Fast Friends: Reunion

by Turner, Stacy

  “She was this girl I knew about seven or eight years ago,” Devon said. “She was a dancer – not a stripper, a real dancer. She had long brown hair, very pretty. We started dating and I just lost the ability to get turned on by other women. It was pretty weird, you know. She was a good girl, made me wait for it and all that. I wanted her like, wow. Like she was the only girl on the eastern seaboard or whatever. The sex was amazing, but it changed me, man. One day I was sitting in church – church! – when it hit me that I was turning into a stranger. I couldn't handle it. I wasn't ready to settle down. I just walked away, thought I was being smart, but now I'm not so sure.

  “I mean I've had fun,” Devon said, “but it's all just games, you know. I thought at some point I'd decide I was ready and find someone, but it turns out it's not the timing, it's the woman. As fucked up as that relationship is, I even envy Paul.”

  At that moment Paul was handing Deidre's leash to another club member, a man Mark had seen them play with before. Deidre got to her feet and the three of them headed for a private room.

  Mark wasn't convinced by Devon's little speech, though it did make him nervous that he couldn't stop thinking about Tara. Was he headed for a pussy whipping, as Devon suggested or worse, coming to the clubs with his wife, like Paul? God, he was getting ahead of himself. Still he could probably ease off a little bit. Texting her constantly was probably a little much.

  He liked Tara, that was all. He'd never been with a woman who was such an intriguing combination of yielding and resistant. So what if he didn't feel like messing around with other women? He'd played with Deidre and girls like her dozens of times. He was probably just bored with the same old same old. Right now he wanted Tara. It didn't mean he'd never want anyone else. It was probably a good thing anyway, with all the things he had to do before the move. He might as well go home since he knew he wouldn't play tonight.

  “I've gotta go,” Mark said, setting down his still half-full glass.

  “What?” Devon said. “You just got here.”

  “I shouldn't have come tonight, man,” Mark said. “I've got too much on my mind with the move. You take care, all right. I'll see you before I leave.”

  “Have fun,” Devon said, focused on a pair of women who had just walked in together. So much for a broken heart, Mark thought.

  Tara didn't hear from Mark over the weekend or during the subsequent week. They had talked to each other a lot more frequently than that in the weeks leading up to the reunion, but Tara told herself it didn't mean anything. He had a lot of things going on, obviously.

  Whenever she saw Jack at work he did a good job of hiding his annoyance. He had looked expectant whenever he saw her going into Phil's office, but he never came out and said anything. In fact, Tara had thought hard about how she was going to handle the situation and she fully intended to involve Phil, but the time wasn't right yet. A part of her really enjoyed making Jack stew. She talked to him a few times during the week, gushing stupidly about Mark in a way she would never have done if she wasn't trying to lull him into a false sense of security. She hinted that they'd slept together, but didn't mention Mark was moving back to town. Finally, two weeks after he'd brought up the emails, Jack came into her office and closed the door.

  “What are you going to do about Laurence,” he asked, speaking more quietly than he strictly had to.

  “I'm not sure,” Tara said, deliberately biting her lip. “I'm starting to worry that this could cause problems for me, if I say anything.”

  “I know, Tara,” Jack said, sympathetically, “but we can't just let him get away with it.”

  “If he cost us a big client,” Tara said, “that's terrible, but what can we do?”

  “Tell Phil,” Jack said. “You need to expose him.”

  “Maybe you should do it,” Tara suggested. “I mean, you found the emails. You deserve the credit for figuring this out.”

  Jack's eyes darted around rapidly. “It's not about credit,” he said finally. “I just think it would have more credibility coming from you. Phil trusts you, right? I mean, he barely knows I exist.”

  There was a trace of bitterness in his voice and Tara thought to herself that was the first honest sentiment to come out of him in a long time. Ironically, Phil knew exactly who Jack was. That was part of the problem for him.

  “I'll think about it,” Tara said, “but you should know that if you went to him I would back you up 100%.” The only thing that gave away Jack's frustration was the tapping of his index finger on the arm of his chair. Tara had to admire his self-control.

