Casual Sext: A Bad Boy Contemporary Romance

by Lisa Lace

  My trembling hand is over my mouth, and I’m shaking. My stomach is in knots. I think about the last time Cole was shooting in a war zone in ruins like this. A building collapsed on him. I can’t help it; the tears stream down my face.

  Lena reaches across and closes her fingers around mine. “There’s nothing in here about any photographers being injured. Cole is fine.”

  “He’s out there, among all that chaos. Air strikes? What if he’s in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

  My heart is pounding so fast in my chest it feels more like it’s vibrating. I lay my hand over it, feeling it shuddering beneath my palm.

  “He’s a professional. He’s got a team with him. He’ll be there for five minutes and then onto the next story. He’ll be out of Syria by next week’s headline.”

  My tears turn into sobs. “I told him to go.”

  “He was always going to go.”

  “I could have begged him to stay.”

  “This is what he wanted,” Lena tells me firmly, brandishing the paper. “He wants this kind of adrenaline and adventure. It’s all he ever spoke about. He wants to be in danger. He wants to be in the action. This is the kind of stuff he lives for.”

  I try to calm down. I pick up a paper napkin from the holder and blow my nose. People in the coffee shop are casting awkward little glances in my direction. I’m making a scene.

  I take a few deep breaths and lower my voice. “I can’t believe he’s out there. It’s too real.”

  “It’s not your job to worry about him anymore.”

  “I’ll always worry about him. I love him.”

  Lena’s gaze is sympathetic; maybe a little pitying. “I thought you said you were getting over him?”

  I let out a long breath and raise my hands helplessly. “I love him.”

  She squeezes my hand. “Stop reading The New York Times, Soph. It’s making you anxious. If anything happens to Cole, you’ll know about it soon enough. It’ll be on the news. You don’t need to keep torturing yourself by looking at these pictures. Remember: he’s supposed to make it look dramatic and terrible. That’s his job.”

  “You’re right.”

  I fold the paper and stuff it back in the rack, hiding the photograph from view. “Let’s not talk about Cole anymore.”

  “We might as well. He’s all you’re going to be able to think about now.”

  “I can’t help it. I miss him.”

  “I know you do. But you sent him away for a reason, remember? He would have made you unhappy. Christ, he’s making you unhappy even when he’s not here.”

  “Sometimes I hate him,” I confess. “I think about how he strung me along and then cut me loose. I think about all the promises he made and how he broke them all, and I just—I hate him for it. Then, the second I see one of his pictures in the paper, and I’m reminded that he’s out there somewhere, I can only think about all the good times. He’s career-obsessed, but that’s his only flaw.”

  Lena scoffs. “Are you kidding? The man has an ego the size of Mars. He’s selfish and demanding.”

  “He has his moments, but far more often, he’s kind and caring. You can’t tell me that James is perfect all the time, that he never rubs you the wrong way?”

  “Of course, he does, but that’s different.”

  “How’s it different?”

  “Because he always puts me first, and I always put him first. That’s what love is, Sophie. If it’s not two-way, it’s not love. It’s obsession.”

  “You’re saying I’m obsessed?”

  “I’m saying that this isn’t what love is supposed to look like. You need to let him go.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  She offers me an understanding smile. “I know that.”

  “Let’s keep our fingers crossed that I get this promotion. At least then I’ll have a ton of work to help take my mind off Cole and whatever crisis he’s jumping into next.”

  Cole

  Damascus—or what’s left of it.

  I’m wearing a gray T-shirt, and I more or less blend into my surroundings. All of the sandy buildings are coated in ash so that the whole city is gray. Even the sky is overcast with clouds that billow like smoke. Even without a filter, my photos come out looking like they’re taken in black-and-white. It’s bleak.

  I haven’t seen devastation like this since Haiti, but this is hitting home much harder. No natural disaster has caused this chaos. We did this.

