by Reid, Penny
He frowned, looking frustrated. “I’m not saying what you did was okay, and I’m really glad—I mean, really fucking glad—you feel remorse about it. You apologized. I forgive you.”
I scoffed, shaking my head.
His tone turned stern. “No. I get to decide what and who I forgive, and I forgive you. But, fine, forget about that for a minute. There’s one fundamental difference between what happened that night and the hypothetical, role reversal situation you’re proposing.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?” I lifted my chin a notch.
“At no point was I afraid of you.” His gaze seemed to narrow, as though watching my reaction very carefully, and he added slowly, “But I’m guessing, whatever happened to you, was scary as hell.”
I didn’t flinch. But holding his eyes, I felt mine sting. A searing numbness settled in my stomach and I found I had to swallow before I could speak.
“Nothing happened.” I parroted his own words, my voice gravelly, and then stepped around him, walking calmly to the front door.
I remembered I didn’t have any keys just as I spotted two slips of paper tucked into the door jam. Retrieving them, I read the first,
Hey you,
I stopped by. Wanted to see how you were doing. I found this postal service slip just inside the gate on the cement so I brought it up to the door.
I’ll be by tomorrow. Maybe we can have breakfast and catch up.
Love ya, Gabby
I handed her note to Abram when I finished and glanced at the second slip. Sure enough, it was one of those orange United States Postal Service slips.
Sorry we missed you! We tried to deliver your package. It is now being held for you at Wicker Park Commons on N Ashland Ave. Please stop by with a photo ID to collect your package.
“Must be your cell phone and stuff,” he said.
I turned my head and found him at my shoulder, reading the postal service slip.
“Yeah. Must be.” I handed it to him as well and stepped to the side so he could unlock the door.
Abram shoved the notes in his back pocket and retrieved the keys, his eyes on me the whole time, his features mostly clear of expression. But he didn’t unlock the door.
“Hey,” he said.
“Yes?” I said.
“So, can we forget it happened?” He took a shuffling step toward me, dipping his chin.
“Are you going to unlock the door?”
“Can we forget about it? Start over?”
I didn’t have to think much about his request, because the only logical path forward was obvious. “No. We’re not going to forget about it. You’re going to hold that grudge.”
He exhaled a frustrated-sounding breath even as his lips tugged to the side. “Oh yeah? Why would I do that?”
I told him the truth, “Because you never know when that Lisa might come back.”
11
Newton’s First Law of Motion: Inertia
I needed coffee.
I didn’t usually drink coffee, but I awoke the next day with an insatiable desire for coffee. And donuts. Okay, actually, it was a Stan’s chocolate cake donut I wanted. But donuts always tasted better with coffee.
Regardless, I needed both. And a shower.
Last night, after returning home and our short—albeit uncomfortable—discussion on the front porch, he’d wordlessly unlocked the door and we’d both retreated to our separate spaces: me, upstairs to play the violin badly; him, wherever he went.
It was for the best. No other choice. Lisa would be arriving any day now, we would be switching places, and Abram could never know I’d been Lisa this week. Any like or regard or respect I had for my messy Adonis was as irrelevant as it was inconvenient.
Therefore, I put him firmly from my mind, played my violin badly for a few hours, went to sleep, and then woke up with an insatiable craving. For donuts.
Presently, checking the clock next to Lisa’s bed and discovering it was still quite early, I decided to take my time getting ready while I waited for Abram to wake up and escort me to get donuts. The plan was: I would speak to him as little as possible on the way, and I would avoid him for the rest of the day.
In the meantime, I debated whether or not to take a bath, but ultimately decided against it. I already had that shower helmet. Plus, I suspected a bath would just make me think of Abram, and I definitely didn’t need to be thinking about Abram while taking a bath. BIG NO.
