Sin With Me (Bad Habit)

by J. T. Geissinger

  He gently guides me into the house. I’m dripping wet, doing my best impression of a leaf in gale-force winds. The brain floods the body with the hormone cortisol when under stress, and I’m pretty sure my brain just opened the floodgates and let loose its entire store.

  “Sit on the sofa.”

  “I’ll ruin the leather.”

  “Fuck the leather. Sit.”

  I follow his command and sink to the sofa, immediately grateful I’m no longer standing because the room has started to narrow and fade.

  “You’re hyperventilating, Grace. Put your head between your knees and take deep breaths.”

  Dizzy, I bend over my legs, close my eyes, and suck air into my lungs. Brody puts his hand on my back and begins to rub circles, the movements slow and steadying.

  Steadying for my pulse, not for my mind.

  Maybe this is some kind of twisted sign.

  Maybe Marcus was wrong when he said the universe doesn’t pick people out for misfortune. Maybe I’m one of those people who bad luck shadows all their lives.

  Maybe I’m cursed.

  “Give me your phone.”

  My knuckles are white around the phone I’m still clutching in my hand. Inhaling another shaky breath, I allow Brody to gently peel my fingers away and take it from me.

  “Magda! We need towels!” he calls out.

  She must have anticipated this request, because no sooner has he made it than she appears from around the corner of the living room with a bundle of bright beach towels in her arms. She takes one look at me hunched over on the couch and exclaims, “Ai! Mija! Estas blanca como un fantasma!”

  You’re as white as a ghost.

  Brody impatiently takes the towels from her, wraps one around my shoulders, and gently wipes the water from my face. “Just sit here quietly for a minute, Grace. I think you’re in shock. Sit here until you catch your breath, then we’ll get you out of this wetsuit and into dry clothes. And then we’ll figure out what to do next. Okay?”

  Numb, I nod.

  Brody murmurs some instructions to Magda. I don’t pay attention to the words, only to the cadence of his voice, the strong, soothing tone of it. Flashbacks hit me with vivid intensity, memories of another time I sat white and numb in an unfamiliar place while a soothing male voice whispered words of instruction to others, the smell of antiseptic and death sharp in my nose.

  Brody’s home is far more beautiful and comfortable than the emergency room at a hospital, but at the moment they feel like exactly the same thing.

  BRODY

  Helpless isn’t a feeling that sits well with me.

  Only once before have I ever felt anything close to this level of uselessness, when things were so fucked there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. Now, as it was then, my first instinct is to try to fix it.

  I hope I get better results this time.

  My firecracker sits still and pale on the sofa, all the life drained from her eyes. For a woman so vibrant, she looks unnervingly like a corpse.

  “Magda, will you please make Grace a cup of tea?”

  “Claro.” She hustles off into the kitchen, moving faster than I’ve seen her move in years.

  I gently kiss Grace’s forehead, and then stride into the dining room where I can make a quiet phone call while still keeping her in my sight. Tense and pacing, I dial Nico’s number from Grace’s phone.

  He picks up with a sleepy, “Yo.”

  Keeping my voice low, I say, “Nico, it’s Brody.”

  “Oh hey, bro. I didn’t recognize the number.” There’s rustling and a murmur in the background. A female voice asks who it is.

  “Shit, man, did I wake you guys up?”

  “Yeah, you did, and it better be good ’cause my beautiful fuckin’ wife’s naked next to me in bed and I’ve got some serious morning wood.”

  “Jesus, dude. TMI.”

  Nico chuckles. “What time is it? You okay?”

  “No. Listen—turn on the local news for me.”

  “The news? What’s wrong?”

  I glance into the living room. Grace still sits unmoving on the sofa, staring blankly at the floor. “Grace got a call from someone at her building saying her condo blew up.”

  “Blew up! What the fuck?”

  “What happened? Is he okay?” In the background Kat’s voice is no longer sleepy. It’s sharp and loud.

  Nico instructs her to turn on the television and find a news station. Kat says he can forget about his morning wood until he tells her what’s going on. Nico laughs, Kat squeals . . . and then there’s a suspicious silence.

