Free Me

by Laurelin Paige

  But it would be weird to show up like that. Clingy and annoying. JC and I had clearly had a wham, bam, one-time thing. He’d probably have his horde with him again, anyway. Half-dressed women ready to respond to the snap of his fingers. He didn’t need me. And while I’d been bold when I’d dropped my panties that morning, that didn’t mean I was ready for an orgy.

  Oh, and Alyssa was working. He’d come to the club that morning for her. I hadn’t forgotten that. Shame on me for making the whole thing a potential sex triangle in the first place. I refused to encourage it.

  That didn’t mean I couldn’t fantasize about him again. Home alone with my vibrator, it seemed the thing to do.

  It wasn’t until I’d woken up on Wednesday afternoon that I remembered—we hadn’t used a condom.

  ***

  I got into a walk-in clinic that afternoon only to be told that it would be at least two weeks before any STDs could potentially show up. It would be longer before I could test for HIV. I was offered a morning-after pill, which I declined. Instead, I asked the nurse practitioner to check to make sure my IUD was still in place. It was. I left with an appointment to come back in a month.

  A whole month. A month to worry. A month to regret. Needless to say, any bounce I’d had from my screw in the kitchen was long gone by the time I showed up for my shift on Thursday night. I was the closing assistant, so I didn’t actually need to be on the clock until ten, but I’d come in at eight-thirty, tired of being alone and fidgety at home. The main doors didn’t open until nine, so when I came in the back door, I stopped by to check on the kitchen staff before heading out to the office.

  Maybe I just wanted to see it again—the cold, sterile room made alive by the bustling of prep cooks and wait staff. The place I’d stripped myself of my sanity and my panties. The place I’d let myself go. As the head chef, Brent, barked an order regarding the proper angle to julienne carrots, all I could hear were JC’s words to me. I want to make you feel good.

  Even with the nagging worry about the health risks of my behavior, the memory brought a pleasant blush to my cheeks.

  “Hey, pretty lady,” Brent said when he noticed me. He was one of the few staff members at the club that I could really get along with. Partly because I wasn’t his superior. While I was the first assistant manager of the club, Brent was pretty much the first assistant manager of the kitchen. We were equals who both reported to Matt.

  But I had a feeling Brent and me would get along even if one of us outranked the other. He was as demanding of excellence as I was, as orderly and organized, but the air about him was less severe. He laughed more than I did, for one. And he could joke around without losing respect. His kitchen always ran smoothly, but he never showed the stress that I felt when I finished a perfect shift.

  I envied him in many ways but not enough to resent him. I knew he was who he was and I was who I was. I recognized that those parts of him that I coveted didn’t live in me.

  Tonight, though, filled with the thoughts of the unexpected tryst I’d had the other morning and Norma’s insinuation that I should unwind, I wondered if maybe there was a hidden vitality in me after all.

  I pretended that there was, that I could access it just by willing it. I flashed a brighter than usual smile. “Hey yourself.”

  “Now that’s what I’m talking about. You need to show those pearlies off more, Gwen-Gwen. They make your whole face.”

  “Oh, Brent, try as you might, you aren’t going to get in my pants.” It was a joke that made us both laugh. Not only was Brent twenty years older than me, but also one-hundred-and-ten percent gay.

  But along with being humorous, it was also surprising. I hardly ever made jokes let alone let myself laugh at them after.

  Brent pushed up the chef hat that I suspected he wore for fashion rather than function. He eyed me. “You’re frisky today. Might I guess it has something to do with a man?”

  I rolled my eyes, yet I felt my cheeks reddening again. Which was silly because Brent couldn’t know anything about JC. Unless…were the security cameras focused on that part of the kitchen?

  I casually scanned the ceiling for the cameras as I answered. “If I’m anything it’s tired. I’m not sleeping well. My brother’s had some problems and my sister flew out to take care of him. And I don’t sleep well when I’m all alone.” Whew, the cameras weren’t pointed directly at the table—our table. Maybe if someone watched it they would make out the very edge of us, but no one ever watched the tapes unless there was an incident, and they only stored for a week at a time anyway.

