Crash Ride

by T Gephart

  When I got Ash’s front door I remembered that I had left my bracelet in Troy’s apartment. Which was a lie. It was sitting at the bottom of my purse with a broken clasp.

  I was going right to hell; sadly at this point, I didn’t care.

  Ash very kindly offered to let me into Troy’s apartment with the spare key he kept at their place—something I’d hoped for. Cue me exiting Troy’s bathroom with the bracelet triumphantly dangling between my fingers. We left, with me pulling the door shut behind me, and said our goodbyes in the hallway.

  Two things didn’t happen. One, I didn’t pull Troy’s door all the way shut.

  I gently eased the door just enough into the jamb to catch but not enough for the lock to engage. The second thing was I didn’t leave.

  Instead, I pretended to walk away and then promptly returned to Troy’s door. My relaxed strut probably making me look like a catwalk reject from fashion week, but at least I wasn’t sprinting.

  God, I hoped no one actually watched the surveillance footage.

  Once I was at Troy’s front door, all that was required was a gentle push and boom, I was in.

  My rap sheet now included wild sex with a rock star and breaking and entering. There goes the neighborhood.

  So I was inside; now, what the hell I was supposed to do? Pacing nervously only held my attention so far before I gave up to the magnetic pull of his bed.

  I was discreet at first, kicking off my shoes and crawling slowly over his covers to his pillows. Their intoxicating scent overwhelmed me as I nuzzled them.

  Insanity—the only explanation as to why I was on my hands and knees, ass in the air with my face in his pillow. Thank you sweet baby Jesus no one walked in sparing me the what-the-fuck moment.

  Somewhere in between taking off my clothes and rubbing myself all over his sheets — yeah I did it, don’t judge me—I fell asleep.

  Maybe it was the tension, or perhaps pure exhaustion, but instead of a light doze, I fell into something close to resembling a coma. It wasn’t until I heard a very loud “Holy Shit” that I was awakened from my peaceful slumber.

  No need to guess what happened next. My oh-it-can’t-be-that-good-I-must-have-imagined-the-toe-curling-orgasms was blown right out of the water. How could it keep getting better? How could he know exactly what to do and when to make my eyes roll back into my head? How was I ever going to willingly give this up? Whatever trouble I thought I had been in before had doubled in magnitude now.

  So my fate had been sealed. I would be damned to mediocre sex with other men because that had been my last hurrah with Troy. He made me come so hard, I actually cried. Mourning the orgasms that would no longer echo through my body and overwhelmed by every nerve ending in my body feeling like it was on fire.

  It had never been like that, not like that.

  And it hadn’t been just the sex. The seemingly bleak caseload I was juggling, and the mountain of guilt I was battling had me on a hair trigger and I was primed for an explosion. It should have been awkward—crying after sex in front of Troy Harris— but strangely, it wasn’t. He made me feel safe and he was cool enough to not get all weird after. No questions were asked, he just held me in his arms.

  Which is why it could never happen again. I couldn’t lose him. Never feeling him again inside me was a horrendous thought, but what would be so much worse was if we ended up hating each other. I really liked him and it wasn’t just sexual, and there was no way I would jeopardize that.

  Cold turkey, I repeated my mantra. It was the only way.

  ****

  Avoiding Troy wasn’t going to work. Apart from the fact he was deeply involved with my best friend’s soon-to-be husband, he was also going to be the best man to my maid of honor. What was I going to do? Pretend he had cooties? I could be around him, not strip naked and drop to my knees. It just took practice.

  I buried myself in work. Even though I missed his beautiful enigmatic smile, the time away made me stronger, more prepared to deal with the attraction I was denying. It could totally be done. Totally.

  “My parents are assholes. This whole therapy shit blows and I don’t need you. I hate them for making me come here. Am I supposed to sit and cry like a fucking loser?”

  All thought of Troy vaporized as I looked over at the skinny, fair headed boy who sat in the chair opposite me. Brad Hemsworth had been discharged yesterday into the care of his parents. His release had hinged on regular therapy sessions with me, as well as very close monitoring by his folks. It was either that or he would be admitted to a facility. He flat out refused to stay in the hospital.

