by Lulu Pratt
His words are like poison to my skin. “What do you want, David?”
“For you.” He presents a bouquet of pink roses. “A token of apology. I know I need more than that, but it’s a start.”
I don’t touch them. They could be laced with something.
“Look. I’m an idiot. A first-class idiot. I know you know this. I just want to tell you that you’re right and I’m sorry.” David wipes tears from his eyes. “I have been so lost without you, Kate. Nothing feels real anymore. I’ve tried to fill your void in my life and nothing compares.”
I snort at this, but quietly. Seeing him cry is… unnerving.
“Please, Kate, let’s talk this out. I love you. I miss you. I need you. I was a dumbass and I will apologize on my knees for the rest of my life. Please, take me back.”
“David.” I struggle to find words because I can’t even comprehend what I’m seeing right now. “You can’t just come in here, after everything that’s happened, and expect me to take you back. I’m done. We are done.”
“Please, Kate.” His voice drops to a whisper, teary streams turn to rivers on his cheeks. “Just talk to me. One drink to let me plead my case. Please.”
My arms stay tight at my sides, my personal shield. Still, watching him cry is a terrible thing. My resolve shatters in a blink.
“Fine. We can talk. I’m not coming back, but we can talk.” I walk backwards to my room to keep an eye on him. “I’ll change. You have one drink. That’s it.”
“Thank you.” He sniffs.
The entire time I’m pulling on some clothes, I feel like an idiot. I have no desire to get back with this man but I can’t just leave him sobbing on my couch. I’m not heartless. One drink, he can pay, and then I gain a clean conscience.
Except he is now naked in my living room. I squeeze my eyes before reopening them to make sure I’m not seeing things. Nope, he’s definitely naked in my living room. Grin on his face.
Somewhere below the smooth surface of Kate McArthur, a volcano erupts.
“Get out!” I yell, throwing everything within reach at him. “Get the hell out of my apartment!”
He doesn’t have time to plead or beg. He doesn’t have time to argue. I chase him out of my apartment, stark naked, with a weighted candlestick, and secure every lock on my door.
“I need my clothes!” he yells through the door.
The neatly folded pile rests on my chaise. I dump them out the window, into the evening traffic. The last thing I see is his button-down flying through the wind like a kite.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ERIC
“Harder.”
I do.
“Harder.”
I go harder.
“Fucking harder, man. What is this, kindergartener hour?” Paxton laughs at me. “This is some weak shit.”
“Don’t push it again, Pax. Last time, you had a black eye.”
“Eh.” Paxton shrugs it off. “The girls loved it, so bring it on, old man.”
I channel every floating force of confusion and frustration to my hands. David’s face, Kate’s tits, my landlord refusing to fix the shower for the third time. All of it goes flowing through me and into the bag. Sweat stings and my nose runs, but still I throw punches.
Sometimes, I picture Paxton’s smug face, too.
Finally, I collapse against the bag and throw my gloves to the ground. My lungs seize up and I need the space to walk around and breathe. I don’t need to hear Paxton’s shit, I don’t need to see Geoff cackling like a know-it-all jackass, and I don’t need the rest of the gym to see me currently falling to pieces.
Every night for the last week, I’ve jacked off to pictures of Kate. From the moment I left her apartment, I’ve been insatiable. It’s like being back in college again, jacking off every three seconds because I caught a flash of a girl’s thigh while walking through the dorms.
It’s maddening. I’m an adult. I fuck when I want to fuck, but I always have control. Because of Kate, that control is now slipping.
“Look, you just need to finally admit this shit.”
Paxton jogs to catch up with me near the ring. A pair of women from my office is beating the shit out of each other. It usually cheers me up. Today it doesn’t.
“I’m serious, man. This is unlike you. I get she’s a hot piece of ass, but is she really worth all this bullshit?”
She was worth everything and that’s what makes it maddening. Sex with her feels different, but it’s more than the sex. It’s more than her wit. It’s more than her bangin’ body.
“I’ve fucked my fair share of women in the last several years.” I lean against the ropes for a better look. Evelyn’s nose is bleeding but she doesn’t tap out. Respect. “Picked up a lot of women and never called them again.”
“More than your fair share, I’d say.” Paxton jokes. “You certainly know your way around a vagina.”
“I’ve been with hot women, smart women, models, rich socialites, other attorneys. I’ve fucked good girls, the girl next door, the girl across the street. All ethnicities. I don’t discriminate in the bedroom against damn near anything.”
“As long as they’re hot, far as I could always tell.” Paxton agrees. “Hot comes in a lot of flavors. So what makes her different?”
“I don’t fucking know.” I slam my fist against the top of the ring post. “I’ve been stressing over this shit for ages. I can’t fuck her out of my system.”
“Have you picked up anyone else since you started banging her?”
I shake my head once, definitively. I know what he was going to suggest and I can’t bring myself to do it. I saw the way she looked at me with lipstick on my cheek. That fucked with me for days and I don’t want to go back to it.
“Maybe you should.”
“No.”
“Then you better figure that shit out soon. Fucking her because you hate your client isn’t a good enough reason anymore.” Paxton slaps my back and shoots a two-finger salute.