  I raise my camera and take photos of the ruins. In places, the front walls of the high-rises have been blown clean off, so that you can see straight into the skeletons of old rooms. Little remains now, although I can occasionally make out furniture in the dust.

  I shake my head sadly and turn to Matt, a member of my documentary team. “Street after street, it’s all the same. Is there anything left of this city?”

  “Not after everyone’s taken their turn at bombing the shit out of it—Turkey, Russia, Iran, Britain, us. I’m not surprised there’s nothing but rubble left.”

  Since I’ve been in Syria, I’ve seen tragedy on a new level. The civilian casualties are overwhelming. I’ve seen children covered in blood and ashes, searching for parents who are long gone, dead and buried under the rubble of whole streets.

  These ruins are the least of the devastation this city has seen.

  “Which country did this?”

  “We hear the missiles were from Israel.”

  I shake my head again, lifting my head to drink in the sight of the empty street. There would have been hundreds of apartments in these buildings. That must amount to thousands of lives destroyed. Those that didn’t die lost their homes. Some lost more than that.

  I take more photographs.

  I don’t need to wonder about whether what I’m doing is making an impact. I know that my pictures have made the cover of The New York Times more than once, and due to its relentless campaign highlighting the horrors we’re witnessing, the paper has raised both awareness and relief funds. I know I’m making a difference.

  But I still don’t know if I’ve made the right choice.

  I think about Sophie every day. When I accepted the job, I knew right away how much Sophie would miss me and worry. Yet I never considered how much I’d worry and miss her, too.

  I wonder if she’s doing all right and whether she finally got that promotion. I wonder if she’s back on the dating sites, sending out naughty messages in hopes of making a connection with someone. I feel guilty every time I think about her.

  “It’s harrowing stuff, isn’t it?” Matt says, interpreting the expression on my face as horror at the scene.

  I nod. “It is.”

  Matt frowns, raising his head slightly to listen. His brow glistens with sweat and dirt. Filled with sand and dust, his shaggy brown hair looks like straw. There’s a graze on his upper right cheek from dropping to the ground the day before to avoid being seen by a military patrol.

  “I think I hear vehicles.”

  My muscles tense, and I look around warily. Vehicles could be allies or enemies. Truth be told, photographers are always the enemy. Nobody wants the horrors of war to be highlighted.

  I squint to look out at the road to try and make out who might be coming.

  Suddenly, a searing pain shoots through my right shoulder. Bang. I let out a cry and lift my hand to where it hurts. I draw my hand away, finding it covered in blood.

  There’s a second shot. Bang.

  I turn around to see an enemy soldier on foot, a rifle pointed in my direction.

  Matt is on the ground. He’s lying face-down in the dirt, his head resting in a pool of blood. I know he’s dead.

  I run. Shots fire behind me. A bullet tears through my left abdomen. I stumble but know that if I fall, I’m dead. I press my palm down over the open wound and keep running. Another shot gets me in my left calf. I can feel the muscle being torn apart as the metal works its way through my flesh.

  Collapsing to the ground, I squeeze my e
yes shut. Your luck has run out, Cole.

  What they say about your life flashing before your eyes is true.

  In my final moments, I’m filled with regret. I think about my mom, and how I wasn’t there when she died because I was taking pictures after a mass shooting. I think about Dad, and how he’ll probably hear the news from David, or maybe even the police. He’ll have lost his wife and son; he’ll be completely alone. I think about Dennis, and whether or not he’ll ever be able to make the same kind of money on his own. I think about Sophie, and how my death will be her worst fear come to life, even after she begged me to stay.

  As I’m faced with death, all I feel is guilt.

  I thought this is the life I wanted, but when I’m lying on the ground, three bullet holes in me, every fiber of my being in agony, I don’t feel like I’ve lived with purpose. I feel like I gave up more than my fair share to be here. I could have been happy back home.

  Since going back to The New York Times, I’ve had my doubts that I’d made the wrong decision, but at this moment, I know. I’ve made a huge mistake, and I’ll never get the chance to make it right.

