Instead of going home, I head straight to the bar under my building. I’m three tequila shots in when my eyes focus on the large window facing Third Avenue. I spot a man in a well-tailored suit. I can only see his profile, but he looks a lot like Dr. Montgomery. Lord, I must be drunk. No way is he here. I look back down at my empty glass and then back at the stranger, he’s nowhere to be found. Great, now I’m seeing shit, too. I let out a loud laugh.

“What’s got you laughing?” Austin leans on the bar, his shaggy blond hair lying over his forehead. He combs it back and it showcases a pair of deep, warm brown eyes. They twinkle with mischief. I know I fled his apartment a few weeks ago, but he’s cute and a much better idea than daydreaming about Preston. I lean forward seductively as I answer his question.

“Nothing.” The tequila is warming my body and I feel good.

“Eve.”

Turning around, I blink my eyes a few times. He’s here. What is he doing here? He seems larger than life towering over me.

Overwhelming me.

“It’s youuu . . . Preston.”

“How many have you had?”

“Just a few, but that can change.” I smirk. “What are you doing here?”

“You missed your appointment today.” Wow, he sounds pissed.

“Oh, shit. I totally forgot. Did you come here looking for me?” His eyes turn hooded.

“No. Although I was worried about you.” My breath catches in my throat. He was worried.

“Why?”

“I know how you’ve been struggling, and then you didn’t show up today after work . . .”

“So why are you here?”

“Well, I was walking past the bar to grab takeout from Pizza 33, and lo and behold, who did I see through the window. Throwing back shots none the less.” His words now have a little bite to them but as he stands there glaring down at me it’s impossible not to get lost in his blue eyes.

“I guess I had a lot on my mind,” I mutter and his eyes soften.

“It’s okay. I understand.” He raises his hand and runs it through his hair. He seems uncomfortable now, and I have liquid courage, so I step closer to him. Every cell of my body tingles with the proximity of my body to his.

“It’s not. But I promise never to do it again.” I place my hand on his arm.

His eyes narrow slightly as he takes a deep breath and lifts my hand off him. “Eve.” His voice is almost a whisper as his eyes lock on mine. For a moment I think his eyes mirror my want.

“Another,” I shout across the bar at Austin, but he doesn’t hear me.

“You should stop drinking. You’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk.” How dare he think he can come here and tell me what to do? This isn’t his office and he’s not in charge of me. “And if you’re not planning on having a drink with me, please leave and let me have fun with Austin over there.” I turn my back to him and wave Austin back over.

“Eve.”

His voice holds warning, but I don’t heed it. I lift up on my tiptoes and stick my butt out. Trying to be sexy, I lean over the bar, and with my luck, I lose my footing and stumble backwards instead. Out of nowhere, Preston’s arms reach around and catch me. My eyes meet his and his gaze sears me. The way he looks at me is almost predatory.

“You’re going home.” He pulls a credit card out of his wallet and hands it to Austin. “Close out her tab, she’s leaving.” His jaw is clenched tight as he speaks, so I don’t argue. I just nod at Austin.

Once the bill is paid, Preston ushers me out of the bar and we turn the corner to the entrance of my apartment building. He doesn’t speak.

“This is me.” I point to the door right in front of us.

I don’t want him to leave.

“You’re drunk, I think—”

“I’m not sure I’m interested in what you’re thinking,” I step closer, my hands resting on his chest. “That is, unless you’re thinking of coming up with me.”

I meet his gaze. His eyes are dark against the black of the sky. His breathing quickens. His chest rises and falls with each inhale of air. He wants me. I can see it.

A couple walks past us, forcing our bodies closer together. If I reach up, I can run my hands his through his hair. I wonder what it feels like?

I wonder if it’s as soft as I imagine in my dreams.

Slowly, as I study his features, I step to my tiptoes, and my body pivots forward. We are so close, too close. I can almost taste him.

I want to drink him in.

I want him to devour me, consume me. 

He takes a step in, closing the distance. There’s something thrilling in the way he looks at me, at the way his gaze sears me. It makes me tremble. It makes me almost faint. The cadence of my heart picks up and warmth spreads through my body.

Then it happens . . .

Lips touch.

Gasps and pants.

Breathing each other in.

With his mouth pressed against mine, I moan into his kiss.

A forbidden kiss.

A stolen kiss.

With a sharp jerk, he steps back, turning his body away from me. A deep line mars his perfect face right between his brows. Embarrassment settles in when I realize he pulled away.

I’m mortified.

“I have to go,” he mutters more to himself than to me. His dazzling blues now seem lifeless and hollow. “Call my office to schedule an appointment.” No! I want to shout back. Look at me. Talk to me. But I don’t.

Instead, without even a backward glance, I turn and walk into the building. He waits for me to enter, and then he leaves. Once he’s out of sight, I release a large exhale. I square my shoulders and walk right out the door and back to the bar.

Austin is preparing a martini. When he lifts his head, our eyes lock and a wide grin spreads across his face.

“Back so soon? Fight with the boyfriend?” His eyebrow raises and he purses his lips as though he caught me in something.

I let out a bitter laugh. “He is not my boyfriend.”