I don’t have any answers so I hit the showers. Nothing in there, either. All I got is she’s some sort of magical combination of every girl I’ve ever liked… or I’m getting old. And I don’t feel that goddamn old just yet.
The sun beats down on my way to the car and it doesn’t provide any resolution, either. I don’t like a lack of resolution. I like answers. I like something I can win.
Just passed my car, I spy a familiar outline sitting on a bench in the park. My feet make an abrupt turn to her, drawn to her presence without bothering to confirm with the rest of my body.
“All the gin joints in Los Angeles, and here you are.”
“No gin.” Kate is a little stiff but not unfriendly. “What are you doing here?”
“My gym.” I hitch a thumb over my shoulder. “If I’m not at work or the bar, I’m usually here. What are you doing here?”
“My gym.” She mimics my thumb over her shoulder. “If I’m not at work or the bar… you get the idea.”
“You box?”
“Yoga.”
Makes a lot of sense. That woman is bendy as hell in the bedroom. I could turn her into a pretzel if I wanted and she’d still fuck like a queen.
She doesn’t look like royalty today. It’s more than the I-just-worked-out thing she has going. Her fire is dim and I don’t like it.
“You okay?” I keep a careful space between us on the bench, but I nudge her hand with mine. “You look like you need a friend.”
“No.” Kate hasn’t looked at me once since I came to sit. I want to take her by the cheeks and make her.
“Want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“You know, they say I’m a great listener.”
“Bullshit.” Her lips quirk upward at the ends. It’s a small victory. “You only like the sound of your own voice.”
“Guilty.” I move in just a touch closer and soften my voice. “Come on, Kate. Something is bothering you and I want to help. Talk to me.”
She coc
ks an eyebrow at me and the disbelief is heavy. It’s like the woman I bent over her couch has been replaced by someone scorned. It’s only then that I realize she’s probably got a lot on her plate and my dick isn’t helping much.
Tinges of guilt ping at me, reminders that she’s dealing with her livelihood while I was dragging her off to be fucked good and proper. Except it’s clear she has feelings and I’ve witnessed that makes shit more complicated. Normally, that’s exactly the response I want.
Not anymore. Not with her.
“Nobody cares about me.” Her voice is ice. “I’m just someone to be used. For money, connections, sex. No one gives a shit. You don’t give a shit. You’re just like everyone else.”
The weight behind that statement isn’t hidden. I want to argue, to tell her she’s wrong, but she’s not. I’ve spent weeks trying to pound her out of my brain but I’ve still fucked her. I’ve still used her for sex. For some unknown reason, it unsettles me.
“Let me take you to dinner.” I grab her hand and squeeze it. “Tonight.”
“What, like a date?” Kate scoffs.
“I mean, I can fuck you first if you want. But then yes, a date. A real date.”
She finally looks at me, those sad eyes probing me to see if I mean it. Surprises me just as much, but I do. I kiss her hand and watch the red touch her cheeks.
“Okay.” She finally breathes heavily. “I guess that would be okay.”
“Does this mean we’ll fuck first?”
“Is that how you usually date?”
I grin. “Yes. But for you, I’ll make an exception.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
KATE
“Okay, just trust me on this.”
Eric’s voice doesn’t do much to assure me as we zip through traffic in his tiny sports car. I am more than grateful I can’t see the undoubtedly narrow spaces he fits through. The blindfold over my eyes was funny at first, then nauseating, and I am now settled on life-saving.
“Trust you? That doesn’t sound very promising.” I clutch my stomach as we veer around another set of cars. “Where are we going? The moon?”
“Better.”
“What’s better than the moon?”
“Glendale.” I can practically see the cheeky grin on his face.
“Glendale? Seriously? What the hell is in Glendale besides hipsters?”
“Great fun awaits us in Glendale, Kate. You just need a little faith.” Eric slides his hand down my leg, spreading chills across my body in rapid succession, and grasps my hand. It’s surprisingly intimate and I’m glad he can’t see my full reaction right now.
Mostly because I don’t know how to feel.
He tells me about his grandfather as we go. The fish they’d catch, how he learned to fillet a trout for his seventh birthday, and how they would eat popcorn on the back porch at night while watching the sunset.
“That sounds beautiful.”
“It was.” Eric squeezes my hand and lets go, leaving me cold. “I spent whole summers just eating popcorn with the dude and plumping up the resident squirrels. End of the summer, they became target practice.”
“Oh my God!”
“Kidding.” Eric laughs. “Well, sort of. The neighbors really liked shooting BBs at the squirrels.”
“What about you?”
“I was too busy playing baseball.”
“I pictured you as more of a soccer player with that physique.”
“Oh, you’ve noticed?”
“A time or two, just a glance here and there. It’s very elusive.”
“Well, I’d hate to look like a braggart.” He squeezes my knee and my stomach flips again.
I’m not supposed to be here, but he’s treating me like I’m important. Everything is upside down, a modern version of Wonderland. Only I don’t want the little cake that will make me grow and finally escape like Alice. I want to stay here forever, in this weird little land, because it’s the only place I feel I fit.
