“You who slipped her hand into her panties and began playing with herself as she watched me …”
I felt his finger slowly begin to work my clit, sending a deep shiver through me.
“I watched you come that night, Jessica,” he continued, working me in a slow rhythmic motion, “and now I want to watch you come again.”
I closed my eyes as I felt myself actually begin to ride his hand, grinding myself against him, feeling his expert touch coaxing fresh shivers of pleasure from my trembling body with each subtle motion it made, my lips brushing lightly against his in an almost-kiss, his fingers plunging so beautifully into my warm, willing wetness …
You can’t do this.
Not now, not here ...
I froze, realizing, reaching down and yanking his hand away from me, suddenly overcome with a horrible nauseous guilt.
“No,” I murmured. “No, stop. Not like this.”
“You sure you want me to stop?” Blake said, still in that same slow suggestive tone as before, raising his fingers between us, both of us registering just how much they sparkled with my juices in the dim lighting.
“Please,” I murmured, “Please.”
Oh, this is all turning into such a stupid mess …
And when Blake began to finally realize what was happening, watching my bottom lip begin to tremble as the hot sting of tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, his face quickly changed, from that of animal lust to genuine concern.
“Jessica, wait …” he said, as I turned and fled, into the safety of the ladies’ restrooms. “Jesus Christ,” I heard him mutter to himself, just before the heavy door swung shut.
I locked myself away in the farthest stall, sat down on the lid, rested my head in my hands, and then burst into tears.
§
I don’t know how long I’d been in the bathroom for when I finally dragged myself back to my feet and fixed my makeup in the large ornate sink above the faucets. But when I headed back into the function room, I could tell immediately that something had changed.
Oh no.
Anything but that.
There was Blake, talking to Greg, and even from the other end of the room I could tell that there was a weird vibe between them — Blake had his back to me, but Greg sought me out the very moment I set foot in the room. His eyes were black and narrow and cold in a way I don’t think I’d ever seen them before, as he slowly nodded at whatever Blake was saying.
The sense of dread increased with each step closer I took, and by the time I finally reached them, I felt just about ready to die.
“Oh, great to see you two getting along!” I said, as innocently as I could. “What are you talking about?”
“Well, Blake here,” Greg said, his teeth gritted, his voice shaking with controlled rage, “was just telling me about how happy he was that he’d poached you from Marianne. So, when the fuck were you going tell me?”
“Greg, I’m sorry,” I began. “If you’d just let me explain. It all happened so fast …”
“Actually, you know what, Jessica?” he cut in. “I don’t want to hear it. Not right now. I think I’d better leave you alone with your new boss.”
His voice was shaking with anger, and I shot Blake a venomous look, even though I knew it wasn’t his fault. After all, it’s not like I’d actually told him I was keeping secrets from my boyfriend, had I?
“Greg, please! Wait!” I cried, as I watched him push past Blake, knocking his shoulder as he barged towards the exit.
“Look,” Blake said, turning to me, “if I said something wrong just then, I really didn’t mean to.”
“Forget it,” I snapped, my own voice now shaking with rage.
“And about before,” he continued.
“What did I just say?” I hissed, turning to chase Greg out through the function room, heading frantically for the exit, not even bothering to collect my coat, my only focus now on finding Greg and apologizing properly, on fixing this whole sorry mess somehow.
The cold air hit me like a punch in the face. There was a fine rain falling too, and it quickly soaked through the silk of my dress as I dashed out onto the sidewalk, looking frantically left then right, no clue whether he’d gone in search of a cab, or to drown his sorrows at a bar somewhere, or decided to walk as far as he could home to blow off some steam.
Knowing Greg, it would probably be the latter, so I turned and began to race, quickly as I could in the direction of our apartment.
I turned a corner and there, right at the other end of the street, I saw him, walking sadly away, his shoulders slumped as if in defeat. I felt my heart reach out to him — this man who meant so much to me, who’s loved me so long and so completely, who still means whole fucking world to me, who had been my first lover, my soul mate, my everything, and who I’d hurt so very much …
“Greg, wait!” I called, chasing towards him, feeling the cold drizzle of rain against my skin, hearing the echoey click of my heels ricocheting around the otherwise empty street.
But he showed no sign of stopping, even quickening his pace, storming away from me, forcing me to run in an attempt to catch up with him, risking a twisted ankle or worse in these stupidly impractical heels.
As I ran I cried out again, “Greg, please!’ and maybe it was this that finally caused him to stop and turn, his face twisted in such a hurt, angry grimace it caught me a little by surprise.
His eyes looked red and sore, too, as if he’d actually been crying.
“Greg, I’m sorry,” I panted, trying my hardest to catch my breath, unsure whether to move in close or keep my distance.
“I thought I knew you,” he spat.
“You do,” I urged, meaning it with all my heart. “You do know me, more than anyone.”
“So how come that smarmy bastard knew something I didn’t? And I thought he was supposed to be old and boring and ugly … Do you think I’m stupid, Jessica? He looks like a fucking movie star!”
