by JA Huss
Chapter Thirty-One - Evangeline
I wake before dawn. Rested and filled with hope and maybe even a little satisfaction. I want more of last night, so after I shower, I put on a clean nightgown and go downstairs, not really expecting the book to be waiting for me, but it is. And I don’t even know what that feeling coursing through my body means.
Is it elation? I don’t know.
I just pick up the book, run back up the stairs, and get into bed to continue the story where he left off.
The first time Jordan kissed me I punched him in the face. The second time I was drunk, and we had a girl in between us, so I didn’t really care. The third time he sucked my cock afterward.
I stopped talking to him for months after that. It was senior year of high school and even though I’m not gay, and I’ve always known I wasn’t gay because I really like pussy, I’m really not bisexual either.
I mean, yeah, OK. I’ll fuck with Jordan if there’s a girl involved I like. But anyone else? No. I’m not into it.
I was just into him. That’s it.
And trust me when I say that has passed. I’m not interested in spit-roasting you, Evangeline. I don’t like to share anymore. I’m not letting you spy on him with the hope that we’ll eventually fuck you together.
Then why, I wonder?
When Jordan moved to LA for law school he completely fucked with the dynamic. We were all feeling it. Even me, and I wasn’t involved with Augustine in that way.
But then Alexander got tired of it. And Augustine and Jordan weren’t exactly finished yet. So he bailed and they continued, but as I said, Augustine never loved him. She loved me.
And maybe it’s her fault after all because it was her idea to bring me in to replace Alexander.
Friends with benefits. Does that ever fucking work?
I’m not jealous of Jordan. I wasn’t jealous then and I’m not jealous now. He doesn’t have her either. So fuck it. We came out even in that respect.
I’m not jealous of Alexander, because even though he was the man she chose to marry, she loved me first.
I was always her number one and I didn’t need to fuck her to be that.
I just was that.
Well. I didn’t see that coming. I picture the man at the greenhouse yesterday. His handsome face. His expensive suit. His piercing blue eyes. And I wonder what X looks like?
He feels magnificent on top of me. Inside me. When I touched his face last night, I could almost see him.
His story is like… a peek inside the lives of beautiful people. This arrangement is scary and intriguing at the same time. And even though he said in no uncertain terms that he was not after a spit-roast—I’m not even sure I know what that means, but I can take a guess—it’s hot. I can’t deny it, the whole thing is fucking hot.
I wait for his instructions, because there was no note about what we’re doing today. So I write my next entry. My story almost complete. And when ten o’clock rolls around and he’s still not talking to me, I make a decision.
Chapter Thirty-Two - Ixion
When I wake up, she’s gone. Nothing but a note waiting on the counter for me.
It says,
X,
I’m going out. But don’t worry, I’ll be wearing the blindfold for you tonight, not Jordan.
Evangeline
I get dressed and then I’m gone too.
Chapter Thirty-Three - Evangeline
I know that to most people, what I just did was not monumental. I walked out of a house. Under no one’s instructions and with my own purpose. It’s something small children do all the time.
But for me… it’s exhilarating. I feel the change since I’ve been in the house with X. Since we’ve been trading stories.
I want to know who he loved so much it destroyed him. And I think he wants to know who destroyed me too.
Everyone wants to know that. Well, they used to. When people gave two shits about my life. I’m pretty sure I’m nobody again. Pretty sure no one cares now.
Lucinda has asked me more times than I can count. Did they abuse me? Yes. Did they hurt me? Yes.
But not in the way people think.
And I don’t feel like telling her because I don’t think she would understand.
X would though. I have decided to write it down for him and him only. I will make him burn it, and forget it, and when I leave this house, leave him behind, I’m going to leave the past behind too.
I feel different now.
I’m not sure if it’s confidence. Maybe not that. But it’s… a willingness to see past my limitations and look forward to my challenges.
I want to play that show.
I think I’m going to do it.
There’s a reason I didn’t call a cab at the house and instead cut through the city by way of the gardens. There’s a bank of pay phones near the entrance. I had a few coins in my purse, but I’m glad I have a credit card when I get to them, because they don’t take coins.
This world, I swear. It moves way too fast for me.
I get my card out, swipe it like I do in the cab, and then press the numbers I looked up on the internet before I left this morning.
“Dr. Chatwell speaking,” she says.
“Lucinda,” I say.
A pause. “Evangeline? Did you—“
“No,” I say quickly. “No, I’m not quitting. I just wanted to call and tell you… thank you. I think things are going very well. I’m even meeting someone for lunch today.”
“What’s going on?” she asks. “You’re not supposed to—“
“Lucinda,” I say, sighing at her reaction. “I make the rules, OK?”
She lets out one of those scoffing laughs. The incredulous kind.
“And if I want to call and tell you thank you, then I will.”
She’s smiling. I can tell. “Who are you having lunch with?”
“I can’t say. You wouldn’t approve.”
“What?” she asks, slight panic in that word.
“That’s all I’m going to say. That’s all I want to say. Talk soon. Bye.”
