Bait

by M. Mabie

  “I don't know. It just sort of happened.” I raised my hands in defeat. I couldn't hide the pride last night gave me. I hooked up with the hottest, coolest chick at the bar. And made her scream my name. So, yeah. Who would want to deny that?

  “Famous last words, bro. I saw you dancing with her. You should leave her alone. She's not available.”

  “She was available to me last night.” I was defensive and, frankly, being a dick.

  “You know what I mean. What would Mom say?”

  “She isn't going to say anything, because I'm not going to tell her. Why would you say that? What the fuck, Cory? Mind your own business.” Fuck him. I knew exactly what she'd say and what she'd think of Blake.

  My dad cheated on her for years, with my stepmother, and that type of behavior didn't sit well with her. I guessed that she would probably say, “I bet your dad would like her.”

  Play-by-the-rules-Cory didn't know what he was talking about. Blake chose to be with me and I chose her just the same. I was sure she felt bad about it, too, but things happen. And as bad as it was, I’d hope it would happen again.

  But even I knew she really wasn't a one-night-stand kind of girl.

  Saturday, May 24, 2008

  I WASN'T A ONE-NIGHT-stand kind of girl.

  That was a fluke.

  He said he wanted to be friends, so that was exactly what I was going to do. I planned on being friends with him. Sure. Like ever there was a man who said it and meant it. I scrunched my eyes together and rubbed them as I admitted to myself, I hoped he wasn't just saying it. Really, if he didn't want to be friends with me then he would have simply got up and left me in my hotel room that morning. But he hadn't.

  If he hadn't wanted to be friends with me he wouldn't have bought me the coffee mug, which was still in my bag.

  If he hadn't wanted to be friends with me, then he wouldn't have kissed me like that on the street.

  Okay, maybe that one was something else, but I liked him. He was interesting. The way he thought, the way he spoke. The way he watched me. Casey was captivating.

  I shouldn't have wanted to see him again, but I did.

  I needed to call Grant before it got too late. I'd been at Micah's for about an hour and people hadn't started showing up in hoards yet. I was sure that would all change fast.

  “Micah, do you care if I use your room? I need to call Grant.” She didn't know what happened the night before, I thought. She hadn’t mentioned it, but the look she gave me certainly had something in it.

  Dialing his number, I secretly hoped that it went to voice mail and I could leave a simple hello/goodnight message without a lengthy recount of my day.

  “There you are,” he answered sweetly and it made me smile.

  “Here I am. What are you doing?” I asked, standing in front of a wall in Micah's bedroom that was host to framed pictures. I stopped when I found one of us from last year. Then directly next to it was a photo of Casey, Cory, and Micah. It looked like they were giving her some sort of hot-twin sandwich. Lucky bitch.

  “I'm going to your parents’ house. Shane is moving back in this weekend and I helped him with a few bigger things earlier. They're grilling out and invited me back.” Shane, my oldest brother, was at the beginning of a separation from his wife of only three years, which was fine by me. Shane and Kari never made sense in my head anyway.

  “That was nice of you.” A twinge of guilt rolled itself in the pit of my stomach.

  “Yeah, I'm a nice guy like that. I miss you, Blake. You fly back tomorrow, don't you?”

  “Yeah. Wanna pick me up at the airport?”

  “Sure. What time?”

  “I should get in about seven tomorrow evening. Listen, I'm going to get back to Micah's party. I wanted to call you before it got late and/or loud. Tell Shane I said hey.”

  “Will do. Behave yourself. Have fun. I love you.”

  Behave myself. Right. Hearing him say that a day earlier would have sounded absurd, but right then it made me feel queasy. “I love you, too.”

  Ending the call, I was startled by Micah standing in her doorway clearing her throat.

  “Oh, hey.”

  “What the hell happened last night?” Her voice was upbeat, but carried a hint of accusation. I didn't want to lie to her. I sat on the edge of her bed and faced the wall of pictures and Micah sat beside me, leaning a shoulder into mine as she began to talk.

