Pricked

by Winter Renshaw

  “Meaning is everything,” she says. “I minored in communications.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m more of a numbers guy,” I tell her. “Anyway, Phillips tasked me with training you, so … lucky you.”

  I can’t help but flash a smirk when I notice the way her chest rises and falls and her eyes shift on mine. I’m all but reading her thoughts at this point.

  Call it a gut feeling, but I’m two hundred percent sure Joa Jolivet wants me.

  And I’m two hundred percent okay with that.

  THREE

  Joa

  “If you need a buffer, I’m your girl,” Lucy from work says through the speaker on my phone Friday night.

  I’d never so much as mentioned Reed to her in the past. Never brought up our history. Never went into specifics about why I took the transfer. As soon as I stepped onto Illinois soil, nothing else mattered. I left the past in the past where it belonged. Besides, no one wants to draw attention to their bad decisions.

  But tonight, she got an earful.

  “That’s sweet of you, Luc, but I don’t need a buffer,” I say, though the burgeoning pit in my stomach begs to differ. “I’m just going to be professional and cordial and … and … get through it.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” I can almost see her rolling her eyes from behind her signature red frames.

  The Family Stone is paused on my TV, my Hot Toddy is now nothing more than a Lukewarm Todd, and I haven’t stopped pacing since I got home. I’ve even found myself grabbing random things just to touch them and then putting them back in the most random of places. Throw blanket on the bathroom counter? Remote in the fridge? And I can’t stop checking my reflection, though I haven’t the slightest clue what I’m looking for.

  I’m hell bent on standing my ground with Reed come Monday, but I’m not sure how I’m going to do that if the mere mention of him coming to the city has me this frazzled and scattered. He’s the only man in the history of men to make me act and feel like I’m losing my mind, and I hate him for that.

  I stop pacing, but only long enough to check myself in the hall mirror for the billionth time. The woman staring back at me with her familiar onyx hair and hooded baby blue eyes looks equal parts terrified and ready for battle, and of course she does. The enemy is about to cross a line drawn in the sand somewhere around Edgewater, Colorado, where our physical halfway point lies and our work territories are divided.

  “What do you think he wants anyway?” Lucy asks. “It’s just so random that the CFO would plan a last-minute site visit right before the holidays. Do you think he’s going to personally deliver our Christmas bonuses?”

  “Ha. Right. You don’t know him like I do.”

  “Obviously.”

  “He doesn’t give two shits about anyone but himself. He couldn’t be bothered to hop a flight across the country to personally deliver Christmas bonuses. Believe me, he’s got better things to do with his time,” I say.

  “Then what could it be? Are they closing the branch?”

  I thought about that on the ride home tonight but quickly ruled it out. “No way. We’re having our best year yet. We’re outperforming the East Coast with half as many clients. There’s no way they’re cutting us.”

  “Ah, true, true.” Lucy exhales into the receiver. “Then that only leaves one other logical explanation.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He’s coming because of you.”

  If I had a drink in my mouth, I’d spit it out. “Sorry, Luc, but that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. He’s well aware of the fact that I want nothing to do with him.”

  “Is he though? Have you ever actually told him that?”

  “In not so many words, yes,” I say. “Radio silence can be deafeningly loud in the right situations. Plus, we were nothing more than fuck buddies. LA is filled to the brim with beautiful women who would give their left breast implant for a chance to date this asshole. He’s not going to hop on a plane and fly two thousand miles on the off chance he might be able to get a piece from an old co-worker.”

  “When you put it that way … I guess.” She pauses for a second. “It’s just that, when you talk about him, you talk about him like he’s your ex-boyfriend.”

  “I mean, yeah. We spent time together. We took trips—but only because hooking up in the office got old after a bit. It was nice to get away … but we were never dating. He never met my family. I never met his. We never hung out with each other’s friends. Never got together for any reason that didn’t revolve around an orgasm or two …” A cheap thrill zings down my spine and my thighs clench, but I force the excitement away.