  I can hear the footsteps of the enemy soldier drawing nearer. I know that he’s about to fire that fatal bullet through my skull.

  I’m sorry.

  Sophie

  When I arrive at Lena’s place, she leads me straight upstairs to her bedroom to show me a selection of three dresses. “What do you think? Which one?”

  “What’s it for?”

  A devilish grin appears on her face. “Well, little sister, I have some good news! Work on restaurant number six has just finished. It’ll open next month. I’m throwing a staff party to celebrate.”

  “That sounds like fun! What kind of event?”

  “Something a bit fancy! I was thinking I’d hire a nice venue and do some kind of black tie event with an open bar. What do you think?”

  “Sounds great. Can I come?”

  “You’d better. There will be dozens of available men there.”

  I laugh. “I was wondering when you’d start with this again.”

  “It’s been four months.”

  “I know.”

  “They say that the amount of time it takes to get over someone is half the length of the relationship. So this time around, you should have gotten over Cole in roughly two months, and I’ve given you four. That’s generous, considering you got ten years the last time.”

  I smile, even though it still feels raw. I’m glad to have Lena to distract me. It’s fun to joke around with her, even if I don’t have any plans to meet someone new. “I’ve got some good news, too.”

  Lena spins around with a huge grin on her face. “The promotion?”

  I beam back. “I got it!”

  She drops the dress she’s holding and sweeps me up into a huge, congratulatory hug. “Well done! I’m so proud of you! We’re going to celebrate tonight.”

  “A bottle of wine?”

  “Pfft! I’m taking you out on the town.”

  I laugh. “Out on the town? We haven’t done that since before you met James.”

  “Tonight, I’m feeling it. After all, only one of these dresses is for the staff party, which means there are two available dresses for us tonight.”

  I look down at the two designer dresses and make a face. “I wouldn’t dare wear one of those. They probably cost a gazillion dollars each.”

  “And you’ll look like a gazillion dollars in one. Come on, Sophie. When was the last time you let your hair down?”

  “It’s been a while.”

  “Then it’s decided. It’s Friday night, and we’re going to celebrate. James has kindly offered to be designated driver and pick us up later.”

  “You’d already planned this with James?”

  She chuckles. “No. But I know he’ll be happy to oblige.”

  “Fuck it,” I say, throwing one hand up in the air. “Let’s do it.”

  Lena does a fist pump, which clashes with her clean-cut, business-chic look today. “Yes!”

  I laugh. “Where are we going?”

  “Anywhere. Everywhere. Let’s hit the town and see where the night takes us. I’m craving cocktails. First though, let’s eat. Every girl knows not to go drinking on an empty stomach. I’m going to order a couple of pizzas.”

  “Mmm. Pizza sounds good.”

  “You look like you’ve lost a little weight, you know.”

  “Really?” I smile, running my hand over my stomach curiously. “That’s good. I’ve been trying to cut back. I’ve been going running, too.”

  Lena smiles broadly. “That’s great, Sophie. I was starting to worry about you for a while there. I’m glad that you’re pulling yourself out of your funk.”

  “It’s been four months. Cole’s not coming back. I need to get on with life. Besides, I’ve got a new role now. I’m going to be in all kinds of meetings and whatnot. I need to be looking my best.”

  “Ooh, it’s so exciting! My sister, the little superstar. Here, try this on.” She chucks a lavender number that looks like a 1920s flapper girl dress at me. It’s covered in layers of fine tassels.

  “Really?”

  “It’s in fashion!”

  I believe her. Lena is a Vogue devotee.

  I try it on, then shimmy in front of the mirror. It’s not something I’d usually wear, but I kind of like the way the tassels shake when I move. I experimentally wiggle my hips and laugh at my reflection. “It’s quite fun, actually.”

  “It’ll give you a reason to shake that booty on the dancefloor.” She pats my bum playfully.

  I laugh. “We’re going dancing now, are we?”

  “We’re going to have some fun.”