The car comes to a stop and he kills the engine. Anticipation is killing me. Glendale is not what I would call the most thrilling place in Los Angeles, and definitely not where I expected him to take us.
“I’ll get your door.” Eric says. A few seconds later my door pops open and he leads me out of the car and in a few circles before finally removing my blindfold. “Surprise.”
Instead of looking at anything, I’m staring straight at him. We’re so close I can feel his breath on my neck.
“You brought me out to Glendale to see you?”
“I knew you’d love it.” He winks and spins me around once more. “Ta-da!”
“Roller skating?” I laugh. “Wow, this is surprising. I haven’t done this since I was… well, very small.”
“What better way to get handsy in public without drawing a lot of attention?” Eric winks again and takes my hand.
We walk inside like it’s a date. We rent skates like it’s a date. We order cokes and cheese fries like it’s a date. He tells me jokes, real ones that make me laugh and snort soda up my nose. It’s so surreal, all of it, that I half expect the Cheshire Cat to pop up out of nowhere.
“Come on.” Eric pats my knee and jumps up. “Let’s go for a spin.”
“I’m going to have to cling to you for dear life. I am many things, but graceful is not one of them.”
“That’s exactly what I was hoping for.”
Those first few steps on the rink, full of teenagers holding hands and little kids zooming in and out on roller blades, are terrifying. The total loss of control makes my stomach drop to my knees, but Eric remains by my side, an anchor in this fast-flying world.
“I also dabble in hockey.” He pulls me back upright as I drop into accidental splits. “Wow, you really are terrible.”
“I’m a fast learner.” I shoot back, laughing at my embarrassing skating performance. “Give me time. I’ll show you.”
“Anyone who doubts you is an idiot.” Eric says it almost tenderly.
It’s hard to focus on skating because I’m so busy staring at him. To see if this is all real. But a few more laps around the rink, more falling, more splits and I forget to watch him. Instead, it’s stupidly fun.
No pretenses are required while roller skating in a room full of families and kids. There are no cameras, no sequins, no twenty-dollar cocktails. It’s just laughs and smiles and holding hands under a disco ball. It’s the best night of my life.
A Whitney Houston song comes on and the DJ announces time for couples skate. My thighs and calves are killing me, but Eric pulls me out for the song. He spins me around in front of him and holds me like we’re dancing. I panic, but he holds tight.
“Trust me.” He whispers.
So I do.
In his impeccably strong arms, he holds me up so we can dance through the song, even throwing in an occasional spin. We’re so close our noses touch but our lips never meet. It’s a never-ending tease, all this touch with no payout. I love it.
We shut the place down, enjoying the last bits of amazingly terrible nineties music and mirrored ball lights until they kick us out. The whole drive back, we laugh about the other people there, and, of course, my terrible skating.
“I told you, though, I’d come back in the end. Did you see my spin at the end? That was Oscar-worthy.”
“Put that on your résumé. They next time they need someone for a terrible roller derby movie, they’ve got their girl.”
“It’ll be my Cinderella story. From socialite to derby girl.”
“I could see you rock it. It’d be pretty sexy, too.”
Heat spreads across my chest and I look away so he can’t see the stupid grin on my face.
“I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun, Eric. This was easily one of the best nights of my life.” We are standing outside my apartment and I don’t want the feeling to go away. I want it to last the whole night and then some. “You want to stay for a while?”
Eric cups my cheek in his hand and grasps my hi
p with his other. He pulls me in for a kiss that makes my toes curl and my knees go weak. It is cliché and delicious and beautiful. It is exactly the lead in I want for a night of passion with him.
“I can’t.” He whispers against my lips. “I don’t want to use you.”
“Please use me,” I counter. “Use me hard.”
“You deserve more than that.” He kisses me again, softer this time, and taps my nose. “I’ll see you again soon, Derby Princess.”
I watch him walk away, held up by my front door. This evening was more than anything I could have hoped for, but it left my heart more twisted than ever. A darkening area of my brain knows this can’t go on and can spell ruin, but a bigger, brighter part wants to get lost in him and never find the way out.
I don’t know where to go.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ERIC
A bright white envelope sits on my desk when I walk in Tuesday morning. Our interdepartmental envelopes are a disgusting yellow, so it’s not another note from Hazel in accounting. Her “memos” are nothing more than a thinly veiled plea for a date.
Not interested. Not with Kate in my life. Whatever is going on with her. I haven’t told a soul and don’t plan to. I don’t understand what happens to me when I’m around her, but I’m tired of fighting it. I’m tired of busting my ass in the gym and in the courtroom to sweat her out. It hasn’t worked.
Time to just embrace it.
“Sophie, do you know what this envelope is?” I call over my shoulder. “Who brought it?”
“No idea, Mr. Stevens.” She pops her head in the office. “Want me to ask around?”
“Nah. I’ll just have my coffee first. Wanted a jump on it.”
I pour a cup and study it. As a habit, I don’t like opening envelopes first thing in the morning. Anything could be in there, and I mean anything. A client’s ex once mailed me her used panties. Another time, an attempt at blackmail.
Never try to blackmail a lawyer unless you’ve got something really, really fucking good. That guy didn’t.
