by S. Layne
My mind is reeling and I open my mouth to speak, but he beats me to it.
“And no. I’m not going to talk to you about it.” One edge of his lip curls into a sneer. His voice is icy and a shiver breaks out on my skin. “We’re not going to talk about our jobs or our families. What I’m going to do is take you to my bed and fuck you until you pass out.”
He’s already warned me that’s what this was.
Somehow, in the office it seemed like a great idea.
My brain must have been hazy from the orgasm he so perfectly delivered.
In the confines of the elevator, on our way to his place, with his cold eyes chilling my veins, it screams ‘mistake.’
The elevator stops and the doors chime as they open.
Liam extends a hand to me.
I shake my head.
“I can’t,” I blurt out. I’m not this girl. I have never had a fuck-buddy, or whatever this is turning into, and I have never wanted one.
I’ve always had James.
And right now, the energy prickling the air between us is more terrifying than intriguing.
There’s no way I can be with someone—no matter how good they are at sex and delivering orgasms efficiently and powerfully—if they don’t let me in.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him and slide toward the back of the elevator. “I can’t do this.”
Liam’s lips curl into something dangerous and the energy spikes in the air. “I’m not going to stand here and beg you, Laurie, but I’ll tell you one more time. Come inside and let me screw this uncertainty out of you.” His hand reaches out and combs through my hair.
I resist the urge to melt into him. The touch is comforting and alluring, but I fight it.
“I want you.”
“I know.” I swallow the cotton balls lodged in my throat. I wave my hand toward his waist. “And I’m sorry I won’t return the favor of what you did earlier, but I’m not…this isn’t me. And I can’t continue like it is.”
His hand drops and his lips press together. With a nod, he takes a step away, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Very well then. Goodnight.”
And then he leaves. I watch him walk down the hallway until the elevators close, making him disappear from my view.
I sink back into the wall and push the button for the elevator to take me back to my car.
He never once looked back.
I don’t know if I’m relieved or hurt that he walked away so easily.
The realization that I don’t mean anything to him, even with all his talk of fucking and screwing, breaks something inside of me.
My house feels cold and lifeless when I walk in from the garage and through the mudroom.
Exhaustion presses down on my shoulders as I listlessly move through the large open space, kicking my shoes to the floor and dropping my purse and work bag on the kitchen table.
I don’t have the energy required to bend down and put my things away where they belong.
And it’s not like James is going to come home and trip over them, cursing like he used to, until I got better about putting my shoes away.
Thinking of James, I feel my eyes begin to burn. The flowers and his message were sweet. Closing my eyes, I can almost see him wandering through a florist shop, his shoulders hunched and his brow furrowed as he tried to decide which flowers to choose and what to write on his note to me.
We have history.
And I no longer know if I’ve completely thrown it away for something meaningless.
Shaking off the thought, I forego a decent a dinner, too tired to cook, and grab a bottle of wine.
With the bottle and a glass in my hand, I grab my phone on the way to living room and plop myself down on the couch.
I fill up my glass, set it on the coffee table in front of me, and flip my phone in my hands.
I should thank James.
I should apologize for leading Liam on.
I should call Talia.
In the end, I toss my phone onto the table, lean back against the couch, and get lost in a Netflix binge, not stopping until my wine is gone—when I’m sufficiently, depressingly drunk, and pass out.
“Ugh.”
I wake up when sunlight through the living room windows makes me flinch. Cringing, I slowly pull myself into a sitting position on the couch and rub the kink out of my neck.
My cell phone blinks in front of me, alerting me to missed messages or phone calls.
Then I spy the empty wine bottle and my head falls to the back of my couch.
“Never again,” I moan, my fingers pressing into my temples.
A rhythmic thumping beats inside my head and I lie still in the quiet room until it stops spinning.
As soon as I think I can stand without falling over, I push myself off the couch, cramped muscles groaning in protest.
I pick up my phone on the way to the kitchen to start a fresh pot of coffee, and as soon as that’s done, my sore legs carry me upstairs to shower.
Warm water, soap, and coffee will help my hangover. Hopefully toothpaste will wash away the taste of regret that sits heavily on my tongue.
I left Liam.
I left him with a hard-on just feet from his house, where I could have taken care of it all night long—or been taken care of repeatedly.
Either would have worked.
Both were probably on the menu.
I’ve felt more alive with him in the last week than I have in the past couple of years with James, and even though that makes me feel guilty…it makes me wonder.
Perhaps my problems with James began occurring long before Becky waltzed into the picture and spread her legs.
I think about him as I scrub my hair and body, shaving as quickly as possible, and then wrap one towel around my body and another around my hair when I’m done.
My skin feels refreshed and clean, and the throbbing in my head is down to an acceptable pain threshold by the time I’m dried off and dressed in simple yoga capris and a tank top.
My wet hair hangs heavy down my back as I make my way to the kitchen for coffee.
I take a sip and cringe as the coffee burns my lips before finally turning to my cell phone.