  “How are things going with Mark,” Jack asked, obviously sensing that he wasn't going to egg her into doing anything immediately.

  “Good,” Tara said, letting a slight wistfulness enter her voice. It wasn't entirely fake. She was beginning to wonder why she hadn't heard from him. Jack picked up on it immediately.

  “When did you guys talk last?”

  “Last week,” Tara admitted.

  “Wow,” Jack said. “That kinda sucks. I mean, that's a long time if he's really into you.”

  Nice tactic, Tara thought. Try to make me feel insecure. Of course Tara had deliberately sent the conversation in this direction so Jack would feel as if he was in control. She would play along.

  “Do you think I should worry?” she asked.

  “Um, no,” Jack said, unconvincingly. “Maybe he just got really busy. I mean, if I'm into a girl I can't stop talking to her, but he's probably just different.”

  Tara winced. She wasn't faking it either. That hurt. Jack was right. Most guys would have been calling and texting her daily. What was up with Mark? She decided that she would call him that night. It was stupid to act like a love-sick teenager, sitting by the phone and waiting for her crush to call. She was a grown woman. If she wanted to talk to him she could damn well pick up the phone and dial. Jack's too-big smile when she told him that wasn't reassuring.

  Tara got a call late in the afternoon from Christie inviting her to dinner that night. Tara was tired and in a weird mood, but with the baby due in a little over a week she couldn't say no. Rushing home, she took a quick shower, did her hair and make up and changed into a berry-toned jersey dress. It was her standby dressy casual dress. The weather was turning cold, so she matched it with black hose and boots and a thick shawl. A set of teardrop shaped gemstone earrings completed the outfit.

  They were meeting at a little bistro downtown. Tara had eaten there before and really enjoyed their bouillabaisse. When she got there Christie was already seated with two of her girlfriends that Tara didn't know. Christie looked ready to pop out of a very pretty navy velvet maternity dress. Her hair and make-up were perfect. Tara gave her a kiss on the cheek before sitting down.

  “This is Mary-anne,” Christie said, indicating a short brunette, “and Linda.” Linda was a tall blonde, with startling green eyes. The women shook hands and said their hellos. They made the usual small-talk about how they knew Christie.

  “We really miss you at the office,” Mary-anne said, sipping red wine. Christie had encouraged them to drink saying at least someone should be having fun. “It's going to be so boring with you out.”

  “Oh, whatever,” Christie said. “I bet you're all relieved not to have me nagging you all the time.”

  “Uh uh,” Mary-ann said. “We need you. Everything is going to go to pot.”

  Conversation mostly centered around the baby. The other two women already had kids, so they were full of advice on everything from diapers to colic to how to find the best babysitters. Tara didn't have much to add to that part of the conversation. Linda suggested Christie try to get as much sleep as possible before the birth.

  “After my daughter was born I didn't sleep for a month,” she told them.

  “Wouldn't that have been fatal?” Christie asked.

  “You would think,” Linda said. “I would go into these fugue states when she was napping. Some people might call that sleep, but I'd be sitting upright and there
would be a half folded load of laundry in front of me, so I don't know.”

  “My husband had this whole plan worked out about how he was going to get our first sleeping through the night by three months,” Mary-ann told them, chuckling.

  “Did it work?” Tara asked.

  “Not for a minute. Steven had a mind of his own from birth. That, and Bradley couldn't bear to hear him cry. He'd be getting him out of the crib before I even woke up properly.”

  Tara enjoyed the meal, even if she didn't have a lot to contribute to the conversation. She was checking the time on her phone, trying to decide if she it would be too late to call Mark when she got home when a text came in.

  Mark: What're you up to?

  Tara: Dinner with friends.

  Mark: Till when?

  Tara: Another half and hour, maybe? Why?

  Mark: Just wanna chat.

  Tara: Ok. Text you when I get home.

  Mark: Ok.

  “Who's that?” Christie asked, teasingly.