  I haven’t gone for a girls’ night out on the town in forever, and it feels good to be standing at a bar with a mojito in my hand. I take a sip, letting the warm rum and cool mint and lime slide down my throat. I have a pleasant buzz.

  We’ve ended up in Black Flamingo in Brooklyn. It’s a trendy spot with orange neon lights on the walls and a large bar with plenty of room to order drinks. It’s already packed to the rafters with clubbers, and the last of the diners in the restaurant are filing out. People are milling around the bar. Lena and I move away to get some breathing room.

  Some kind of trance music bellows through the speakers. Lena is already swaying to the beat with one hand in the air. I’m more conservative, cradling my mojito and looking around curiously. I feel out-of-place.

  A girl looking like she’s just come from a rave walks past, wearing a neon yellow vest-top and calf-high furry boots with her hair in colored dreadlocks. I see a lot of beanies and man-buns, and a lot of younger patrons who don’t look twenty-one.

  “I feel old.”

  “WHAT?”

  “I FEEL OLD.”

  “Start dancing—it helps!”

  I sway my hips to the music as best I can. It does feel good. The rum in the mojito and the satisfying shimmy of my tasseled dress help me to unwind. Before long, Lena and I are having a whale of a time. I feel young.

  After about an hour of dancing, two men approach us. They’re both average to handsome. One is taller and dark-haired; the other is slightly shorter and red-headed.

  The redhead leans in toward me and raises his voice into my ear. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  I’m taken aback and laugh. I can’t remember the last time a stranger offered to buy me a drink. I look around just in case he’s actually talking to someone else, but, sure enough, he’s asking me.

  I suppose we’re not too dissimilar in age. The redhead is probably in his early thirties. I look over to Lena and see that the dark-haired guy is speaking into her ear, too. Lena catches my eye, grins, and puts her thumbs up.

  I turn back to the redhead. “Okay.”

  “Mojito?”

  “Thanks.”

  He leaves to get a drink and my stomach knots with nerves. Whenever I’m with Lena, I always end up doing something I usually wouldn’t.


  She’s dancing alone again now. The guy talking to her seemed less interested once she’d shown him her wedding ring, but she’s happy to take a step back. She hangs out by the DJ and watches from a distance as the redhead returns. This was her plan all along.

  “I’m Vic.”

  “Sophie.”

  We have to shout at each other to be heard, so neither of us says anything more. Vic starts to dance close to me, moving his body close to mine. I dance with him but try to keep a respectable distance between us.

  When the second mojito kicks in—on top of the drinks we had elsewhere—I let our bodies make more contact. I link my hands together behind his neck and let him put his hands on my hips. We swing side to side to the beat. I shimmy in my purple dress. I see him admiring me. It feels kind of good.

  Then, he leans in for a kiss, and panic kicks in. I instinctively press my hand against his chest and push him away. “I better find my sister. Thanks for the drink.”

  I squirm my way through the crowd and back to Lena, who’s seen the whole thing. She looks disappointed. “What happened?”

  “I’m not in the mood.”

  We keep dancing, but it’s not as much fun as before. A man trying to kiss me only makes me think of Cole. I wonder if he’s still in Syria. I’ve taken Lena’s advice and stopped reading the papers.

  I down the last of my mojito and grab Lena’s hands to dance, hoping it will ward off any more potential suitors.

  I’m not ready for anyone else. I’m not over Cole.

  Cole

  After a week in a US medical center in Syria and a torturous flight home, I’m thankful to be in a US hospital. Even if the food does suck.

  According to the doctors, I’ve been extremely lucky. The bullet through my shoulder and leg didn’t affect any major organs, and although the third bullet settled low in my stomach, the medics got to me fast enough to prevent sepsis. After three invasive operations, everything has been patched up and all bullets removed.

  Providing there are no further complications, they tell me I’ll make a full recovery.

  David has told me that there will be a position waiting for me when I recover. I told him no thank you. I should never have taken the job in the first place. I’m ready to go home.