Resting my hip against a counter, I swipe the unlock screen with my thumb.
I freeze when I see the first text is from James.
Let me see you today. I want to talk.
My heart stutters and skips a beat.
Both of us come from families where both sets of parents have been happily married forever. Divorce doesn’t happen, and I know when I tell my parents what is going on and what I’m considering doing, I will never hear the end of it.
But all James and I have done is talk and argue, and there isn’t any new information that can be given. And yet…
Damn. My head spins.
Over fifteen years invested.
I can’t shake the thought that he’s trying and I owe him enough to listen.
My fingers shake as I begin returning the text.
Fine. Lunch at Miller’s.
He responds almost immediately, the three gray dots flashing as soon I know my message has been delivered. I can’t help but smile sadly.
12:30. See you then. … And thank you.
Scrolling through the rest of my messages, I realize there’s nothing important to return. A few jokes and memes from Talia with one hot gif embedded in a text.
Two from my mom about an upcoming benefit dinner for my dad’s business partner. His son died from leukemia a few years ago and ever since then, the more wealthy families in Ann Arbor have gotten together every year to raise money for research.
I type in a text telling her we’ll be there—implying James—and ignore the fact that there might not be a James at that event in a few weeks.
“Thank you for meeting me,” James says as I walk up to him at the sports bar where we agreed to meet. There’s nothing special about the place, but I didn’t want us to talk again at our house. I figured there’d be enough activity on a Sat
urday afternoon that we’d be able to talk without people overhearing or caring what we have to say.
I force my lips to smile.
He leans in and brushes a quick kiss against my cheek before he slides back into his side of the booth. He’s there and gone before I knew he was coming.
A ding-dong-ditch kiss.
My hands immediately find the napkin on the table and I begin shredding it. A glass of ice water and lemon is on the table in front of me and I lift my eyebrow in question. “Is this mine?”
He waves a hand. “Yep, go for it.”
“Thank you.”
I drink the cold water, trying to decide why I agreed to this.
An awkwardness settles between us—that same thick vapor that’s been rolling through our home for the last month. I look at James, examining him, while I lick the frigid water from my lips.
His hair is tucked under a baseball cap that barely serves to hide the dark purple bags under his eyes. Wisps of his black hair stick out in short curls under the hat, and sorrow begins spreading through me. James only wears hats in public when he’s stressed and not taking care of himself.
I look out the window, knowing it’s not only because of me that he’s come here looking like crap, but because of what he’s done.
I’m not forgetting that he’s not blameless in all of this.
Even with my own regret, it still hurts to look at him.
His pink lips curve down into a frown and I watch as he pulls his own glass to his mouth.
His platinum wedding band sparkles on his ring finger.
I quickly hide my left hand in my lap. It’s been bare since Chicago.
“So,” he says after a waiter has come and taken our orders and walked away. “Thank you for coming.”
I smile sadly. “You’ve already said that.”
“I know.” He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “I just…I miss you, Laurie. This week…” He pauses, shakes his head.
I sit back in the booth.
“I’m miserable. And I know this is my fault. I just want to know what we can do to fix it. Fix us.”
His hand reaches out toward mine on the table, but I snap it back into my lap.
It’s all the right words. All the right emotions. Just the wrong time.
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Why?” I ask when I can speak. My fingers tighten around the glass in front of me. “Why did you do it? And why Becky?”
I’ve asked this question a thousand times to myself and him. He has yet to give me an answer that makes sense.
“Laurie.” His voice is pleading and I recoil in my chair.
“How?” I ask. “How can you want to meet me, want to work on us, and not be able to be honest with me?” My hands go to my hair and I push it back, brushing it into a ponytail before letting go and letting it fall into a mess down my back.
I must look a wreck and my hair is most likely frizzy; I never fixed it after my shower. My hands fall to the table and I realize I don’t care.
“It just happened.”
My eyes roll to the back of my head. “I know. I’ve heard that…but why? How? And how do I know it would never happen again?” I shake my head and look away. I should leave. This isn’t helping anything.
My heart hurts seeing James so broken. He looks like he hasn’t slept all week and at one point I would have slid into the booth next to him, wrapped my arms around his neck, and comforted him.
I’m unsure of my role and it makes unease roll through my body.
Lowering my voice, I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. “If you can’t tell me how or why, I don’t know if I can trust that it will never happen again.” I shrug and shoot him a look full of nonchalance. Inside, my chest is tight and tears threaten. Nothing ever changes. “Those are the things I need to know, James. And until I hear them, until I can understand, nothing changes.”
“Please.” He reaches out and takes my hand that is tearing up the napkin. “I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have.”
I freeze under his touch and drag my tired eyes to his. “I can’t do this.”
He doesn’t let me go even though I tug on my hand. “You changed.”
Flinching, my back straightens. “Pardon me?”