  “They're pretty close, you know,” she said.

  “Who?”

  “Cory and Casey. They fight. God, do they fight, but they're close. How serious are you and Grant? I mean, it isn't my business, but last night wasn't like you.” She walked the thin line of being nosey with being concerned like a pro.

  Apparently, the brothers talked a lot, too. “Uh.” I leaned forward and put my head in my hands. It was the moment I was dreading. But somehow my feelings were crossed. I didn't know how to explain it. I was more ashamed of myself for being with Casey, when I had a boyfriend, than I was for sleeping with another man when I was dating Grant.

  I tried to explain, “I know. It just happened. It was spontaneous and…” looking for a word as I stood and began a short pace in front of my friend, “he's just so sexy and fun and interesting, Micah. Of course I feel shitty for doing that to Grant. Don't you think I feel bad? And you're right. It isn't like me at all.” I looked down at my hands and picked at a hangnail that I could only imagine getting worse and worse now that I'd honed in on it. “It was a mistake.”

  “A mistake?” I heard a familiar male's voice say from across the room. Didn't anyone knock around there? “It was a mistake?” he repeated.

  Casey was standing in the doorway. He wasn't pleased. Quickly, I looked to Micah for reinforcement. She didn't meet my eyes when she said, “You guys need a minute. It’s okay if you stay in here.” Then, like she realized that she'd offered her bedroom to two people who clearly had no self-control, she added, “Just...just behave.” There it was again. Behave.

  I watched my little friend walk around the man who danced his way into my hotel bed the night before. She patted his hard chest as she made her way past.

  “That didn't come out right,” I said.

  “It sounded like it did.” His big hands were in his hair, holding it while he continued, “Listen, I know you have a boyfriend, but you don't like him that much. Do you? I mean, how could you?”

  How could I? The million-dollar question. Of course I loved Grant. He was kind and sweet. He was my boyfriend. “I do like him. I love him. I don't know what happened last night.”

  “And this morning? Today?” He stepped closer, shrinking the space between us. “I thought we had a good time.” His eyes burned into mine. His voice was almost pleading.

  “What do you want me to say? I don't even live here.” Feelings of frustration and confusion fogged my head. What did he want from me? “I don't know how to explain it.”

  “It's simple. I want you to say that you had a good time. You, obviously, don't like your stupid boyfriend and that you want to have a good time tonight before you go home.” That didn't seem like too much to ask. Well, all except for the part about Grant, my stupid boyfriend.

  “He isn't stupid.”

  “He's not?” A boom of laughter flew straight out of his chest. “Okay, then where is he?”

  “He had something come up. He couldn't make it.”

  “That's lame. Micah said he was going to be there last night and told us how happy she was to finally meet him. She said that you were excited to show him around and introduce him to your old friends.”

  “So?” I fidgeted with the errant skin on my finger and pulled the flesh to the quick. I couldn't look at him. I felt like I needed to defend myself, and my relationship to someone who couldn't possibly care about it.

  “So, if he was so great, then he would have been there.” He kept advancing on me and I didn’t know whether to fight or flee.

  “I don't know why you care, really. It was one nigh
t.”

  “Yeah, it was one night. One night where you called my name, not his. One night where your beautiful lips begged for mine, not his. One night where you slept in my arms, not his.”

  My finger ripped apart the piece of skin and it smarted. I looked at my hand, it was bleeding. Absentmindedly, I brought it to my face for closer inspection. I had done a number on it. Without saying another word, Casey took hold of my hand and pushed the wounded digit into his warm mouth.

  At first I was shocked that he'd do that. It was such an oddly intimate thing, putting someone's bloody finger into your mouth without thinking about it. It burned as his tongue ran over the sore spot, but it soothed, too.

  Finally, I had the willpower to look him in the eyes and all I saw was concern. “What do you care anyway? Don't guys have one-night stands with women all the time?”