  “Nobody,” Tara said, tucking her phone away. The waiter had just brought dessert: scrumptious looking little mini-tarts. Tara scooped a spoonful of crème Bruegel. It was delicious.

  “Is nobody's name Mark?” Christie asked.

  “Maybe,” Tara said.

  “Who's Mark,” Mary-ann asked.

  “Only the hottest guy at our reunion,” Christie explained. “He used to be a total nerd, but now he's hot enough to melt your panties right off you. And Tara here snapped him up so before you could blink.”

  “It's not like that,” Tara said, laughing. “Mark's an old friend.”

  “Old friend, as in you guys dated?” Linda asked, scooting the crème brulee out of Tara's reach.

  “No,” Tara said. “We were just close friends. We stayed in touch, though.”

  “So you're still just friends?”

  “Oh, no,” Christie answered for Tara. “They are most definitely not “just friends” now.”

  “Well that's great,” Mary-ann threw in her two-cents. “Friends make the best lovers. You don't waste a bunch of time pretending to be someone you're not: they already know you. TK and I were pals for over a year before he asked me out and he already knew what a cranky pants I was. There's really nothing better than being in love with your best friend.”

  “I'll toast to that,” Linda said. Tara joined them in the toast.

  In love with her best friend? If that was where things were headed, why did she feel more like she was on a runaway train to heartbreak. If these women only knew what was really going on they'd probably conk her on the head instead of congratulating her.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Forty-five minutes later Tara got out of the elevator in her apartment building and stopped dead in her tracks. Mark was standing in front of her door looking so hot she thought she would pass out. He was dressed all in black – suit jacket, black button-down shirt and fitted slacks. His hair was slightly rumpled. He was holding a bottle of wine, a small gift-wrapped box and a single yellow rose.

  “Surprise,” he said, smiling rakishly as she walked up to him. Tara couldn't suppress an answering grin. She walked right into his arms and hugged him close. He was warm and strong and smelled heavenly.

  “What are you doing here,” she asked, leaning back to look at his face. His grey eyes twinkled.

  “I wanted to see you,” he said, simply, spinning her towards the door. Tara let them into her apartment without thinking. The last thing she'd expected after over a week of silence was for him to show up at her door unannounced. With a flower and gift, to boot. He had remembered that yellow was her favorite color.

  Taking each item from his hands she placed them on one of the side tables and turned back towards him. He pulled the shawl off her shoulders and tossed it into one of the overstuffed chairs. Tara slid her hands up his chest and cupped his face. His cheeks were smooth. He must have shaved right before coming over. Tara pressed a kiss to his lips. He returned the pressure, folding her close. He deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue into her mouth. His taste and feel was immediately erotic, sending her body in to overdrive.

  “I like your dress,” he side, exploring her back and squeezing her ass cheeks through the soft fabric.

  “Thanks,” she said, pushing his jacket off his shoulders. “I like your jacket.”

  Mark laughed, pressing her into the nearest wall. She could feel every inch of his muscled frame against the front of her body. He pushed the hem of her dress up and hoisted her against the wall, pressing his hips between her thighs. She could feel his arousal through the layers of fabric separating them. He growled low in his throat, pulling the dress over her head. He captured her lips, probing her mouth and grinding against her aggressively. Rocking against him, Tara wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

  “Too many clothes,” he said, squeezing her hose-covered thigh.

  “Agreed,” she said.

  He dropped her to the floor and kneeled, helping her out of her boots. He peeled the hose off her legs, dropping a quick kiss on her stomach before taking her back into his arms. The wool of his trousers was rough against her thighs when he pressed between them again, hooking her legs around his waist. The ridge of his erection rode against the vee of her legs, barely covered by her silky panties. Hoisting her a little higher, he captured one of her bra-covered nipples in his mouth and suckled, hollowing his cheeks. The sensation was delicious. She made little sounds of encouragement, stroking his head and the muscles of his back.