James’s dark-chocolate-colored eyes swirl like whiskey and he blinks slowly. “I’m not saying it’s your fault…it’s not.” He says it with an empathetic tone, yet my body chills. “It’s just…you used to always be there for me—to listen about my day and to help me work on problems. And then once your project with the Cell started, you became consumed with it and it felt like you didn’t have time for me anymore.”
My eyes widen and I release a slow breath. He has to be joking.
“Let me get this straight,” I whisper-hiss, leaning closer. I’m on edge and adrenaline begins coursing through my veins. “I started loving my job and became excited about something I believe in, and because I was enjoying something that didn’t have anything to do with you…” I can’t continue. I yank my hand out from underneath his and begin massaging my temples. “This is insane.”
“Laurie—”
I throw my hands out, palms facing him. “I can’t believe this. You dipped your pen in the company ink…in Becky…because I like my job? Am I hearing you right now?”
James shakes his head and his hands fall from the table—hands that I used to love on me, and now…I don’t even know.
“It wasn’t right,” he admits. His hands go to his hat and he lifts it and swipes his forehead. His jaw is unshaven, something so not typical of him, but it reminds me of Liam.
I push the thought down to places I never want to think about.
This isn’t happening.
“I know it was wrong, Laurie. I just missed you. I missed feeling needed and wanted. I missed enjoying you…and Becky was there. She was always just there.” His eyes pull to mine and I see them grow wet as he talks.
His miserableness is palpable. I see his regret lined in the outer edges of his eyes and I almost feel bad being so angry with him.
In a sense, he’s right. I can think of all the times he came to me, wanting to watch a movie or television or go out, and I was too busy for him.
It doesn’t excuse it, but for months I was so wrapped up in work that everything else came second.
Yet he’s blaming me, and it’s still not okay.
“God,” I whisper and close my eyes. “This isn’t happening.”
I’m jarred back to reality when the waiter comes and delivers our cheeseburgers. They’re enormous and their fries are seasoned and spicy. Normally I love them.
My stomach churns when I inhale the smell.
“Thank you,” I mutter to the waiter, not looking at him. Or her.
I don’t even know.
“Say something,” James says when the server leaves.
“I don’t know what to say.” I watch as he takes a fry and dips it into a side of honey mustard. “It was Becky, James.”
His hand falls and his head dips forward. I can’t see him underneath his hat and I hate that I can’t read his expression.
“I know.” He chokes over his words and drags his eyes to mine. They’re wet, and my own begin to water. “It will never happen again. I haven’t touched her since, I swear. And she knows it will never happen.”
I scoff. Because how can I trust him?
“Please, Laurie. I don’t want this to end. We’ve been together forever.”
“Maybe that’s the problem.” I don’t even realize it until I’ve said it, but a dull light begins to dawn. One shoulder slowly rises and falls. “Maybe we’ve only stayed together because we’re all we’ve ever known. And maybe you don’t want Becky…but it doesn’t mean you want me either.”
My thoughts drift to Liam—to last night and all week at work. Is my attraction to him just based on some needy lust? Does it even matter anymore?
“What are you saying?”
I open my mouth to explai
n but instead I blurt, “I slept with someone.”
James’s head snaps. “What?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to tell you like this, but it happened last weekend.”
His hands go to his face and he scrubs them down, pulling on his cheeks. He stares at them as if he doesn’t recognize the feel of his own skin. “For what? Revenge? To hurt me because I hurt you?”
“No!” I clamp my teeth shut and lower my voice. “But don’t you understand? If we were really meant to be, neither of us would have been tempted. Maybe it says something.”
“You’re kidding me,” he says, his voice now carrying a tinge of anger.
I shake my head and notice we’ve both abandoned our food. We never should have come here.
“I don’t know anymore. I can’t trust you and I’m not sure I can forget either.” I slide out of the booth and drop a twenty dollar bill on the table. “I’m sorry, James. I get that you feel bad. I’m just not sure it changes anything.”
I leave him sitting at the table before the reality of what I’ve told him sinks in.
My hands are shaking by the time I reach my car, and once I pull out of the parking lot, I pull into a strip mall until my heart has calmed down.
I can’t drive like this.
I can’t think like this.
But I know who will help me forget all of it. And I’m so tired of the pain and the memories lacing my heart with acid.
I just want to forget.
I only hope I haven’t completely blown it.
Liam’s eyes are expressionless when he opens the door.
He knew I was coming because I had to announce my arrival at the front desk, but he looks as if he’s had all day to prepare for my arrival instead of mere minutes.
I’m still not sure how my car ended up parked outside his condominium building, but when I left James I just wanted to go back to the time when I wasn’t thinking about the unraveling of my marriage.
Being with Liam blanks my mind and sets my body on fire.
Today, I’ll take it. If it’s even still available.
My eyes immediately drop to his plain gray T-shirt and dark gray athletic pants that hang low on his hips. With his arm raised and elbow resting high against the doorframe, I see a hint of the “V” muscle on one side.