I hang up the phone, listen to the beeping the computer inside makes as it completes my transaction, then hike my purse up onto my shoulder, adjust my sunglasses, and walk out the other side of the gardens and back into the city.
I catch a cab a few blocks down, get dropped off in front of the courthouse, and contemplate going inside to see if I can find Jordan before he finds me.
I decide against that. It’s not the fast beating of my heart, either. It’s not the feeling of too many people, even though that feeling is there. It’s because I’d like to be early today. I don’t want to share a table with some stranger who wants to talk to me. I want to watch Jordan when he comes in and not be distracted.
He’s handsome and I want to study his face. I want to imagine what it would be like to talk to him. Date him. Fuck him.
So I get to the coffee house at eleven forty. The lunch crowd is just starting to pick up but there are several open tables. I ask for one in the back, in the corner where I can hide in the shadows. I take my scarf off as my heart begins to gallop inside my chest, but I did that yesterday, so it feels a little familiar. I leave the gloves and sunglasses on.
I order the club with avocado without looking at the menu and feel like a local. Which makes me smile. Not because I’m tricking anyone. But because it’s true, after all. Practice makes perfect. And it’s just as easy to lie to other people as it is myself. Which is kind of a relief.
I spend the next twenty minutes watching the door, so eager to see the man I came for. And when the minutes tick off, and he’s late, I have a sick feeling in my stomach that this whole idea is stupid, and I’m stupid, and I will sit here all afternoon, by myself, and never get the reward I’m after.
To watch, instead of being the one watched.
But then he’s there. At twelve o nine. Pushing through the crowd, leaning into the ear of the hostess, who points him to the counter, where h
e walks up with the confidence of a man who has nothing to fear and orders a sandwich.
He’s not staying, I realize. If I want to talk to him, I will have to make a move. I put both gloved hands on either side of the plate holding the club sandwich I won’t be eating, and begin to rise.
“Angela!”
My head swivels at the name and I sit back into my chair, surprised that Mike, the interloper from yesterday, is making his way to my table.
“Ha!” he says, pointing to the empty chair on the other side of the table. “You saved me a seat. See, one good deed yesterday gets me a seat today.” He says that as he unwraps his scarf, takes off his gloves, shoving them into his coat pocket, and sits down.
Jesus fucking Christ. I sigh. “Hello,” I say. “I didn’t expect to see you again.”
“I’m here every day,” he says, looking up at the waitress to say, “I’ll have what she’s having,” pointing to my plate. The waitress nods, and then Mike turns back to me. “So, how’s work today?”
Jordan is paying for his lunch. He’s going to leave in like two minutes.
“People treating you good over there?” Mike nods his head, indicting the government buildings across the street.
“Fine, yes.” Jordan is checking his watch. And when he looks up, he’s staring right at me. He smiles, then gives me a two-fingered wave. Almost… a salute.
I put my gloved hands on the table again, one on either side of my plate, and this time, I stand up.
“Hey,” Mike says, covering one of my hands. “Do you want to go out some time? You know, like a real date or something? Dinner? Maybe drinks after work tonight?”
I stare down at Mike, unsure what to say. I don’t think I’ve ever been asked that question before.
“What?” he asks. “Why do you look so surprised? Don’t tell me people aren’t beating down your door to ask you out. You’re so beautiful.”
“No,” I snap. Rudely. And then I sigh, because I don’t want to be rude to this man. He was nice to me yesterday. And I really needed his help at the time. He kinda saved me, in a way. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I just… I don’t date people from work.”
Which is a lame excuse because obviously I don’t work with him.
But he shrugs it off. “It’s OK.”
“I have to go,” I say, fishing into my wallet to find a twenty-dollar bill and placing it on the table next to my uneaten sandwich. I turn around, find Jordan gone.
My heart skips a beat. Then I see the back of his winter coat, passing through the front door.
I rush after him, intent on getting what I came for.
Which is stupid. I realize that. Because I have no idea what I came for. Did I expect him to… what? Fuck me in the bathroom?
Why? Why does that thought even come to mind?
When I get to the door, a whole crowd of people are entering, and I have to say, “Excuse me,” several times as I push past them, oblivious to their reactions, and when I get outside I look around. Wildly. People pass me, staring, their watching eyes glued to mine. Entrancing me in the poison of their gaze.
I don’t have my scarf on. They can see most of my face. Which sends my heart racing again, but for all the wrong reasons. And by the time I hastily put it on, Jordan has disappeared.
Again.
Fuck.
Chapter Thirty-Four - Ixion
I’m waiting for her when she comes home, my cameras trained on the front door like a cat watching a hole in the wall for a mouse.
She is rumpled. Hair tousled, breathing hard, cheeks red from the cold, and beautiful in all her disheveledness.
I feel like maybe this is the real Evangeline. That this stupid goal of spying on Jordan has taken her somewhere she’s been before, but hasn’t been back to in a very long time. Like it’s giving her power.
Why? I have no idea.
But I think… I think I really like the powerful music maker.
