The Love Coupon

by Ainslie Paton

  “You gave in to your sister.”

  “I like to think of it as...” She tipped her chin up, looked at the ceiling for inspiration. There was a pulse that beat in the vulnerable column of her neck, he knew exactly where and he wanted to press his lips to it, hear the knowing little hum she made when he did. Her hand slapped on her thigh. “I like to think of it as...”

  “Doing your part.”

  She met his eyes. “Being a sucker.”

  “It’s your family.”

  “Right. What can you do?”

  Rust and sunglow in her eyes. She could tell jokes just by moving her brows. She should go to bed, if she was going.

  “Stop looking at me like that.”

  “I wouldn’t be looking at you if you were in bed.” Had to be the word bed. Made his chest feel constricted.

  “You want to kiss me, don’t you?”

  “Yeah.” His voice came out like he’d drunk the second six-pack. “I want to kiss you.”

  “I’m okay with that.”

  Would be so easy to. She sat close enough he could count her eyelashes. “Not happening.”

  “I like your kisses, so it’s your choice not to kiss me, not to want me to kiss you.”

  “Go to bed, Flick.”

  She stood. “Okay, I’m going. Are you all right?”

  “I’m going away for the weekend.” The idea came to him as he said it, and felt like the best solution. “I’ll hike a mountain, camp. Clear my head.” He’d be stronger then. “Be back Sunday night.”

  “Don’t fall off.”

  It was the second time he’d heard that advice. He waited till she’d gone and he cleaned the kitchen, packed for a night camping. Flick was moving around too. The shower ran. She answered a call and he could hear her laughing.

  Sleep should’ve come quickly. He couldn’t settle. Flick was in the bed in the next room. The condo was quiet and he was tired, disappointed, just wanted to check out.

  And then the whirring started.

  Jesus Christ, Flick. He rolled to his side, tried to get away from the sound, but it was thunder in his ears, the hum of a motor in his body, hitting nerve endings all up his spine, doing things to his brain he couldn’t ignore, lighting it up.

  She had to know he’d hear. He groaned and flipped to his back. She had to want him to hear. It would quit in a minute. She’d never needed long before. She’d get slick, he knew the sound of that, and arch her back, her hips canting and her legs shaking, her breathing chopped up, stop, start, and then her body would go rigid, toes digging into the bed, head thrown back on a moan.

  “Come already,” he muttered.

  If he was there, he’d say that in her ear, he’d kiss her while he made her writhe, made her beg for his hand or his mouth or his cock. He was so hard he could come before she did. Was that what she was waiting for? He brushed the back of his hand over his crown and bit down on his back teeth. She’d have a sheen of moisture on her skin and around her hairline and she’d smell like a storm approaching on a hot, crystal-clear night.

  Yeah, God. The whirring changed, a new pattern of pulses, and holy fuck, he could hear her moaning. That was it for holding out. If he couldn’t have her, be the one to make her come, he’d come with her and let her hear him too.

  It only took a loose grip, a couple of drawn-out tugs and the sound of Flick letting go full-throated and he was there, grunting through his own climax, ropes of come splattering over his chest as if it’d been months, not days, since he’d released inside Flick.

  She was quiet, there was no more whirring. He got up, cleaned himself up, trying to tap any sense of leeriness down.

  “Goodnight, Tom!” she yelled. “Sleep tight!”

  Mosquito, bee, bedbug. But that this was no secret took the creep factor out of it. “Goodnight, Flick.”

  He’d sleep now. And tomorrow he needed to not fall off the mountain again.

  Chapter Twelve

  Flick had a good weekend. The bike shopping was tolerable and she could do it online. She made it to the short list for an apartment in Anacostia within walking distance to the metro line, and when she went to her postbox it was to find Coalition for Humanity had reached out with a welcome letter that made her want to be there now.

  Saturday night the work crew took her to dinner at the Purple Pig. It was a fun night. She was desperate to leave them, but would miss them terribly.

  And best of all, on Sunday Tom got back smelling like the woods, with a suntan and two days of stubble that made him look darkly dangerous instead of broodingly uptight.

  And he wasn’t weird with her.

  He did this elaborate designed-to-be-funny inspection of the apartment, looking for ways she might’ve sullied it. He checked the fridge and the pantry, found no contraband box mac and cheese, professed himself pleased and then asked if she was planning to vibrate again tonight, with a completely straight face.

  “Was it too much?” One of the most fun things she’d done not having sex with a man. If he’d hated it, she’d be a little bit destroyed.

  “It was different.”

  He’d chosen that word carefully. “You mean hot.” Knowing he was just next door, hearing her pleasure, hearing him grunt through his, and then letting him know she knew they’d been in it together. Too delicious. Her face flushed thinking about it.

  He thought it was hot too because he couldn’t keep neutrality in his eyes in the same way he could force it into his body, into the detached expression, straight spine and folded arms. She liked how molten those burnt brown eyes got, how they fixed on her as if she was the only thing in the room he didn’t understand and wanted to make a study of.

  “You’d have emerged from the womb a boundary pusher.”

