by Anthology
Chapter Eight
Of course she went to lunch. Late enough she could be half-sure she'd have missed him, late enough that if he'd stayed, that would mean something. Mean what, Maura refused to tell herself. When it came to Ian, so much could mean so little.
He hadn't said a time or place, but she'd assumed he meant the restaurant she'd asked him to. They'd been to this place dozens of times, never for the food but for the privacy. Dim lighting, secluded booths, a part of town neither of them normally frequented. It was a bad choice today, a reminder of secret meetings. Furtive kisses. He'd told her once that he loved her sitting in his car in the parking garage that she could see now from the restaurant's front door, where she was still hesitating about going inside.
Chin up, she thought. Chin. Fucking. Up.
Inside, she blinked and blinked to adjust to the dramatic change in light. The hostess, a perky blonde in a white shirt with a few too many open buttons, gave her a bright smile. Maura clutched her coat a little tighter around her throat, scanning the room.
"I'm meeting someone," she said before the woman could ask her. "He'll be seated in the back room."
The hostess stepped aside with a nod. Maura moved through the restaurant toward the back. There was a booth near the back they'd always preferred because it was set back into a small alcove hung with curtains that shielded most of the table from the rest of the room.
"Hi, Ian." Her relief at seeing him was enough to weaken her knees. She put a hand on the table to keep herself from crumpling or worse, hurtling herself across the table to get to his mouth.
If he'd looked smug, she told herself she'd have found the strength to turn around and walk out on him, but Ian looked as relieved as she felt. He stood to let her slide into the booth. For a moment, Maura thought he meant to kiss her. She moved past him, not giving him the chance.
"Did you eat?"
"No." He paused, gesturing at the array of glassware. "Drank a lot of iced tea. I was waiting for you."
"I'm not hungry," she told him. "It's almost three o'clock. I was sure you wouldn't be here."
"I was sure you weren't coming."
"How long were you going to wait?" The question slipped out before she could stop it.
Ian looked at the table for a few seconds before meeting her gaze. "I don't know. I'm glad I didn't leave, though."
"Me too." The truth was always so much easier than lies with him, even when she hated herself for giving him too much.
"Do you want something? Are you hungry?"
"No. I'll have coffee."
"Dessert?" Ian asked with a small smile. "Key lime cheesecake...?"
Maura raised a brow. "I'm not that easy."
"Yes, you are." Ian moved a little closer and lowered his voice. "You know you want it."
She shook her head. "Nope. Trying to cut back."
"Well, I'm going to have some. Key lime cheesecake and coffee. Two, please. Cream and sugar." He turned to her when the waiter left. "I'm glad you came."
Her heart skipped. "Are you?"
"Yes." He moved closer again so that his knee barely brushed hers. He reached for her hand. Their fingers linked.
Maura kept her hand very still, though the impulse to squeeze him tight was hard to resist. She wanted to rub her thumb along the back of his hand, to feel the familiar pattern of his tendons and veins. She wanted to press each of his fingers to her mouth.
They looked each other in silence for some long minutes, and again she kept herself from kissing him although the need for his mouth had become a hungry, desperate thing in the pit of her belly. Ian traced a figure-eight on the back of her hand, sending shudders all through her that she hid by straightening her spine.
He let go of her hand when the waiter brought the dessert. One plate. Two forks. He poured the coffee and left the sugar and cream, which Ian pushed toward her. Two creams. Three sugars. He didn't even have to ask how many she wanted.
"In the last days of my marriage," Maura said quietly, "I went with him to a diner so we could go over some final paperwork. Do you know, he had to ask me how I took my coffee? Ten years we'd been together, and he didn't know."
Ian said nothing.
"He didn't care enough to know, really. That's what it came down to." She emptied the cream into her coffee and stirred. Then the sugar. She sipped, relishing the warmth and the slowly spreading glow of caffeine.
