Floor Time

by Liz Crowe

  “Okay, Jack, let’s have one more and call it a night.” Jack pulled a chair near his and stared hard at the woman who took a seat in it.

  “Hey, you know, you are hot, but –” He leaned away and grabbed his now buzzing phone. “Damn. What the fuck is her problem, anyway?” He threw the device back down on the concrete surface. The room had taken on the warm, fuzzy parameters of impending drunkenness.

  Evan pulled the beer away from him. “Hey, buddy, have you eaten much today?” He put the water glass in its place.

  “So, Jack, what’s her name?” Suzanne returned, ignoring the drunk, tall woman leaning on Jack’s shoulder.

  “Sara,” he said into the woman’s hair. She lifted her head and crashed right into Jack’s face. “Jesus!” He clutched at his nose.

  “Hey, my name’s Heather, asshole.”

  “Sara Thornton,” he said to Suzanne.

  Suzanne frowned.

  “Yeah, sorry, sweets. Blake’s sister.” He had his arm back around Heather and his lips on her neck. Evan burst out laughing. Suzanne’s face reddened. “Small world, eh?” She opened her mouth to speak. “Whoa, tiger, hold on a minute.” Jack removed Heather’s hand as it settled on his zipper. She giggled and tried to kiss him but he turned away. Suzanne stomped off.

  Evan came around from behind the bar and pulled Jack out of Heather’s clutches. “Okay, let’s call it a night, eh, kids?” He helped Jack to his feet. “I’ve called a Lyft for you, Gordon, and one for you too, dear.” He flashed a smile at the woman still sitting dejectedly at the bar.

  “Thanks, sorry, I… um, thanks.” Jack was no lightweight. But something had happened to him tonight he couldn’t explain. He was indeed drunk, but misery settled around his heart, making it that much worse. Until he had a thought.

  “It’s not like you haven’t done the same for me, you know.” Evan guided Jack out to the waiting car, making sure Heather didn’t climb in next to him. He slammed the door shut but leaned into the open window and grabbed Jack’s shoulder. “Go home, sleep it off, and we’ll talk more tomorrow.”

  The ghostly odor of a newly familiar perfume pierced Jack’s foggy brain. He gave the cabbie a different address and flopped back into the seat, unsure yet utterly sure of what he was doing.

  Sara sipped her wine as her favorite playlist blasted through the condo. She tapped around on the laptop, killing time on social media, bragging about her latest real estate triumphs, bullshitting about how great she felt right now. She glanced at the nearly empty wine bottle on the coffee table.

  Wow, way to be a loser.

  Setting the computer aside, she took the bottle and glass into the kitchen. As she reached for a water bottle a loud, prolonged banging on her door made her knock her not-quite-empty glass to the floor, shattering it and sending dark purple liquid flying across the room.

  “Well, shit.” She stared at the mess in disbelief as the knocking continued.

  Who the hell?

  “Coming already, keep your pants on. Ow! Christ!” She yelped at sudden pain in her foot, hopped over to the door, and glared out of the peephole. Jack leaned on the pillar outside her condo, a wide grin on his face. She leaned her forehead against the door.

  Don’t let him in… Don’t let him in… Don’t let him in…

  She unlatched the door, and opened it a crack.

  “What do you want?”

  He put a hand on the doorjamb. She could smell the beer on him. “Oh, I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop in.”

  Sara peered behind him. “What did you do, walk?” she demanded.

  “Nope, Lyft. Gotta love the gig economy, am I right?” He put his other hand out to cup her chin. Sara shivered at his touch. “May I come in?”

  “Only if you help clean up the mess you caused.” She swung the door open. He was drunk, but her foot hurt and was bleeding all over the place. She didn’t feel like standing here arguing with him. The place was a wreck, as usual, but fuck him if he cared.

  Turning back to the small dining area, she hobbled over to the table, sat and inspected the glass sticking out from her arch. As she prepared to yank out the shard Jack’s large hand covered hers.

