“Either will be fine. You should pick what you like.”
“This is one of my favorites. It’s not Italian, but I promise it’s delicious!” I whirl around to hand him the bottle of Claret, and turn straight into him. “Oh, I’m sorry!” I say embarrassed, realizing he must’ve been leaning over me to view the wine selection.
“No, please. My fault.” His words are calm, but the emotion runs through his chiseled cheeks, and he makes no attempt to move backward or create space between us. He suddenly pulls the bottle from my arm, setting it atop the wine fridge. He takes my hand and pours his words into me. “Jessa, I still think about you all the time. About that night in New York…” his voice trails off. I pause, dumbfounded and shocked by his proclamation. I freeze, fearing that Jack will see us like this, but then I hear his voice talking to Emma, confirming he’s safely out of earshot of this whispered profession. I swallow hard and want to fall deeper into his embrace, but I know I shouldn’t. Despite my buzz I have enough clarity to see how wrong it is. I watch his eager eyes and gather my words.
“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about you. About that night.”
“Why did you leave my apartment so quickly? I never got to say goodbye, and then I never heard from you again.”
“Because I was completely embarrassed. What I did was wrong.”
“Wrong? It feels wrong to see you and not be with you,” he says exhaustedly. “I know you just moved in with Jack, and I don’t want to ruin that, but I had to tell you. I can’t let it go.” Think, Jess. Think. The logical side of me goes to a sudden death battle with the yearning and desire I feel toward him. I look down, unable to think straight when I look into his dark eyes, only seeing pure lust.
I focus on the here and now. I just moved into this house today. With my boyfriend, who I love. I gaze back up at him. “I think about you sometimes. But this would be wrong. We would be wrong. I just moved in here with Jack. I have to be fair to him. I really do love him.” My eyes plead for his understanding, and he shakes his head.
“You’re right. I’m sorry, Jess. I shouldn’t have said anything,” he pauses, “but if you change your mind, and if this doesn’t work out…” his voice trails off. He leans forward and gives me a gentle kiss on the cheek, and I force myself not to push my lips over onto his. I close my eyes and he pulls away, grabs the bottle of wine, and leaves me breathless and alone.
Less than two steps separate us before he turns around and takes me. We grab each other like animals, pawing at any scrap of clothing we can find. I rip his clothes off, forcefully, desperately, panting with excitement. His freshly shaven face glides against my fingertips as I caress his strong features. His skin smells of divine Italian soaps and my body fades into his when his strong lips pull at mine. I pull away for a moment and hold my breath, wanting to be certain that they can’t hear us. Emma laughs loudly as she and Jack continue to share stories over wine in the living room. I know we only have a few minutes before we’re notably absent and I intend to make the most of it.
I catch the intensity in his eyes as our bodies separate briefly, allowing him to maneuver up my shirt. There’s no time to completely undress, so he simply slides my bra down a few inches, giving himself immediate access to hard, waiting nipples. I feel inside his pants and catch a handful, and a very large one at that, ready for me to take him. I give him a long, wet kiss then drop to my knees to taste him at once. His size is captivating, overwhelming me as my lips and tongue move across his throbbing muscle. I can barely hold myself off from jumping onto him, and having him inside of me. I slide his erection between my lips and massage him with my tongue, but after a few moments he pulls me up to him. “Now,” he says through a whisper, “I need you now.” His fingers dip into my jeans, inching closer to me and my hips flex toward him, willing me to connect with his.
The top button of my jeans pops open easily, and with one hand he guides my zipper down. He pulls his other arm over to shimmy down my pants and panties just enough to allow him entry. “Come here,” he says whirling me around so my back rests against his stomach and chest. His lips find my neck and gently nip down a trail from my earlobe to my shoulders. His mouth moves to my other side, repeating the same cycle and sending shivers down the opposite side of me. His hand cups me and he easily slides two fingers into me, causing my knees to buckle beneath me. Sensing my collapse, his left arm swings around my waist, holding me upright and against him. “Are you ready?” he whispers at me. I nod my head in affirmation, too afraid to speak. He pushes my head and upper half of my body forward, and spreads my legs further apart. Leaning over me he places a kiss on my back, and then guides my hips backward into him. My body awaits him, needy with anticipation. His hips thrust into me and I have to cover my mouth to silence the delighted scream that’s trying to escape.
twenty-seven
What is that? My body twitches against the soft sheets, and I pause, caught between reality and the sexcapade playing in my head. Argh, another dream about him. It’s been two months since the night of our double date, yet practically every night my brain creates another fantasy of us being together. It never happened. And it never will. That evening ended with Max leaving our house, and me feeling relieved that Emma didn’t go with him.
The 5:45 workout alarm is singing its morning tune, so I force my body to get out of bed. Might as well burn some calories rather than spending the next few minutes fucking his royal lustiness in my mind. I remember the dinner plans I have with Mother and Daddy tonight, giving me the motivation to get up and sweat out some preemptive stress.
