Second Best, #1

by Noelle Adams

  “Don’t you think so?” John asked.

  I blinked, having absolutely no idea what he’d said before the question. “Oh, uh, yeah. I think so.”

  John nodded, so I must have responded appropriately. “Anyway,” he said with a slow smile. “Enough about me. Tell me about you.”

  I paused with my glass of water at my lips. “What about me do you want to know?”

  “Anything. Everything.”

  I hate prompts like that. It’s just conversational laziness to give one vague question and expect the other person to encompass their whole life in a minute or two.

  But people did it all the time, so there wasn’t anything strange about John. At least he wanted to learn more about me. That had to be a good sign.

  I opened my mouth to answer but realized I had absolutely no idea what to say. “There’s nothing very exciting about me.”

  “I’m sure there’s something.”

  Well, I got together with Sean Doyle every other Wednesday night for hot sex. That was kind of exciting.

  Obviously, I didn’t mention that detail to John.

  I wasn’t meeting Sean anymore anyway.

  He was probably in the hotel room now, coming to the conclusion that I wasn’t going to show up.

  I wondered what he was thinking.

  I cleared my throat. “I got As in school. I went to law school. I got this job. I work hard, and I’m always on time for appointments, and I don’t even have a cat.”

  “Well, I for one am glad to hear that,” John replied. “I’m not really a pet person.”

  I was a pet person. My family had always had dogs. But I worked all day, and I had a fairly long commute, so it just didn’t seem fair to leave a dog by itself all day.

  “That reminds me of this client I had last year.” And John was off on another story, which was actually a relief since it saved me from the pressure of having to think of something to say.

  Our plates came, and mine was at least edible. I didn’t really enjoy it, but I didn’t have to force it down.

  It definitely wasn’t a steak.

  We ate and chatted for about an hour until John glanced at his watch and said he had to get going.

  I was tired and restless and horny and a little bit hungry still.

  But it was far too late to go over to the hotel even if I’d been weak enough to try.

  Sean was gone by now. He wouldn’t wait all night. He’d make better use of his time.

  Maybe he’d go to a bar and pick up a gorgeous, sexy woman to spend the night with.

  He liked having sex. It was one of the things he did to relax. He’d told me so himself.

  If I wasn’t providing the sex, he’d get it somewhere else.

  I didn’t like that idea, but I couldn’t let myself think about it for long.

  I couldn’t be territorial or possessive. I’d gotten angry with Sean for being just that, so I couldn’t be a hypocrite.

  He was allowed to fuck whomever he wanted—just like I was.

  And since I was no longer going to meet him on Wednesday evenings, we’d both have to find new sex partners.

  John kissed me before we parted. Fully on the lips, just a little bit longer than casual.

  My mind buzzed loudly as he did so.

  Everything was exactly as it should be. My life was back on track.

  So there was no reason for me to feel so blah and discontent and restless when I finally got home.

  But I did.

  A WEEK AND A HALF LATER, on Saturday evening, John took me out for our first real date.

  A Russian ballet company was in town, and he took me to the performance.

  This wasn’t just a casual thing after work. This was a real date. It was significant, and it meant that my romantic daydreams were finally coming true.

  I stressed about what to wear, and I stressed about how to act, and I hadn’t come to any clear resolutions on either of those matters when I had to get out the door.

  I was meeting John in the city so he wouldn’t have to come so far to pick me up. (My apartment was in a suburb because downtown prices were too high for me.)

  I had put on an outfit, but I wasn’t sure it was the right one. People tended to dress up for the ballet, but how much I should dress up was a mystery. I was wearing a black skirt that flared flirtatiously at the hem and a clingy green top with a very thin cashmere sweater over it. It was kind of middle ground in possible ballet outfits, which was why I’d chosen it.

  I was too stressed to enjoy the anticipation of the date, although I was relieved when I saw John wearing a black suit with a charcoal-gray dress shirt and silver tie. My outfit seemed to match his, so at least I hadn’t made a big mistake.

  Once this had been sorted out in my mind, I tried to relax and focus on being in John’s company. I’d spent enough time with him now that I didn’t constantly feel like I was someone else in my body, but I did still feel that way some of the time.

  Like when we were walking into the theater together.

  The seats he’d gotten were pretty good—the first row of the balcony, right in the middle, which I preferred to being far back on the orchestra level. I had a good view of the stage and of a good portion of the other seats. I liked to people-watch in situations like this, and I had a good vantage point from my seat.

  Because I was looking around just after I’d sat down, my eyes landed on one of the boxes—on our level but to the far right.

  I froze when I saw who was sitting in that box.

  Sean Doyle.

  And beside him a gorgeous blonde with a tall, slim body. She was stunning. She looked like a model. And her outfit clearly wasn’t put together from the discount racks like mine was.

  He saw me too. I knew he did because our eyes met across the distance.

  Maybe I should have expected it. After all, this was one of those events that rich society people often attended.

  But it had never even crossed my mind that I would see Sean here—or anywhere other than that hotel room.