  “Wait, babe, where’s your first aid stuff?” he insisted, striding into the kitchen as if he owned it. “You don’t want to do that until you have a Band-Aid handy.” He started to open drawers and doors. She frowned as he grabbed a paper towel and ran it under the faucet before returning to sit in front of her, bandage, paper towel, and ancient tube of first aid cream in hand. “Here, let me.” He brushed her hand away.

  Sara stared at him, then sat back and let him put her foot on his lap, ignoring the zinging sensations his touch always caused. He removed the shard and pressed the wet towel over the cut. She bit her lip against the pain. A contented feeling settled over her like a warm blanket at the concept of him helping her, taking care of her, cherishing her in a way she’d always dreamed about. She had to remind herself to breathe.

  They sat in silence as his presence overpowered her small, chaotic space. After a minute, he removed the bloody towel, spread some of the ointment on the bandage and placed it over her arch, then ran a hand across the top of her foot and up her calf. She bent her leg and let him, relishing his nearness, before she snapped to and yanked her foot off his lap. Her every nerve ending commanded her to wrap herself around him, anything to keep him here.

  No, Sara, get a grip! Go deal with the mess and get him out of here.

  She got up and turned toward the kitchen without a word, determined to clean up the spill and glass and ignore him until he told her why he was here in the middle of the night.

  “Um, Sara?”

  “What?” It came out harsher than she wanted.

  “You might want to put on some shoes or something.” He indicated the glass shards twinkling on the white linoleum floor. Sara squeezed her eyes shut to keep from speaking. “You’re welcome, by the way,” Jack said as he followed her into the least-used room in her home.

  “Thanks,” she muttered as she found a pair of flip-flops and her broom and dustpan, and started sweeping up the worst of the glass. Jack walked past her, opened up the cabinet beneath her sink, and emerged with some cleaning spray. “You don’t have to do that.” She watched him remove the burgundy-colored Rorschach test-like pattern covering the wall.

  “No, it’s okay. My fault, like you said.” He grinned at her and her heart skipped a beat. She bent back to her task. He gave the surface one last swipe, put the cleaner back where he found it and looked around in the obvious places for a garbage bin.

  “Oh, yeah. Here.” She plucked the wine stained towel out of his hand and crossed the kitchen in three strides. Opening the door between it and the small garage, she deposited everything into the bin she had put outside earlier that morning, rather than to try and sort out why it had stunk so badly. Her head spun from a combination of too much wine, too little food and Jack’s continued presence. Shoulders squared, she re-entered the kitchen only to find it empty.

  She peered into the living room and saw him, feet propped on the coffee table, her computer on his lap. Anger surged up from her throat. “Find anything you like?” She plopped on the couch next to him and retrieved the laptop, terrified he’d discover her recent Google searches about him.

  He put his hands behind his head and looked up at her ceiling, unnerving her with silence. She curled her feet under her and retreated to the opposite end of the leather surface. “Well?” She tried to control the tremor in her voice. “Why are you here? Lose everything at poker night and need a loan? I’m busy, if you must know. I’ve got the potential for three great transactions from one referral, but they’re commission cutters and I’m trying to figure it out –” She stopped as Jack reached out and put his finger over her lips. His touch made her shiver. But he moved away again and rubbed his forehead with both hands before standing up to go into the kitchen. “I need water.”

  She stared at the screen. A
n email dinged, making her change focus. The damn sellers again, telling her they’d only pay her five percent since she was “getting” two houses to list out of their deal.

  Sara resolved then and there to not let him lay a finger on her again no matter how badly her body clamored for it. She was selling herself short with this guy out of pure animal lust. It was time to regain some control. She had no time for all this crazy, obsessive, immature behavior.

  She turned the music back on as she made the calculations to justify her company’s marketing fee to the cheapskates who wanted her to work for essentially nothing to sell their houses. When her fingers shook and her skin prickled she knew that Jack had returned to the room.

  She ignored him, with some effort, until he squatted down in front of her and took the computer off her lap. Hands clasped together, she allowed her struggle to stay angry to take over – it was the only thing keeping her from launching herself into his arms. She could smell the combination of beer, his citrusy cologne, and lust wrap around her.

