by Denise Wells
Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow.
Of course, every time he says that, all I can think about is that song from the late 80s, “Dancing in Heaven Orbital Be-Bop,” which starts out the same way. Sadie had a recital using that song and we listened to it a thousand times as she practiced.
Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow.
I wonder if it’s possible to tango to that song as well.
I miss a few steps, thanks to my musings, and return my attention to what Gerardo is trying to teach me. I watch my feet to make sure they are slowing and quickening appropriately, but Gerardo shakes his head and tsk’s at me, then forces my chin up so I’m looking at him instead.
I want to tell him I can’t see where my feet are going if I’m looking at him, but I don’t. Instead, I peek at Brad and see he’s doing great. His form looks good, he’s maintaining eye contact with Lilliana, and seems to be enjoying himself.
So weird.
As the song ends, Gerardo steps aside. “You’ve done well. Great job.”
I know enough to know he’s being polite, but I don’t care. Lilliana leads Brad over to us and announces that we will now dance together.
“Oh, I, uh . . .” I start.
Brad holds his arms out to me, though nothing about the gesture is inviting. I step into them, feeling the immediate tension that always seems to be the only connection between us.
“Let’s just get this over with,” Brad says, his mercurial nature again turning sour when in my presence.
“Why don’t we just go sit down?” I ask.
“Loosen up. We’ve got this. It’s just a dance.”
Did I say mercurial? What I really meant was whiplash-inducing.
And me, loosen up?
I’ll show him loose.
He pulls me close and we begin the dance. I start on the wrong foot, and step on his toe. Hard. Again.
“Sorry, I kinda suck at this,” I whisper to Brad.
“Just try to spare the rest of my toes.”
I’m tempted to step on his other foot, just because, but I look in his eyes and try to hold his gaze while counting my steps at the same time.
“You’re too in your head. Don’t think about it so much.”
“Says the guy who overthinks everything.”
Then, somehow, I do, and he’s moving us across the floor with ease. My body is molded to his and our feet are moving in succession. His arms are strong around me, our gazes locked. We attempt nothing fancy, maybe a few twirls and an unexpected dip. His face is so close to mine, I could reach out and touch him with my tongue.
His hips rock into mine as we transition again.
My breath catches.
“How’d you learn to dance like this?” I pant.
“Another life,” he replies.
Then he’s twirling me again before pulling me back, and his thigh moves between my legs, taking the dance in a slightly different direction. His eyes never once leave mine, like I’m the most important thing in the room.
Is it me or just the dance?
I don’t want to know.
I can’t bear to look away.
He’s like sex on a fucking stick, just waiting to be nibbled on. My body is flush with his, and his length hardening against my hip as we move. My panties flood. Sweat pools between my breasts. What is it with this guy—this dance—that turns me on so much?
Don’t think about it.
Too late.
I lean in and lick his neck, tasting the salt of sweat mixed with the tang of cologne, and feel the scrape of whiskers not yet shaved today.
A groan emanates from deep in his chest and his hold on me tightens. His hand slides down the small of my back to the swell of my ass, our eyes still locked on one another. I lose myself in his gaze, those eyes so dark and stormy.
“Don’t do that again,” he growls as he pushes me away.
22
Brad
I leave Tenley on the dance floor and head down the small hallway toward the restroom, sickened by my reaction to her touch. For just a moment, I forgot about everything I hold dear and I let myself sink into the present and holding a woman in my arms. How good that felt, how right. Until it came crashing down around me. Kat would never again fill my embrace or step on my toes. She’d never giggle at the word lust-filled.
Kat was different. She was special, unique; that one-of-a-kind love that you never find twice and can’t possibly recover from losing.
How long does the fucking pain last? And why can’t I just move on? People do it all the fucking time, and in less time. Didn’t I just have a plan for how this was all going to work? What happened to that?
I’m so tired of this argument constantly at war in my mind:
It’s time to live.
I can’t—I’m already dead inside.
I lock myself in a stall and lean my forehead against the cool metal of the dividing panel. My hands fist and release at my side, not sure whether I want to hit something and if so, what I’d like that something to be.
All this energy and anger duel inside of me, with no relief in sight and the overwhelming desire to destroy anything in my way. The embodiment of destruction and rage. There’s an unfulfilled hunger for something, anything, to occupy the vacuous space that is my soul. Why is it so easy to rid oneself of the physical but not the emotional? I can’t even—
“Brad?” A soft voice interrupts my thoughts followed by a faint knock on the stall door. “Are you in there?”
Tenley.
I unlatch the door and pull her into the stall with me. Before I think, my mouth is on hers, my tongue pushing its way inside. My hands grab at her ass and press her tight against my cock. I push her back against the metal door, slamming it shut.
She moans against me and her arms circle around my neck. My mind spins, I can’t focus. All I can do is feel. Feel her soft body against mine, her hands tugging at my hair, and the heat of her center against my thigh as I push it between her legs.
How hard I am.
I need a release.
