Hammered

by Jasinda Wilder

  We don’t have the kind of relationship where I would ever, ever, ever talk about what’s currently bothering me—they certainly sense it, as I’m out of sorts and mopey most of the time. Instead, they go out of their way to make sure we have lots of fun, keeping the conversation light and happy. We drink wine on their back porch and go see movies at the luxury theater nearby, and go to a comedy show and binge on a season of a period drama on their Netflix account and, honestly, it’s a much-needed getaway from everything.

  I finally turn on my phone in the waiting area at my gate while waiting to board my flight home: I have nineteen texts, mostly from Audra, and several from Jesse. I don’t read the ones from Jesse, because I’m chickenshit. The preview line for the thread reads: —always been bad at that, and I’m sorry. Call me if you want.

  I don’t dare read the rest.

  Audra’s texts are angry. Mostly along the lines of how dare I ignore her, we’re fighting, I promised her details, she knows I’m having a breakdown and if I don’t call her we’re over, we’re totally having a BFF breakup.

  I shut my phone off for the flight back home; leave it off for the drive home. It’s late evening by the time I get back to my neighborhood, and as I prepare to turn onto my street, I have a panic attack. What if I go there and he’s there. He could totally be there, if he’s not there already. If I see him, I’ll spill everything.

  And I don’t dare do that.

  We had casual sex. That’s it. No big deal. People do it all the time. He’s a pro at it. I’m not, but I can figure it out. Audra will teach me how. Maybe I’ll go to a club with her and pick up some younger guy and we’ll have casual sex and I’ll become a casual sex junkie like Audra and Jesse.

  The thought is so patently ridiculous that I actually laugh at myself—as I drive right past my house.

  There’s only one place to go, and it takes me less than ten minutes to get there.

  Audra’s place is a sixth-floor condo, and I have a key. I’m not thinking as I let myself into her building and ride the elevator up—I’m acting on instinct, avoiding thinking or examining my emotions until I know it’s safe, and it won’t be safe until I’m in Audra’s condo, wrapped up in her giant king-size microfleece throw blanket, eating Thai delivery and drinking a vat of wine.

  I let myself into her condo, and it’s not until I’ve let the door close behind me that I realize I’ve made a serious mistake.

  Audra is bent over the arm of her couch, miniskirt up over her butt, a guy at least ten years younger than her drilling her for all he’s worth. Audra is biting down on a throw pillow to muffle her shrieks, and he’s muffling his grunts by biting her shoulder.

  They don’t even notice me at first.

  Actually, they don’t notice me at all, and I’m too stunned to move.

  He finishes with one last hard slam, grunting, biting her, and pulls out.

  She gasps, spitting out the pillow, straightens—and shrieks in surprise when she sees me. “Imogen! Holy shit! What—what are you—?”

  The guy is blanking totally. His jeans are around his ankles, his shirt hanging off the back of the couch—he’s still hard, the condom full, and he’s dazed, staring at me, and then at Audra, and then back to me again.

  My mouth is open, and I’m struggling to look away.

  Audra recovers first. “Price—go clean up,” she snaps, shoving her skirt down.

  He blinks at me, and then her. “Uh. Yeah.”

  He tugs his jeans and underwear up most of the way—awkwardly, clumsily, and vanishes into the bathroom.

  I blink at Audra. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t—I wasn’t thinking. I’ll leave.”

  Audra snorts. “Don’t be stupid. Just give me ten seconds to get rid of this guy.”

  “Audra, for real, I’m leaving. I’m sorry I interrupted.”

  Audra grabs my arm to prevent me from leaving. “Imogen, please, it’s totally fine.” She grins at me. “He got his O, I got mine, and we’re good. One and done, babe, you know that.”

  I’d normally give her friendly grief about that, but under the circumstances, I dare not.

  A moment later the guy, Price, emerges from the bathroom, and beelines for Audra, snagging his shirt on the way and digging his phone from his pocket. “So, can I get your number?” he asks. “So we can meet up later?”

  Audra pats his cheek, her tone cold and condescending. “We talked about this before I brought you up, Price.”

