by Jiffy Kate
“No, he works there.”
“A doctor?” Mia asks.
“A therapist.” Do I tell them he’s my mom’s therapist? That suddenly sounds wrong. I haven’t let myself think about it very much, but now, getting ready to tell them, it sounds like a conflict of interest. Maybe I should make up something…
“Sadie’s therapist?” Layla eyes me.
“Yeah.”
“You naughty girl,” Mia chides teasingly. “Banging your mom’s therapist.”
“I’m not banging him.” My cheeks flush. The mere mention of Luke banging anyone fills my mind with a million images, and all of them make me feel hot and bothered.
“Tell us about him,” Mia says as the waitress shows up with our round of shots. “But first…” She sets one of the shot glasses down in front of me. “Shots.” She sets another down in front of Layla. “Then, we want all the dirty details.”
On Mia’s count, we toss them back, and I know I’m going to regret this tomorrow.
§
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay going home by yourself?” Kyle asks me as he guides a very drunk Mia into the waiting taxi.
I slide into my own taxi and nod my head, giggling. “I’ll be fine. He’ll drop me off right in front of my door. Wontchoo, Mr. Taxi Driver?” I ask, falling into the seat and pulling my legs in. They feel heavy. My whole body feels heavy.
Kyle leans into the window and directs the taxi driver on where to take me, but I could’ve done that myself. I’m not that drunk. Tipsy, yes. But I can hold my own.
“Call me if you need anything,” Kyle instructs before tapping the side of the car, signaling for the driver to go.
The car takes off, and the passing lights and buildings make me feel a little dizzy. The fact we make abrupt stops doesn’t help. Even at this time of night, there are still idiots on the road, but there are always idiots on the road in the city. I would never drive here.
Public transportation all the way.
I fist-bump the air.
Okay, maybe I am that drunk.
Pressing my cheek against the cool glass, I welcome the relief to my flushed face. Drinking makes me hot. Luke makes me hot. I wonder what he’s doing. I wonder if he invited someone to his apartment...to his window. The thought makes me feel sick to my stomach. I almost call for the driver to stop, but then I look up and see we’re almost to my building.
And then I see him.
Not the him I want to see. The other him.
And then I realize what time it is and that he has no business being in front of my building.
And then I realize Mr. Chan is gone for the night.
“Keep driving,” I yell to the man driving.
“I was instructed to drop you here, Miss, and to watch you go into your building before leaving.”
“I’ll pay you double to keep driving.” My heart speeds up as the taxi slows down. “Please,” I beg. I don’t know where this sudden rush of fear has come from, but I do know I don’t want to face Wyatt tonight.
“Where to?” the guy asks.
“Two blocks up. You can let me out there.”
I want to get away from Wyatt. He can’t wait there forever...right? I pull out my phone, and I don’t have any missed calls or texts. So it’s not like he’s here to check on me after I didn’t reply. I don’t think Kyle would’ve sent him. Would he? My phone buzzes, and a text from Mia pops up on my screen.
“Here ya go,” the driver says as he pulls up to the curb.
“Thanks,” I tell him, handing him extra money through the window.
When I step out onto the sidewalk, I realize exactly where I am. His tall building looms over me. I look to the right and know there’s nothing down there that’s open this late. I guess I could go to the church I followed Luke to, but that feels too creepy. I look to my left and think about walking to the corner to see if Wyatt is still standing there, but that feels unsafe. I don’t want him to see me. What if he ran after me? I’m not very fast.
Would Wyatt hurt me?
I’ve never felt like he would, but something about him waiting for me tonight makes my skin crawl.
What if Luke comes home and I’m standing in front of his building? What would I say then? Oh, hey...What a coincidence?
So not a fucking coincidence.
I groan loudly and plop myself down on the steps leading up to Luke’s building. Pulling my phone out, I check the text from Mia.
Mia: Wanted to make sure you made it home safely.
I think about asking her about Wyatt but then feel stupid. So, I lie.
Me: Yes, thanks. I had fun tonight.
Looking down toward the corner, I see someone walking this way, and my breath catches in my throat. Standing up, I press myself into the side of the building, hoping I can blend in with the brick. I look one more time, just to make sure I’m not crazy or hallucinating, but my fears are confirmed.
Wyatt is now walking down the sidewalk, coming toward me. Even though he’s still a block down, I know it’s him, and I don’t know where to go or what to do. If I start walking, he’ll probably see me. And I still have no clue where I’d go.
An older man walks up the steps and completely ignores the fact that I’m pressed against the building like a lunatic. He enters his code for the building and walks in. Just before the door latches shut, I stick my foot in the crack and wait for a second, taking quick panting breaths and freaking out about what I’m getting ready to do.
The second I’m inside the building, I realize I’ve passed a threshold. There’s no going back. I press the button for the elevator as I keep a watch on the door leading back outside. I expect Wyatt to see me in here and bang on the door or something, but fortunately, the elevator door opens before that can happen. Quickly, I run into the elevator and press the button for the door to close.
After a few deep breaths, I press the button for the fourth floor.
What the hell am I doing?