After that, they talked. Not the easiest conversation they'd ever had. She gave everything she said a second thought before she spoke to be sure there could be no misconstrued innuendo. No accusations that she was trying to lead this in any sort of direction. She let him talk, and she gave answers. Sometimes, his knee bumped hers, but he didn't take her hand again.
"You want the last bite?"
She'd eaten only a single bite of the cheesecake, and shook her head. "No, thanks. You eat it."
She watched him lick the fork clean and had to look away. Fucking Ian. Fucking mouth.
The restaurant was filling with a dinner crowd. Ian paid the bill and stood. Helped her with her coat. In the restroom, Maura ran the cold water over her wrists until she could stop shaking. She gripped the sink and stared herself down in her reflection.
"This means nothing," she whispered so low the sound of rushing water covered up any sound, though she was alone in the ladies' room and it didn't matter. "This means nothing."
He waited for her by the hostess stand. He took her elbow as he pushed the door open for her. On the sidewalk outside, his hand went briefly to the small of her back.
"Where are you parked?" Ian asked.
"The garage." She pointed vaguely.
"Me too."
They walked together without discussing lunch. Or anything. They walked in silence along the sidewalk, past the coffee shop where once he'd made her laugh so hard she'd nearly choked on the whipped cream of her drink. Past the stationary store where she'd bought him a birthday card -- a unicorn vomiting rainbows. Memories, memories, they threatened to choke her.
In the elevator, she stood to one side. Ian to the other. He pushed the button for four and looked at her. That was where she'd parked, of course. Fourth floor. Theirs.
The garage had emptied a bit since she'd parked there. She'd been distracted earlier and hadn't seen his car before, but now there was no missing it. "Oh, Betty," Maura said automatically. "Has she missed me?"
It was a joke, but didn't taste funny. Black Betty, like the song. Maura had always teased that the car was a BMW with the heart of a 1964 Mustang. That Ian should soup her up, take her to the races, instead of keeping her so pristine. Betty was a girl, like the car in that horror novel, Christine, but she approved of Maura.
So many little stories, Maura realized with another pang. So many jokes. She was walking toward Ian's car before she knew it. She ran a hand over the door handle and turned to him.
"Do you want me to get in?"
For the most fleeting of moments, she thought he was going to say yes. But then, "Nah. Better not."
Her fists clenched automatically; if he noticed, he didn't show it. Chin up, Maura, she reminded herself. She put her hands in her coat pockets. If it was this cold in September, she could only imagine what they were in for this winter.
"Thanks for coming to lunch with me," Ian said when she didn't speak again. "Even if you did get there late."
He was trying to tease, to keep this light and meaningless. Maura answered with a shrug, unwilling and frankly incapable of making any more jokes. She bit at the inside of her cheek to keep her expression as neutral as she could, but Ian wasn't fooled. He'd never been.
"C'mon now. Don't make the sad face." Maybe he'd like her angry face, better, but she couldn't quite manage that one. Ian rocked a little on the balls of his feet and cupped the back of neck for a moment before meeting her gaze. "Maura. Please, don't."
"Don't what?" She demanded at last. "What do you want from me, Ian?"
"I thought we could have a nice lunc
h. Just lunch, that's what you said."
"And that's all we had, didn't we?" She kept her back straight. Shoulders squared.
"Barely," Ian muttered. "You were so late."
She gaped at him for a few seconds before she managed to smooth her expression again. "You're lucky I showed up at all. But then, I remember when you told me you were lucky I ever gave you any time at all."
He remembered saying it. She saw it in his eyes, which narrowed. The hand on her shoulder, pushing her back against the car, surprised her into a gasp. His knee between her thighs, another. At the last minute she could've turned her head to avoid his kiss, but really, was there ever a chance she would do such a thing?
It was an angry, bruising kiss that left her with the taste of blood. Breathing hard, Ian broke it and pushed away from her. He wiped his mouth. And once again, he broke her heart.