“Didn’t look that way to me.” He cocks his head and I just shake mine.

“Trust me. He’s not.” I give him a dismissive wave of my hand, which elicits a chuckle from him.

“Well, then, he wants you.” Maybe so, but not enough. He lifts his shoulder in a half shrug.  “I’m a guy. I know this shit.” My eyes roll at that. “So, what can I get you, darling?” His cute twang brings a smirk to my face.

“A shot.”

* * *

My eyes are heavy as I make my way to my apartment and into bed. The last shot of tequila is taking effect, but from across the room, I see the journal. Stumbling, I grasp it in my hand.

Journal Entry

He kissed me and then he walked away. He left me there, standing on the sidewalk in a cloud of confusion. How can I face him again? I can’t. But then again, he kissed me. As mortified as I was, I was also right. He wants this, too.

Once I’m done, I throw it across the floor. The sound echoes in my ears. Without taking off my clothes, I crawl into bed. The tequila coursing through my blood.

I’m lulled to sleep reliving the kiss over and over again.

* * *

It’s official, there’s a jackhammer in my scull. My whole body aches and I feel like shit.

Remorse runs through me as last night plays out in my head. I wish I could wake up this morning and not remember what happened, or rather, what I instigated. But unfortunately, the memories are there, and they’re screaming at me. My stomach turns when I think of his rejection.

How will I face him?

I bury my head in my pillow and pretend it never happened.

“Hey, sleepyhead.”

I let out a groan at the sound of Sydney’s voice.

“Hungover?”

“No.” I reach for my pillow and place it over my head to block out the sound.

“Well, you look hungover.”

“I’m sick,” I mumble. I’m never leaving my bed and facing the world again.

“What’s wrong?”

Groaning again, I continue to hide and not answer.

“Get out of there and look at me,” she scolds.

“No.”

“What are you? Five? Get your head out from that pillow and tell me what’s wrong.”

“Sick.”

“So, now you’re your mom?”

Low blow. No way did she go there. I throw the pillow at her across the room, and it lands on the floor with a thump. Peeking up from the bed, I narrow my eyes at her.

“Not cool.”

“It got you out, though.” She gives me a coy smile and I wish I had another pillow to throw at her head. “Seriously, though, what’s going on? You’ve never slept this late. Not even when you’re hungover.”

I look her dead in the eyes. “I told you. I’m sick.”

“You don’t look sick,” she retorts. “Saying you’re sick when you’re not is something you hate, so why don’t you man up and tell me what’s going on?”

This is why I both love and hate Sydney. She always calls me on my bullshit. “Fine, I’m hiding. Okay? You happy now?”

She nods and her lips tip up into a smile. “Kind of. What are you hiding from?”

“Life.”

“You need to be more specific.”

“Preston—I mean Dr. Montgomery. I mean . . . I don’t know what I mean.”

Her eyebrow rises. “I don’t get it. I feel like I’m missing some crucial info.”

I bite my lip and conjure up the courage to tell her about my massive faux pas.

“Um, I might have gotten drunk . . .” She waves her hand to get me to continue. “I might have gotten drunk and madeapassathim,” I rush out in one syllable before I chicken out.

Her mouth drops open, her eyes wide.

“Oh. What did he say?”

“He kissed me. And then he pretty much ran away.”

“He’s your therapist.”

“Yes, thank you, Captain Obvious. Why do you think I’m hiding?”

“You know what? Fuck it. You’re both adults, shit happens. Don’t beat yourself up over it. How are you planning on handling it from now on?” Her eyes soften as she sits on the end of the bed.

“I don’t know. What do you think I should do?”

“I can’t tell you what to do, but you’re making such great progress I’d hate for you to start over from scratch. Why don’t you clear the air?”

“You don’t think I can just ignore it and pretend it never happened?” I don’t want to ignore it, but I know the truth and that he regrets it.

“Yeah, no.” She breathes in and then lets out an exaggerated breath. “Maybe you should call his office and speak to him. If you show up to your next appointment feeling the way you do, it will be all kinds of awkward.”

I shrug. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.” She stands and walks toward the door. “I’ll make us some greasy breakfast. Get your ass up and stop wallowing, you little wench.”

I give her a little shake of my head and then I lie back down, considering what I should do.

I grab my journal.

Journal Entry

I’m a fuckup. Shit! What the fuck am I going to do? He’ll never want to see me again. I know it sounds crazy but he makes me feel. I’ve never had that with anyone before and it scares the life out of me. I used to laugh when I heard women talk like this but now I’m living it and it’s not so funny.

He’s brought me such clarity in the last few weeks. I can’t risk losing him. Not for a passing crush, because that’s what this is. It’s only a crush.

It’s only a crush.

I tell myself this over and over again. As if I say it enough it will make it true.

But I don’t believe it.

And I’m afraid if I lose him, I’ll lose what I’ve gained.

I’m afraid I’ll lose me.

I pick up my phone and fire off a text.

Me: I’m sorry.

I’m not even sure what I’m sorry for.

Missing the appointment, getting drunk, pushing my body to his, tempting him?