  My finger left his warm mouth with a plop and he smiled. “I think you deserve better. That’s all.”

  “You've known me for one day. You don't even really know me at all. As far as you know I'm a cheating whore.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I was embarrassed and ashamed.

  I hung my head on those words. I couldn’t look at him and see my words reflected back in his eyes. But he tilted my chin back up and said, “Don't say that, Blake. You're not like that. Even I know you're not.”

  “Well, from what you know I sleep around on my boyfriend. I don't see how that makes you think I deserve more. Maybe I deserve what I get.”

  “That's stupid. He's just the wrong guy.”

  “And you're the right one?” I pulled my hand away. The closeness was raising my temperature and clouding my already terrible judgment.

  Leaning down to whisper in my ear, he softly said, “Do you really think what we had last night was a mistake? Do you regret it?”

  The moment of truth. Hell, no. I didn't regret it, but I couldn't say that it wasn't a mistake. The mistake was knowing what he tasted like. The mistake was wanting more. But I doubted I'd ever regret Casey Moore.

  “Yes,” was all I could manage. It was the easiest way.

  The word no sooner left my lips before he straightened. His lean body tensed and he quietly chuckled and wiped his lips with his thumb. “Then you are a liar.” And he left.

  I stayed in Micah's room for a few more minutes and used her bathroom to freshen up. Looking at myself in the mirror I realized that lying to him felt worse than lying to Grant and I didn’t know why.

  When I left the comfort and privacy of the bedroom I was instantly assaulted with music and people. Lots of classmates, and I guessed, family and friends were there drinking and dancing. But I didn't feel like partying anymore.

  The party was going stale on me and I knew I couldn't stay much longer. I found Micah and Cory and talked to them for a little while. They were on the back porch waiting for their turn in a beer-pong match, and as a guy in an “Eat Me” T-shirt yelled to them, “You're up,” I kissed my friend goodbye and told her I'd call her.

  “Are you okay?” Micah asked into my ear as we hugged.

  “Yeah, hey, I have an early flight.” Another lie. “Congratulations. I'm so happy for you.”

  When I hugged Cory goodbye, I saw Casey through the French doors. A petite girl with long blonde hair was already on his hip.

  First, I thought how appropriate it was. He wasted no time lining his night out the same way he did the night before. Cory followed my gaze and said, “They broke up,” as if he'd read my mind. I hated that I was so transparent. But it was certainly the cue I needed to propel myself toward the door.

  I reiterated to them, “I don't care. I have a boyfriend. It was nice meeting you, Cory. Take care of our girl.”

  “You, too. And I will.” He kissed her head and then walked toward their side of the white folding table.

  As I walked back inside, I realized my purse was on the counter next to where Casey and his not-so-ex-girlfriend were leaning. With my head held high, I reached for it around him. “She could do better, too,” I said for only him to hear.

  There take that, Mr. Know-it-all.

  I walked to the door as fast as I could, hailed a cab and decided to cash out my hotel mini-bar.

  I didn't even turn the TV on. I went straight to the small two-person balcony that overlooked the street and proceeded to drink mini-bottle after mini-bottle of nine-dollar booze I had at my disposal. It burned going down and warmed my stomach. I considered what I'd done and tried my damnedest to reason the why of it all.

  Didn't most people who had one-night stands just do it and move on? Didn't most people who threw caution to the wind not look back? Shouldn't I be focused on pretending like it didn't happen? Instead, there I sat thinking over every second of last night.

  Every touch. Every playful bite at my skin. The way his voice still rang in my ears as he moaned his release into me.

  I was so careless. Thinking back on it, neither one of us even broached the topic of protection. I wasn't worried, though. I'd had my shot a few weeks before. Pregnancy wasn't a worry that came to mind. What if he really was promiscuous? He could have given me something and I was so careless that I didn't even bring up using a condom. How could I have been so stupid and reckless?

