so easy for you to hand out advice like it’s common sense, but you’ve never had to comfort a heartbroken fifteen-year-old who’s just been orphaned and is looking to you for answers. You’ve never had to stand your ground when you move him into a horrible, run-down apartment in the bad part of town because Mom’s house is gone. Connor’s had his whole life torn away from him again and again—first when Mom died, then when I moved us to Holyoke, away from everything he knew, now again that we’ve moved here.
“He’s searching for something to fill that hole he feels inside. I feel the same emptiness. How can I judge him when I understand him? How can I kick him to the curb when I feel the same pain he feels? If you think it’s that easy, then you’re heartless.”
She’s dressed now, wearing last night’s dress and shoes again. Her face is blotchy from crying, and her hair is flying wild. She picks up her handbag. “I’m going home to my brother.”
I stand up, trying to pull on my trousers so I can chase her outside. She strides away faster than I can keep up and keeps on storming away even as I c
hase her down the hall and call her name.
I’m left being unable to do anything but watch her from my apartment window as she walks fiercely down the street.
I sink down onto my sofa and put my head in my hands. I replay the conversation, trying to figure out exactly when it went wrong. We went from eating breakfast wrapped up in each other’s arms, to Melissa screaming at me and storming out.
I think about how betrayed she looked when I told her she needed to stop giving Connor money, and about every comment I made after that wounded her. I feel like the biggest jerk in the world.
You’ve screwed up, Henry.
Melissa
I grab Lucy the moment there’s a lull in the service and drag her outside to the back of the diner. I pace the small space by the dumpster in tight, angry circles. I’m still fuming from what Henry said to me this morning, and I’ve been dying for the chance to vent.
“Woah, woah,” Lucy soothes, watching me stride around. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”
I throw my hands up in the air furiously. “Henry!”
Lucy pulls out several flat-packed cardboard boxes from behind the dumpster and lays them on the ground. She takes a seat on it like it’s a picnic blanket and pats the cardboard beside her for me to sit down.
I lower myself onto the ground and drop heavily onto the box.
Lucy fixes me with a calm, patient stare and places a hand on my knee to stop me fidgeting. “I’m listening.”
“We were in bed this morning,” I tell her. “Connor calls.”
“Okay.”
“He’s asking for money. Henry’s in the room and gets the gist of the conversation.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“When I end the call, he has the nerve to start giving me advice about how I should look after Connor.”
“Like what?”
“He says I shouldn’t keep giving him money. He even said I’m enabling Connor by giving it to him. He acted like I’m practically handing Connor the drugs myself and encouraging him to be unemployed and broke.”