When she moved past him, Ian grabbed the sleeve of her coat. Maura snatched it from his grip and turned on him. Whatever he saw in her face must've been intimidating enough to back him up a few steps until he was the one pressed against the car, though she didn't touch him. She looked him up and down, no longer trying to hide her feelings from betraying her all over her face.
"It happened right there. In your car." She pointed past him and was angry enough to get some cold satisfaction in the way he flinched a little, like maybe he thought she was going to hit him. "Remember that, Ian? If you don't, then let me tell you."
***
The night is hot enough that we're both sweating. Sticking to the leather. The radio's on low, and the air conditioning hasn't kicked on yet. We've just finished dinner. It's getting late, but I don't have to be home. Chad is on a business trip, so there's nobody there waiting for me, but Ian doesn't know that because I haven't told him.
I'm going to end this tonight, but Ian doesn't know that, either.
He tempted me into his car, or at least he thought he did. I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be, no matter what he offered. This time it's an excuse to get out of the heat and still steal a few more minutes together with a little privacy, an excuse to continue for just a little longer with the flirting we'd been doing all through dinner.
Lingering glances. The brush of my foot along his calf. Sharing a dessert, eating from his fork. The touch to the corner of his mouth to catch a bit of whipped cream I sucked clean from my fingertip. Lover's gestures, each one of them the last I think we will ever have.
Ian fiddles with the CD player, and a familiar song comes on. I gave him this song to listen to, a long time ago. In the beginning, before things became more than they were supposed to. If I'd known then what I know now, I never would have added it to the CD, but at the time it was just a song I happened to like. Now the lyrics and meaning have become something of a touchstone between us, the words he sometimes whispers in the dark when it's easier for him to pretend it's not real.
I want to turn off the song, even though there could be no more perfect soundtrack to the end of us. "I have to go."
"I know."
Neither of us moves at first, and then...mouths open. Tongues sliding. My hand anchors at the back of his neck. His finds my breast and cups it, thumbing the nipple through the thin material of my summer-weight dress.
I am kissing Ian. He is touching me. I'm the one who leaned toward him, one hand on the center console to support myself since there isn't enough room for me to slide onto his lap. That's where I want to be. On Ian's lap, straddling him, his belt and button and zipper undone. His cock in my fist, or better yet, inside me.
"I have to go," I whisper. "It's late."
"Not yet." It's exactly what I want him to say.
My kiss lingers, my mouth moving on his when I speak. "Just one more."
"Always." That little growl, the way he slips a hand between my legs, his fingers on my bare thighs...I'm undone.
I am always undone.
"I love your mouth." I nibble him. Suck and stroke and love him with my tongue and teeth and lips until we are both gasping for breath. I taste salt when I lick my lips, because even with the air conditioning on, the car is getting hot. "I love the way you taste. I love the way you touch me. I love you, Ian."
"I love you, too."
I sit back from him a little, stunned at what I've said. More stunned at how he's responded. I don't know what to do or what to say. I hadn't meant to tell him. I wasn't sure it was true.
"You don't have to say that." I'm hugging him awkwardly over the center console, my mouth near his ear. "Shhh, Ian. Don't."
He holds me. One hand in the center of my shoulder blades. My skin is bare there, too.
I am not crying. I am not crying. I am not crying.
"I am so lucky," Ian says as his fingertips stroke my skin. "So lucky that you ever bothered to give me any of your time at all."
And there it is. The perfect way for this to end. But it doesn't, because although I'd arranged to meet him tonight, fully prepared to tell him this had to be the last time, the very last time, I am unable to do it. Because I love him.
"Take me somewhere, Ian," I say into his ear. "Just take me somewhere."
And he does.
***
"Because," Maura told him, "for the thirty seconds it took for you to say it, I believed you meant it."
"Maybe you should've ended it then, if you wanted to so much." Ian was stung.