I almost start crying from the insane turn this night has taken, but I will myself to keep it together. This is going to be bad enough without me blubbering like an idiot.
When I step out into the hall, I lean against the wall and inhale.
I should walk out of here the same way I walked in. I’m sure Wyatt is gone by now.
Or he could be waiting for me downstairs.
Oh, God
When I hear a door opening at the end of the hall, I try to act normal, like I know where I’m going. I visualize the building from my apartment and think about the location of the window I’ve watched so many times. I know that it has to be the third or fourth door to my left, but which one? How embarrassing would it be to pick the wrong door? How humiliating will it be to pick the right one?
I walk toward the end of the hall and hesitate in front of the fourth door. When I hear the people walking down the hall get into the elevator behind me, I press my ear to the door, but I can’t hear anything or anyone.
What will I do if I find Luke’s apartment and he’s not alone? Do I have a right to be hurt? Mad? I know I would be. It would crush me. I’m not sure how Luke feels about me, but I’m slowly going from lusting over him to being completely in...like with him. I really really like him.
I should leave. This is bad.
Soft music plays through the next door down, and I wonder if, by chance, that could be Luke’s. I never see him watching television. I’m not even sure if he has one, but who’s to say he doesn’t listen to music? I wouldn’t know. I’ve only been watching.
Lauryn Hill’s distinct voice filters through the door. I know the Fugees. My old next-door neighbor was obsessed with ‘90s hip hop.
My knuckles brush against the cool metal door, and then I tap once. If he doesn’t answer, I’ll walk away and pretend like I was never here.
But then the door opens.
“Harper?” Luke’s voice is a mixture of confusion and concern. “What are you doing here?”
He’s standing t
here in those damn gray sweatpants. My mouth drops open, and words fail me.
“Harper?” Luke asks again, his hand reaching out to me but stopping before he touches me.
“I was going home, but then there was this guy...” I begin but trail off, because how do I tell him about Wyatt? This is going to sound crazy. Who am I kidding? I am crazy. What the fuck am I doing here? I turn away from him and stare down the hall at the elevator. “Anyway, I just ended up here without even thinking, really...I...I should go.”
“How did you know where I live?” he asks.
And there it is.
I swallow thickly, wishing beyond anything I’d just gone home. I could be sitting in my window, watching him now instead of getting ready to tell him what I know will be a game changer...a deal breaker. Facing Wyatt would’ve been better than this. “I watch you.”
“You watch me? What do you mean?” he asks, opening the door wider, one palm against the wall and the other against the door, his perfect body filling the space.
“From my window,” I whisper, not wanting to tell him, not wanting this to end, and afraid it will after this truth is told. “I’ve been watching you for a while, even before I knew you. I saw you in your window...with the women.” I look past him, staring longingly at the window behind him. It’s so weird seeing it from this side. It’s so weird feeling like I know so much about him and this apartment. My fantasy and my reality are colliding, and I don’t know what the hell is going to happen.
“What do you mean?” he asks, his beautiful features scrunched together in confusion.
I wring my fingers nervously and fight the urge to run away. “I have some...binoculars. They were in my apartment when I moved in,” I admit. “I can see inside your apartment when I use them,” I tell him, pointing to the window. This can’t be a complete surprise. He must know people are capable of watching the things he does in that window.
The moment he realizes exactly what I’m talking about is obvious. His expression changes from confusion to surprise. Indecision is all over his face as he fights his own internal war, and I wonder what’s getting ready to win out.
Luke takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, and his palms squeeze into fists. His nostrils flare before he speaks quietly. “You need to leave.”
“What?” I ask, hoping I didn’t hear him correctly.
“Go, Harper. You need to go. Now. This isn’t good. We shouldn’t be doing...whatever this is.” He hesitates, then squeezes his eyes shut again, looking as if he’s in pain. “I’m sorry, but you have to leave.”
My shoulders slump, and my breath leaves me because I see the finality on his face. This is over. Whatever this is, it’s no more. I just ruined it. Actually, it was ruined before it ever started. I ruined it the day I watched. I ruined it when I didn’t tell him the moment I met him that I knew him. I knew him in a way only the women he fucked against his window knew him. I should’ve told him sooner.
I turn to walk back to the elevator and hear the door shut forcefully behind me. Tears fill my eyes as I step inside, and I let the doors close before sliding down the wall and onto the floor. I sit there for a few minutes before I crawl over to the panel and push the button for the first floor.
Pulling myself up, I step off the elevator and back out onto the street, needing the solace of my small apartment. With my head tucked down and my bag hugged tightly to my body, I walk the two short blocks, not even pausing for the crosswalks. I’d let a car take me out at this point, anything to end this burning in my chest...the regret, the embarrassment, the self-loathing.
“Where have you been?” a voice out of the darkness says harshly, causing me to flinch and stiffen.
My head snaps up as Wyatt pushes off the side of the building.
“What are you doing here?” It’s not lost on me that I’m now asking Wyatt the same question Luke asked me only minutes ago.
“I’ve been waiting.”
“Why?” I ask, my hackles rising and my voice following suit. “Why, Wyatt?”