I shook my head, desperate for Greg to understand just how much I cared for him, how this was all just a silly white lie that had gotten quickly out of hand, and was not at all about hurting him …
But I just didn’t know where in the world to begin.
“I’m sorry,” I pleaded, feeling the tears welling up once more. “I just knew that this was how you’d act if you found out …”
“You know what?” he cried. “I’m done. With this. With all of this. See you later.”
He turned and began to stomp off.
“Please! Don’t!” I sobbed, falling to my knees on the pavement, not even caring if I ruined this stupid six-hundred dollar dress. “Just don’t do this. Please. Not like this ...”
I was surprised that my words had any effect but they did. He actually stopped and turned around, walking back to me, taking his place before me once more. I could feel the hot tears now sliding down my cheeks, the cold drizzle landing on my skin, my chest rising and falling, my dress soaked right through, as I picked myself back up.
His face was screwed up with emotion, his mouth curled in a snarl, his hands balled into hard, angry fists.
“What do you mean, ‘done’?” I asked again, quieter.
“I don’t want to say anything I regret …” Greg replied.
“Say it,” I urged.
“Well, I’m not sure I …”
He looked away, down the wet empty street behind us.
“I’m not sure I wanna be with you any more.”
The words hit me hard, causing my head to spin.
“What?” I said quietly.
“You heard,” he continued in a low, quiet tone. “You know, when we first got together, I could tell you were really into me, and all my stupid insecurities kind of faded away. But ever since your first meeting with that guy, Blake, you’ve been in a world of your own. I’d suspected something was up for a while now. You never listen to me anymore ... You’ve not been yourself … You’ve been floating around with your head in the clouds for weeks now, li
ke some lovesick teenager. And again and again, I told myself it was nothing. Just my old jealous routine, rearing its ugly head. But tonight, I realized that maybe I really should have something to worry about. ‘Cause you like that guy, don’t you? Blake Matthews. There’s something there, isn’t there, Jessica? Isn’t there?”
I shook my head, but found myself unable to speak.
I could tell Greg was waiting for me to reply, to plead my innocence, but I suddenly felt so weighed down, so heavy with guilt and sadness that I might actually sink right through the concrete sidewalk we were standing on.
“This is the part where you tell me it isn’t true,” Greg said, quietly, his voice trembling.
And at that moment, I knew I had two choices: Either plead with all my heart and convince him that nothing was going on between Blake and I, or …
My head told me to do it, to try and win Greg back — to make one last attempt at getting our relationship back on track. But at the same time, my heart told me it was fruitless. I’d already gone too far with Blake, mentally if not physically. There was already so much hidden from Greg, so much he still didn’t know.
“Jessica?” he said, softly. “Please. Please tell me it isn’t true. Please tell me I’m just going crazy and paranoid and jealous again. Please tell me nothing is really going on between you and Blake.”
“I can’t,” I said quietly, shaking my head, the hot tears spilling down my cheeks.
I stayed where I was, rooted to the spot, as I watched the only man I’d ever loved turn and walk away into the darkness.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Okay, I’ll be back to check in on you at lunchtime,” Fallon said tenderly, as she left for work that morning.
“You really don’t need to,” I croaked from my makeshift nest of duvets and pillows on the sofa.
“Don’t I?” she asked with a wry grin. “You’ve barely moved all week. I’d better come back and turn you over at least, or you’ll get bedsores.”
“I’m fine,” I said, my throat sore and my eyes puffy from crying.
As she left, the door to her apartment swung closed, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
On my own again, at last.
No need to explain myself.
I sniffed, wiping my face with the scruffy old sleeve of my PJs.
Marianne would have a field day if she could see me now ...
How right she was.
I’d been crying not only because I was destroyed about the break-up, but because I was so insanely frustrated with myself and my behavior too. Greg was right. When I looked back over the way I’d been acting recently, it was as if I’d been possessed by some devilish force, some cruel bitch who’d decided to systematically screw up every little aspect of my life, piece by piece.
I’d quit a perfectly secure, well-paying job to work for some rich prick who’d probably only hired me in the hope of sleeping with me (as he’d made clear that night), and I’d just thrown away a four-year relationship with the guy I thought I was gonna marry.
And for what?
It was not as if Blake had shown any kind of real care or concern; after I’d left the event, he’d not even been in touch, not once.
Neither had Greg, and I was way too guilty and nervous to make first contact. I’d been planning to write him a long letter, but every time I attempted to think of what I wanted to say, the words and thoughts and feelings all just jumbled up into such a big tangled frustrating ball of nonsense that, once again, I’d find myself curled up and sobbing into one of the many colorful throw pillows, here on Fallon’s couch, the place I’d been camped out all week.
No, the only calls I’d been getting recently were from Mom and Pop — ringing two or three times a day, leaving voicemails when I didn’t answer, and each time trying to convince me to come back home, “just for a few weeks.”
But of course I knew deep down that what they really wanted was to have me back in Glenbrook Falls for good. Mom had even braved the computer, sending me a series of chatty emails, full of small town gossip, fake cheeriness, all the while dropping hints that there was a job going in Sylvia’s Boutique on Main Street, whenever I wanted it – the very same part-time position I’d taken at weekends during high school.