Retrieving the awesome helmet from my room, I took a shower. I then turned the showerhead off, sat on the edge of the tub, removed the helmet, and turned on the main faucet. Since I had plenty of time before Abram woke up—given his slackerish history of sleeping until whenever—I shaved everything that was appropriate to shave. Usually, I didn’t. Fanatical grooming was pretty low on my priority list. But, given my present predicament, how else was I going to pass the time?
Once finished, I turned my attention to the dry shampoo Gabby left two days ago. I’d never used dry shampoo before, and I had plenty of doubts about its effectiveness. I was pleased to discover it worked superbly. Huh.
After brushing my teeth, toweling off, and dressing in Lisa’s clothes—a flowy, silk pink tank top tunic, a brand-new white lace bra, and a pair of tight jeans—applying makeup, and checking my appearance a few times, I was disheartened to discover that a mere forty minutes had passed since I’d woken up. And yet, the hunger had only intensified. For donuts.
7:53 AM.
Slowly, I descended the back stairs, strolled into the kitchen, sauntered to a stool, and sat. Sadly.
Sigh.
Man. I really wanted it (a donut). One of those colossal cravings held me in its grip, where you can almost taste the thing you want, your mouth waters just thinking about the coveted item, and you get this sense of restless injustice, like the world is conspiring against you, keeping you from the object of your desire . . . which was a donut.
Tapping my fingers on the quartz countertop, I glanced at the clock over the double ovens.
7:57 AM.
That’s it.
Standing, I speed-walked to the pantry, pulled my wallet from my bag, pulled a twenty from my wallet, pushed the wallet and the bag back in their hiding place, and tiptoed to the front door. I couldn’t wait. Abram was probably going to sleep until after noon, and I refused to be denied (A DONUT!)
Slipping on Lisa’s Vera Wang comfy sandals, I crept to the door, opened it as quietly as possible, and closed it just as quietly.
The walk to the Stan’s Donuts was speedy and uneventful, and the ordering process was efficient and swift. I was more than halfway home when I realized, in my rush, I’d forgotten to order coffee.
No matter. I can just brew a cup when I- when I . . .
Yikes!
I stiffened, stopped, and sucked in a breath.
There he was. Abram. Sitting on the outside steps, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped in front of him. Glaring at me like I’d just deleted his LHC simulation data without making a backup.
Releasing the air in my lungs, I bit my bottom lip and approached the gate with caution. I shouldn’t have been noticing how crazy attractive he was when he glared, but I did. How could I not? He glared at me as I punched in the code. He glared at me as I opened the gate and shut it firmly behind me. He glared at me as I approached. By the time I made it to the bottom step, I wasn’t sure if the warm blush heating my cheeks was remorseful embarrassment at having been caught, or merely a reaction to the stern severity in his gorgeous dark eyes.
Either way, I tried to ignore both, and smiled. “Want a donut?”
His glare flickered to the bag I held, and then back to me. “You left.” Abram’s voice was cold steel, had cold steel been able to speak and was alarmingly good-looking when it glared.
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. “Yes. Yes, I did. And I’m sorry.”
“You broke your promise.”
“I needed coffee, but I forgot to get coffee, because what I rea
lly wanted was a donut. And here, see?” I lifted up the bag. “I got enough for you too.”
Nothing about his expression altered, which caused a thrilling little shiver to race down my spine. My goodness. Was it hot outside? It was hot outside, right?
He blinked just once. “What kind of donuts?”
“Uh, all kinds. A virtual cornucopia of donuts, if you will. They usually give people a box for this many, but I asked for a bag.” Peering into the paper sack, I began listing all the options.
But as I rattled off the list, Abram stood, descended the steps until less than five decimeters separated us, and used his finger to hook the top of the bag open further, peeking inside. He was so close, I could smell him, his fragrance, and it had that melting effect on me as usual. But I also smelled the donuts, which meant I was now melting and trying not to drool.
Abram glanced between me and the interior of the paper bag. “Which one is your favorite?” he asked quietly, an edge of something treacherous in his tone, maybe even sinister.
I blinked up at him. “Why?”