  “If he was just some meaningless friend-with-benefits type of thing, I don’t think you’d be this worked up, you know?” Lucy asks. “Whether you dated or not, he’s still an ex. Even if he’s just an ex friend-with-benefits. The two of you have a history. And it might be a little more complicated than you’re willing to admit. And you need to own that or you’re never going to get through this.”

  I let her words soak in for a second, though I refuse to tell her she’s right because she already knows and it’s going to make her already big head even bigger. I can’t be responsible for Lucy Clarke’s head exploding just a few days before Christmas.

  “Own it, Joa,” she says. “Hell, give it a silly name so we can laugh about it. Call the next couple of weeks Exmas or something. You’ll get through this, but only with a sense of humor and a lot of self-reflection.”

  “God, you sound so much like your mother right now, it’s unreal,” I say, referring to world-renowned psychologist and syndicated talk show host, Dr. Candice Clarke.

  “Anyway.” The sound of microwave buttons beeping fills the background of her side of the call. “I’m heating up my Lean Cuisine, and then I’m painting the town with a few girls from spin class. Sure you don’t want to tag along?”

  “Nah. I’m staying in. I’m watching my nieces in the morning so my sister can wrap presents, and I promised I’d bring them sticky rolls, so I’m going to call it a night in a couple of hours.”

  “Lame.”

  “Have a drink for me,” I say, eyeing my Lukewarm Todd, which can probably be further downgraded to a Cool T by now. “See you Monday.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” She hangs up and I dock my phone on a nearby charger.

  Sarah Jessica Parker’s face fills the paused TV screen in my living room—her hair slicked back tight and hands clasped nervously in front of her hips as she meets Dermot Mulroney’s family for the first time. While I can’t relate to her character, I can’t help but love this movie. It’s not exactly a Christmas classic, but it isn’t a holiday season if I don’t watch it at least a handful of times. If Lucy were inside my head right now, she’d probably be analyzing my love for this storyline, saying it represents family and togetherness—which are of utmost importance to me— but also that it represents knowing what you want and then discovering what you need instead.

  Meredith wanted Everett. But he was all wrong for her. She needed Ben. He made her a better person. He brought out her best qualities while Everett enabled her worst ones.

  Do we ever truly know what we need though until we’re gobsmacked upside the head with it? Seems like that’s always how it works. It’s always easier, I think, to figure out what we don’t need.

  I don’t need Reed York. I know that.

  Life’s a hell of a lot simpler without him wading in my waters, mucking everything up, but the mire should settle as soon as he leaves, and life as I know it will continue on.

  I hit the play button on the remote, and SJP’s expression unfreezes as she goes in for an awkward hug as she meets her boyfriend’s mother for the first time.

  Rivulets of melting snow glide down my living room window, and outside a car pulls into the driveway I share with my next-door neighbor, Mrs. Kellerman. A family of five piles out a second later, grabbing wrapped presents and various-sized suitcases from the trunk, and it brings a smile to
my face. Maybe it’s a good thing he’s coming to town over the holidays. Maybe when I’m not at work, I’ll be so busy and distracted by family gatherings and holiday parties and last-minute Christmas shopping and baking to even remember he’s here.

  I microwave my drink before settling in again, trying like hell to keep sharp, focused.

  I can do this.

  I’ve got a full weekend to harden my resolve, to prepare myself for Monday morning.

  Reed York might be a man used to getting everything he’s ever wanted, but Joa Jolivet is a woman who never forgets.

  He might want me, but he’s not getting me.

  Everyone knows naughty boys only get coal for Christmas.

  {Past – Joa}

  Zippers. His and mine.

  Breathless sighs. His and mine.

  Wild eyes. His and mine.

  Held tongues. His and mine.

  “This can’t happen again.” I break the silence and smooth my hands over my skirt and put my desk back together. “I don’t get involved with people I work with.”

  Reed straightens his tie. “Sure, Joa. Whatever you say.”