The only thing more pathetic than hiding on Fallon’s sofa in my pajamas, crying, would be to actually run back to Glenbrook Falls.
Pull yourself together.
I looked up at the clock — 9 a.m.
Blake might not have been in touch, but as far as I was aware at least, I still had my job. He’d only seen Greg storm out. He probably thought we’d had a lovers’ quarrel, and that I was keeping my head down, embarrassed about the scene we’d created at his party.
I wasn’t about to lose my job, on top of everything else.
No, today I would work extra hard, and then, at seven this evening when I knew Greg had left for work, I would go over to the apartment and finally pick up a bag or two of fresh clothes.
I was just pulling my laptop up on top of the covers and settling in to do my morning’s work in my PJs, when I heard my phone ringing. I looked at it, sitting on Fallon’s grey and yellow rug:
Blake Matthews calling.
My hand shot out for it, automatically, then paused in midair.
I felt like I was caught between two different urges — on the one hand, here was the guy who’d inadvertently ended my relationship, a guy who I never wanted to see again. But at the same time, I reminded myself, this was my boss too, and unless I really felt like working in retail again, or going back to grovel at Marianne’s feet, cap in hand, then I totally needed to answer that call.
With a heavy heart, I picked up the phone on its fourth ring, swiping my thumb across the touchscreen then lifting it to my ear.
“Hello?” I said, casually as I could, as if perhaps I’d not read the Caller ID first.
“Jessica,” Blake said, his deep sonorous voice sending a flash of electricity through me as my mind span back to the sensation of his expert touch between my legs. “Listen, I’m sorry I’ve not been in touch, and I’m sorry about dropping you in it with Greg. I take it he didn’t know you’d changed jobs?”
“Yeah, well, that’s kind of academic now,” I muttered. “We, um, we broke up.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” It sounded as if there was genuine concern in his voice. “But did you really think he was right for you?”
A long pause, as I puzzled over how to answer such a direct question.
Maybe he’s right.
After all, a guy like Blake didn’t get where he was in business without possessing razor-sharp instincts.
I realized that in this whole week I’d spent crying and wishing Greg would change his mind, I hadn’t even asked myself that question. Hearing Blake’s voice once again had suddenly brought the world into sharp focus, and I remembered how alive I’d felt at his touch; stirring something deep inside me, making me realize there was a lot more out there that I was still to experience.
And I remembered again all the ways things hadn’t been right between Greg and I: our sex life, the way we didn’t laugh like we used to, or even talk to each other anymore, not really. And I knew that if things had been right, then I never would have had to lie to him in the first place.
Blake’s right.
“I guess he wasn’t, no,” I answered finally, truthfully.
Saying it aloud finally made it real, and I felt like I was released from the spell of misery I’d been under all week.
“Good,” he said. “I like to get what I want, but I’m not in the business of breaking up relationships,” he said firmly.
What does he mean by that?
I didn’t know what to say.
I was lost in a thought, a thought that took over my whole body.
Am I what he wants?
“We’ll meet for lunch. Today. We’re entering the final stage of the project now, and I need to make sure everything’s on track ... Not that I don’t tru
st you,” he continued, his tone suddenly light and friendly, as if he was completely unaware of how much his words had sent me into a tailspin.
“Sure,” I murmured. “Sounds great.”
“Fantastic. Juliet will let you know the address. Looking forward to it.”
And just like that he hung up the phone.
With a sudden burst of energy, I pushed back the covers and sprang up off the sofa, rushing through Fallon’s kitsch, colorful front room, trying not to accidentally step on the vinyl LPs and 7”s that seemed to be everywhere, in order to get to the bathroom.
As I reached for my toothbrush, it dawned on me that apart from the now-ruined, rain-soaked silk APC dress that I’d been wearing the night I’d knocked pathetically on her door, five days ago, I didn’t actually have any clothes of my own here.
Fallon had said I could borrow anything I needed, and I was already wearing her pajamas, but until now I hadn’t even thought about leaving the apartment.
I was going to have to take her up on her offer ...
§
The sumptuous restaurant was dimly lit and surprisingly busy, the room full of the low murmur of conversation and the soft tinkle of piano keys from the immaculately dressed pianist seated at the baby grand in the corner.
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair.
The kinds of places Blake had taken me to before had been expensive, sure, exclusive even, but they’d also been kind of cool, too.
This one was different. For a start, I seemed to be the youngest person in here by about forty years. Even the staff seemed absolutely ancient. The décor was all velvet, heavy gold mirrors, and candelabras. I didn’t understand half the items on the menu, and as for the complicated arrangement of cutlery on the table before me, I hadn’t a clue where to begin.
In one of my new expensive outfits, I might have stood half a chance of not sticking out like a sore thumb in this place.
But in skinny black jeans, a leather jacket and a Bikini Kill t-shirt, I was drawing disapproving looks from practically the whole room.
Girl After Dark Page 35
