Fourth and Inches

by Kata Čuić

  With the promise of relief on the way, I fight through my exhaustion to open my eyes.

  Instead of the expected blurry vision of the bedroom in our apartment, an impersonal, sparsely decorated hotel room comes into focus in the dim light.

  My sluggish mind takes a few heartbeats to catch up and erase my confusion.

  The wedding, the reception, my proposition—it all returns to me with less clarity through the chronology of events. But, it’s the vague memories of Rob blowing up at me that really send my heart racing.

  I scramble upright, barely controlling my gag reflex. As cool air washes over my sweaty skin, I glance down to find I’m only wearing my bra and panties.

  “Where’s my gown?” I reach for the bedsheet, pulling it up to cover myself.

  Rob furrows his brow, but looks away, respecting my obvious discomfort over him seeing me practically naked. After several awkward moments of silence, he clears his throat. “You were so drunk you just walked away from me without a word of explanation and curled up at the foot of the bed. I know you get hot when you’ve had too much to drink and it makes you feel worse, so I undressed you, then put you under the sheets. I figured you might get sick, so I put the wastebasket here.” He picks it up without looking my way to show me where it’s been at the bedside the entire time. “There’s apple juice and aspirin on the nightstand. I’m, uh, going to take a shower. Just…drink all that, then go back to sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning. I’ll turn off the lights so they won’t hurt your eyes so much.”

  My body shifts with his movement as he rises from the mattress. The click of the lamp on the nightstand blankets the room in darkness.

  As soon as the door to the bathroom closes behind him, my mind spins faster and louder than the old washing machines in the laundromat near my apartment.

  Feel better in the morning? Feel better in the morning?

  Under no circumstances or passage of time am I going to feel better about this situation.

  Is he out of his mind?

  No, that would clearly be me.

  What was I thinking?

  Oh my God, I propositioned him for sex.

  My previous list of discomforts becomes null and void in the face of such shameful behavior. He’s supposed to be getting over his alcohol habit, and then I had to go and throw my drunken self in his lap. My cheeks burn, my heart thrashes wildly in my chest, and the room continues to spin.

  I fall back onto the pillows, listening to the sound of the shower running, the tell-tale splashing of Rob washing himself under the spray.

  If I close my eyes, I can picture everything he’s doing. Because I’ve seen it all for myself before.

  Shampoo first, then rinse. No conditioner. Lather up the bar of soap, then slide it over his hard body, never using a wash cloth. On more than one occasion, I volunteered my hands for that job. Water tasted so much sweeter when being licked from his skin.

  If I hadn’t gotten drunk off my ass at the reception and begged him to bring me back here, he might be having an entirely different kind of shower right now. The kind that leads to moans of pleasure competing with the sound of rushing water. I’m sure Lydia would be willing to do anything he wanted, and he’d enjoy it to the fullest extent.

  Another wave of nausea spirals up from my stomach as I realize I’ve become like all the other jersey chasers who have ever begged for a night with the quarterback currently turning off the shower in the bathroom. The only difference is that I’m not capable of fulfilling his wildest fantasies.

  Hot tears of embarrassment slide down my cheeks. Escaping before he returns to the main room is out of the question. I have no idea where my bridesmaid’s gown is, and I feel sick as a dog. Getting out of this bed, making myself decent, and trying to get home on my own will only result in me puking on the sidewalk outside the hotel.

  The bathroom door creaks open, then he switches off the light. If only my eyes didn’t adjust to the darkness so quickly.

  Rob emerges with a towel around his waist, but doesn’t bother giving me a passing glance as he crosses the room to rifle through his duffel bag for clean clothes.

  In a desperate moment of self-preservation, I squeeze my eyes shut as the towel falls to the carpet. I can’t look at what I’ll never be able to touch again.

  My only option is to feign sleep, then sneak out in the morning.

  Rob climbs into bed, thankfully keeping to his side of the mattress. Not a single part of our bodies touch. The distance between us, which feels like a tangible entity in the room, hammers home the truth of how much has changed since we last shared a bed.