  “Nico! For fuck’s sake!” I hiss under my breath, trying not to let Grace hear me.

  “Sorry, bro. TV’s comin’ on.”

  After a moment the blare of a news station crackles over the line. “Local news, baby,” Nico says to Kat. Then to me, “Your power out over there?”

  “Just trying to avoid traumatizing Grace any more than she already is.”

  “Wait, baby—stop on that one!” Nico is quiet a moment, and then he murmurs, “Holy shit.”

  In the background Kat shouts, “Oh my God! That’s Grace’s building!”

  I demand, “Tell me.”

  “Looks like whoever called Grace was tellin’ the truth. That fancy high-rise she lives in has a big hole right in the middle of it. Smoke’s pourin’ out. Got fire trucks and paramedics all over the place. Looks like a bomb went off—”

  Fumbling noises, muffled cursing. Then a panicked Kat commandeers the phone. “Brody! Is Grace okay? Is she still there?”

  “Yes, she’s here—”

  “Has she seen the news? It’s a fucking disaster!”

  “Kat—”

  “Thank God she spent the night at your place! Put her on, I need to talk to her!”

  “Kat, calm down—”

  “Put her on the phone right now!”

  Wincing, I jerk the phone away from my head. When no more eardrum-piercing sounds emit from the speaker, I put the phone back to my ear. “You being out of control emotionally isn’t going to help her, Kat.”

  The silence bristles. There’s an aggravated snarl like a bear rudely awoken from its winter hibernation, and then a sigh. “Okay. You’re right. I’m calm. Ish.”

  “Good. Thank you. What I need you to do is get some clothes together for her—anything you or Chloe have that would fit—and some cosmetics. Hair stuff, girl stuff, I’ll leave it to you. You know what she needs. Anything you don’t have I’ll get from the store. I’ll have a driver pick it up from your place later, or you guys can come over and—”

  “Wait a minute. She’s staying with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “For how long?”

  I glance over at Grace. A powerful feeling washes over me. It’s a feeling I’m unfamiliar with, but one I want—more than anything else I’ve ever wanted—to dive deeper into.

  I say softly, “I haven’t asked her yet, but . . . for as long as she wants. Hopefully forever.”

  Kat’s gasp tells me her emotions are about to spiral out of control again, even before she says with hysterical urgency, “Are you guys a thing now? Oh please, please tell me you’re a thing!”

  “Kat. Focus. Clothes.”

  “Yes, okay, yes, I’ll get the stuff together. I’ll be over there as soon as I can.”

  She stops speaking abruptly. After a moment, her voice lowered, she says, “I’ve always liked you, Brody. I think you’re a great guy. But if you ever hurt my girl, if you ever so much as make her frown, I’ll rain down a shit storm of such Biblical proportions on your head you won’t know what hit you. I will rip off both your arms and beat you to death with them. Literally.”

  I can’t help but smile at that. “I know you will, Rocky.”

  “No—listen. She’s not as tough as she seems.”

  “I know. She told me about her memory situation. I know what I’m getting into. And I’m a thousand percent on board. She’s not like anyone else I’ve
met before, I’ve never felt like this before, and there’s nothing on the face of this fucking earth I’d rather do than take care of her. I’ll never hurt her, Kat. Never. I swear on my mother’s life.”

  Kat’s exhalation has a religious fervor to it. She sounds like she’s making the sign of the cross over her chest.

  “And now I’m gonna hang up and go take care of our girl, okay?”

  Kat sniffles. She says a choked, “Okay,” and gives the phone to Nico.

  He barks, “What did you just say to make my wife cry, asshole?”

  “I kinda told her . . . in so many words . . . that I’m falling in love with her girlfriend.”

  After a brief silence, Nico chuckles. “Yeah, that’d do it.”

  In the living room, Magda hands Grace a mug of tea, sits down on the sofa beside her, and gives her a hug.

  I almost drop the phone.

  Magda doesn’t give hugs. She gives tongue-lashings. She gives the evil eye. She does not give hugs.