My lips leave hers and trail down her neck, taking in her scent, finally, getting my fill of the essence that is Tenley. I breathe in deeply, relishing the aroma. My nose pushes down the neckline of her dress, giving me access to her breasts.
Fuck.
No bra.
Two twin peaks that are both perky and firm. She moans my name as I take one in my mouth, the nipple hardening under the assault of my tongue.
So good.
I can’t get enough.
I push them together, taking both taut ends in my mouth at once.
Fuck me.
She pushes her hands between us to unbutton my jeans as I yank up the hem of her dress.
“Too many things in the way,” I breathe.
Our actions are frantic and jerky, but soon enough, we have my pants around my thighs, her dress around her waist, and my cock in her hand.
“Oh fuck,” I moan.
I’m going to lose it. It’s been too long.
I work my hand in her panties and plunge my fingers inside her. She’s drenched. I drive them in and out of the tight space as I suckle at her neck. Her moans get louder.
“Brad.”
Fuck.
“This will be quick.” I pull at the scrap of lace in my way, ripping it from her body, and sink my dick into her. “Oh god.” I can’t move. If I do, I’ll come.
She’s so tight.
Hot.
Wet.
Jesus Christ.
“Move, please. I need you to move, I can’t stand it. Brad.” Her cries are dimmed by the sound of my blood roaring through my veins. I pull out slightly and look down at where we are joined. Her juices coat my cock, a sight I haven’t seen in a long, long time. She tilts her hips and wraps her legs higher around my waist. The new angle lets me sink all the way in. So, I do. Again, and again. My balls slap against her, and the skin-on-skin contact is nearly my undoing.
The stall walls shake with the
force of each pump of my hips. The metal clang of the latch echoes loudly through the room. Tenley’s cries are muffled by my neck as she bites down lightly. I wrap my hand in her hair and pull her head back, giving me unfettered access to the sensitive skin. She tastes divine, and I suckle and bite my way from one side to the other as she claws at my shoulders.
I’m going to come.
I need her to get there.
I work my hand between us and find her clit. Her moans get louder.
Oh fuck.
That’s all it takes. “Oh god. Oh, Brad. I’m going to—”
Her muscles clamp down on my dick as she comes, and I can’t hold it in any longer. My release follows immediately after and I let go with a roar.
“Fuck.”
My head back and muscles tight, I’m blinded by the explosion of lights behind my eyes. My knees weaken and I worry we’ll both fall. I stumble back, falling onto the toilet seat behind us. Tenley drapes over my shoulders, limp and breathless, her legs falling to my sides, followed by my arms. I lean against the back of the toilet, grateful for the tank as a backrest. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I can barely lift my head to look at her.
We sit there, each trying to catch our breath. She lifts her head and I slowly open my eyes to meet hers.
“That was unexpected.” She smiles lazily. “Thank you.”
It makes me smile.
It’s something Kat would have said.
Kat.
It’s something Kat would have said.
Fuck!
I push her off me blindly, pulling up my jeans and somehow getting them fastened.
I’ve got to get out of here.
The stall door won’t open.
I can’t find the lock.
My breath stops, and I don’t remember how to make it start again. Why can’t I feel my legs?
Oh god, my head.
I need out. I need out.
I pry the door loose and it swings open, banging against the wall beside it. The room spins around me.
My vision blurs. My chest tightens.
I can’t see, can’t find my way. I stumble against the sinks and fumble toward the door.
“Brad?”
Tenley calling after me hardly registers. I have to get out of here.
I trip down the short hallway and fall out the back entrance, barely making it into the alley before I’m emptying my stomach.
The same alley I’ve fucked Kat in.
The night we finally reconciled, and a few times after that.
Kat.
Oh god.
What have I done?
I slept with someone else.
The guilt hits me so hard I stagger back, falling against the side of the building. How could I be so weak? So fucking weak.
God, Kat. I’m so sorry.
The tears start before I can pull myself back up.
The disgust. Self-loathing. I can’t possibly hate myself more.
“Hey, buddy, you okay?”
I ignore the voice, burying my head in my hands. I want to disappear. I want to die. I want to hurt myself as much as I’m hurting Kat.
Somehow, I find my way to my truck and drive home in a fog. I turn off my phone when it rings, returning to some semblance of coherence after I’m seated in my living room.
Only then do I allow myself to feel the gravity of what I’ve done. Thoughts slam into my consciousness one after the other. Kat first thing in the morning when she’s still a little sleep drunk and her eyes haven’t opened all the way. How she sounds when I first sink into her.
Her laugh.
Her cry.
Her smile.
Goddamn, her fucking smile.
I will never experience any part of her again. None of the memories will ever resurface to reality. She is no longer in my life.
No longer alive.
A sound more animal than human wrenches from my gut and I slam a fist into the wall. Not caring when I feel the knuckles break, because I do it again.
I can’t bear the onslaught of agony that fills my soul, suffocating any feeling that may have been good, leaving nothing but despair and utter nothingness in its place. Tonight was a mistake. I’m not ready to move on. I’ll never be ready.