“Because I want it.” The softness of his response only served to underscore the meanness.
My mouth dropped open. “Why don’t you just take the one you actually want and leave my preferences out of it?”
He lifted his eyebrows, giving me a pointed look, but otherwise didn’t respond. It was response enough.
“You’re unconscionable.”
“Which one?”
“Fine. It’s the chocolate cake donut. Happy?”
“Yessss.” The flash of a grin also meant a flash of his dimples, the combination momentarily discombobulated me, just long enough for him to snatch the bag from my hand.
“Hey!”
“There are two chocolate cake donuts in here.” He turned away and walked up the stairs.
“Yes. One for me and one for—hey!”
He’d extracted both chocolate cake donuts and carelessly handed off the bag to me, as though discarding it, walking through the front door. I chased him into the house and to the kitchen, gasping in horror when I saw he’d already finished one of the donuts and had just taken a bite out of the other.
I don’t know what made me do it, but I tossed the bag full of inferior donuts onto the kitchen island and grabbed his wrist. Actually, I do know what made me do it: fury and hunger. I wasn’t hangry, I was furngry.
Before he could react and holding his eyes, I guided his hand to my lips and took a giant bite, shoving a full half of the remaining chocolate cake deliciousness into my mouth.
His eyes grew round with shock even as he laughed. “You’re going to pay for that.”
I didn’t respond. I was too busy chewing, giving him my dirtiest look, holding his wrist in place with a death grip, and ignoring the excited, hot, electric shiver dancing down my spine. He flexed his arm, as though to raise his fingers and finish off my precious. I couldn’t let that happen. Plus, I wanted to see his arm flex again.
Grabbing his forearm, I shoved it down with all my might, and I swallowed. He chased his hand, his mouth open and ready to bite. So did I. A brief struggle ensued, during which our foreheads knocked together as we both reached the shared target.
“Ow!” I said, but I didn’t back down. I refused to cede my grip on his arm, because doing so would mean surrendering my breakfast, and the loss of watching him strain, and listening to him grunt. Twisting and trying to jump, it was no use. He was bigger and stronger and taller, so much taller, and he smelled so, so, so good. Olfaction satisfaction.
Momentarily distracted by (what else?) Abram-fragrance, his forearm slipped from my fingers and he held the remainder of the donut above us both, turning his face toward mine.
“Give it to me.” I clawed at his raised bicep, breathing hard, headless of how this pressed my body more completely against him. Or how every time I jumped for his arm, my chest bumped into his and I slid down his front.
I am so hot right now.
“What? Give you what?” he whispered, tilting his head to the side, liquid brown eyes shaded beneath those dark lashes.
No matter how I pushed against him, he held firm. So firm. So very, very firm.
Out of breath, I ignored the swirling butterfly field in my stomach, determined to reach the donut, no matter what it took. Mine! Mine mine MINE!
“You know what I want, Ahab.” I lunged against him. I didn’t know what made me do it—
Actually, I do know what made me do it: fury and hunger and horniness. I was no longer furngry, I was frunghorngry.
Despite my lunging, he didn’t even rock back on his heels.
Ugh. Damn him. Why was he so immoveable? He was in my way, keeping me from what I wanted, and—in that moment—my throat burned with how much I despised him. SO MUCH!
But Abram did lower his arm at the last minute, holding the donut behind his back. As I reached around him blindly, my lips accidentally grazed his jaw, our bodies sliding together, the friction causing an immediate straining and awakening within my own. Flinching as though burned, I retreated, working to subdue this destructive awareness fragmenting my composure as his arms came around me, the donut now behind my back.
“Too bad, Liza. I didn’t get what I wanted either.” He was breathing hard. Good.
“Oh yeah? What’s that?” I ground out, also breathing hard.
“You . . .” he said, his voice a gruff whisper, his mesmerizing gaze darting between my eyes and mouth.
I sucked in a short, surprised breath, blinking furiously as pinpricks of heat pulsed just beneath my skin. But before I could connect too many fantasy-fulfillment imaginary dots, he leaned even closer.