  Unless I’m hallucinating, which is a definite possibility.

  “I gotta go, Nico.”

  “Yep. Let us know if you need anything.”

  “Will do. Thanks, man.”

  I hang up and head straight back to Grace. The moment I stop in front of the sofa, Magda launches into an unintelligible rant accompanied by a lot of choppy hand gestures that seems to indicate I’m doing everything wrong and am not competent enough to deal with a soaking wet, distraught woman.

  “Magda, I have no idea what you just said, but I need to talk to—”

  Magda throws up a hand. She turns to Grace and, very gently, says something to her in Spanish.

  Grace takes a sip of her tea. She whispers, “Thank you, Magda. That’s very kind.”

  Magda pats her back, nodding. Then she says something else in Spanish to Grace.

  “Oh, no. I . . .” Grace glances up at me, then quickly looks away. “I couldn’t impose like that. I’ll get a hotel, my insurance will cover it—”

  “Yes,” I interrupt, guessing what Magda has said from the context of Grace’s denial. “You should stay here. We want you to. I want you to.”

  Magda throws me a killer glare that’s supposed to shut me up but doesn’t, because I’ve been on the receiving end of so many of them I’m immune.

  I sink to a knee in front of Grace and take her hand. “If you don’t feel comfortable staying with me in the main house because we’re not . . . uh . . . because we haven’t . . .”

  Grace’s brows lift. Magda growls at me.

  I blurt, “The guest house is three thousand square feet! It has its own pool! And its own private entrance! You could come and go anytime, it would be like your own place!”

  Shaking her head, Magda exhales through her nose and looks at the ceiling.

  Ignoring her, I squeeze Grace’s hand. “At least for tonight. Or a few days, until you get settled with whatever other arrangements you need to make. You can stay however long you need.”

  Grace drops her gaze to our hands. She chews her lower lip for a moment, thinking.

  “Please.”

  She doesn’t say anything.

  “I promise I won’t be weird or anything.”

  Grace looks up at me with a furrow between her brows.

  “I mean . . . more weird.”

  Finally she cracks a smile.

  “Is that a yes?” I press, excited.

  Magda says, “Ach. Patetico.” Then she explains something to Grace in Spanish.

  Grace listens. She takes another sip of her tea. When Magda stops speaking, Grace looks at her for a long while, and then at me. She says, “Whatever you’re paying her, this woman deserves a raise.”

  Then she and Magda stand, so I do, too.

  Sounding more steady, Grace says, “I’d like to take a shower and get into some dry clothes.”

  “Yes, of course. Take a shower and I’ll find you something of mine to wear—sweats and a T-shirt okay?”

  Grace nods.

  “I called Kat. She’s gonna bring some clothes over for you later. I’ll get the guest house ready, and then . . .”

  I trail off into silence, because I don’t know what’s supposed to happen then.

  But Grace lives up to her name, because she gives me a sweet, soft smile, and kisses me on the cheek. “And then we’ll talk.”

  My heart starts pounding. “Yes. Then we’ll talk.”

  Is it wrong that I’m hoping she meant to say a different four-letter word that ends with a K?

  Yes. It’s wrong. I’m a perv. I know. I can’t help myself. I’ve been lusting after this woman for so long now the inside of my brain is wallpapered with images of her naked body.

  Then it hits me that what Grace needs right now isn’t another dude waving his dick in her face. What she needs, more than anything, is a friend.

  If I really want to do right by her, I need to be her friend, not the guy who’s trying his hardest to get into her panties when she’s most vulnerable.

  Which means I need to back off.

  Damn it’s inconvenient having a conscience.

  She turns and walks away, down the hall toward the guest bedroom she spent the night in. I watch her go, Magda by my side. When Grace closes the bedroom door behind her, Magda looks up at me. She says in English, “You’re welcome. Don’t fuck it up.”

  Exasperated, I throw my hands in the air. “Magda! Why have I never heard you speak English before today?”

  She shrugs. Then, with a gleam in her dark eyes, she answers in Spanish.

  I glare at her. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  She smiles, pats me on the arm, and then turns and walks away.