She takes her coat off, throws it on the floor, then her gloves, and her hat, and her sunglasses. She looks up at the chandelier. At me, looking at her through the black bulb. “What the fuck?” she screams. “Why can’t I just catch a break? I mean, I’m out there, putting myself out there, and he even looked at me! Waved! And this stupid guy who thinks… I don’t know what he thinks… is distracting me, asking me out on a date! A date?” She shakes her head, like the idea makes no sense to her. “I just want a few moments to spy on Jordan. Is that too much to ask? Where else does he go? You have to know. Tell me. I feel like I’m making an effort here and the universe is just laughing in my face!” She squints her eyes up at the camera bulb. “Are you laughing at me?”
I chuckle. But say nothing. Not even a push of the intercom to let her know I’m listening.
“I know you’re listening,” she says, eyes fierce, expression defiant and vulnerable at all the same time. “Say something.”
I take a sip of the coffee I got while I was out. Enjoy it.
“X,” she says. “Are you there?”
X. Just hearing her say my name makes me want her. It’s so close to what Jordan calls me. Ix. X. So close.
“I’m going upstairs,” she says.
“Good,” I say, but only to myself.
“I’m gonna put the blindfold on,” she says.
“Perfect,” I say.
“I’m gonna wait for you.”
“I’m gonna make you wait.”
She starts walking up the stairs, then turns about halfway up to stare at me again. “You’ll come, right?”
My heart skips.
“You will,” she says, trying to convince herself. “I know this probably isn’t easy for you. And you probably have a million better things to do with your life right now than babysit me.” She pauses. “But I’m glad we’re doing this. I… I think I like you.”
And with that proclamation, she turns her back to me and disappears.
I am so stunned at her admission, I don’t even follow her on the cameras. I just sit there in front of the monitor, wondering… wondering how I got here. And wondering what I did to deserve this chance.
Because that’s what it seems like all of a sudden. Not that I’m here helping her, but she’s here helping me.
The stories we exchange are sad, but beautiful too. They’re desperate, but bring a sense of peace.
It makes me wonder if she’s getting better because of me? Or Jordan?
I’m dying to know the answer to that question.
Especially since I’m starting to figure out why I’m really here.
And it’s not her.
But I want it to be her.
I don’t make her wait too long. Not because I’m feeling generous or anything. But because I think I need her tonight. I think I’m going enjoy this a lot. Because I sense that she’s not as fucked up as she thinks and our time together in this house is drawing to an end. It hasn’t even been a week, but we’re almost done here.
Almost. But not quite.
So I get up, take off my clothes, check the mirror and wonder if I should shave. Decide no. I want to eat her pussy and I want the stubble on my jaw to scratch the sensitive skin on her inner thighs raw.
I want her to remember what we do at night when, tomorrow, she leaves here again looking for the man who isn’t me.
When I climb the stairs leading up to the third-floor bedroom I realize I didn’t check to see if she was wearing the blindfold. She could be waiting in there to ambush me. Eyes open. She’ll know everything if she is.
But I open the door without knocking anyway. Trusting her.
She’s lying down on top of the white down comforter, legs straight, arms at her side, the tie wrapped around her eyes just like she’s supposed to be.
Trusting me too.
She exhales as I stand over her. Sensing that I’m close, maybe fearful I will leave if she moves. She stays absolutely still.
“Touch me,” she breathes.
I
want to talk to her so badly. I want to say so many things about what she’s been writing in our book. I want her to know I’m listening. I’m here. I want to help her.
And I want to know what she thinks about me. The things I’ve told her.
Her hand reaches out, finds my bare leg. She sucks in a breath, surprised that I’m naked. But then her palm flattens on my thigh, her fingertips stroking me softly.
I close my eyes. Lost in her touch. The moment. Not caring that everything we’re doing here will end soon. I have her for now and that’s all that matters.
My knee sinks the mattress next to her hip. The other leg swings over her body until her legs are between mine. There’s a crinkle in her forehead, like she’s closing her eyes tightly underneath the silk tie, not wanting to see the truth, but eventually, she’ll have to. She’s gonna come to terms with her life. Maybe I’ll come to terms with mine too?
I stare at her face. Her tongue darts out, swipe across her lips. Wets them.
The smile on my face is between her legs a moment later. Licking. My tongue probing between the lips of her pussy until I find her clit. I take it gently between my teeth. She whines, then lifts her hips up, pushing my face deeper. She tries to open her legs, give me better access, but I hold my position, not yet ready to give her what she needs, still enjoying the tease.
“Take my blindfold off,” she says.
I stop.
Her hands finds my head, urge me to continue. But I just stare up her body. Past her peaked nipples, to her sweet face.
I shake my head no.
“Please,” she begs, still pushing on my head. Hips still moving. Like she wants to grind my face on her pussy.
I ignore her verbal request and sit back, taking both her hands in mine as I pull her up as I lie back. She gets what I’m doing. She gets me. So as I lie back, she scoots up, and even though I won’t let her take off the blindfold, I will grant her nonverbal request. Her legs settle on either side of my head as she lowers her pussy down onto my waiting tongue.