After putting the phone down, I try to busy myself so I don’t check my phone. Eyeing the frame I bought the other week, I decide to put a picture of Richard and me in it and add it to the wall collage hanging above my desk. Where is my tape measure? It’s not in the desk drawer. It’s not under my bed? I head into Sydney’s room.

“Hey, do you have a tape measure by any chance? My tape measure?” I smirk.

“Actually,” she grimaces, “I think I do. Hmm, I think it’s in the closet in the very back. There should be a storage box. It might be up top, actually.”

As I rummage through her closet, I spot a familiar shirt buried in a pile of clothes. My eyebrow rises as I look at it. Turning it over, I examine the cuff. Embroidered in red, I see a familiar monogram.

RDS.

Richard David Stone. Why is this in her closet? Why would she have his shirt unless . . . my breath leaves my body and I can feel the blood throbbing inside my veins. She has Richard’s shirt.

“Where did you get this?” My words are sharp. Confusion, anger, and betrayal hang on every syllable.

“Get what?”

“This,” I lift the offending shirt up. The evidence of her lie.

“What are you talking about?” She turns around to look at me and her face is guilt ridden.

“This was Richard’s.” I bite out.

Silence. She doesn’t say anything and it infuriates me.

“This shirt. This shirt was Richard’s. I should know. I bought it for his fiftieth birthday, three years ago.”

“It happened before I knew you.” Her hands reach up. “Months before I knew you.”

“Just say it.” I pace back and forth, my body not knowing what to do with the nervous energy coursing through me.

“I slept with Richard. I had a fling with Richard.”

Everything inside me seizes. A fling. A fling means more then once.

“Before you started working at the company, we were at the company holiday party, and one thing led to another. We started sleeping together. No one knows.”

“You were with Richard?” Were they in a relationship?

“It was just sex.”

Even though she speaks and I hear her words, it’s as if I don’t understand what she’s saying. None of this makes any sense. They were together more then once. How did I not know this?

“You were with Richard. My Richard.”

“It was before I knew you, and he broke it off with me when you moved in.”

“He broke it off?” Her head bobs up and down.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I don’t understand.”

“I just couldn’t. What did you want me to say? Hi, move in with me but F.Y.I., I slept with our boss, who also happens to be your family friend. My relationship with Richard was purely physical. Just sex, no strings attached, no promises of devotion and happily ever afters.”

“He was more than my family friend and you know it.”

“When I asked you to be my roommate, I didn’t know that, and by the time I found out, it was too late. I didn’t want to risk our friendship. I’m sorry. I never meant to upset you but—”

“But what? You lied to me.”

“I never lied to you. I just omitted the truth.”

“Well, that makes it so much better. You should’ve told me.” I run my hands through my hair. Outrage runs through me. “I have to go.”

“Can we talk about this?”

“There is nothing you can say right now that I want to listen to. As much as it repulses me that you slept with Richard—my Richard—it was before you knew me, so that I understand. What I can’t get over is that you never told me.”

“How could I? God!” She groans, burying her head in her hands before looking up. “I was embarrassed. Don’t let this destroy our friendship, Eve. Please. You’re like a sister to me.”

“Yeah, I imagine you would be . . .” As the words come out of my mouth I realize what a hypocrite I’m being. She slept with her boss and I want my psychologist, but it doesn’t change the hurt I feel.

I need to leave. I need to get out of here. I need air.

Without looking back, I grab my coat and head out the door. I welcome the breeze that gently cools the flush on my cheeks. I don’t know where I’m going or what to do.

Out of nowhere, the phone rings in my pocket and my whole body seizes when I see the name on the screen. Preston Montgomery. Shit. What do I do? Do I answer it? I have to. But what do I say?

“Hi,” I answer, almost on a whisper.

“Hello.” I want to apologize for my behavior and just hang up the phone. I can’t talk to him now. Not when I’m on the verge of losing it. Of falling apart.

“I-I’m really sorry about last night,” I stammer.

“Listen, what happened last night can never happen again.” An uneasy feeling passes through my body. You can’t risk losing him. Just agree and get off the phone.

“Yes, I understand.”

“I was wrong to do that. I don’t want to stop treating you, but if anything like that happens again I won’t be able to continue our sessions. You will have to find another psychologist.” His voice is cold, professional.

This is not Preston.

This is all Dr. Montgomery.

I bite my lip and carefully choose my words, willing my voice not to give away my hurt.

“I understand, and it won’t happen again. I promise.”

“Okay. Then I will see you at your scheduled appointment this week.”

His cold tone finally has me snapping and falling apart. I start to sob uncontrollably in the phone.

“Eve, please don’t cry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” The sobs come out in heavy broken breaths. “Shh. It’s okay, you’re okay. Please calm down. Where are you?”

“What?”

“Where. Are. You?” His voice leaves no place for argument.

“By my apartment.”

“Meet me.”

“But you just said—”

“Forget what I said. None of that matters right now. Meet me.”

“I can’t, I’m a mess.”

“I don’t care, and you could never be a mess. I’ll see you in ten minutes. I’m on Thirty-Fifth between Park and Lexington. Number 115.”

My brain and my heart are at war. I know I shouldn’t go, but there’s no one I want to speak to about this but Preston.