  An hour ago we were poring over spreadsheets, sharing my computer monitor. He kept reaching over me, his arm brushing mine, his intoxicating cologne invading my space like he owned it.

  Every time he leaned in a little closer, my heart sped a little faster.

  There’s no denying he’s unfairly attractive. Tall. Runner’s body. Chiseled jaw. Blue eyes that damn near shimmer when he looks my way.

  And the way he struts around the office, so confident, so sure of himself. It both irritates and turns me on—and always at the same time.

  I’ve only been here three weeks, and already he’s sparked not one but two arguments with me in front of the entire team at our weekly sit-down meeting.

  I’m not sure if my intelligence intimidates him or if he’s trying to impress me with his own. Either way, if I spend more than an hour with him, I find myself wanting to slap the smirk off his face and wondering what it’d be like to kiss his full lips.

  Tonight, I got my answer.

  But it can’t happen again.

  And it won’t.

  FOUR

  Reed

  I punch the six-digit code into the lock at the apartment I AirBnB’d for my trip. The code box beeps a second later and the lock releases with a metallic clunk. I could’ve rented a suite at the Four Seasons, but there’s something sad and depressing about staying in a hotel—alone—over the holidays. Plus, this place is two blocks from the office.

  Pushing the door open, I roll my luggage in and let it shut behind me before getting the lights.

  The couple who own the place are spending the month in Istanbul, visiting family for the holidays, so why the hell they’d decorate the place for Christmas is beyond me, but sure enough, there are garlands and silver tinsel and faux trees and chunky knit stockings and little ceramic snowman figurines shoved and crammed in every corner of this place—so not what was pictured.

  “Nice.” I groan, unloading my pockets onto the kitchen counter. Billfold. Keys from home, because I feel naked without them. Phone. Some loose change.

  I’m quite certain that under all this holiday cheer is a pretty decent place, though it’s hard to appreciate all the marble and hardwood and high-end furnishings with all this green and red elf vomit clouding up the view.

  I take a look around, familiarizing myself with the layout, before unpacking my things in the bedroom. The owners have cleared out a few drawers and half a closet for my stay, and the bathroom is spotless, so there’s that.

  Kicking my shoes off, I make myself comfortable on their four-poster king-sized bed and reach for the remote. Scanning the listings, I find nothing but shitty Christmas movies and bad reality show re-runs. If I were back in LA, I’d be meeting up for drinks with friends or trying to hit some golf balls while there’s still daylight, but it’s late here now. And dark. And I don’t know a single person in the area besides the one who wants nothing to do with me, so … Christmas Vacation it is.

  My phone chimes with a text from my younger sister, Bijou, asking what the plans are for Christmas this year. The last eight years, my parents have booked solo trips to places like Tahiti and the Maldives or St. Croix, leaving the two of us to fend for ourselves—which is fine. We’re grown adults pushing thirty, but somehow that’s morphed into my sister expecting me to make plans for the two of us, and if I’m being honest, Christmas is just another day to me.

  New Year’s Eve though, that’s my night.

  Expensive drinks, a beautiful girl to kiss at midnight, and a party so big it spans the entire world.

  I rub my heavy eyes and read her message again before deciding to call her. She answers in the middle of the second ring before converting the call to FaceTime.

  “Reeeeeed,” she says, adjusting her phone on some kind of stand. Her face is covered in some avocado-looking facemask and I almost want to tell her she looks like The Grinch when she smiles, her big, white teeth contrasting against the bright, garish green. “You get my text?”

  “Obviously. That’s why I’m calling.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Anyway. What’s the plan for Thursday? Should we do brunch somewhere?”

  That’s become our tradition the last few years. Brunch and a matinee. Like we’re some old married couple and not a brother and sister who grew up with all the advantages life had to offer except for a true sense of family togetherness.

  If it was free, it was never of any value to Redford and Bebe York.

  “I’m in Chicago,” I say.