  I call out, “If I didn’t love you so much you’d be so fired right now!”

  I hear her cackling long after she’s disappeared from sight.

  I’m lying on my back in my bed, staring at the ceiling while I listen to my mom gripe about my younger brother, Branson, who still lives at home, when Grace walks in.

  Her face is bare. Her damp hair is combed straight. She’s wearing my gray sweatpants and Neil Diamond T-shirt I left out for her on the bed in the guest bedroom while she was taking a shower. Seeing me on the phone, she hesitates in the doorway, her hand resting on the frame.

  Neil’s face has two perky points jutting out from the middle of it.

  Trying to nonchalantly adjust my thickening cock beneath the sweats I’m wearing, I sit up. “Uh, Mom. I have to go.”

  “Go? We’ve been on the phone for two minutes! I haven’t talked to you since last week!”

  “I have company.”

  My mother’s silences are so rich and nuanced they’re like symphonies. This one has a top note of curiosity and a healthy baseline of irritation, because there’s nothing more she loves to do than complain to me about my brother. Luckily I only have to hear about it once a week.

  “From your tone, Brody, I take it this company is of the female variety?”

  I can’t look away from Grace. It’s like my eyeballs are superglued to her. A horde of zombies could crash through the window and start to eat my face off and I’d still be sitting here staring at her, stunning as a Caravaggio painting in my doorway, looking at me with her lower lip pulled between her teeth and her gray eyes soft and needy.

  Be a friend. Be a friend. Be a friend, you fucking selfish asshole.

  “Yes,” I tell my mother. “Very.”

  She laughs. “Oh my. That sounds serious.”

  “It is.”

  After another deafening pause, she says sternly, “I expect you to be responsible and wear condoms, son.”

  “Christ, Mom! I’m twenty-nine years old, not twelve! Also—gross!”

  “Condoms aren’t gross, honey, they’re practical.”

  “You telling me to wear one is gross! This conversation is gross!”

  “Well, I’ve seen pictures in my entertainment magazines of some of those ‘ladies’ you date, and quite frankly I’m surprised y
ou haven’t yet been diagnosed with some incurable venereal disease.” She gasps. “Or have you and you’re just not telling me?”

  “I’m hanging up on you now.”

  “On a related topic, the pill isn’t always one hundred percent reliable, you know—”

  “Oh my God! Dude!”

  “I am not a ‘dude,’ I’m your mother, and I’m ready for more grandchildren, Brody, but not by some floozy named Iguana Azalea or Bone Chyna or Rainbow Trout or whatever. We are not the Kardashians.”

  “Good-bye, Mother.”

  “One final thought: antiviral lubricant is very effective at killing a wide variety of—”

  I hang up before she can succeed in making me puke.

  Grace stares at me with one elegant brow cocked. “That sounded interesting.”

  “You really don’t want to know.”

  “That was your mom?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did I hear the word ‘condom’ mentioned?”

  I drop my head into my hands and groan.

  Grace walks over to the bed and perches on the edge of the mattress. I open two fingers and peek at her.

  She asks, “So you’re close with your family?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  When Grace blinks, I feel like the hugest asshole in the world. She doesn’t have a family and here I am being completely insensitive.

  I backtrack as fast as I can. “No! I mean—yes, we’re close. That came out wrong. I love them, and I’m grateful to have them—”

  “It’s okay,” she says, smiling. “I know what you meant.”

  I blow out a relieved breath. “Sorry. I’m an idiot.”

  She looks down and thoughtfully picks at the comforter. “I guess one of the girls told you about my parents, huh?”

  Oh shit. Could I fuck this up any more perfectly?

  I try to be as diplomatic as I can while still being honest. “Only because I kinda forced the subject. And they wouldn’t say much. They love you, you know. I don’t think I’ve ever seen closer friends than you three.”

  She nods. “Yeah.” Her voice grows softer. “I would never have made it this far without them.”

  There are so many questions I want to ask her, so many things I want to say, but the timing is fucked. Anything I say would probably only make things worse, so I end up nodding mutely.