  “But I thought—”

  “That I’d change my mind once I got a taste of the D?” she interrupts, her tone amused; he clearly did think exactly that. “Nope. You can go, now, buddy.”

  “Audra,” I hiss. “At least be nice.”

  She rolls her eyes at me, but offers him a nice smile and a less bitchy tone of voice. “I really did enjoy myself, Price. Or rather, you. But I’m not really in a place for anything more than that, okay?” She rolls the excuse out with practiced smoothness. “It’s just where I’m at. It’s nothing personal.”

  He nods. “I gotcha.” He offers her a grin that’s probably meant to be sexy and charming, but just seems goofy, at least to me. “If you change your mind—”

  “You’ll be the first person I call,” Audra says, ushering him to the door and out of it. “Bye, Price. Thanks!”

  He waves and grins and tries to get another word in even as she closes the door in his face, turns the lock and attaches the chain and the deadbolt, and then whirls on me.

  “What the hell happened, Imogen Catherine Irving?” Audra demands. “You vanished on me! No calls, no texts, no details, nothing. You ignore me for three days, and when I hunt you down at your new job your boss says you took time off to go visit your folks? Spill it, bitch!”

  I head for the couch, but think better of it considering what I just saw. “You couldn’t even get to the bedroom with him?”

  Audra laughs. “Oh, we made it to the bedroom. And the bathroom. And the kitchen. He was getting ready to leave and I decided I wanted one more. He’s young and virile enough that he had one more in him.”

  I cringe. “Oh.”

  She looks at me like I’m stupid. “You think I’d go to all the trouble of bringing a dude to my condo for one measly fuck? Forget the one and done motto. If that’s all I’m after, I’ll jump him in the car. No, they don’t get to come up here unless I’m sure they can go the distance.”

  I make a face. “Audra.”

  She just laughs. “What? I met him at the gym a week ago. I let him take me to his place after a workout for a nooner, and we got it on like Donkey Kong. He had the goods and the stamina, so I let him take me on a date, and I brought him home. He’s lucky. Most guys don’t even get a date out of me.”

  I laugh. “God, you’re crazy.”

  “Hey, I have very high standards. My condo is a sacred space, and I only allow the best sex up here.”

  I sigh. “I wish I could be more like you right now.”

  “You wear your heart on your sleeve, honey.” She frowns, and then turns her attention to me. “Oh. Ohhhhh. Something happened.”

  “You think I’d vanish to Florida for no reason?”

  Audra eyes me. “Do I need to order Thai and open a bottle of wine?”

  Too overwhelmed to care anymore, I slump onto her couch—on the opposite end from where the action took place. “Yes. Order everything on the menu, and a case of wine.”

  “Oh boy.”

  While we’re waiting for the food to come, Audra takes a quick shower and emerges in her bathrobe, hair wet around her shoulders, makeup gone—without makeup and her hair loose and damp instead of in a tight updo, she looks both older and younger than usual. Softer, less polished, less perfect, but more beautiful in a personal, informal sort of way. I realize the face she puts on for just about everyone—even me, most of the time—is a careful mask meant to hide a facet of herself I think few ever see.

  The food comes and I pay for it and set it out while Audra pours wine, and we curl
up side by side on her couch, devouring food and wine before we get into the conversation; it’s our way, for as long as I can remember—food and wine, and then talk.

  “It was either really bad, or really good,” Audra guesses, after we’re both full.

  “Really good,” I answer.

  “Too good?”

  I nod. “Way too good.”

  “So take me through you running away to Florida, and not answering your best friend of almost thirty years.”

  “Stop making me feel old. I’m having a hard enough time as it is.”

  “Fine. Not even twenty-five years, then.”

  I grimace. “That’s not much better.”

  Audra whacks me on the arm. “Quit being a crybaby. Age happens, get over it. You know what’s nice about hitting forty? I can get away with not giving a shit in a way I couldn’t in my twenties or thirties.”

  “My age is not the issue.”

  “Then what is the issue?”

  “The sex was mind-blowing,” I say. “Best sex of my life.”

  Audra raises her eyebrow. “And…?”

