by Alexa Day
By the time Tal had unleashed that ramrod in his pants, the pleasure of watching them came at John from all sides. The sensory experience of watching them merged with the intellectual stimulation of wondering what she would want next, how Tal would meet her needs, and what John would have done himself. It hadn’t taken him long to come, spending himself into the blessed cool of the paper towel that had been underneath the neglected glass of ice water.
Not quite synesthesia. But something very close.
John turned off the lamp over the legal pad. Once he was in the dark, he refastened his pants and found the trash can in the corner of the kitchen. He rose from the chair as quietly as he could, feeling obligated to preserve the quiet stillness that had descended between them. As he dropped the paper towel into the garbage, Grace stopped whispering. He pulled his glasses off and strained to hear.
“Yes,” she said, with the same insistence a teacher might use to get through to a difficult student. “I’m sure.”
“All right.” The fire had faded from Tal’s voice. “All right.”
John squinted into the dark from his place in the corner of the kitchen. The light went on in the bathroom, casting a spotlight of sorts over Tal for an instant before the door slid closed. In the renewed darkness, the bed creaked as Tal shifted on it, and the wet, rubbery sound of the condom coming off preceded the loud rustle of those breakaway pants.
“You get everything you needed out of that?” Tal turned the bedside lamp back on and John felt like a burglar, caught by the homeowner with an appliance under one arm.
He nodded and cleared his throat, gone dry because he’d ignored the glass of water. “Yeah.”
“Good.” Tal hunted for his shirt and elbowed his way into it. “I’m glad.”
The water went on in the bathroom just before Tal yanked Grace’s silken robe free from the twisted sheets. He carried it to the bathroom door and slid it open just a couple of inches, enough for him to leave the robe inside for her. When the door slid shut, Tal headed toward the table.
“What’s your problem with this?” John asked. He folded his arms and slowly went back to the table, standing just behind the chair. The loft’s thick heat turned prickly as he slid his glasses on.
“My problem?” Tal put his hands on his hips and in the dim light, the gesture made him very big indeed. “My problem is that you just made a friend of mine into some kind of sex sideshow.” He pushed his hand dismissively at the table. “For research. That’s my problem.”
Anger stiffened John’s back. “Tal, I didn’t come up with this idea myself. In fact, our friend is the one who suggested it.”
“Yeah, I remember,” Tal said. “I was there. And I’m not gonna speak for her, but I didn’t think you were coming.”
John gripped the back of the chair and tried to breathe through teeth clenched so tightly they hurt. There. Someone had finally said it out loud.
Tal shook his head. “All this time, I’m hearing that the friendship means so much to you. It means too much for you to move to the next level. So what happened? You don’t mind fucking up the friendship now?”
For the briefest of moments, John conceived of and then hastily dismissed the utterly irrational idea that he should raise a hand to Tal. He took a long, deep breath to center himself, to give himself the time to respond instead of reacting.
“Tal. Grace offered me the chance to watch her. To see firsthand what this stuff does.”
“Oh yeah? Well, just so you know, it’s working.” Tal pointed behind him at the bathroom door. “If it’s supposed to turn you into a nympho for a minute, and then shut you down like you don’t have any feelings, and then make you all paranoid and nervous, then it’s working.” Tal spread his arms wide. “Congratulations.”
John closed the distance between them, getting close enough to Tal to catch the mingled scents of sweat and sex coming off him. “I will not be shamed by you. You don’t get to talk to me about turning my friend into a sideshow over something she chose when you started this.” He jabbed a finger at Tal. “You keep stringing her along. You don’t want anything from her but the sex. And now you’re pissed at me because she’s finally going to see there’s nothing more to you.”
Tal looked at the floor for a split second. Then he moved so quickly that before John could fully grasp what was happening, he found himself pinned to the wall, looking at the table over Tal’s shoulder.
His voice was a razor blade in the shadows, close enough and sharp enough to be lethal. “If you take nothing else away from here, take this. Grace and I have always—always—been straight about what we’re doing. The only person who’s fucked-up over it is you.” The pipes squeaked and then all was silent. “But let me get you clear on one thing. If I even think you’ve hurt that woman, that’s your ass. Understand?”
A metallic rasp from the bathroom signaled Grace’s emergence from the shower. She’d be out any minute now. John met Tal’s icy gaze. The other man didn’t give an inch but lifted his brow.
“I get it,” John said. “I get it better than you.”
Tal pushed him against the wall one last time for emphasis and then released him. “We’ll see, Einstein.”
He stalked off toward the bathroom, where steam was pouring out through the now open doorway, and pushed past Grace as she came out in her robe, biting her lip. She glanced at John and looked away, first at the floor then at the bed.
“I’m glad you’re still here,” she said quietly. “Not that I thought you were going to, you know, leave or something.”
She found her clothes folded over the footboard and turned her back to John. Her robe, once unfastened, fell open to form a curtain of sorts between them, so that she could shimmy into her basic but nonetheless sexy black panties in relative privacy. How quickly things had changed.