  “Ah, that’s a bummer. I’d hoped your fella had gotten a hold of you by now. Seems like you don’t have to be alone if you don’t want to be.” He winked at me.

  Dammit. He did know about JC. But how? And what, exactly, did he know? “I don’t have a fella, Brent. What on earth are you talking about?”

  “You didn’t see the message for you yet?”

  “Where? Who from?” I hadn’t been anywhere but the kitchen and there was nothing waiting for me here. And the second question was one I didn’t have to ask.

  “There’s one taped on your locker in the break room. There might be another in the office. The guy wouldn’t leave a name. Said you’d know who he was.”

  God, “the guy” was cocky. But I did know who it was. Of course I knew who it was.

  Brent moved to the stove to check on his soup as he talked to me. “He was here Tuesday. Came right in here like he owned the place and asked Matt when you’d be working again. Funny, Matt didn’t get on him about strolling through my kitchen, but he wouldn’t tell him when you worked either. Seems our boss cares more about protecting your goods than mine. Anyhoo.” He turned back to me. “The young man called again yesterday, and I happened to answer.”

  “Did he leave a number?” I sounded eager, a stupid hormonal response. My whole body was tingling at the knowledge that JC had come looking for me. How could he do that? Turn my entire nervous system on without even being present?

  “Yeah. It’s in the note. And, Gwen, I hope you don’t get offended by this, but damn, was that guy cute.”

  “He’s a customer, Brent. Nothing else.” I wasn’t fooling either of us by the way I was already heading to the break room, a place I rarely went and at a speed that could only be called a run.

  My locker was in the front of the room, a perk of having been a staff member for so long. I kept a box of tampons and a pair of sneakers in there for days that were too icy to head home in heels. Seemed like I couldn’t go a week without a waitress asking to borrow one. It never failed to amaze me how unprepared people could be. Periods came regularly. I mean, even I had feminine products on hand, and I didn’t get my period anymore.

  The note was taped on the metal, not even folded over. Simply the words Call this guy followed by a phone number scrawled in Brent’s handwriting. I traced my fingers over the numbers, memorizing them unintentionally, or maybe intentionally, as I wondered why JC wanted to get a hold of me so badly. Was he worried that I’d gotten in trouble? Was he worried about the state I’d left him in? Did he want to see me again?

  And if he did, did I want to see him again?

  I’d thought about it. Hell, besides Ben and Norma, it was all I’d thought about the last two days. I’d ruled it out completely before we’d banged, and all the reasons I’d listed then still stood. But now that we’d been together, it felt like I needed to rethink. JC was obviously a playboy—if I hadn’t figured that out from the night I met him then I knew it now. Who else bagged a girl he barely knew simply because she came on to him?

  But if I didn’t care about romance—which I didn’t—then did his playboy status really bother me? It had been good sex. It had been great sex. More importantly, it had made me feel better than I had in a long time. And he hadn’t gotten all mushy about it after. Which was a plus.

  So what was stopping me from giving him another go?

  Well, the fact that I had no idea how to ask for anoth
er go was one obstacle. And two, I wasn’t sure he did want to see me again.

  And three, there was no way in hell I could call him. I wouldn’t even know what to say.

  Behind me, the employee door swung open, bringing me back to my surroundings. I’d gotten in early, but I could still start on my pre-opening work.

  I spun to head out but froze when I came face-to-face with the person who’d just entered.

  It was JC. And he took my breath away.

  He was wearing a suit again. It was tailored and expensive and suddenly I understood why so many women went ga-ga over a guy in a three-piece Armani. He looked rich and yet not pompous. Sort of like a rock star that had dressed up for the Grammys—a suit wasn’t what he belonged in, but oh, could he wear it.