  “And when it was over it was just…over. I rolled into him, you know? Out of instinct or something. And he actually did hold me like that for a minute, but then he clearly was trying to figure out how to get me out of his bed and out of his house without pissing me off.”

  Audra winces. “Ouch.”

  “I tried to go into it without expectations, Audra. I really did. I knew going in that he didn’t—as he put it in so many words—‘do heartbreak,’” I use air quotes around his phrase. “He made it clear that he doesn’t do relationships, or long-term, or any of that. I knew it. And I’m not even looking for it myself. I’m not even two months divorced yet. I went into it with him knowing it wasn’t anything but casual sex.”

  “And you still latched on?” she conjectures.

  I nod. “I haven’t really processed it yet. I ran.”

  “He kicked you out?”

  I shake my head. “No. I acted like I didn’t care. Like I had to go. He drove me to my car at Billy Bar, and I left. He tried to explain, but I just—I didn’t want to hear his excuses.”

  Audra is quiet for a while. “So, let me get this straight. You and Jesse have mind-blowing, best-ever sex, you go to cuddle, he freezes, and you bolt.”

  I shrug. “More or less. He wouldn’t say anything. He always has something to say, Audra, always. But he just looked at me like—like he didn’t know what to do with me now that we’d had sex. Like, this chick is in my bed and I can’t figure out how to get her out of it. He said he never brings anyone to his house—or rather, that he never had, until me. So his usual method of escape was out of the question. Like, usually he just leaves, you know? So I made it easy on him—I acted like it was all totally fine, and told him I had to go.”

  “How many times did you go?”

  I shrug. “Only once, but it was…a lot.”

  Audra is silent again. “What did he actually say to you?”

  “I didn’t really give him much of a chance to say anything, actually. He tried to make excuses, you know—” I turn my voice as deep and growly and gruff as possible, mimicking him, “Imogen, listen, it’s just that I, you know…” I trail off and resume in my normal voice. “That kind of thing.”

  Audra pours us each another glass of wine, and takes time thinking in silence, drinking her wine and staring hard at me over the rim.

  After a long time, she sets her wine on the coffee table and takes my hand in hers. “Imogen, honey, I think you fucked up.”

  I’m taken aback. “What?” That’s not what I was expecting her to say.

  “I don’t want you to be like me—you’re you, and I’m me. You know what I went through, why I’m like I am about guys and sex. You don’t have to be that way. You went through a shitty situation, and I get that. He was never good enough for you, and I was never shy about saying that. And listen, I’m your best friend, right? So I won’t be shy about saying I fucking told you so. I’ve never said it, but I’ll say it now.”

  I rear back, stung. “Are you serious?”

  She just lifts her eyebrow. “Oh, I’m not done, babe, so hold your offense until the end.” She stabs my chest. “I told you Nicholas was a douchebag, and that I didn’t trust him. When you slept with him the first time, you said it wasn’t amazing, and I told you to dump his ass then. I told you he’d hurt you. I told you you deserved better. You insisted you knew what you were doing, and I let it go. I stood up for you at your wedding even though you knew I disagreed with you marrying him. I told you I had a car waiting so you could run at the last second, and I wasn’t kidding. I had a cab and a getaway driver ready and waiting. I even had an overnight bag packed for you. But you married him anyway.”

  Tears sting my eyes. “Audra, come on—”

  “No, you need to listen.” She takes my wine from me and sets it down, and I know she’s serious as a heart attack if she doesn’t want us drinking during this. “Nicholas was only doing exactly what was in his nature. He never loved you, and you never loved him. You wanted stability, you wanted to be nurtured, and you wanted to nurture.” She’s sympathetic now, but keeps going. “You wanted kids. You wanted a family.”

  I’m so hurt and angry I can’t speak. “Audra, I didn’t come over here for this.”

  “Too damn bad. You’re here now and this is what you’re getting.” She pauses, breathes in slowly and lets it out even more slowly. “He was never going to be able to give you what you wanted. Not in any way. He dulled your spark, Imogen.” She sounds emotional, more so than I’ve ever heard her. “You gave him everything you had, literally and metaphorically. And now it’s over, it’s finally over, and you’re still desperate for the one thing you’ve always wanted.”