She could see it all over him, and it hurt her to know she was the cause, but not enough to keep her from saying, "I was going to. I thought it would be the right thing. The best thing. But when it came right down to it, I didn't want to. I still don't. I still think you are amazing and wonderful, and I still love you."
She waited for him to say something. Anything. To give her the tiniest crumb, and yes, fuck, she would take whatever scrap he tossed her because right now it was all she could do not to get on her knees right there in front of him.
"Ian..." Maura said, the dual syllables of his name breaking between them.
But Ian gave her nothing. Maura backed away from him. He took a step toward her, but no more than that.
"How many times do you let someone hurt you in the same way," she asked him, "before you become the asshole who keeps allowing it?"
"I don't want to keep hurting you."
"Well you are," Maura told him. "Over and over again, Ian, and I am the asshole who keeps letting you."
This time, when he reached for her, she let him pull her close. She fit so right against him. He kissed her hair.
"You're not an asshole."
"Then you are," Maura said in a low voice. "And I'm stupid."
Ian huffed a warm breath against her hair. "You're not stupid."
"Take me somewhere, Ian."
His entire body tensed against her when she asked. His fingers tangled, snagging, in her hair. "Maura..."
She pushed away from him. "Fine. Never mind. Forget I asked."
"I want to."
"I know you do," she said, "so why are you making this so fucking hard?"
"If I take you somewhere, I'm going to want to kiss you. And if I kiss you, I'm going to want to touch you. And if I touch you, I won't be able to stop. I'm addicted to you. I won't be able to quit." He said this without a trace of a smile, without reaching for her.
She twisted inside. "I fail to see the problem with this."
"I hated hearing about you and that guy."
She smiled, just a little. "Good. You're supposed to hate it. It's supposed to make you want to Hulksmash things. I want it to keep you awake at night, tossing and turning while you gnash your teeth and pound your pillows. I want the thought of me with someone else to drive you fucking insane."
Ian laughed and looked away from her. He covered his mouth with a hand and shook his head, but not like a denial. "It does."
"I want to be the last thought on your mind before you fall asleep." It was from that song, the one he'd stopped whispering to her. It was the truth. "But you know, Ian, right now all
I can think is that you are my nicest thing. And I am your...nothing."
She turned her back and walked away, then thought better of it. One last thing to say, while she still had the chance. Their relationship had been made up of too many last times; here was one more and she'd be damned if she missed her chance to tell him how she felt.
"I was never addicted to you. Addiction is about being unable to choose, and you were always a choice for me." Maura paused, chin up, back straight. "Maybe you were a bad choice. But I've never regretted making it."
"Even now?" Ian asked.
"Even now." She turned again, hoping but not really expecting him to call out after her. Maybe to chase her. Take her in his arms and kiss her.
But of course, Ian let her walk away.
***
She didn't cry. Not on the drive home. Not when she got in the door. Not even when she stripped down and crawled into the shower, where she curled into a ball on the floor and stayed there until the water ran cold. It would've been better if she'd been able to sob and scream she thought as she got out, shivering, and dried her hair with a towel. But all she had was a sick and twisting emptiness in her gut and a throbbing ache in her chest.
In bed, she thumbed open her calendar to check her week's schedule. The number of dates was too daunting to think about just now, especially without her spreadsheet to categorize them neatly. On her phone it was simply name/location/time, name/location/time until she had to close out of the calendar before she started to have a panic attack. She had something schedule every day, sometimes more than one. How long could she keep doing this?
Maura closed her eyes, willing herself to let go. Let go. Let him go, she told herself fiercely, hating herself for holding on so tightly to what no longer served her. Ian does not love you.
Not enough.
Her phone vibrated with a message, the notification a small red one like a single devil's horn. She almost didn't bother to check it. If it was from Ian, let him wait on her for once. Let him wonder if she was going to answer. But, just as there was really no way she'd have been able to deny him his kiss in the parking garage, it was unrealistic of her to expect herself not to read his text.