  “Evie?”

  I clench my eyelids tighter and hope my erratic breathing doesn’t give me away.

  “I know you’re not asleep. If I’m making you that uncomfortable, I can sleep on the floor.”

  Manic laughter combines with my tears. “I propositioned you for sex earlier, and now you’re worried about sharing a bed with me?”

  “Are you…are you crying or laughing?”

  “I don’t know anymore.”

  “Are you still drunk? Are you sick? What can I do?”

  Damn him. Even after everything he’s still so sweet.

  I hope his lady friends appreciate his personality as much as his body.

  “Can we–can we just forget this ever happened? I won’t back out on our deal if you won’t, but please never remind me I was a jersey chaser for one night.”

  “You were a jersey chaser for one night?” he asks through clenched teeth.

  “I literally just said don’t remind me! Pretend I never asked you to bring me to your hotel room in a drunken fit of desperation.”

  He lets out a rush of breath that sweeps over my bare skin. “Oh. I thought you were talking about asking someone else to take you back to their hotel room.”

  I roll my head to face him, incredulity blossoming in my foggy mind. “Who else would I be talking about?”

  Rob shrugs. The familiar mannerism would be funny with him lying on his side, his head propped on the pillow and facing me, but instead it only draws attention to the fact he’s shirtless in bed. The muscles in his shoulders ripple with movement. “The average guy you had sex with?”

  Shock grips me as silence descends between us. The background noise of other patrons in the hotel, the hum of the AC unit on the wall, the sound of a car passing outside, even the slow drip of the faucet in the bathroom all seem to blare at increasingly deafening levels as my heart tries to keep time with the plethora of different rhythms. “W–what?”

  Rob furrows his brow. “You don’t remember confessing that to me, do you?”

  No, I most definitely do not. I never had any intention of revealing that information to him under any circumstance. “What did I tell you?”

  How much did I tell him?

  Rob seems to stare at a random spot past me, his voice taking on a strangely disconnected quality. “I asked why you wanted me, the guy with the horse dick, to help test out your theory the hormone injections were working. I wanted to know why you didn’t ask someone who wouldn’t hurt you the way I do. You told me you tried it already with an average guy and hated it.”

  Equal parts relief and disgust with myself spread through my chest. At least I didn’t go into any detail.

  “I had myself convinced I didn’t want to know anything about it, about him. I ran down to the lobby convenience store for meds and juice for you on autopilot, almost like I was trying to physically keep myself busy, so I wouldn’t think about it. Realizing you were uncomfortable with me seeing you undressed changed my mind.” He levels me with a direct gaze. “I let you go, hoping someone else could make you realize how perfect you are, but the way you tried to cover yourself from me…it’s like you feel less beautiful now than you did before.

  “In the shower, I couldn’t stop imagining what might have happened with that other guy to make you act like I would ever hurt you. If you’d seemed angry, like I shouldn’t be allowe
d to see you anymore after what I did, then that would make sense. But, it wasn’t like that.” He returns to staring somewhere beyond my body, like he’s replaying the moment in his mind. “It was more like you were terrified. Like I was going to point out all your flaws, and you couldn’t handle that just then.”

  His observations of my reaction to him seeing me in only my bra and panties aren’t wrong. After all the undoubtedly gorgeous women he’s been with since we parted ways over a year ago, the thought of him seeing me naked fills me with more anxiety than ever before. No amount of alcohol could ever wash away this feeling of inferiority. Which makes it that much more ludicrous I asked him for this night at all. What was I thinking?

  I blame Alex and his stupid insistence I know the truth so I can move on with my life.

  Rob redirects my attention with a whisper louder than any sound currently berating my ears. “Why did you hate it? Did he hurt you? Didn’t he appreciate you? Did he say something to make you feel…less than?”

  I swallow down the agony lodged in my throat. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Why?”

  That single question hangs in the air, wrapping around my body like a coiling snake, suffocating me slowly, until I have no choice but to lash out or perish.