  He was angry but hopefully not beyond reason. “Brad, I know you don’t want to be here and no one is going to make you talk about anything you don’t want. Why don’t we just get to know each other a little better? This is your time and we can talk about whatever it is you want to talk about.”

  He got out of his chair and started to pace around the room. “How about we talk about you convincing my folks I’m not going to slit my wrists or take a bunch of pills. I made a mistake. I’m not taking your mind-altering drugs either. I swear it’s a way for them to control me. I’m not about to be dumbed down on Ritalin.”

  My eyes followed his agitated, twitchy movements as he paced, while I remained in my chair. I stayed calm, neutral. “Brad, first of all, I’m a psychologist not a psychiatrist so I can’t prescribe you anything. We just talk here, no drugs involved at all. And secondly, Ritalin is used for treatment of attention deficit disorders; it wouldn’t be effective treating depression.”

  He balled his fist at his sides; his face flushed with anger. “I’m not depressed. God, you are just as bad as my fucking parents. I wasn’t going to actually kill myself. It was a fucking mistake. Like I told the shrink in the hospital, it was a moment of weakness, I’m fine now.”

  “Brad, depression can take on many forms. Let’s not worry about the label right now, let’s talk about making you feel a little less angry.”

  It was a balancing act, knowing how much to push and when to back off, and he was putting me through my paces. I worried about him. He was severely in denial but I needed to win his trust, to get through to him. Today, however, that breakthrough wouldn’t be happening.

  I spent the rest of his appointed hour trying to coax him to a safe place, one where he felt comfortable talking to me, a place with less anger. But at the end of the sixty minutes, I wasn’t entirely sure that any of it had broken through.

  “So, we done yet?” Brad impatiently kicked the chair leg with his Converse-covered foot. He yanked at his 30 second to Mars T-shirt that looked as if it had seen better days. The worn-out jeans he was wearing were frayed at the hem. “Can I go?” he asked again, flicking his long blond bangs so they covered his tormented brown eyes.

  “We’re done for this week, you can go,” I responded, lifting myself out of my seat, smoothing out my tailored skirt as I stood. “I’ll see you next week.”

  “Yeah, whatever.” Brad sunk his hands into his pockets and walked out of my office.

  His exit gave me permission to sink back into my chair and let my head drop into my hands, mentally and emotionally exhausted. The blue painted walls of my office were not as bright as they used to be, my large wooden desk was filled with notes and files that would take at least another hour or two to put in order. Some days were harder than others, and today had been a difficult day.

  My cell buzzed silently on my desk and I welcomed the distraction, reaching across and answering it without bothering to check who was on the other end.

  “Megs,” Ashlyn’s excited voice broke through my mental fog, “tell me you have no plans tonight.”

  “Ash, it’s a Wednesday. What plans would I have?”

  “I wasn’t sure if you’d set up your hot date with coffee boy yet.” Ash laughed, I had almost forgotten about him and my faux dating interest.

  “I’m playing hard to get,” I joked. “What’s up?”

  “Hannah, James’s wi
fe, is having a little engagement dinner for us at their house. Nothing fancy, just the band really and their significant others, but you have to come.”

  Great. That would be a perfect punctuation mark to an already crappy day. An evening spent avoiding Troy and pretending like hanging out with Power Station was no big deal. No one was that convincing. I mentally waved my fist in the air and mouthed, “Fuck you” to the universe.

  “Ash, I don’t really know her that well. Besides, you said it yourself. It’s a band thing.”

  “Hello? I’m sorry but where is my friend Megs?” Ash sarcastically slurred into the phone.

  “Very funny. I just think maybe that you should probably go without me. Besides, my laundry hamper needs some serious attention.” I cringed at my bogus excuse. Why hadn’t my brain manufactured something better? A case report that needed to be written or a patient review that needed to be read, anything other than laundry. I might as well have said I was washing my hair.

  “Did you fall and hit your head?” She almost shouted through the phone. “This is Power Station. I’d have thought you’d be so excited that you would be humping my leg, not making lame excuses not to go.”