The pipes whined in the bathroom. “What’s with him?” John asked, gesturing at the bathroom door.
She sighed and looked over her shoulder. “I don’t know. Did he say something?”
The truth suddenly seemed like a bad idea. “He just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
She let the robe drop and shouldered into her bra before turning to face him, arms crossed. “People keep asking me that.”
“Well, are you?”
“Yes.” She snatched up her shirt and pulled it on. “I thought that was the whole idea.”
He told himself he was just confused and not distracted by the sight of her long legs, the matching bra and panties. “What is?”
“My being okay. I thought the idea was that I could do this and be okay afterward. Is that not right?”
She had a point. This was the whole idea. When you took away the urge to cuddle—and she’d warned him about this—this discomfort was what remained. It had just settled in so quickly, without any postcoital contentment to stave it off.
Grace was pulling up her jeans. “You told me I wouldn’t feel like cuddling and I haven’t. I told you I’d be really horny, and I have been. So none of this should be a huge surprise.” She went to the dining table and drank some of his water before replacing the glass in its pool of condensation. “Look, I know. It was my idea. And I don’t know what I thought it would be like.” She sighed, lifted her hands and then let them drop against her hips. “Right now, I just want to go home.”
He nodded. They’d be able to talk about this soon enough. “Okay. Me too.”
He set about shoving his things into the messenger bag and was nearly done when the pipes bleated again. The water lapsed into silence. Whatever else could be said about him, Tal Crusoe didn’t waste time in the shower.
“Tal?” Grace called.
“Yeah?” His voice was still a little impatient. John finished cramming his things together and got his coat on.
“We’re leaving,” she said.
The silence went on for just a half-second too long. “Right now?”
Grace put on her coat. “Yeah.”
“Okay.” Tal’
s voice lay at the midpoint between frustration and surrender.
“I’ll call you,” Grace said, sounding no more convincing than any number of men who made the same promise. This time, Tal was quiet for a long time, long enough for her to step into her shoes and head for the stairs. It was the fulfillment of John’s dreams for the project—a woman’s freedom to say “I’ll call you” on the way to the door. It tasted like ashes.
On the sidewalk, the night turned Tal’s wannabe gentrified neighborhood back into the sketchy part of town it looked like at first glance.
“Where are you parked?” John asked. “I can walk you back to your car.”
Grace jammed her hands into her coat pockets. “It’s okay. I’m right around the corner.” She began to back away and then stopped, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “You want to call me when you get ready for that interview?”
It wasn’t “I’ll call you”. It wasn’t what he’d hoped for either, but she wasn’t blowing him off.
“Yeah, that sounds good.” Before she could turn away, committed to her walk alone, he called out to her again. “Listen, Grace, I’m sorry if I—”
She cut him off with an uplifted palm. “Hey. It was my idea. You don’t have anything to apologize for.”
So why did he feel like an asshole?
She waved at him. “Gotta go. Cold out here.”
“Right.” John waved back at her. “Goodnight, Grace. And thank you.”
Had he already thanked her? Should he have?
“Night, John.” She sounded small. Lost and helpless and more than a little tired.
He watched her turn and make her way into the dark and when she disappeared around the corner, he started the long walk back to his car.
* * * * *
Tal yanked the sheets from the bed more roughly than he’d really intended to, jerking the fitted sheet off the mattress before turning to the pillowcases. He wadded everything together, cursing under his breath, and then marched down the stairs to the washer, shoved everything inside, popped in one of those detergent pod things and slammed the lid shut.
It was pointless busywork and he knew it. Hell, he’d probably be asleep by the time the wash cycle ended and then he’d just have to do it again tomorrow morning. But one way or the other, the sheets were getting washed and getting washed right now.
He didn’t even want to go back upstairs. If he did that, he’d just drink or fall asleep on the couch or do both, if he was really lucky. He stomped off to the office instead. At least he could hear the washer from there, and there wasn’t much chance of falling asleep at his desk. Maybe he’d even find something to do.
He flung himself into the chair and let momentum roll him toward the neat stack of bills waiting in the inbox. On top of the pile were a couple of checks from his old-school clients who still preferred checks. He could tend to those.
In the distance, the washer began to churn. He cracked his knuckles and rifled through the center desk drawer for a deposit slip.
What was eating him? Even the memory of bending Grace over the desk in here granted him no solace. All he could think about was the phone call he’d taken in here earlier this evening.
The call from Ivy.
Well, she had a right to move on with her life. He’d said so himself. And he was happy for her. He’d been saying for years that one day she’d find someone who could really make her happy—a lawyer or a doctor or a CEO or something—and they’d get married and have gorgeous kids.
A whole softball team of kids, Ivy.
And she had warmed up to that. Maybe you could teach them how to hit home runs?
He hadn’t known what to say then, so he’d given her a hug and made the decision that everything had worked out. And apparently it had, because she’d written, on the stationery he’d given her, to say that she’d met a wonderful man, a doctor, and was going to be married, just as he’d predicted. Now she was coming to town and called, just as he’d invited her to, so that she could share her joy with him over coffee.