  “Why do you want to talk about it? Do you want to hear all the gory details of how he smelled like lust, man, and expensive cologne? Do you want to know if I felt delirious when he kissed me? Or, maybe you’d like me to tell you I screamed his name over and over while he made me come my brains out.”

  Rob doesn’t recoil from my verbal assault. Instead, he furrows his brow, looking decidedly confused. “I thought you said you hated it?”

  “I did.”

  “Then why did you tell me all that just now?”

  Because that’s what I always imagined it was like for you with Julie. And all the women you’ve been with since her. Since me.

  “Who was he?” Rob demands, his tone laced with frustration. “What’s his name? Where does he live?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Because he obviously hurt you somehow, and I have plans to hunt him down and make him pay first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “He didn’t hurt me.” No one could ever hurt me as much as you have.

  Rob scoots a fraction closer on the mattress. “Tell me what happened, then.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what happened with Julie and all your partners since her, hmm?” I mean it as a deterrent to his fishing expedition, but a sudden lightning bolt of awareness electrifies me. This is what I need to know. I need to hear from his own lips how much better they are than I could ever be. Then, I’ll finally be able to move on with my life.

  It’s not hope for the future I’ve been lacking all this time. I’ve been clinging to hope that I was wrong—that’s the unfinished business between us. That was the truth Alex unknowingly set me on a path to discover.

  Another wisp of distance is closed between us with Rob’s infinitesimal approach. “Maybe you should know she smelled all wrong. That I didn’t feel anything when she tried to kiss me. When I touched her, she didn’t feel like mine. Maybe you need to hear it didn’t even bother her when I called out your name as I came, but it repulsed me so much I threw up after.”

  I nod, absorbing the information I so desperately need. Clothing myself in his disgust feels like a relief—like the affirmation every bruised ego needs once in a while to keep going, keep mucking along in the trenches of life. “That makes sense. You must have kicked yourself to make a mistake like that the first time. I’m sure it’s gotten easier, though. You’ve broken that old habit by now.”

  “It wasn’t a mistake.”

  His firm tone causes me to glance his way, only to find he’s now beside me, a mere inch separating us.

  “The only way I got through having sex with someone else was imagining it was you. I hated it, too, Evie. I hated it because it wasn’t with you.”

  That makes no sense. Why continue doing something he disliked so much? I certainly didn’t. Once was all I needed to know. “What about all the women since Julie?”

  “Tell me why you hated it,” he insists instead of answering. “You had no problem waxing poetic about all the guys you’d been with at State.”

  “That was different.” Those were lies.

  “Oh, I know it was,” he chuckles without humor. “But I want, no…I need to know why you hated sleeping with someone else when you finally decided to go through with it for real.”

  I clamp my lips together. I’m not quite sober yet, and he already managed to make me squeal like a stuck pig. That’s one pattern I have no intention of repeating.

  “Evie,” he warns, his tone darkening.

  I hold my lips tighter and shake my head.

  “Tell me why.”

  Spots dance in my field of vision from holding my breath so long; trying to remain strong and resist his will. I finally can’t stand it anymore and let out a burst of air. “Why do you want to know so much?”

  His hand finds my hip under the sheets. I freeze. The touch isn’t haphazard or random. He sought that particular spot for a reason.

  “Because I want to know if he saw my name on your body and cared at all. Hell, I want to know if you got it inked there before or after you were with him. I want to know if you still had your wedding band on the necklace I saw you wearing at the Albany game when he fucked you. I want to know if he cared enough to ask about it before taking something that didn’t belong to him.”

  I never planned for him to know about this damn tattoo, either. Kicking myself for all my inadvertent confessions will have to wait until tomorrow, though. Anger simmers in my chest over his hypocritical accusations. “He didn’t notice the tattoo. I insisted the lights be off. I wasn’t wearing the necklace that night, so he didn’t have a chance to ask about it. I haven’t worn it since. And, I don’t belong to you.”