***
“Mother!” I wave my hand and force a smile onto my face. She gives her standard feeble wave back to me. I stand in the bar area of Bistro Niko, one of the tastiest and most fabulous French restaurants in Atlanta. The restaurant’s decor pays homage to its cuisine, decorated as an elegant brasserie, filled with happy hour attendees on this warm Thursday evening.
“Hello, Jessica. You look nice, dear. Skinnier in fact?” I hear the surprise in her voice as she verbalizes an accidental almost-compliment.
“Hi, Daddy.” A more genuine smile emerges as he approaches. “Did Mom make you coordinate with her?” I joke, noticing the pink and blue stripes in his shirt that complement her pink sundress.
“Anything to keep her happy.” Daddy winks at me before giving me a warm embrace.
“Should we grab a drink while we wait for Jack?” I feel the sting of a punch in my gut as soon as I hear his name.
“Actually, he’s not coming. He sends his apologies but he got tied up at work. Again.” I cringe awaiting the judgment or disappointment in their voices. He’s already the reason we moved the location of dinner from “our” house to a restaurant since he wouldn’t be home in time to properly host. And now, here I am, stood up by my own live-in boyfriend, feeling the sting of his choosing work over me. Is that really the only reason I feel resentment toward Jack?
Ever since we’ve moved in together things have been good between us. I know he loves me, and I him, but I’m living with someone I barely see. Yes, he’s always worked a lot since I met him, but he still made time for me, enough that I still felt like a priority. I still see him every day he’s in town, but it’s typically dinner alone, and a quick kiss hello just as I’m getting into bed. And tonight is no different. I really thought he would come through when it came to my parents, especially since he knows how tenuous my relationship can be with them. But here I am, alone and embarrassed by his absence.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. But we’re thrilled to have you to ourselves.” Daddy says kindly, trying to console me.
“Should we head to our table?”
I nod at Mother’s request, grateful she’s at least attuned enough to my feelings to change the subject.
***
“Excuse me, ladies, I need to visit the little boys’ room.” Daddy politely excuses himself from the table, leaving me alone with Mother for the first time tonight. She watche
s him depart and turns her attention back to me.
“How’s your food, dear?”
“It’s good. The beef bourguignon is one of their specialties.”
“You’ve barely touched it, Jess.” She pauses, setting the fork down next to her own half-eaten plate of duck. “How are things really going with Jack?” Damn Mother and her damn nosy questions. My heart clenches in pain, having been grateful to avoid his name for the last hour of conversation.
“They’re good,” I lie, never having been one to fully divulge the details of my love life to my mother.
“Are you happy? I can see you’re disappointed that he’s not here tonight.” I glance away and fight the release of the salty water that sits on the edge of my eyelids.
“I do love him, if that’s what you mean.” I unintentionally reveal, realizing that’s not the question she asked. “Are you happy with Daddy?” I tartly change the subject, shutting down her veiled attempt at mother–daughter bonding. I then realize what I’ve implied. I do know about her slutty past after all.
“Of course I love your father.”
“But are you happy with him?” I spew the paralleled question back at mother, unsure of my own happiness with Jack, and why I’m questioning it.
Mother lets out a deep sigh, and in vino veritas prevails. “Jess, I know it’s not something we ever talk about, but I think you need to hear this.” My ears perk up, flabbergasted that she might be going there. “You know that I wasn’t always faithful to your father.” Now it’s her turn to look away, and I see a hint of water pooling in her normally impassive eyes. I nod my head, acknowledging her words. “It’s something I regret. Every day. But what you probably don’t know is why it happened.” She pauses, seeking her own composure. “The truth is, Jess, your father put work before me. I barely saw him. You barely saw him, at times. And I was tired, angry, and lonely. And after some time, attention fell upon me and I didn’t turn it away. I should’ve talked to your father more, been more explicit about my needs, and tried harder to work things out with us before this happened. But I didn’t. And while I do regret that this happened, I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t changed things forever. For the better even. It took that painful experience for all of us to realize how much we meant to each other. And now your father always puts us first.”
I drink in her words. I’ve spent more than a decade assuming mother was just a selfish slut when she cheated on daddy. But in reality, she was just a lonely, vengeful, selfish slut.
“So do you understand what I’m trying to tell you dear?” I consider this for a moment. Is she saying that I should cheat on Jack? “I’m saying you should learn from my mistakes. You should talk to Jack. If you love each other then you’ll work through this. He’ll make you a priority. And if he doesn’t, well, at least you don’t have a child and a marriage to untangle.”
twenty-eight
“So you know how my mom used to be a whore?” I semi-whisper to Sarah, leaning closer to her so our conversation doesn’t extend beyond her cube walls.
“Of course. That’s our usual topic of conversation,” she says with a giggle.
“Well, she kind of came clean to me last night. About why she cheated on my dad.” Sarah’s green eyes get big and she inches closer to me.
“Oh, do tell.”
“She said she wasn’t a priority anymore. He was working too much, and she hit a breaking point. She needed attention that he wasn’t giving her, and eventually she just found it elsewhere.”
“Wow. Ok. So, dare I ask why your usually poignant and clammed-up mother divulged this to you?”
