Chapter Thirteen
The After-Party Party
Jessica
I still haven’t heard from my friend, but I’m actually having a great time here with Irene, Eric, and Kristin.
Even though Eric didn’t owe me any money for his loss, it was double or nothing, and I still got a decent payoff from being on the right side of the bet.
It’s been about an hour since Alec—I’m sorry, I have to—blew it, but he’s still in the room, refusing to come out.
Irene couldn’t give a fuck.
The party’s thinned out a bit, as it’s a little difficult to top the sheer adrenaline of that hallway, but there are still a few people milling around, mingling.
“Jessica,” Irene says, remarkably sobered up already, either from the sexual exertion or the reasonably small amount of time since her last drink, “there was something I was going to tell you, but I can’t, for the life of me, remember what it was.”
“That’s all right. Don’t worry about it,” Eric says, trying to hide his glance in my direction, and not doing even kind of a good job of it.
It’s kind of hard to tell with him, but I think he might be drunk.
Me, well, it’s not so hard to tell.
“So, how often does he sneak one in before you’ve gotten your two?” I ask Irene.
“Not as often as you’d think,” Irene says. “Actually, I think this is the first time in over a month. He’s really built up his game since we started our new program—thank you, Kristin.”
“You know, it’s so weird that we all know each other,” Kristin says. “Well, really that you and Eric know each other, Jessica.”
“I remember what I was going to say!” Irene announces, but Eric immediately asks her if they can talk for a minute.
They walk off together and I refill my plastic cup.
“How many is that, sis?” Kristin asks.
“It’s at least my second,” I tell her.
“Hmm…” she muses. “As that’s the fourth time you’ve told me that, I’m going to say that it’s at least your fifth. I’m starting to think we’re going to have to crash on the couch here tonight.”
“Why do you say that?” I ask.
“Well,” she says, “I’m sober, but I don’t know how to drive stick, so I can’t drive your car. You’ve had way too much to drive, so that’s out, too.”
“Why don’t we just call a cab?” I ask.
“I bet on Irene,” she says, “and I know you got a little shortchanged because you lost your first bet with Eric. What do you think of him, by the way?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, taking a drink of my beer.
“Well, he’s pretty sexy,” she says. “Tall, ruggedly handsome—”
God, was he ever.
“Why do people always say that: rugged?” I ask. “It always makes me think of a lumberjack or a mountain man, neither of which I would equate with someone like Eric.”
“Well, he’s pretty well-built, sis,” Kristin says.
I would chastise her for calling me sis, but if I did that, she’d start calling me Jay-Jay again, and I hate that one even more.
“Yeah,” I shrug. “I guess.”
“And those eyes?” Kristin says. “You know, if I wasn’t having Jed’s baby, I’d make a move on Eric myself.”
There’s the quick flash of something in me, but I push it down just as quickly.
“Whoa,” Kristin says. “I was just talking hypothetically. I’m not actually going to make a move on your man.”
“What do you mean ‘my man?’ We’re just friends,” I explain.
“Well, after your ninja kung-fu death glare, I’d say you’d like to be something more than friends with him,” she says.
“I’m just frustrated that I haven’t heard anything from that guy you set me up with,” I tell her.
“Why don’t you just ask Irene or Alec?” she asks. “They know exactly who it is.”
“I’m just surprised that you don’t,” I start. “You actually gave my phone number to someone you’ve never met?”
“I didn’t give the phone number to him,” Kristin says. “I gave it to Irene, Irene gave it to Alec, and Alec gave it to his friend. Just ask one of them. It’s not like you’re in a Sherlock Holmes book. You know exactly how to find out whatever you want to know about the guy.”
“It’s just,” I start. “I don’t know, I guess I’d just rather find out from him. People’s friends always tell the most flattering version of the truth, and I’d rather get to know him better on my own.”
“You could at least ask for his name,” Kristin says.
“I haven’t even asked him for his name,” I tell her.
“Why not?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” I answer.
“I think I know why,” she says.
“Yeah?” I ask. “Why’s that?”
“I think you’ve got it bad for Eric,” she teases.
“Speaking of Eric,” Irene says, coming back to sit down with Kristin and me, “what he didn’t want me to tell you a minute ago is that he’s got a huge—”
“Irene, for the love of God!” Eric interrupts.
He may as well have let her finish, because I think the secret’s out, though I kind of wish she hadn’t said anything myself.
“Dick!” she says, trying to pass it off as a jab at him for interrupting her, but she’s still a bit too drunk to come off as clever about it.