Moving on is a myth. Something sold to the grieving to help buy into the fact that life isn’t over. Except, really, it is. Death has deprived Kat and I of a lifetime together and nothing can ever make up for that. Nothing and no one.
I slide down the wall to the floor, cradling my hand to my chest. Reminders of Kat are everywhere I see, whether or not I’m looking. Images slice through me, one after the other, and I don’t have the energy to stop them.
The first time we met, when she spilled a drink down the front of me.
The last time that we made love.
Her face leaning over mine.
Her hair cascading down around us.
The touch of her lips to mine.
That last moment of life in her eyes before it drained from her forever.
Sobs wrack my body as I fall to the side, curling into myself. I will the memories to fade, the hurt to lessen, the ache to go away, and try to make myself as small as possible. As insignificant as I can. Insignificance can’t feel pain, and I don’t want to feel this pain any longer. I don’t know how to escape it. It’s so pervasive and ever-expanding, taking over everything I am.
I’ll do anything to feel whole again.
I didn’t even want love in my life when Kat and I first met. I sure as hell didn’t believe in love at first sight. But one look was all it took, a feeling that was reaffirmed tenfold when we reunited. I didn’t want anyone else after that. I’ve never wavered since.
And then tonight, I slept with someone else, betraying the woman I love more than life itself.
The woman who destroyed every piece of my heart when she left me forever.
I don’t know how to put it back together again.
I don’t know that I want to.
23
Tenley
It takes me a few minutes to realize Brad is no longer in the stall.
“Brad?”
And even longer than that to realize he’s left the restroom.
He fucked me senseless. Literally.
That was intense.
I grab some toilet paper to clean myself up. Shame fills me when I realize we didn’t even use a condom.
“Not like he’s Casanova up in here, screwing everything in sight.” I snicker to myself, as I toss the used tissue. After I wash my hands, I check myself in the mirror, then leave the restroom. I catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye and turn to see Brad making his way down the hall toward the back entrance. His movements are jerky and awkward, almost like he can’t see where he’s going.
I’ll see if he needs help.
“Brad?”
He stumbles out the back door and vomits in the alley.
Is he sick?
Should I get Nessa?
I stand there, trying to decide which direction to turn. If I go right down the hall, it leads to the back alley where I could help Brad. If I go left down the hall, it leads to the dining room where I could get Nessa.
Finally deciding, I head to the dining area to let Nessa know Brad is sick. I smooth my hair down with my hands and double-check my dress. I’m certain she will know we just had sex in the bathroom. Who would have thought the reclusive Brad Mathews would be such a beast?
My feet stop, but my brain keeps going as it hits me.
Brad wasn’t throwing up because he’s sick.
Brad was throwing up because he had sex, and he’s so disgusted by the thought of it. By the thought of me.
Shame fills me anew.
That’s a first. I’ve got some fucked-up dating stories, but this one takes the cake. I had a guy throw up because he had sex with me.
Great.
I make my way back to the table where Nessa is in conversation with the Gerardo about danc
e lessons. I slip into my seat, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. Smoothing down my hair with one hand, I pick up my glass with the other and take a long drink of my water.
“Oh good, you’re back. Tenley. Gerardo was just telling me about the studio he and Lilliana have. They give lessons for many types of dance. I said that I thought you and Bradley did such a wonderful job . . . where is Bradley?”
I fold my hands on the table and take a deep breath, looking first to Nessa, then Gerardo, then Nessa again. Gerardo takes my silent cue and excuses himself.
“Did something happen?” Nessa’s face softens. She reaches across the table and touches my hand. Something about her expression makes me want to tell her all my secrets, pour my heart out to her. Confide in her how sex with me made a boy I like vomit.
I nod, my eyes filling, which is so out of character, I’m not a crier. But something about what just happened makes me want to be.
“We had sex in the bathroom,” I whisper.
Nessa rears her head, and shock blanketing her face. She clears her throat and retracts her hand, slipping it into her lap to join her other. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Me neither.”
“Are you okay?”
I shake my head.
“Is Bradley . . . did he leave?”
“I think so. Last I saw, he was in the alley behind the restaurant puking his guts out.”
“Oh dear.”
“Yeah.” I signal the server for another margarita. I think I need it.
“Tenley, you must understand, this has nothing to do with you.”
A noise of disbelief escapes my throat and my chest tightens. “I think I will have to disagree with you there on that one, Nessa.”
“Have you ever lost a spouse?”
“I’ve never even been in a serious relationship.”
“Well . . .” She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.
The server brings me my drink. “Can I have an extra shot on the side?”
“I’ll have another martini,” Nessa adds.
“Does he want another beer?” She points to Brad’s empty seat.
“No,” Nessa and I both respond at the same time. The server nods and heads back to the bar.
Nessa reaches across the table again, touching my hand with hers. I open my fist slightly and she curls her fingers in my grasp. “The first sexual experience after the death of a partner can be traumatic. There’s a tremendous amount of guilt that accompanies, and an overwhelming feeling of betrayal.”