  Not quite. She was the shy, ignored youngest. She’d had to learn how to get what she wanted. “You must’ve heard Josh. He must’ve heard you. Or you were both having the world’s most constrained sex. Tragic.”

  Constrained Tom was also hot, but only because he was looking for an excuse not to be that way. Flick was the definition of to-the-moon-and-back happy to give him one.

  “For all Josh’s pedantic ways, he liked his sex spontaneous and in locations designed to thrill. He never brought anyone home. I like hotels.”

  “I can see that. Anonymous and housekeeping tidies up.”

  “Priorities,” he said, cutting his eyes away.

  “Did you make any decisions while you were striding up mountains?” If he wanted to try sex again without a wall between them, she’d be on board with that. If he’d decided to quit Rendel, he’d have to explain his plan because she wasn’t letting his pride throw him under a career bus.

  “I stayed on the flat.”

  “Safety first.” Classic Tom. “Which means talking about quitting was all beer.”

  “All beer until I hear what the top headhunters say.”

  She tapped the side of her head. “That’s my roommate. Smart and sexy.”

  He closed his eyes and shook his head as if she was just too much. She’d gotten humor but no smile. A smile would take that darkly dangerous thing he had going on and make it heart-flipping adorable.

  Huh. Tom O’Connell, adorable. Not two concepts she’d imagined holding in her head simultaneously.

  “I’ve been walking for two days and I have an early meeting. I’m going to crash,” he said.

  “I’ll try to keep it down.”

  He didn’t respond, other than to show her his back as he went toward his bedroom.

  “Or should I turn it up so you can play too?” she called after him.

  He laughed. He tried not to, there was a strangled sound, and he gave it up, making a glorious bull-stuck-in-the-mud frustrated bellow that was better than any smile.

  And she gave it a rest that night. Which meant she was
battle-ready for the text war with Elsie Monday morning.

  With Tom gone early, she had the apartment to herself, and since she didn’t need to worry about keeping out of his way she planned to take her time with breakfast on the balcony. She had feeds, news and social to check, but made the mistake of looking at her texts.

  The bikes are wrong.

  She’d had them delivered.

  Broken?

  Wrong. They’re the same.

  She should have called, but talking to Elsie would disturb that peace. What’s wrong with that?

  They can’t be the same.

  She looked at those words while she ate a banana. They made no better sense after the injection of potassium. Why not?

  Because you can’t tell them apart.

  The dumb thing was asking. Wasn’t that the point, for neither kid to feel more special? That’s why one new bike had been an unacceptable solution. After an hour of research into the best, safest options, she bought two nine-speed Cleary Meerkats in gender-neutral very orange. Not the most expensive bike at six hundred dollars, but not the cheapest, like they stocked in Target. It was meant to be good for two years’ worth of heavy-duty use.

  Put different stickers on them. Paint one black and add a skull and crossbones or whatever the junior school version of that was.

  That doesn’t work. You just don’t get it.

  She opened the phone keypad, then closed it. Talking to Elsie would ruin the morning. She only had a small quota of Chicago mornings left to enjoy. The kids had new bikes that would get them to school and home again. They’d work out how to tell them apart, or not. They were the same, it hardly mattered. She pushed the phone away and stretched. Five more minutes of peace and she’d get dressed, and go join the rat race.

  Even the bing the phone made to indicate Elsie wasn’t leaving it alone was annoying. She didn’t have to read that next text. She did a half-hearted sun salute and let the phone do its thing unattended. She didn’t get how Elsie could make her feel bad when she’d done what was asked of her. Families were supposed to support you. The Dalgettys existed to make her feel inadequate either because she wasn’t generous enough, or she didn’t deserve what she’d made of herself.

  Sucker, sucker, sucker. She picked up the phone and opened Elsie’s text stream.

  You think the world should revolve around you.

  Always did.

  You want to run off and be a do-gooder but you let your own family hang out to dry.

  You act like we embarrass you. You’re not better than us.

  All right, enough. She typed a response. We don’t like each other. We don’t have to. But we’re sisters and we need to respect each other.

  Elsie must’ve been poised over her phone. I respect what you can buy my girls.

  Oh hell. Would be better to leave this alone. But not in the least satisfying. She typed, Mercenary bitch. It must sting to have to ask for my charity.

  That might end it. She stepped inside the apartment and then went back for the banana skin and the coffee cup. Shouldn’t have answered the phone when it went off.

  “It’s not charity. It’s family, fucking slut.”

  “Fuck you, Elsie. You’re due a wake-up call. What are you doing with your life? Living off Mom. Do you think I’m going to support you forever?”

  “You feel guilty because you got out. You think I don’t know how to use that against you.”

  Shouldn’t have answered the phone but enough, enough of allowing herself to be manipulated. “You forgot the only reason I got out was because I was ruthless. Don’t call me again.”

  She disconnected, clenching the phone so hard it might’ve cracked. But enough. If she never spoke to Elsie again it would be too soon.

  She was going to be late. But heck, what were they going to do, fire her? She made a second cup of coffee in Tom’s Keurig. The reason she’d run off with Drew was no mystery. He’d been a friend, a replacement parent, unselfish and supporting. Those years between them meant nothing in the face of the security he’d provided. The phone kept binging and vibrating. She picked it up, knowing it could be the office, but was most likely a screed of new messages from Elsie, a lecture on her failings she didn’t need to read.