“So you two…” Kristin says.
“No, no, no,” Eric says. “No, we’ve never—no.”
“You know,” Irene says, looking over at Eric, “I don’t know that I like your tone there. That wasn’t very polite.”
“You’re my friend’s wife,” he says.
“Yeah, it’d be weird and everything, but you don’t have to be so unequivocal about it,” she rejoins. With that, she walks off, I’m assuming to go find her husband, leaving me with Kristin and Eric.
“So,” Kristin says, “what’s the plan?”
“I don’t know,” I tell her. “I think pretty much everyone here is too drunk to drive and I really don’t feel like asking anyone for cab fare to cover both of us.”
“You’re leaving?” Eric asks.
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Kristin answers. “I think that we should just stay here tonight. That way we don’t have to drive back here to pick up your car.”
“How’d you two get here?” Eric asks.
“She drove,” Kristin says, pointing to me, “but she’s too drunk to drive and I don’t know how to drive a stick.”
“I’ve got a proposition for you,” Eric says. “I haven’t had a drink in a while, and even before I stopped drinking, I was just barely catching a buzz. If you want, I can drive you two wherever you need to go and just catch a cab home for myself.”
“There you go,” Kristin says, winking at me.
“I don’t know,” I respond.
“I’d be happy to do it,” Eric smiles. “Besides, I was thinking of heading home pretty soon anyway.”
“That sounds great,” Kristin says.
“Why don’t we just have Jed come pick us up?” I ask.
“Because you think he’s an idiot,” Kristin says, “and I’m really not in the mood for bad vibes right now. I’m in a happy place.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?” I ask. “I feel like we’d be taking advantage of you.”
“Not at all,” Eric says. “Like I said, I was planning on heading home soon anyway.”
“Hey, shitface,” Alec says, walking up to our group.
“Hey, you finally deigned to show your face,” Eric says. “You know, you cost me a 20 dollar payoff.”
The truth is that I do have enough money for cab fare to get both Kristin and me back home: otherwise, I wouldn’t have brought that up as a possibility in the first place. Still, I’m finding myself wanting to spend a little bit more time with Eric if I can.
Despite my earlier mockery of the term, he does have a rather rugged quality about him, like one of those guys in GQ in the plain white T-shirts, muscles providing contours, and holy shit, I need to get laid.
“Are you ready?” Kristin asks.
Apparently, I’ve been zoning out.
“Are you sure you’re all right to drive?” I ask Eric.
“Absolutely,” he says. “I ate before I came and I only ended up drinking one of those beers, so I’m good to go.”
“All right,” I tell him. “I’m just going to go say goodbye to Irene and I’m ready.”
I get up and meander through the apartment. As much sense as it would have made to simply ask Alec where his wife is, I’m still a bit nervous about having any real contact with him after what happened at the store.
If I knew he was Irene’s husband…actually, come to think of it, assuming I’d still be under the impression that he was the one that broke into my store, I probably would have still been just as happy to see him walk.
“Irene?” I call down the hallway toward the closed door that had been the focus of so much interest so recently.
“Just a minute!” she calls from inside the bedroom.
It’s none of my business if she’s in there with someone while Alec’s out talking to Eric and Kristin. Even though swinging isn’t something I could see myself doing, that’s the way their relationship works for them.
Still, I’m not so comfortable with it that I’m willing to go and open that door without some sort of assurance there’s nothing worth betting on inside the room.
The door opens and Irene comes out, saying, “What’s up? Are you guys leaving already?”
“Yeah,” I tell her. “Eric’s driving us home.”
“All right,” she says. “Hey, there’s something I wanted to tell you.”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“The guy you’ve been texting,” she says. “There’s a reason why he told you he couldn’t show up tonight, and it’s not what you think.”
“What is it that I think?” I ask, but revise the statement into, “Why couldn’t he show up?”
“That’s the thing,” she says. “He did.”
“He was here?” I ask.
“Still is,” she says. “I wanted to tell you, but I kind of got the vibe that he wanted to tell you himself or that maybe he wasn’t ready to let you know who he was for fear of something or other—I wasn’t really paying that much attention.”
“Who is it?” I ask.
“Do you really want to know?” she asks.
“Of course,” I tell her. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because it’s Eric,” she says.
I scoff as a reflex.
“No, seriously,” I say. “Who is it?”