  Her foot throbbed where she’d skewered it providing her with a modicum of distraction. She tried to calm her racing heartbeat, but refused to meet his eyes. He sighed, stood back up, sat next to her, and proceeded to give her a lecture on why her services were worth a full six percent of the sale price. Sara listened, awed by his logical argument.

  “Wait, Jack, let me get this down.” She reached for her computer, intent on capturing the words tumbling out of his mouth. After typing furiously, asking questions, and formulating her argument for nearly twenty minutes, she closed the computer with a snap and looked up at him. His eyes shone as he gazed at her. Nervous and uncomfortable all of a sudden, she tugged at her ponytail and started to ease away from him. Without a word, he reached for her arm and pulled her closer.

  You want this, New Sara cooed in her ear. Let him do what he came here to do.

  Jack kept tugging at her arm in silence until she was nestled in his lap, his arms circling her body, his lips near her ear. He released her hair from its holder and ran his hands through it, brushing it back from her face.

  She took a breath as his mouth hovered over hers and resisted the urge to grasp his neck and make him kiss her. He brushed his lips over hers before retreating to stare at the ceiling again. Sara let herself remain curled in his lap, breathing him in. Let her mind touch briefly on the protected sensation she had in his arms before scurrying away in terror.

  Jack is not your protector. He only wants to get laid. And you keep letting him. Her brain kept up the lecturing and she stiffened in his arms as he spoke.

  “Sara, I’m sorry,” he said to the ceiling.

  “Huh?”

  “Let me finish.” He leveled his deep blue gaze at her and she fell into it, unwilling to move from her spot cradled in his arms. Her skin broke out in goose bumps at his next words.

  “You deserve better than how I’ve been treating you.” He held her gaze. “You’re special. I’m a shit. Not a nice guy. I should leave you alone.” He shook his head as if trying to clear it. “But I can’t leave you alone. I just can’t.” He paused. “And I’ve had way too much to drink.” His jaw clenched as he trailed off.

  She extracted herself from his arms with reluctance, but needing to get her bearings outside of the circle of his scent. He was admitting stuff she had longed to hear, but somehow it was freaking her out instead of soothing her. She sat beside him and leaned forward. He joined her, mirroring her posture at the edge of the couch.

  “I’m not an easy guy to love, or even really like,” he said to his clasped hands. “I know that, and I won’t give you a shitload of sad sack stories about how my parents ignored or criticized me into the man I am now.” He snorted. “Hell, I’d barely tolerate me if I didn’t have to.” Sara felt his gaze on her but kept her eyes trained on the floor. “What I know right now is that there is something about you, Sara Thornton, that has me spinning in circles. It pisses me the fuck off, if you must know.” He leaned back again and pulled her next to him. She started to talk but he silenced her by tilting her face up for a brief kiss. “Shut up. Let me finish,” he muttered, taking his lips from hers.

  Sara started to stand up but Jack pulled her back. “Sit down, please, I…” He stopped. “I can’t even do this right.”

  Sara bit back the urge to speak.

  “I have thousands of people who consider me a friend. I’m invited to events, parties, and shit every single weekend. But I only have two, maybe three people on the planet I ever really talk to. That I truly trust.” He swallowed and turned his face to hers as they sat side by side on the couch. “I need something more. I don’t know if the universe contrived for us to meet last year at that condo, with Adam Asshole Mortgage Guy at your shoulder.” She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but he put his finger over her lips again. “Wait. Hang on. I’ll let you have the mic in a minute.” He rubbed his forehead again. It was creased with worry lines and her hands itched to touch them, smooth them out, to ease his obvious stress.

  “I don’t understand why you keep pulling away from me,” finally blurted out as he stood up, towering over her. “I mean…I do, but…Shit.” He turned and headed into the kitchen, presumably for more water.

  When he didn’t return for a few minutes, Sara walked to the doorway and watched as he sat at her small breakfast bar running his hands through his hair. Her heart raced again as she walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. He grabbed it, kissed her palm and stood up in one smooth motion, tugging her to him. She sighed as he covered her mouth with his but broke the contact and pushed back on his chest to hold him at arm’s length.