  Drew would be on his way to the college he taught at. He’d have time to talk. She speed-dialed him and the call went to voice mail.

  “This is Drew Howell. I’m in the classroom teaching America’s next great novelist the value of the Oxford comma. Leave a message and as soon as I’m able, I’ll return it.”

  Ah well, it broke their three-calls-a-year arrangement anyway. But if she didn’t leave a message, he might worry.

  “Hello, teach. Your all-time favorite student checking in. Thought of you this morning and called on a whim. I’ll call again on your birthday and we can have our regular catch-up. I have news—no, I’m not in love and I’m not pregnant, you’ll have to wait. Hope the suspense doesn’t kill you. Be well. I still love you.”

  Hmm, that felt better. It also crystalized the problem she was having at work. Time to be ruthless.

  Flick had no desire to burn her bridges with Cassidy Strauss, but after having gone from trying to tempt her, to trying to guilt her into staying, to squeezing every last drop of energy and attention from her, they’d slid right on into “let’s ignore you’re outta here in six weeks.”

  Ruthless started at ten because she didn’t hustle to get in. At 10:15 she stood outside Charles Strauss’s office and didn’t take “come back later” for an answer. She didn’t take him towering over her in an attempt to get her to back away either. She had no spoons left to give for people who wanted to push her around today.

  “I wanted to remind you that I’m out of here in six weeks.”

  He sighed. “I know that, Flick. Didn’t your team take you to dinner to celebrate? I heard it was a good night.”

  “Yeah, thank you. I will miss my team terribly. What I won’t miss is the Grayson account, the Farmer’s Union or the Blenhelm business park plan. But you might, because those projects won’t be near finished in six weeks and I can’t image it’s going to go down well with those clients when their projects grind to a halt.”

  Charles sat on the edge of his desk, legs outstretched in a “see how unconcerned I am” posture. Another tall-man power move. The opposite of what the other tall man in her life did. Tom never used his body to deliberately intimidate. “I’ll get you someone to hand over to.”

  “You’ve been saying that for two months.”

  “Flick, a good handover will only take you a week.”

  He was looking at her chest when he said that. “A good handover isn’t about leaving those client issues in my hands when my head has already left the building. I’m not working another eighty-hour week for the rest of my notice period. That’s just me telling you how it is because my head might’ve left the business but my heart hasn’t, and I want the Grayson, Farmers U and Blenhelm people to have the best of Cassidy Strauss, not the unfocused last dregs of me.”

  “You’re never unfocused.”

  Maybe if she flashed him she’d shock him into changing his mind. All it would take was three buttons. “You’re taking advantage of me.” She put her hand to the collar of her shirt. Wouldn’t be the most outrageous thing she’d done.

  “I’m doing nothing of the sort. You’re working out the contract you signed with us.”

  Wouldn’t be the most outrageous thing she’d done this week. Or even in the last thirty-six hours. She undid a button and Charles’s brow went up above the rim of his glasses. Bastard would probably enjoy her Simone Perele revelation full-cup underwire, and that wasn’t going to help.

  “I’m slacking off. That’s what I came to say.” She lowered her hand to her side. “You should’ve expected it. You’re banking on me being a good soldier and not dropping my bundle
, but I’m dropping it right now. I’m working standard office hours from here on in and taking lunch.” She turned for her dramatic but fully clothed exit and said over her shoulder, “You don’t get to say you weren’t warned.”

  “Felicity.”

  Not turning around for that. He pulled that disciplinarian act when he wanted obedience and she’d had to stomach it for years. She didn’t have to anymore.

  “Flick.” She stopped but didn’t turn. “I’ll have a handover plan next week.”

  He might. If he didn’t, it was explicitly on him.

  The rest of the day was notably easier to get through than the morning had been, and true to her word she quit the office at five thirty and headed straight home and for the gym and maybe the chance to eat with Tom.

  Drew called while she was on the street. She could barely hear him. “It’s not Christmas or my birthday or yours either. You didn’t have to call back.”

  “I wanted to. Can you talk?”

  She ducked into an alleyway, where she could stand without someone walking into her and not have to shout to be heard. “I can now.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Just left work. You’re not getting my big news early.”

  “Flicker, you’ve got to give me your news. I need it now.”

  He’d said less than a dozen words and nothing particular about them was unexpected, but she went cold from the feet up. His voice—it wasn’t so much that the street was loud, it was that Drew’s voice shook.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Tell me your news. Don’t hold out on me now.”

  Unexplained fear laced her heart, making it hard to find words. She told him about Coalition for Humanity, and moving to Washington, about how excited she was and what it meant to be able to share that with him.

  “I’m so proud of you, Flicker.”

  “I can do this because you saw I could be something.”

  “You were already something before I ever set eyes on you. A flicker of brilliance, no one can ever put out.”

  That’s all she’d been. A flicker of defiance and undirected anger. Without Drew, she’d have flickered out. “You’re scaring me. You don’t sound right.”