For some reason, that really pissed him off. Pushing Grace’s friend up against the wall had only helped a little.
But it had helped, hadn’t it? And the sex hadn’t exactly hurt.
Years ago, if he’d gotten into a slow-burning rage, he would have gone somewhere to pick a fight. Nowadays, he would go for a swim, a different kind of bout, where you could throw everything your body had at something that took it without flinching.
Now he just wanted to sit here and stew. He slapped the deposit slip on top of a stack of paperwork. Even the thought of a beer didn’t entice him.
Shit, if putting on a show for Grace’s friend hadn’t worked, beer wasn’t going to do the job either.
Maybe I should have kicked his ass, just on principle.
That guy was going to have to get on the stick. It was pretty damn obvious that they’d been tiptoeing around this for a while. He could tell when they touched earlier. Another man—one with nothing invested in a relationship or friendship—would have let that kiss take him into feeling her up, getting her nice and warm for the show to come. A man who did have something invested would have made it clear he was lending her out on a temporary basis to be returned promptly when this experiment or whatever was over.
This guy just didn’t give a fuck. That rated an ass-beating.
The washer launched into a choppy sequence of banging and creaking. Soon it’d be finished and he could put the sheets in the dryer and turn in. Or he could wait. In a little while, he could go out for that swim and come back in time to meet his early client. Before long, all would look right with the world.
Saturday was coming and he’d be fine. By the time Ivy got to town next week, he’d definitely be fine. He was just worked up because Grace’s friend wasn’t going to move forward with her and Grace was apparently all right with it.
Hell, pretty soon she’d be the one calling to say she was getting married. That was how things usually went, right?
Tal cracked his knuckles and resolved to take that swim later. Or maybe a long, punishing run would feel just as good. The place would smell like sweat, the sort of clean sweat from a workout begun right after a shower. Right now everything still smelled just a bit like sex and it’d be hard to maintain any kind of professional credibility that way.
He threw his pen at the inbox, where it clattered to a stop. Then he glared at the phone.
Dammit. He hated when shit got all complicated like this.
Chapter Seven
He did say Thursday, right?
Grace bobbed up and down, dancing in place to ward off the chilly air. Her breath emerged in a cloud, lit by John’s porch light, while she rooted in her purse for the BlackBerry. She’d been almost certain he’d said Thursday, but when she’d buzzed his apartment on the intercom, she’d been met with silence. Maybe he’d meant next Thursday.
She found her handheld and scrolled hastily through the texts. Yep. He’d said today, Thursday. His text had been all the more memorable because he’d only sent one since their night together almost a week ago and he’d waited until just yesterday to send it.
Now that’s not true. He sent two messages. This one and the one reminding her to meet him here and not at Bank.
He hadn’t been specific about the time though. She’d presumed he meant the usual time, but maybe he had something else in mind.
Grace checked the time on the BlackBerry. Only 6:22. She couldn’t be early, could she? She glanced across the street, tracing the route she’d walked from her car. Maybe the trek from where she’d parked hadn’t taken as long as she’d planned. Maybe he was up there and just hadn’t heard her—she was early, after all.
Maybe he just forgot about you.
That didn’t make any sense. He’d set the time and place himself, and this was the most important part of the process. What was the point of any of this if she didn’t—
She willed herself to relax. The anxiety was taking over. She walk
ed around in a circle, letting the cold air settle her thoughts. It would take too long to walk back to the car. By the time she arrived there, it would be six thirty. Soon John would be here, and they’d move on, just like they always did.
Except that this wasn’t business as usual. At least it wasn’t for her. Everything had changed last week and while she’d known things would be different, she certainly hadn’t predicted the way her experience would color her relationship with her best friend.
Unpredictable. Not a word she would have thought to apply to John. But when she’d kissed him that night, possibilities had slowly taken hold of her mind and not let go over the long days since.
She’d had a lot of time to think about this and then try not to think about it and then start thinking about it again. Her imagination always started by pulling off John’s glasses, slowly letting him know that she wasn’t going to release him quite as quickly as they’d all planned. From there, her mind drifted off in a number of directions.
He eased her onto the table and opened her robe, baring her body to his intense gaze. Or she pushed him back into the chair and lowered herself onto his lap. Or they all ended up on the bed. Sometimes she would be beneath Tal while John whispered instructions to them. Sometimes she was between the two of them, their hands eagerly caressing her.
She puckered her lips and sipped at the cold, trying to get her imagination under control. That sort of thing probably never occurred to John. He seemed back to normal almost at once. Sure, he was all worried that she was okay—and if she never heard that question again, she would be—but aside from that, he didn’t seem to have considered what might have happened.
Just like in her hallway. God, when was she going to figure this out?
Grace gazed into the distance and made out John’s shape coming down the brick sidewalk, one hand in his coat pocket. Right on time. He was only a few feet away when he looked up from the glistening sidewalk, close enough for her to see surprise on his face.