  Adding to his devastating sex appeal was what I knew about him now. That he fit my body like he fit that suit—tightly and with no give.

  I didn’t bother to ask him how he got in before the club had opened, just like I hadn’t asked him how he’d gotten in the last time. And even if I’d really wanted to ask, I was too blown away to find any words.

  He looked as surprised to have found me as I was to see him, but after a moment, the shock slid into a grin. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  His voice was smooth and sincere. It poured over me like a nearly-too-hot shower—both wonderful and abrasive. I didn’t know if I wanted to luxuriate in it or step away and wait for it to cool. Didn’t know if I wanted to press closer to him or turn away.

  I stayed put. “So I heard. The staff left this for me.” I held up the message I’d just read, amazed that I’d been able to make any sense with the way the heat of him jumbled my thought process.

  His brow furrowed and I wondered if maybe I hadn’t really made sense after all. He pulled his cell phone out of his pants pocket and checked the screen. “That’s funny. I haven’t missed any calls.”

  For the second time that night, I laughed. “I just got your message. I haven’t had a chance.” He was easier to talk to than I’d remembered. Or maybe easier to talk to than I’d realized since I hadn’t had much occasion to actually speak to him as of yet.

  “You wouldn’t have called anyway.”

  I lowered my gaze, not wanting him to see the truth in his guess. Hating the way his guess was, as always, right. I’d forgotten how he liked to point out perceptions that normal people ignored out of politeness. Maybe he wasn’t as easy to talk to as I’d just decided he was.

  Or maybe it was me that wasn’t easy to talk to. I decided to put forth some effort. “I don’t know. I might have called you. As soon as I figured out what I was going to say.”

  “You don’t know how happy that makes me to hear that.” He stepped closer and now there were only a few feet between us. The air around us felt charged, and as afraid as I was that he would close the distance altogether, I was more afraid that he wouldn’t.

  So, of course, I broke the connection first, dancing to the side in what I hoped didn’t seem too obvious of a move.

  “How did you know I’d be here tonight?” Trying to appear cool, I smoothed a hand over my hair, wishing it were down and that JC’s fingers were tangled in it instead.

  No, I didn’t wish that. I wished he’d leave and never return.

  “Deductive reasoning. You had two nights off. You work full time. Unless you were on vacation, you should be here tonight. I took the risk.” He met my eyes and I tried to hold his gaze.

  But I found myself trying to read him even though I didn’t think I wanted to find out anything his eyes might be telling me, so I looked away quickly, moving my focus to his hands. “What’s that?”

  He had a paper in his hand, folded into thirds. “Oh, it’s for you. I figured you’d want to see it as soon as possible.” He held it out to me, and I took it, careful not to let my fingers brush against his as I did.

  Immediately, I admonished myself for not taking the opportunity to brush against him, because what if I never had that chance again?

  But now I had this piece of paper in my hands, and the strangeness of whatever it could be was compelling enough to center my thoughts.

  I unfolded it and scanned over what looked like some sort of report. “What is this?” But I didn’t have to wait for his answer. As I read further, it was clear what it was. I studied it closer now. HIV Early Detection—negative, HIV—negative, Chlamydia—negative, Hepatitis B –negative, Hepatitis C—negative, Herpes Simplex 1—negative, Herpes Simplex 2—negative, Gonorrhea—negative, Syphilis—negative. Each horrible and terrifying word followed by another word that erased all the fear of the one preceding it.

  My shoulders felt the weight of a huge boulder fall from them. “This is your medical chart.”

  “Part of my medical chart. The page I thought would interest you most.”

  “It does. Thank you.” I looked at him now, wondering about this man who I knew nothing about. I’d made judgments about him, I realized. Sure, he was probably still a playboy. But while he’d been unsafe with me, his test results indicated that he at least had been safe with others. “This makes me feel a lot better.”

  He nodded once, an informal you’re welcome. “I knew it would. That’s why I was so eager to find you. I’m sorry you had to wait the last couple of days for it. I would have gotten it to you sooner if I could.”