  She wasn’t wrong; a few months ago that very reaction might have been accurate. “Ash, I’m not going to start using you to get to the band, that wouldn’t be cool. It’s fine, go have a good time.”

  “Okay, stop that. I know we joke about your love for the band, but I have never felt used nor do I think you would ever do that.” She took a breath before continuing. “Is there something else going on? I know I have been a bit wedding obsessed lately; I’m sorry if there is stuff that I’ve missed.”

  I weighed her words for a minute, glad she had missed the change between Troy and I, the subtle glances between us. No one else needed to be tied up in that mess. Seems you can’t play the it’s-only-sex game with someone who is so intimately woven into your life. Troy had tried to convince me of that very idea early on. I hadn’t wanted to hear it. Well, it was really fucking obvious now.

  Humor was my go-to in my bag of tricks, that and sarcasm. I employed them both in equal measures. My dad, in the past, accused me of using them as diversionary tactics; he wasn’t wrong. “Well, I didn’t want to say anything, but your perpetual happiness is kind of annoying. You think you can kick it down a notch?”

  Ashlyn laughed, thankfully not pressing the issue any further. “I promise to be less happy if you come. I might even manage a frown.”

  “Now who is sounding like they hit their head?”

  “Well, Dr. Winters, I didn’t want to have to pull out the big guns but you’ve left me no choice. I need you to be there. I love Dan, but being in his world still feels kind of awkward. Pretending that those guys weren’t a big deal was a hell of a lot easier when I didn’t have to see them up close. I’m a realist and it’s tough being in love with someone that comes with all of that. I know it’s my hang up and whatever weirdness I feel is worth it, but I need you in my corner. I also need for you to know just because I’m with him it doesn’t mean I’m no longer with you. I’m not going to join the rock-star-wives-club the minute I marry Dan and forget who I am.”

  “I knew there had to be a club. It’s probably for the best you aren’t joining though; organized groups were never your thing.”

  “So are you going to quit being a dumbass, and help me even out the ratio of people featured on MTV verses people not featured on MTV?”

  The magic words “I need you” was all Ashlyn had to say. All jokes aside, there wasn’t a lot I wouldn’t do for her, even if it meant making myself uncomfortable. She was like the sister I’d never had, balancing out my crazy as I pushed her out of her comfort zone.

  “Sweetie, if it’s that important to you, of course I will come. Although, I will say it’s rather hurtful you think I’m not going to be on MTV. I can play the hell out of the recorder and that shit is poised to be the next big thing.”

  “You know you’re leaving yourself wide open here for jokes about oral skills.”

  “Wow, Ash, I think you’ve spent too much time with Dan and he has burrowed inside your brain. If you start calling me a douchebag, I’m telling you right now, I’m going to stage an intervention.”

  “Deal.” Ash’s tone did little to hide how delighted she was. “We can come and pick you up around seven.”

  While I was prepared to sit across from Troy Harris and not sleep with and/or pretend I hadn’t slept with him, I also needed the means for a quick escape. Sure, in a perfect world things wouldn’t get weird but if they did, at least I could say my goodbyes and privately berate myself for my stupidity.

  “Actually, it might be easier if I borrowed my mom’s car. It’s just sitting in the garage since Dad whisked my mom to Providence for some romantic mid-week getaway. I cringe at the thought of them having sex, so I have convinced myself all they will be doing is antiquing and exploring lighthouses.” Thank you parents for having a healthy relationship, which has taken you out of state.

  Not that it would have been a problem to use either of their vehicles; it was just easier without the third degree. My father still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that I didn’t own one myself. I lived in Manhattan. Enough said.

  “Blissful ignorance, huh?” Ash laughed. Having been around my parents, she knew they were more likely to be holed in a charming Bed and Breakfast enjoying adult time, rather than scaling a narrow, winding staircase of a decrepit lighthouse. “Okay, I’ll text you the address.”

  “Awesome.” It was so not awesome. “I’ll see you there.”