I felt his breath on my lips as he finished the thought, “You . . . are not allowed to leave the house without me.”
“You were asleep.”
“You know the rules.”
“You can’t lock me up.”
He nudged my nose with his, the barest of touches, a gentle slide, whispering darkly, “But I can tie you up.”
Oh.
My.
GOD.
I held perfectly still despite being out of breath, my eyes on his, my heart in my throat; the sensation of being launched into the air and falling all at once; my lower abdomen a swirling, twisting, universe of activity. Because I wanted it.
I wanted it.
I wanted it.
I want it. So. Bad.
His eyes held me transfixed, turning impossibly darker, hotter, half-lidded monsters, mirrors of my darkest desires, and they lowered slowly—so slowly—to my lips. He licked his bottom lip, also slowly. And he leaned. And I exhaled an incomplete, hitching breath of sweet anticipation. And I let my eyes flutter close. And—
“Hey! Why is the front door open?”
The sound of Gabby’s voice followed by the front door closing had the same effect as a gunshot.
We jumped apart. I scrambled around the kitchen island, placing it between us. He backed up to the kitchen table. Our eyes met—his dark and piercing, mine probably frantic and disoriented—and crashing cymbals sounded between my ears just as Gabby walked into the kitchen.
“Hey you . . . two.” She’d started her greeting with a smile, but ended it with a frown, glancing between us. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
Abram, the muscle at his jaw jumping, pushed his fingers into his hair, his eyes sliding to the side and giving the full weight of his glare to Gabby. “What are you doing here?”
Holy hadron collider, he sounded pissed.
She retreated a step, visibly alarmed. “I left a note. Yesterday? On the doorstep?” When he continued glaring at her without speaking, she lifted her palms. “Jeez, Abram. What the hell? You look like you want to murder me.”
Abram’s glare flickered to me for the briefest of instants, and then dropped to the floor. He lifted his hands to his hips, but he still held the partially eaten donut, a fact he didn’t seem to realize immediately. Giving his fingers a stern double take, he stud
ied the donut for several seconds before taking a deep breath and placing it on the kitchen table behind him.
During this odd moment, Gabby sent me a wide-eyed look. I knew it was supposed to impart something to me, but I had no idea what. I wasn’t yet thinking clearly, still recovering from my franghorngry moment of madness.
Make no mistake, it was madness. Gabby had saved me—saved us both—from making a colossal and intractable error in judgment.
“Gabby,” I said, my voice breathless and quiet because my thoughts were too loud. I gestured to the bag on the island. “I picked up some, um, donuts, if you want any.”
“She’s not staying.” Abram said this firmly, his hands now fully on his hips, shifting his scowl from her frown to my face.
I stared at him, working hard to catch my breath and keep my eyeballs from broadcasting how badly I still wanted . . . I still wanted.
He stared back. He blinked. Aggravation dissipated, becoming something else entirely—conflict, concentration, fervor—and I experienced that bizarre tunnel vision again.
Eventually, Abram took a deep breath. He closed his eyes. He shook his head.
“Fine. She can stay for an hour, and that’s it. And she has to leave her cell phone on the kitchen table.” Eyes still closed, he rubbed his forehead like he had a headache.
Gabby’s mouth dropped open, and she seemed to be on the precipice of saying something—likely cheeky and inappropriate—so I shook my head furiously, making my eyes as large as I could, hoping to impart to her that saying anything at this moment would likely result in her being expelled from the premises.
She started, rolled her lips between her teeth, and shifted her eyes back and forth between Abram and me. Clearly a struggle for her to keep quiet, she appeared to be almost bursting with the need to speak her mind. Come to think of it, I’d never known her to hold her tongue. Ever.
It must’ve been a real character-building experience, not getting what she most wanted in that moment; even if it felt like a compulsion; even if it would have been a terrible, terrible mistake.
I know how she feels.