  “Goddammit, Audra,” I hiss. “Don’t.”

  “You were an accident. Your parents love the hell out of you, and they did their best, but they were retired by the time you were in high school. You’re lonely. You were lonely in college, you were lonely when you met Nicholas, and you’re lonelier than ever now.” She smiles sadly at me. “And trust me, I get it. But with Nicholas, you had to know, deep down, that he was a slimy piece of shit and that he’d only end up hurting you. You settled for a douche-canoe, and you paid the price. Or, rather, you got what you paid for. You can’t play the victim, here. You suspected he was cheating on you and you stayed with him. Even after you had proof, you took another year to divorce him. You were willfully blind and stupid. Yeah, it hurts, but it’s over. He doesn’t deserve another second of your time or thought, and certainly not you feeling some ridiculous sense of being heartbroken.”

  “I got what I deserved, you’re saying.”

  “You didn’t deserve it, no. He was a piece of shit. He stamped out your fire. You used to be a firecracker. You used to be down for anything. You used to be wild and fun and take no shit. I realize it was a response to how you grew up, but it was fun. He dulled you. And now you’re just starting to get that back. This guy, Jesse, he’s made you more alive than you’ve been in twelve years, Imogen! You feel that, you see it, and you’re scared of it. He makes you feel things you’re realizing Nicholas should have made you feel but never ever fucking did, and you’re angry at yourself for wasting twelve years of your life on that bastard.”

  I can’t see. Can’t breathe.

  She’s not done. “Guess what, Imogen? You don’t get that time back. Just like I don’t get back this time I’m spending on guys half my age who are never anything but toys and distractions. I recognize that. But you know what you can do? You can change what happens. You don’t have to react based on how Nicholas made you feel. You don’t have to be the victim.”

  “I’m not playing the fucking victim!” I shout.

  “Yes, honey. You are.” She squeezes my hand. “You made a shitty choice, Imogen. Now you have to move on.”

  “What does any of this have to do with Jesse?”

  “You fucke
d up, that’s what.”

  “How?”

  “He’s bent over backward to do things for you. Tens of thousands of dollars of work, for free or dirt cheap. He’s charmed you, wooed you, and made you feel sexy again when Nicholas made you feel like shit. You’ve had fun with him. You like him. He challenges you. You’ve been on a dry spell for a year and a half—we both know that. Which means you were, on top of everything else, horny as hell. Desperate for sex. Desperate for actual P-in-V sex, with a man. And he made it easy. He presented a no-strings scenario without making you feel cheap, and you went for it.

  “I encouraged it because, if nothing else, you’d get sex and hopefully stop being such a whiny, reclusive stick-in-the-mud. But the problem is, not only have you not had sex in a year and a half, you also haven’t had any kind of validation or intimacy or male attention in a year and a half. And, unlike me, you can’t fool yourself into thinking good sex is a decent stand-in for any of that. So you were desperate for just basic attention, period. And Jesse gave it to you. Sounds like he gave it to you good, too, girlfriend, because even crazy nympho Lee never left you saying the sex was mind-blowing, best of your life. And it’s not like Lee was your first by any stretch of the imagination.”

  She’s dropped so much on me at this point that I don’t even know where to start, but she still isn’t done.

  “And yeah, maybe your guy Jesse is a player or a hookup artist or whatever, but from what you told me, it sounds like he was trying to figure out how to keep you in his bed, not get rid of you. You panicked, because you’re scared of falling in love. And you’re scared of being hurt even worse than Nicholas hurt you, because you can see yourself feeling things for Jesse you never did for Nicholas. So you ditched him. You bolted. He may have driven you home, but you didn’t give him a chance to say boo, much less process how he may have been feeling about you. Because it sounds to me like he has feelings for you, Imogen, and maybe he’s as confused and mixed up and scared as you are, but he’s a dude, and when dudes are faced with emotions they don’t understand or can’t handle, they shut down. But instead of seeing that, you reacted out of your own bullshit, shut him out, and ran.”