“Seriously,” she answers. “It’s Eric. I don’t know why he didn’t want to tell you before now, maybe it has something to do with the fact that you got Alec to quit from the last job—I don’t know. What I do know,” she says, “is that he likes you, so don’t be too mad at him for not coming clean. I think he’s just nervous about what you’ll think about him.”
“I’m not mad,” I tell her. “I’m confused. How long has he known that it was me he was talking to?”
“I’m not sure,” Irene answers, “but I know he knew before he got here today. Do me a favor, though, and don’t tell him that I told you? I really do think that he wanted to tell you himself.”
Eric.
The guy on the other end of the line, the one with all the fascinating things to say in our first conversation, and all of the insight in every one since is the guy with whom I had serious and frequent disagreements with while he was working for me.
And he knew it was me.
My phone beeps.
“Is that him?” Irene chortles.
I look at the screen.
“Yep,” I tell her. “This just got really weird.”
“Yeah,” she says, “but he really is a great guy. At least hear him out—I’m sure he had a good reason why he didn’t tell you himself.”
“I guess we’re going to find out,” I tell her. “Anyway, I’m going to get a free ride back home before I do anything else.”
“All right,” Irene says and gives me a hug. “Thanks for coming. Oh, and on your way out, would you tell Alec that I’m having a little trouble hanging the chandelier?”
“I can help if you want,” I answer just moments before realizing that “hanging the chandelier” is code for “I’m in the mood for sex again.”
“I think I’d prefer it if he did,” she says, smiling. “Nothing personal, I assure you.”
“Yeah,” I laugh. “I got it.”
With that, I make my way back to Kristin and Eric, doing my best not to stare at him on my way.
“Are you ready to go?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Eric says.
Kristin nods.
I give Eric my keys and we leave the apartment, but not before I tell Alec about Irene’s problem with the chandelier.
* * *
Once we’re back at my apartment, Kristin makes a thin excuse and leaves in her own car, leaving me with Eric.
“Well,” he says, “I should probably go.”
“You can stick around for a little bit,” I tell him.
I’m not sure yet what to think of the fact that he wasn’t up-front about who he was once he realized I’m the one he’s been texting, but before anything else happens, I’d like to come to some sort of conclusion.
“I don’t know,” he says. “It’s getting kind of late.”
“Well, just keep me company for a little bit,” I tell him. “That is, if you want to.”
He looks at me, and with a modest smile, he nods.
“Great,” I tell him. “How’s the search for another job?”
“I’m looking, but things are still pretty sparse out there,” he answers.
“Would you like something to drink?” I ask.
“I probably shouldn’t,” he answers. “I still have to drive home tonight.”
“About that,” I start, “I was wondering if I could impose on you for something.”
“What’s that?” he asks.
Lie of omission or not, he was right about me needing some more help when it comes to training Cheryl. When I asked her what an assistant store manager was supposed to do, this look came over her face like I was drunk at the wheel, steering the ship into an iceberg.
“Well, I’m still struggling with training,” I tell him. “Part of me wants to hold on to as much as I possibly can, while the other part wants to overcompensate and delegate everything to her. I’m sure there’s some kind of middle ground, but I’m having some serious trouble finding it.”
“I can probably do that for a couple of days,” he says, “but I really do need to focus on getting me and the guys another job.”
“Fair enough,” I say. “I was wondering if you could start tomorrow.”
He thinks about it for a moment.
“I guess I could do that,” he says, “but I won’t be able to do it full time, what with bidding on new projects and all.”
“All right,” I tell him. “So, how about that drink?”
“Wait, I thought you were closed on the weekends,” he says.
“I am,” I tell him, slowly making my way toward the kitchen until he gets the point and starts following me. “At least for now, but I want to get Cheryl prepared so she can start taking over some of my duties by Monday.”
“You know,” he says, “I’m really proud of you for being willing to change what wasn’t working for you. Not a lot of people are willing to do that.”
“Well,” I tell him, “like you said, if I don’t start delegating, the store’s either going to close or I’m going to end up burning out, and if I’m unable to learn to delegate before then, the store would close anyway, so it’s really by sheer survival that I’m doing it. I have beer or vodka.”
“Vodka,” he says. “I never really liked beer.”
“All right,” I say, pulling the vodka out of the freezer and setting it on the counter. “Did you want a shot or a mixed drink?”
“Surprise me,” he says. “To be honest, I’ve never been that good with shots, but I never know what to mix it with, so I really don’t drink that often.”
“Actually,” she says, “I think you’ve got that backward. If you drank more often, you would have figured out by now exactly what to mix your liquor with. Ice?”
“Sure,” he says.