  My stomach had dropped so dramatically at the sight of him that I was momentarily afraid I might be sick. I looked away from him quickly, focusing my eyes up on John.

  John was smiling at me, saying something about how he liked these seats because they had more leg room.

  I didn’t give a damn about what he was saying at the moment. I was just glad I could look at him and not at Sean.

  I wondered who Sean’s date was.

  I wondered if he was fucking her.

  I wondered if he liked her better than he liked me.

  I smiled and fluttered my eyelashes and put my hand on John’s arm for the ten minutes before the ballet started. I knew I was playing it up more than I normally would have. I knew it was for Sean’s benefit. I knew I wanted Sean to think that I was thrilled to be here with John and I’d had no second thoughts about standing him up last Wednesday night.

  I knew all those feelings were rather petty and immature.

  But I couldn’t seem to help it.

  I had to prove to Sean—and maybe to myself—that I’d made the right decision. And that he wasn’t as important to me as he’d thought he’d been.

  It was important that this was clear. To both of us.

  John didn’t seem to mind. He even put his arm around my shoulders as the lights started to go down.

  I should have been thrilled by the gesture.

  Instead, I kept brooding about what Sean was thinking right now and how much he was touching that blonde.

  The ballet was beautiful, and I made myself pay attention to it, focusing my mind on what I was seeing and hearing instead of on the impossible man in the box across the theater from me.

  At intermission I was ready for the break. Mostly because I was exhausted from making myself focus so diligently and not look over at Sean for the past hour and fifteen minutes.

  I stood up, ready to stretch my legs and go to the bathroom. But John didn’t want to leave our seats
. He said he hated fighting the crowds. I absolutely had to use the bathroom, so I had to go one way or the other. After an extended discussion about it, I went alone to follow the slow wave of exiting people and get into the endless line for the women’s restroom.

  It had taken me a long time to get out of the theater, so I was very far back in the line.

  I was afraid the ballet would start up again before I got into a stall.

  The middle-aged woman in line in front of me was friendly, so we chatted about the ballet and why planners and architects couldn’t design more stalls for women’s bathrooms. After a few minutes, her husband came over to stand with her, having already used the men’s room himself and then stopped at one of the stands where they were selling drinks and snacks.

  He’d bought her white wine in a little plastic cup and a chocolate petit four that looked so delicious my mouth actually watered.

  Her husband kept her company as the line made its slow progression forward.

  I’ll admit it. I was jealous. Of both the kindness of the man and the petit four.

  If I got through the bathroom line in time, I was going to buy a petit four for myself.

  As I waited, I glanced around, but I didn’t see either Sean or his beautiful blond date.

  Maybe the box seats had a private restroom or something.

  I daydreamed about John showing up beside me suddenly, having braved the crowds to see if I was okay. He’d buy me a glass of wine and a petit four, and he would stay beside me the rest of the time. He would put his hand on the small of my back in that special way I’d always noticed from other men—the simple gesture that said she’s with me, I’m here for her, nothing is going to touch her.

  I kept daydreaming, but it never happened.

  John remained in his seat, safe from the dangerous crowds.

  He was probably playing on his phone while I was still waiting in line, trying not to pee in my pants.

  There was an elderly lady near the end of the line. I noticed her because she was making gestures at someone across the lobby. I looked to see, and the man she was gesturing to must be her husband. He was just as old as she was, and he’d found the edge of a bench to sit on. There was a walker beside him, which he must use to walk. He and his wife were making faces at each other in a very clear silent conversation about how long the line was to use the restroom.

  I kept watching them—for no good reason.

  After what felt like forever, I finally made it into a stall. The lights flickered to signal the end of intermission when I was washing my hands. I hurried. I could probably make it back before the second half of the ballet started up.

  No time for a petit four though.

  As I was walking through the emptying second-floor lobby, I saw the woman who’d been in front of me in line. She and her husband were holding hands as they made their way back into the theater.

  I don’t know why I noticed it, but I did.

  It made a knot in my stomach tighten.

  Because I was distracted, I wasn’t looking around, and so I was shocked when someone grabbed my hand and pulled me into an alcove.

  Obviously, that person was Sean.

  Who else would pull me into a private corner like that without warning?

  I stared up at him, breathless and flushed and disoriented.

  He had me pressed up against a wall, and he was gazing down at me with those lovely, clever green eyes—eyes that right now looked strangely urgent.

  “What?” I demanded when I found my voice and he hadn’t yet said anything.

  He just kept staring at me, his body so close it was brushing against mine.

  “What exactly do you want?” My voice didn’t sound nearly as cool as I wanted it to be.

  “You didn’t show up last Wednesday,” Sean murmured thickly.

  I blinked. “No. I didn’t. I told you I wouldn’t.”

  “I waited for you.”

  My heart jumped foolishly, and I had to talk myself down by reminding myself that Sean had been waiting to have sex with me. Nothing else. “I had a good time with you, Sean. I really did. But I want more than that. You know I do.”