“Kyle said you were out with the girls, drinking and having a good time, and I thought—”
“You thought what?” I yell, not caring if all the crack dealers in the vicinity hear me. “You thought you’d come over here and see if you could get lucky?” I push around him and head for the door to my building, digging in my bag for my key and kicking myself for letting my guard down and not being prepared.
My dad didn’t raise a weakling. He taught me how to take care of myself. The fear I felt earlier quickly turns to rage. Maybe it’s the fact that I feel like my life is royally fucked, but I have a sudden need to punch something or kick something.
Wyatt’s hand on my arm is my last straw for the night. I spin around, and my knee makes contact with his dick.
“You bitch!” He groans and falls to his knees, cupping what I’m sure are his less than average-sized balls.
“Don’t call me again. Don’t text me again. Don’t ask about me,” I demand and then push the key into the lock and walk inside, making sure it closes behind me. I don’t turn around. He can rot on the sidewalk for all I care. Taking the steps two at a time, I make my way to my apartment.
When I’m inside, I finally let all of the tears fall. I don’t turn a light on. I don’t go to the window. I don’t even change out of my clothes. I don’t ask why me, because I know I brought this all on myself. I also don’t try to figure a way out, because quite frankly, I’m exhausted.
Luke
The alarm on my phone goes off for the third time this morning, and I stretch with a groan. I’ve got to get my ass in gear. I usually have no problem getting up and ready for work, even on Saturdays, but not today. No, this Saturday, I’d much rather call in sick and avoid work altogether, but I know I can’t do that. I have too many people depending on me, and to be honest, I depend on them just as much.
I love my job. I’m damn good at it, too. I shouldn’t let her or anyone else make me feel like I’m not good at what I do. Besides, I seriously doubt she’ll even show up today. I wouldn’t if I were her.
Images and thoughts of Harper flash through my mind, and I try to force them out, but they won’t stop. Her sweet smile and caramel-colored eyes are what drew me in first, and the way they seemed to grow wider every time she looked at me kept me going back for more. Before the other night, she looked at me like I hung the moon. Now, I know she only wanted to be with the man behind the window.
That stupid fucking window.
I brought it all on myself. I know that. Here, there are two types of people: those who close the curtains and those who don’t. Those who leave their windows uncovered know they’re most likely going to be watched by someone somewhere. I’m not stupid or naïve; I know I put on a good show with the women I bring home. None of them have had reservations about fucking the way we do, so up until now, I’ve never cared if anyone watched. But knowing that Harper has watched is different.
She’s too good, too precious to be treated that way...put up on display and used for a moment’s pleasure. She should be worshipped, cherished, made love to, but I’m not the one who can do that for her.
The crazy thing is, she acted like she wanted what I did with the other women. How could she want that? I know she was raised by a shit of a mother, but surely, she knows how a man is supposed to treat a lady.
That’s not to say I treat my women poorly. Quite the opposite, in fact. The women I choose from the agency are well-compensated. Plus, they’re guaranteed a hell of an orgasm, if not two. When I occasionally decide to bring someone outside of the escort service home, like Sarah from work, I make sure they understand we’re going to my living room to fuck and fuck hard. That’s it. No small talk, no bedroom, and no cuddling.
As attracted as I am to Harper, I could never do that to her.
After my shower, I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. My eyes are bloodshot from lack of sleep, and my usual morning stubble is thicker because it’s two days’ worth
. I figure another day won’t hurt and decide to skip shaving today as well.
I have no plans to visit the coffee shop after my session with Sadie, so I decide to go now while on my way to work. Stepping into my favorite shop only reminds me of Harper now, but I’m hopeful that will change over time. While waiting for my order to be filled, I look over at our table. I’m hit with incredible sadness, knowing it won’t be ours any longer. That sadness turns back into anger as I realize the entire time we were talking, she knew some of the most personal and private things about me but didn’t tell me.
I really enjoyed our conversations and getting to know her better. It wasn’t ever my intention to counsel her like I do at the facility, but there’s no denying how Harper has changed over the last few weeks. The way she told Sadie off last week was brilliant and something she’d never been able to do before. I wasn’t lying when I said I was proud of her. I’m still proud of her for that.
Coffee now in hand, I cross the street to the facility and head straight to my office to prepare for Sadie’s session. Harper’s mother has proven to be quite the pain in the ass during her recovery, and sometimes I wonder if she’d be better off with a different therapist. I’m going to have to get creative if I want her to start taking this seriously. She only has a few weeks left before she can go to a halfway home, and I worry she’ll start using as soon as she’s out of here. She has to want this, and I’m not sure she does.
Another good reason for Harper and me to part ways is my professional ethics. It’s wrong to see a relative of a patient outside of the facility, and yet I’ve done just that with Harper many times over the last few weeks. I really tried to keep my relationship with Harper professional, but the more I was around her, the harder it was to do. So many times, I wanted to kiss her or hold her, and I was fairly certain she wouldn’t have turned me away, but deep down, I knew it was wrong.
I doubt I have to worry about that any longer.
Looking at my office clock, I see that I have ten minutes before Sadie’s session. My stomach immediately starts to twist and cramp a bit as anxiety flows through my veins.