  We ended the call and I closed my eyes. The soft leather of my office chair cushioned my head as I leaned back against it. It was time to get over myself and do what I said I was capable of doing. Remain calm, unaffected and enjoy my evening regardless of Troy being there or not. It was ridiculous. I was ridiculous. I was not going to let a moment—okay, several moments— of weakness ruin my night. I would pull up my big girl panties, put my money where my mouth was, practice what I preached, and any other cheesy analogies I could use to tell myself that I would be okay.

  The breath I had unconsciously been holding slowly spilled from my lips and I felt my body slowly relax. It would be okay; I repeated it in my head. It had to be, because the only thing worse than seeing Troy Harris and it being weird would be to never see him again. That would crush me more than I cared to admit.

  Megs hadn’t called, sent a message or shown up naked on my doorstep in days. All of that —especially the last part—really fucking sucked. Yeah, we both knew we had to cool it and get back to friend zone, but it agitated me.

  Why? Who the fuck knew. What I did know was the past few days while we were on radio silence, I was pissed off, worked up and so fucking edgy I was wondering if I should just sit down with whatever Oprah’s latest book club recommendation was and feed my face with Ho-Ho’s.

  The more I tried, the less I was able to get her off my mind. Thinking about what a cool chick she was and wondering what she was doing. Yeah, all the bullshit what-ifs weren’t helping; instead it was giving me an even bigger head fuck.

  We’d had sex. Big deal. True, it had been monumental sex, but we agreed that’s all it was. It’s not like I was never going to have that again. Well obviously not with her, but my dick hadn’t fallen off and I hadn’t suddenly turned into a fugly mutant.

  I could get laid any time I wanted. As much as I wanted. With anyone that I wanted. I was living the fucking dream, and I needed to remind myself of how good my life was. There were men who would kill to be in my place. I couldn’t even begin to describe how awesome things were.

  Right, just keep telling yourself that buddy and you might actually believe that shit.

  Megs. Yep, and we were back to that. Should I have called her? I’m not the kind of asshole who fucks a girl and then doesn’t call. That had been Dan’s M.O., pre-Ashlyn days of course. We were in some lame ass limbo of being friends but not talking to each oth
er. It made zero sense to me.

  Fuck. This call-or-don’t-call bullshit was giving me a headache. I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes, wishing I had a magic eight ball or something.

  “Yeah.” My phone had been blowing up all morning and I’d finally decided to give it reprieve.

  “Hey, man.” It was James, not Megs, and fuck if I was disappointed. Wanting to hear from her more than I cared to admit. “Hannah has decided we need to have a dinner to celebrate Dan finally putting a ring on it. My place, tonight.”

  “Funny, I didn’t hear that as a question.”

  “Probably because it wasn’t.”

  “Dude, I still remember the last time your wife was pregnant. That Jekyll and Hide thing fucking scares the crap out of me.”

  “Good, we’ll expect you then. Seven o’clock and Hannah said don’t be late.”

  Not even going to pretend to know how a chick can turn from happy to murderous on a dime, but one thing was for sure—you do not mess with it, ever. No, seriously. That’s some prehistoric survival shit. It was easier to agree than have my balls ripped off.

  “Yep, I’ll be there at seven.” Guess my evening was set.

  ****

  My new Lambo slid in beside Stone’s Escalade and Jase’s Mustang. Sure, it got like five miles to the gallon and probably elevated me to douchebag status, but driving it got my mind off all things blonde and beautiful. I’d take the win when I could.

  Dan’s Benz was parked on the other side of the driveway along side a flash, high-end red Lexus sedan. Huh? Who the hell drove a Lexus? Fuck it. The owner of the corporate coffin didn’t rate high on my give-a-shit meter. Snagging the large white box that had been sitting on my passenger seat, I climbed out of my car and strolled to the front door.

  “You’re late.” Hannah stood in the open doorway. The hands on her hips clueing me in she was less than pleased.

  “Sorry, Han, traffic was a bitch until I got out of Manhattan.” My head dipped and I gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I brought dessert. Dan’s favorite.” I grinned, tapping the box in my hand.