  I downed another bottle, but this time I chased it with a soda. I had lied when I said that my flight was early, but I still didn't want to be hung-over while traveling.

  My body would be intact.

  My conscience and heart would not.

  Funny how a little drink can make you rewrite history fictionally in your head. I thought back to my senior year, last year, and played dress-up with my memories. I fantasized what now would look like had I met Casey while I still lived in San Francisco. I fantasized and pretended that we’d met when Cory and Micah did. That we’d fell in love.

  We were still in love and he was just out for a while. I let my imagination wander into a parallel time where the night before wasn't an exception, but the norm. Where my body was more than satisfied and my heart was legitimately branded with his name, and it was his hand I held walking down the street every day to coffee. His jacket I wore when the night air got too crisp. And it was him who was about to propose.

  Why was it I didn’t dream of those things with Grant? Why was it my heart didn’t beat erratically at the thought of being touched by him, being made love to by him? And if everything that I’d done was purely physical, then why wasn’t the guilt for what I’d done to Grant louder than my fantasies of Casey?

  I thought, if I could have him one more time maybe I'd be sated. I could rid myself of those thoughts.

  If he were there with me, I'd pretend my fantasies were real and that we shared them. If he were here I'd prove they were real until they were.

  If I could just touch those lips one more time.

  Sunday, May 25, 2008

  I HAD TO TOUCH those lips one more time.

  I didn't care if she told me to leave. I didn't really give a fuck if she slapped me. She was there, in my town, and I had to give it a shot. It might be the only one I ever got.

  As I walked down the street toward her hotel, I stopped and looked up at the brick front of the old building. The balconies peppered its façade and I saw her. Her hair blew gently in the light breeze. I watched as she poured a little bottle down her throat and then brought a can to her mouth.

  She looked weary. She looked lost. She looked beautiful.

  She'd go back home the next day and probably try to forget me. Probably try to forget we met at all.

  Well, fuck that. If I had anything to say about it, she wouldn't ever forget me. If I had anything to say about it, she'd think of me each time someone else touched her perfect skin for weeks. Months. Years. Forever, I prayed. If I had anything to say about it, she'd have to bite her lip from calling my name if the lucky bastard actually did make her come.

  There wasn't a winning side in this game. I would likely lose. But not that night. The next day I'd walk home with my tail between my
legs and I'd pretend like it never happened. I'd be the one thinking of her when someone touched me. When I pushed toward a climax, with whoever it may be, Blake's name would be the one on my tongue. And when I'd stroke myself off, it would be her I was picturing for months to come.

  But that night, I was going to make her mine one more time. One touch. One kiss. One lick at a time.

  I watched her for a few more minutes from down the street. I saw her warring with herself, or me, or him, or life in general. When I got to the doors of the hotel, I decided not to run up the stairs like I had before. I rode the elevator and tried to come up with a good reason for her to let me in.

  The shit of it was, I didn’t have one. There was no rational reason for any of this. Even I knew that. But I wanted her. That was a fact.

  At her door, my hand knocked on it before I told it to.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  I shook my hands out and steadied my nerves. She might have told me to fuck off and I'd have no choice but to do just that.

  I heard her lean on the door and it creaked as she pressed to look out the peep-hole.

  “Casey?” she asked. Then I heard the thump of her head against the wood. “What are you doing here?”

  “Please, let me in.” I wasn't messing around. I wanted in and I saw no point in fucking around about it.

  She said through the door to me, “It's late.”

  “I know what time it is. Let me in.”

  “Casey, this is a bad idea.”

  “You leave tomorrow. Don't you?”

  “See? This isn't right. I have a boyfriend and you clearly still have a girlfriend. Last night was—” Then she stopped.

  “I don't still have a girlfriend. I don't know why she showed up. And honestly, right now, I don't give a shit about your boyfriend. Open. The. Door.” I walked a thin line. I never talked to women like that usually. To tell you the truth, I‘d never had a reason to. None of the chicks I'd dated ever had this effect on me.