  “I want you inside me,” she moaned, arching into him. She groped for his zipper, freeing him from the confines of his pants. He released her breast long enough to put on a condom one handed with a little help from her, then pulled the crotch of her panties to the side and sank into her moist center. Tara moaned, holding onto his shoulders. He pressed her into the wall, bending his knees slightly so he could thrust upwards into her body. Every time she lowered herself onto his cock, the weight of her body pressed her clit against the rough fabric of his slacks, sending little shocks of pleasure through her. It was thrilling, being suspended off the ground and pressed so tightly against him, but she craved the feeling of flesh against flesh.

  “More,” she begged, pulling at his shirt. He lifted her more firmly against him and walked over the couch, dropping her onto it. Tara grabbed his belt and tugged it out of his pants loops. By the time she got his pants open he'd torn off his shirt. He whipped his boxers down, taking the condom with it. He swore and grabbed another one from his pants pocket before sitting on the couch to put it on. Impatient, Tara barely gave him time to get his hands out of the way before she straddled him and sank onto his erection. She closed her eyes at the sensation. She was so full. He fit her perfectly, stretching her sensitive passage.

  Tara rose and fell on his lap, taking him deep on each downstroke. Raising his hips slightly to meet each of her strokes, Mark unhooked her bra and took her breasts in his hands, massaging the firm globes. Tara was reminded of that night over ten years ago when she'd first straddled him, but this was the very different grown up version, her wet pussy suctioning his cock and his hands and mouth needing no invitation to stimulate her breasts. She rose up higher, taking his cock in long, quick strokes that had him gritting his teeth. He squeezed her thigh almost painfully and she slowed down, letting him catch his breath. A slow twist of her hips morphed into her grinding her clit against his pubic bone. He pulled her head down and they kissed wetly.

  “Come for me, baby,” he said, resting his hands on her hips. “Use me.”

  Tara rocked her hips in a small circle, feeling the tension rise as her clit rasped against his body. Her movements were subtle, but it felt incredible. Mark wet his thumb and flicked one of her nipples, heightening the sensations coming from pussy. Tara sped up, riding him. She dug her fingers into his chest and came, her hips and thighs quivering.

  “Damn,” he said, easing out of her. “You are so sexy. Did you like that? Using me as your h
uman sex toy?”

  Tara laughed, barely wanting to move. She fell sideways across the couch, one of her legs still thrown across his.

  “That was great,” she said, pushing her hand lazily through her hair. She loved the way his eyes caressed her naked body.

  “Let's go to bed,” he said, pull her to her feet. Feeling warm and contented, Tara ambled into the bedroom and climbed into bed. Mark joined her a second later, pulling her close. Instead of getting on top of her like she'd expected, he turned her on her side and hooked one of her legs over his hip. He took her slowly, his hip resting against her mound again. This time he controlled the pace, entering her in shallow thrusts that gradually sped up until they were both gasping for breath. Tara twined herself around him, welcoming every movement of his body. Their lips locked in frenzied imitation of what their bodies were doing. In the cocoon of her bed she let herself think, as he lost himself in her, that she was happy, so happy, that he was her lover.

  “Very pleasant surprise, Mark,” she said a bit later, “but what happened? I wasn't expecting you for another week.”

  He was lying on his back and punching one of the pillows, he folded it under his neck. She rose up onto her elbow so she could see his face better. The apartment was dark except for the light coming in through the windows. His face was mostly in shadow, and she couldn't see his eyes.

  “Things did not go according to plan,” he said. “I had some problems with my boss.”

  “I thought the two of you got along. Well, until you told me she was giving you a hard time last week.”

  “We were getting along. Well, we kind of got along too well for a while there and that was really the problem.”

  “I'm not following,” Tara said, except that she kind of was and she really hoped she was guessing wrong.

  “Well,” Mark said, “we worked a lot of long hours together. Meera's an attractive woman and I like her. One night about six months ago we were working late and one thing led to another. Afterwards I told her we shouldn't go there again because of our work relationship and I thought she understood, but last Friday she lost it and accused me of playing with her feelings and said she thought I was being immature to leave a great job because of personal issues. She told me to take the week off. I didn't argue. She was too upset.”