I mix up a quick screwdriver, mostly for the fact that vodka and orange juice are the only non-water beverages I have in the house.
“So tell me something,” I start, trying to figure out how to say what I want to say.
“What’s that?” he asks.
“You’re single, right?”
“Yeah,” he says, and I hand him his drink.
“What do you think makes a good relationship?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” he says. “Trust, affection, respect…I think there are a lot of things that go into making a good relationship, but even with all of those things, I guess you never really know whether the other person is where you are with everything, so who knows?”
“Trust, huh?” I ask, but decide not to push the issue until I have some more information.
“Yeah,” he says. “The problem, like I said, is that you never really know whether the other person is worthy of that trust. I guess that’s why we learn to trust people in the first place. Otherwise we’d all be paranoid of each other all the time. Still, I trusted Amy, enough to want to marry her, but that turned out to be pretty fucking stupid.”
“So, what would you do if you found yourself in a new relationship and you found out that your partner was hiding something from you?” I ask.
“Did you start dating someone recently?” he returns.
“No,” I tell him, “nothing like that. I guess I’m just curious. It’s been so long since I’ve had a real relationship that I’m just trying to figure out if I’d even be good in one.”
“I think you would,” he says, taking a drink. He swallows and wipes his mouth, adding, “I think your willingness to admit your own limitations should tell you that you’re ready for something more serious.”
“Is that what you want?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you just got out of a relationship that ended so badly, I’m just wondering if you still have faith that they can work,” I explain.
“Oh yeah,” he says. “All that crap aside, I think relationships have the potential to be wonderful things. The problem, in my view, is that so often, people get into something wanting to change the other person or thinking that it’s even possible to change another person without him or her being really ready and willing to do the work themselves. I think that’s what dooms most relationships. In the end, the person never really changes, so you either go into denial or you grow so resentful that you end up wanting to blow the whole thing up.”
“Is that what happened with you and Amy?” I ask.
“To be honest, I don’t know what happened with Amy and me. Alec keeps telling me that he saw something was wrong from the beginning, and to his credit, that’s true. The only thing is that with him, he thinks that anyone who’s not in at least a semi-open relationship isn’t doing it right,” he answers.
“So you’re the monogamous type?” I ask.
“I haven’t always been,” he answers, “but as I started growing up and seeing what it was that I actually wanted from a relationship, I realized that it wasn’t something I could really have with more than one person. I think relationships like the one Alec and Irene have are great for some people, but they’re not for everyone. They’re not for me.”
“Would you like another drink?” I ask him.
I’m not going to lie: I am trying to get him drunk. People tend to be more malleable when they’re intoxicated.
“Sure,” he says. “I hardly tasted the alcohol in that at all. Would you mind putting in a little bit more next time? When I can’t taste the booze in a drink, I always get worried that I’m going to end up drinking too much without knowing it.”
“Sounds like we both have control issues,” I tell him, taking his glass.
He chuckles. “Maybe so,” he says. “What about you?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“You said that you’re single, but it sounds like you might have someone in mind. Anyone I know?” he asks.
Boy, he’s starting to push it. I don’t know if it’s the booze or if he’s actually trying to make his move, but I’m going to have to keep on my toes if I’m going to learn whatever it is I’m trying to learn.
“I don’t know,” I tell him coyly. “I guess I’m more open to the idea than I used to be, but I still think it would have to be on my terms.”
“What are your terms?” he asks.
“Well, like you,” I tell him, mixing the drink, “I think that honesty’s a must. I think I’d have a really hard time being with someone who would lie or knowingly withhold the truth from me.”
I wonder if he’ll get the hint and come clean.
“It’s an important quality,” he says. “What else?”
That’s a no.
“I’d want someone who doesn’t think of my ambitions as a liability,” I tell him. “Sure, I’m starting to delegate more and all that, but I still have a lot that I want to accomplish in my life, and if I were to start dating someone, I think they’d have to really be okay with that from the get-go.”
“I’ve always been really attracted to driven women,” he says. “I think it’s important for people to be passionate, to have things that they want to accomplish.”
“Is that why you took over your company?” I ask.
“Kind of,” he says. “I think the real reason is that it’s been in the family since my grandfather, and if I didn’t take it, it was going to go to someone else.”
“So you’re trying to keep the family business alive, then?” I ask, handing him his second drink, this one with not two, but three shots in it.
I’m going to get the truth out of him one way or another.
“I guess so,” he answers and takes a sip. “Shit, I think this might be a little far the other way.”