  Bijou blinks. “What? Chicago? Why?”

  “Work.”

  “Your boss made you travel over the holidays? What kind of—”

  “Bij, I am the boss,” I say. “I needed to take care of a few things that came up this past week. They couldn’t wait. I’m sorry. Raincheck?”

  Her nose wrinkles through her drying, flaking mask. “You can’t raincheck Christmas. Who does that? Maybe I can come out there and see you?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “What, are you spending the holidays with someone special?” she asks in a teasing, kid-sister tone. “I didn’t think you were dating anyone.”

  “No. And I’m not.”

  “Then why are you forcing me to spend Christmas Day alone like a loser?” she asks. “Mom and Dad are in freaking Fiji right now, soaking up the sun and swimming in clear water, and you’re in some Winter Wonderland, and I’m just supposed to sit back here in LA and not care about the fact that everyone forgot about me this year?”

  “No one forgot about you,” I say with a chuckle. Growing up, Bijou put the Drama in Drama Queen and even at twenty-six, she’s yet to shed that title.

  “I’m going to have to stay in that day,” she says. “Like a shut-in.”

  “Order some takeout. Watch some movies. Hell, read a damn book for once. You’ll be fine.”

  “Can we at least FaceTime that day?” she asks.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Good.” Bijou smiles, making the mask around her mouth flake. “Ugh. I need to wash this off. It’s starting to itch. Anyway, what are you going to do that day? You never said.”

  I shrug. “Haven’t given it much thought.”

  The movie on the TV goes to commercial, and I climb off the bed. Not feeling the Griswold’s tonight and I need to unpack anyway, so I might as well.

  “Would you kill me if I just … showed up in Chicago that day?” Bijou carries her phone to the bathroom, and the sound of running water fills the background.

  “Yes.”

  Her smile fades. “Seriously, Reed, why are you acting like you’re on some secret mission or something? Stop being weird.”

  “I’m tired,” I lie. Kind of. “Been traveling all day. I need to unpack. Order some pizza.”

  “See. You are being weird. The Reed I know wouldn’t stay in on a Friday night.”

/>   “I’ll FaceTime you Thursday, all right?” I ask before ending the call.

  “You really suck, you know that?” she asks. If I know my sister, and I do, she’s going to hold this against me for the rest of our lives, just like she’s never let me forget about the time I chased her with a Super Soaker filled with hot tap water on a ninety-degree day. “Love you, jerk face.”

  “Same.” I hang up and retrieve my suitcase from the entryway, wheeling it back to the bedroom and working the lock on the zipper.

  Though I’d hardly call myself nostalgic and I tend to leave the past in the past, I was strategic in my packing for this trip.

  The mint green tie I wore the first time I had sex with Joa after a late night in the office.

  The Creed Pure White cologne I used to wear that drove her wild and made it impossible for her to keep her hands off me.

  The Burberry watch she picked out for me during one of our “sex-cations” in Saint Thomas.

  Come Monday morning when I strut into the Chicago office, I’m going to be a walking, talking blast from the past, and I can’t fucking wait to see the look on her face when she sees me.

  I chuckle to myself as I hang up my navy suit. I bet she’s wracking her brain, trying to figure out why I’d come all the way out here on such short notice. And knowing the class act that she is, I’m sure she intends to be professional and keep her distance and pretend like we didn’t have sex seven times in one weekend in Napa two Septembers ago.

  But I can’t pretend. Couldn’t if I tried. Truth be told, she’s all I’ve thought about since the moment she walked out of the LA office and never came back.

  As much as I’ve wanted to write her off, as much as I’ve spent the past year convincing myself she was nothing but a fuck buddy who meant nothing to me, I can’t any longer. If she meant nothing to me, I wouldn’t be so hung up on her after all this time. Pining for the one thing I can’t have, the one thing I never knew I wanted until it was too late.

  I know why she left.

  I know what she thinks of me.

  I know what I did and how it looks.