  I felt the now familiar stab of irritation at JC’s ability to read me so well and had to bite my lip to keep from making a caustic remark about it. Besides, as much as it irritated me, it also fascinated me. How did he know me so well? And why did he care so much that I knew that he did?

  Whatever the reason, he’d gone to the trouble of getting me information that I otherwise would have had to wait a month for. “I appreciate that,” I said, handing him back his medical report. “Honestly, I probably deserved a couple days of sweating it out.” It would certainly teach me to not use a condom again.

  Though, now that I knew JC was clean, no condom with him wouldn’t be a problem.

  Nope, nope, nope. Do not go there.

  JC rubbed his chin while I tried not to imagine the tickle his stubble would give on my own hand. Or thigh. “You never do things like that, do you?” he asked.

  Again, with his unfailing perception. “You know I don’t.”

  “Good.”

  I wasn’t sure he meant good that I didn’t sleep around or good that I didn’t sleep around without a condom, and I was about to ask when he answered my question for me. “I mean, good that you don’t normally put yourself in that sort of risky situation.”

  “I don’t,” I said, but the shaking of my head that accompanied my response was at my continued awe of his ability to predict me and not to emphasize my statement.

  He caught my eyes and this time he held them for several long seconds. I’d been avoiding them because I knew when I finally fell into his gaze, I’d be lost there. I saw, again, the traces of hardness and sorrow that I’d seen the first time I’d met him. There was a hint of recognition too, as if he knew that I saw that in him, as if he expected it of me. And also I saw genuine fascination.

  It was that last thing that kept me in a daze. He looked at me with interest. Not my body, though he’d definitely stolen several glances at my curves, but me. It made me stand up a little taller. Made my smile a little easier. Made my heart a little less heavy.

  Just about the time that I thought I’d either have to kiss him again or combust in flames, JC frowned and said, “Look, I hate to ask this, but…birth control? Do you…? Or the morning-after…”

  He was nervous, and I had to stifle a giggle. It was hard to imagine JC ever being anything other than completely cool, even as I was witnessing it in front of me. “We’re good. I have an IUD.”

  It was subtle, but he relaxed. “Good.”

  “I don’t get periods anymore either because of it.” I reddened. “I don’t know why I told you that.”

  “That’s good to know as well.” He chuckled, and I could
tell he was laughing at himself as much as at me. “I didn’t realize how worried I’d been about it. Not your period but the birth control. I’m just usually really careful about being protected.” He leaned toward me—how were we suddenly only a foot apart?—and added. “Also, periods have never been something to scare me away, but it’s much more convenient to not have to worry about them.”

  Goose bumps ran down my arms as I tried not to infer too much from his statement and yet wanted to all at once. “Well, like I said, we’re good. On both counts.”

  “Awesome.”

  I pulled at the hem of my shirt, suddenly not knowing what to say, half fearful I’d blurt out something else that was unnecessary or embarrassing. “Oh. I’m clean too. I haven’t had a test in a year, but I’m scheduled to get one next month and I can get it to you, if you want.”

  “No. That’s fine. I’m sure you’re clean.”

  It struck me as odd that he cared so much more about an unexpected pregnancy than a potentially life-threatening STD. Did he really fear children more than disease? Typical guy.

  Then a horrible thought crossed my mind. “Are you saying I couldn’t have had sex in the last year? Is that why you don’t need to see a report to know I’m clean?”

  “No! No. Of course not.” He was closer now, and he reached his hand out to brush my cheek. “I’m saying I trust you.”

  His touch on my skin felt so right. The only thing that stopped me from leaning into it, begging for more, was the impact of his words. They equally affected me. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” One side of his mouth curled into a sneaky smile. “And it’s also likely you haven’t had sex in the last year.”

  I started to say something—something not very nice—but he stopped me with a finger to my lips. “Hey, hey, not because of anything except that you’re denying yourself for some reason.”