  I belong to no one. Not even myself.

  Rob nods, the slightest jerking motion. “I thought so, too. That you didn’t belong to me. But, I never asked you to ink your skin with my name in return for yours being imprinted over my heart. I didn’t once hint, joke about, or say anything to make you feel it was something I wanted. I have to assume you did it of your own free will. And since it is my name, I only think it’s fair for me to ask how, when, and why it got there.”

  “The last time I checked, this tattoo reads Mrs. Falls, not mister. So, no. It isn’t your name. It’s mine.”

  He sucks in a deep but controlled breath before releasing it just as carefully. His fingers tighten ever so slightly over the brand. “Then maybe you’ll answer me this: why is Mrs. Falls still your name?”

  That’s a question I ask myself constantly. I’ve been holding onto the divorce papers since our anniversary last November. It’s been seven months. Every day, I tell myself I’m going to do it. Convince myself I’m ready. Maybe tomorrow I finally will be.

  “Evie,” he repeats, his voice softer. “Do you need a push in the right direction to help you decide? You did it to me. If that’s what you need, I’ll do it for you, too.”

  “I did it to you?” That hurts. Yes, I lied, and yes, he didn’t handle that well. But… “I did it for you.”

  “You keep saying you did what you did for me, but it still feels more like something you did to me.”

  A bark of laughter sneaks out of my throat. “And yet you’ve been reaping all the rewards ever since, so I stand behind my deception. You’re right; you only needed a firm push.”

  “Do you?”

  Yes. “What did you have in mind?”

  Like metal in a fire, his harsh expression melts into something softer. “Can I…will you let me kiss you?”

  “Don’t do this to me, Rob. I’m not strong enough to say no,” I regurgitate his own words back at him.

  A hint of a smile plays on his lips, but thankfully, his dimple remains hidden. “I don’t want you to say no. I need
you to say yes.”

  We can go around and around, throwing pretty one liners at each other all night. Or, we can get down to business. “Then, kiss me, Mr. Falls.”

  “It would be my absolute privilege, Mrs. Falls.”

  He abandons the tattoo on my hip, gripping my jaw in his sure hand. Not too rough, not too light—the perfect amount of pressure to convey his need. Or maybe I’m reading too much into it.

  That first swipe of his lips against mine sends my mind reeling. The smell of him, the feel of him is everything I remember and more. Or maybe because I’ve been so starved for over a year, I’m desperate.

  “Evie,” he whispers.

  His breath rushes into my mouth, filling my lungs with air they’ve lacked for so long. My chest stretches and burns as long-forgotten muscles suddenly spring to life. And then I remember.

  Rob frowns when I pull back suddenly. I clasp my hand over my mouth and scoot away.

  “What’s wrong? Are you going to be sick?”

  Maybe. And that’s a problem. My voice is muffled by my hand when I make another horrid confession. “You can’t kiss me.”

  His expression shuts down immediately, lips flattening into a hard line, eyes turning a chilly shade of blue. “Okay.”

  I should let it go, but my brain screams for me to make him understand. With so much miscommunication between us, for some reason, I just can’t add this to the list. “I have a disgusting taste in my mouth from drinking so much. I’ve been feeling sick for hours, and my breath must be awful.”

  A look of shock passes across his face. In the next heartbeat, he throws his head back and laughs. Joyful noise fills the room. It’s a true belly laugh, the likes of which I haven’t heard since before the game our senior year at State when he got a concussion that signaled the beginning of our end.

  I didn’t realize how long it had been since I’d heard the sound.

  I had no idea how much I missed it.

  As he gasps for breath and tears fill his eyes, embarrassment replaces my happiness.

  I’m sure all the gorgeous women who’ve shared a bed with him over the past year have always had perfectly minty breath, in addition to voluptuous, scar-free breasts, full-body waxes, svelte physiques meant for giving and receiving pleasure. They probably never have a hair out of place, racoon eyes at the end of the night, or get so sloppy drunk that Rob needs to take care of them instead of enjoying them.