  “Jack,” she said, fighting New Sara’s urge to jump into his arms and make him carry her to bed. “Listen, I’m not a coddler, okay? I’ve been on my own long enough that I buy myself flowers, make my own pancake breakfasts, and am more than a little emotionally constipated. I don’t know how to give up control, if you must know. And the fact that I even want to…” She moved her hands from their position on his shoulders up around his neck, letting him hold her close. “You scare me,” she muttered into his chest. “I’m actually terrified of how I feel about you right now, standing here with you. I don’t want to get hurt.” Tears stung her eyes but she forced them back. “I don’t know what I want. But I know you’ve done something to me. And it scares me, too. But it fascinates me at the same time. Kind of like you.”

  “Well, hell, darlin’, that makes two of us,” he whispered into her hair. “I guess we’ll just have to work through our fear together, eh? I’m willing to try, if you are.” He kissed her before she could answer. She yelped when he scooped her up. “Where the hell is the bedroom?”

  Could it be, really? Jack Gordon wants me? For what? A girlfriend? A lover? Wife?

  Holy shit. Blake is going to kill me.

  Jack put her down and sat on the bed, tugging her onto his lap so close she had no choice but to straddle him. He smiled when she pushed him back before crawling up to his lips.

  “Jesus, woman, I have no business getting hard. I am so goddamned drunk, but you,” he growled into her ear. “You could make a dead man come, to quote Jagger and company.” He yanked her t-shirt up and pulled a nipple into his mouth.

  “Jack,” Sara started, eyes closed as her body clenched in anticipation. “Are you even gonna remember any of this tomorrow?” She sat up and glared into his darkening eyes. He propped himself on his elbows.

  “Yes,” he said, simply, and pulled her back down, rolled her over, and held her wrists down on the bed. She squirmed in anticipation. He took a minute to kiss her deeply, his tongue invading her mouth, before moving his lips down her neck, between her breasts, and pulling her nipples erect with his lips and teeth.

  “Ah, Jack, Jesus,” she called out and yanked her arms out from his grasp and buried her hands in his hair. He kept sucking each nipple, sending blasts of erotic sensation straight to her core. “I need … this…so badly. But you…you’re…oh
God.”

  He grinned against her breast, pulled her shorts and panties aside in one quick movement and plunged two fingers inside her. “No need to wait, baby. Let me have it.” His words and touch set off a hair-trigger orgasm that momentarily deafened her. Alarmed to find herself near tears, Sara sighed. Jack removed his fingers from her body and put them in his mouth.

  “Okay, I think you’re really ready for me now.” He started to unzip his jeans but stopped. “Oh, shit, I, um, I didn’t bring anything.”

  “Never fear, lover.” She sat up, unzipped him and yanked his jeans and boxer briefs down over his hips. “I’m gonna return the favor.”

  He laid back as she slipped her lips down his shaft, pulling, sucking, relishing the taste and essence of him.

  “Ah, sweet Jesus.” He fisted his hands in her hair as she cupped his balls in her hand. His hips started moving against her. But he stopped, and pulled her back up. “No, I want to come inside you, now,” he declared. “But I…”

  “I’ve got something. You get all the way undressed, Mister.” Sara pulled her clothes off under his admiring gaze and checked her bedside drawer. Nothing. She ran into the living room to look in her purse. Empty. At the last minute, she ran into the bathroom, scrabbled around in the drawers, and came up with a condom packet. She stopped to run a brush through her hair and grinned at herself in the mirror.

  Jack Gordon, eh? Well, at least she’d always have great real estate advice when she needed it, not to mention some of the best fucking she’d ever…

  The sound of a massive snore rolled through the room, stopping her in her tracks. She sighed and opened the door, leaning in the entry as the man who had sort of confessed that he might very possibly love her lay on his back, completely naked, his mouth open, sound asleep.

  Sara jolted awake to what sounded like cars crashing and loud cursing from the vicinity of her kitchen. She sat up, rubbed her eyes, and took in the rumpled side of the bed where Jack had passed out on top of the covers. Glancing down at her naked body, she smiled with the memory of last night’s actual discussion. They’d made actual, grown-up level progress. Her smile widened as she grabbed a robe and wrapped it around herself.