  “And you’re getting it now? All your dreams are coming true?”

  I had no idea how to answer that question. My dreams were coming true, but it wasn’t what I’d thought it would be.

  I let out a breath to relax the tension in my chest before I replied. “Whether my dreams are coming true isn’t really your business, Sean.”

  A little light flickered in his eyes just then, as if something had made him happy. “The jackass isn’t who you thought he was. You’re starting to see that, aren’t you?”

  And that just made me mad.

  I clenched my hands at my side and snapped, “And that’s not your business either.”

  “When are you going to admit it?”

  “Don’t you have a gorgeous date to be getting back to?” I demanded.

  His eyes seemed to caress my face, but it was fierce rather than gentle. “Are you jealous?”

  Of course I was jealous.

  Of course I was.

  I’d had Sean every other Wednesday for four months. He’d been mine to talk to, to touch, to make me feel good.

  And now he wasn’t.

  Now he was someone else’s.

  I wasn’t about to admit this to him, however. I wasn’t that much of a fool. “No, I’m not jealous. I have my own date. Remember? With the man I love.”

  I’d intended that last sentence as a kind of weapon, but there was only the smallest trace of a flicker in Sean’s expression, so I didn’t think the words had struck very deep.

  He didn’t love me.

  He wasn’t going to be wounded because I told him I loved someone else.

  He didn’t respond with words though, so I kept going. “And can I point out that this is very clearly breaking our contract? If one of us ended our arrangement, the other wasn’t allowed to initiate contact afterward.”

  “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

  I believed him. “I know that. I didn’t mean coming to the ballet. I meant dragging me into this corner like this.”

  “So you’re saying you weren’t going to try to find a way to talk to me tonight?”

  My eyes widened dramatically. “Of course not!”

  As strange as it was, this response seemed to have more effect on him than anything else. The tight urgency in his expression twisted strangely, and he exhaled in a way that made his demeanor appear to droop.

  Like he was hurt or disappointed.

  It confused me.

  Rattled me.

  Made ridiculous tears burn in my eyes.

  Afraid I was going to fall apart completely, I rasped, “What exactly do you want from me, Sean? What do you want?”

  If I’m being absolutely truthful, I’d have to admit that there was the tiniest part of me that wanted him to declare feelings, confess that he wanted me for more than just hot sex every other Wednesday night.

  I knew better than to really believe it would happen, but a tiny, forgotten part of my heart wanted it badly.

  But Sean didn’t say anything at all.

  Instead, he made a low sound in his throat and leaned down into a hard kiss.

  The kiss surprised me. Shocked me. And so I didn’t respond immediately.

  But as soon as I processed that his lips were on mine, one of his hands in my hair and the other on the small of my back, his delicious heat warming me all the way to my core, then I started to kiss him back.

  There was no way I could help it. Everything inside me wanted to do it.

  I had to kiss him.

  I had to.

  It was more important at that moment than breathing.

  I wrapped my arms around his neck and arched into him eagerly. His tongue slid into my mouth, teasing and taunting mine until they were dancing together. His hand slid down so it was cupping my bottom, and I lifted one of my legs through the slit
in my skirt so I could wrap one leg around his and feel him more completely.

  He was hard against me. Already. And I was throbbing with arousal too.

  “Fuck, Ash,” Sean muttered, dropping his head to the curve of my neck and nipping over my pulse point. “Why weren’t you there on Wednesday night?”

  This time the words weren’t really an accusation. They were more like a plea.

  I fisted my hands in the fabric of his jacket, needing to hold on to something, anything, so my whole body wouldn’t fly apart.

  “Fuck, I missed you,” he said against my skin.

  I’d missed him too. So much. And he would have to know it from my shameless response to him right now. I was practically grinding myself against him.

  In public.

  We were out of the line of sight of most of the lobby, and the ballet had already started, the music drifting out to where we stood.

  But someone could easily see us here.

  See me. With Sean Doyle. Surrendering to his advances because I craved his touch so much.

  When I had a date sitting just inside the theater.

  And so did he.

  That thought was bitter enough to pierce through the fog of lust in my head. I released the fistfuls of his jacket I’d been clutching and flattened my hands on his shoulders to give a little push.

  Barely a push at all.

  He stopped though. Immediately. He didn’t back up. He stood very tensely, panting loudly, his eyes closed—until he’d controlled whatever he was feeling.

  Then he took a step back.

  Maybe the same thought had struck him as had hit me the moment before.

  We shouldn’t be doing this.

  I opened my mouth to say something, but there was absolutely nothing to say.

  So I just walked away from him.

  I walked quickly, stumbling a little since my mind and body were still spinning. I couldn’t go back into the theater yet. I was flushed and flustered and upset. So I headed toward the bathrooms.

  The lobby was mostly empty now, and there wasn’t a line at the restroom. I noticed the elderly man who’d been sitting on the bench was using his walker to stand up, and when I turned my head I saw why.

  His wife was just coming out of the restroom. He’d waited for her the whole time, even though the ballet had started a few minutes ago.