“We were at dinner last night. Jack didn’t make it—he had to work—and I guess she saw some of her former loneliness in me. Or maybe it was just the large consumption of wine.” I lighten the heavy thought, not ready to fully reflect on this.
“Oh, Jess, I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” I manage a feeble smile, as the knowing look of a friend is enough to extract my tears. “So the moral of Mother’s story was that I shouldn’t be her. She said I should talk to Jack. Give him a chance to fix this. To give us a chance, to get back to the relationship that we had. Otherwise…” I pause, thinking of the alternative, and swallowing back the fearful reality. “Otherwise I need to move out and move on.”
“Wow. So, things are really that bad? I thought he was just busy at work?”
I open my mouth to speak, and my brain stops, reflecting on Sarah’s question. Is Jack’s work schedule really this inexcusable or am I simply trying to justify the lingering lust for a hot Italian? Maybe he’s just working hard because he’s young, and trying to secure a great future. For both of us. This idea begins to play in my mind, and unsettles my subconscious. “I don’t know, I guess it’s just a lot of things adding up,” I say, withholding the full truth, while further realizing my own lustful thoughts might be contributing to my frustration with Jack.
“So is he still joining you in New York this weekend?”
“As far as I know. I still have to be up there to make sure the agency is set for the Global event. He hasn’t cancelled on me. At least not yet.”
“Jess, I think you’re smart to talk to him. You need to get your feelings out there. But can I give you a word of advice?”
“Of course. Please.”
“Give the weekend a chance to have fun together. Without his interruption of work, without the stress of the inadequacies of your relationship. Give yourself a chance to feel for him how you have before, and probably still do. You guys haven’t even had the time for that in weeks.”
“You’re right. Maybe this is just the weekend we need. To get away, drink some great wine and enjoy fabulous food, and most importantly each other. If we can do that then I think our conversation will take a completely different tone.” Especially if I can get Max out of my head, and stop sabotaging my relationship with Jack.
I know I love Jack. Me, the master of loveless relationships finally found love! So why am I so willing to let it go? My heart aches too much at even the thought of leaving Jack, and I weigh why I am even considering the thought. But even still, I can’t get him out of my mind, and can’t help but wonder why.
twenty-nine
The taxi line at the Waldorf is brutal. Not surprising for New York City on a Friday evening during rush hour, but frustrating nonetheless. The temperature hints at the upcoming summer season, with a tinge of salty humidity mixing with the smoggy air. “You should have let me order a black car,” Jack says impatiently.
“The line is moving, it shouldn’t take that long,” I respond in an irritated tone. For some reason Jack woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, and we’ve been bickering with each other ever since. We barely spoke on the plane ride, where he was occupied by his work, and I by my thoughts. Now we stand on the busy corner of Park Avenue, impatiently waiting our turn for a car, already late to meet Max for dinner. I’m still wrapping my head around how we’ve gotten here; just yesterday I was planning to be 100% focused on Jack this weekend, and permanently force Mr. Lust from my mind, up until he dropped the Max news on me this morning…
***
“So I was emailing with Max, he’ll be in New York this weekend, and we talked about grabbing a drink or dinner one night. Does that sound ok to you?” Jack’s question prompts a lusty daydream of him and slaps the sultry image of the delicious Italian right into my mind. Great, seeing him will do wonders for my already Lust-filled dreams, I think guiltily.
“Sure, that’s fine. I didn’t realize you guys kept in such close contact,” I say curiously, my heart rate quickening with this news. My mind jumps to the clothes I’m throwing in my suitcase, instantly reevaluating if what I have packed is suitable for this unplanned encounter.
“Yeah, I’m still supporting one of his European deals now, so we’ve been in touch for some of the planning.” Great, just what I want, you to spend even more time with him and work, and less with me.
“Oh really? Small world.
What deal is this for?”
“Something called Pegasus,” he says, and I instantly roll my eyes. All of his projects have stupid code names. “Babe, you know I can’t tell you that,” he reminds me, giving me a kiss on the cheek as if to make up for his secrecy.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. You know I only ask because I’m interested in what you do. I’m not dating you and living with you to steal your trade secrets and play the stock market with the information,” I huff back at him.
“Jess, I know that. It’s just easier if I don’t tell you. Trust me, it’s not that interesting anyway. I’d much rather talk about you and interesting things in your life.” Jack tries changing the subject to soften me back up. He’s gotten to know me well enough that he can tell when I start closing off. I huff back to my closet to look for my sluttiest classy dress. I will my frustration to leave my mind. Doesn’t he trust me? I’m fucking living with him after all. What else does it take?
My mind mixes with frustration and guilt, thinking about Jack’s seeming lack of trust for me, and my shameful thoughts of my Italian objet d’affection. Come on, Jess, you promised yourself. This weekend is about reconnecting with Jack, with or without a Maximum distraction.
***
Tonight Jack is dressed in his dark jeans, light blue button-up, and cotton navy blazer. His frustration is showing in the form of a bead of sweat on his eyebrow. “Take off your jacket, it’s like eighty degrees outside,” I suggest.
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