“Well,” I tell him, “the best we can do without wasting anything is for you to take a couple more drinks and then I’ll start filling it back up with orange juice.”
I think he’s starting to suspect that I’m digging for something, but the look on his face is hardly one of certainty.
“I guess my big drive in life has been to fulfill other people’s drives,” he says. “I’ve never really thought of it that way, but really, I am kind of living my father’s life.”
“Why not change it, then?” I ask. “If I can make changes, I’m sure you can.”
“It’s not that simple,” he says. “José could very easily take over, but I’m really not in a position where I could afford to sell the company, and I don’t think he’s in a position where he could buy it.”
“What would it take for you to follow your dreams?” I ask.
“I don’t know that this isn’t my dream,” he answers, and takes another gulp of his drink. I fill it back to the top with orange juice.
“I thought you said you were living your father’s life,” I respond.
“Yeah,” he says, “but my father had a great life. I mean, I don’t do everything that he’s done and I do a lot of things that he’d never dream of.”
“Like going home and getting drunk with your boss?” I ask.
“No,” he says, taking another sip, “that’s something he did all too much. That’s kind of what made things difficult with him and my mom.”
“Divorced?” I ask, but quickly add, “I’m sorry, that’s none of my business.”
“It’s fine,” he says. “They were talking about getting a divorce, but when Mom came down with cancer, he did the right thing and stuck with her.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him.
I’ve been trying to avoid thinking about the fact that my own mother has cancer, even though all indications point to her being fine. I can’t imagine what it must be like to actually lose a parent.
“It is what it is,” he says, taking a drink.
“Want another one?” I ask.
“I think I should probably slow down,” he says. “When it comes to liquor, I’m a cheap date.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I tell him, shooting for inscrutable.
“What about your parents?” he asks clumsily.
“What about them?” I return.
“Are they still together? I don’t know, that’s really none of my business. I just thought I’d—”
“They’re still together,” I tell him. I plan to stop there, but the juxtaposition of the cancer comment with his direct question regarding my parents is hitting me pretty hard. “My mom just found out that she has cancer, and to tell you the truth, I’m pretty freaked out about it.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “What kind does she have?”
“Chondrosarcoma,” I answer. “It affects bones and joints. From what I know, they didn’t exactly catch it as early as they would have liked, but it looks like her chances are pretty good.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” he says.
“What kind did your mom have?” I ask. “Really, if you don’t want to talk about it, we can change the—”
“Cervical cancer,” he says. “When it happened, I was too young to know what that meant, but she never had a chance. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through. If you ever want someone to talk to about your mom—not that she’s…you know,” he stammers, and I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol or the conversation.
So far, my search for clarity hasn’t provided very much in return.
“Thanks,” I tell him. “I might take you up on that. So, how about that drink?”
“You know what?” he starts. “I think I will have another one if you don’t mind. Not as strong as that last one, though.”
“I’m on it,” I tell him. While I’m fixing up his third drink in the last 15 minutes, I start again, “You know, I really think that one of the things that’s most important in a new relationship is chemistry.”
“Yeah?” he asks.
I’m still pouring orange juice, so I don’t turn around, but I can hear the confusion in his voice.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “It’s weird how it can happen, too. You never know who’s going to end up giving off that spark, you know?”
“Yeah,” he says, leaning against the wall for support.
“I know when you and I started working together, I was almost sure something was going to happen between us,” I tell him.
Not really. I thought he was good-looking but I knew better than to sleep with my contractor.
“Really?” he asks. “It’s funny, I thought the same thing.”
“Yeah?” I say, turning around and handing him his drink, this one with only a single shot in it.
“Yeah,” he says, and takes a sip. “This one’s perfect, thanks.”
“What made you think that?” I ask.
“That something was going to happen with you and me?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I answer.
“Well, I was attracted to you physically, for starters,” he says. “More importantly, though, when we started talking, it became very clear very fast that you seem to know what you want and what you have to do to get it. I guess I fantasized that, at some point, I might be one of the things that you’d want.”
His large pupils hold steady eye contact, and I don’t know what to say. My hands feel clammy and my heart picks up speed.
“I see.”
“What about you?”
“I don’t know,” I answer. “I just thought you were hot.”
Truth. Really hot.
We both laugh.
“Come on,” he says, “there’s got to be more to it than that.”
“Well,” I tell him, “you’re difficult.”
“That’s attractive?” he asks, smiling.
“Yeah,” I answer, “not really. It’s not that in and of itself, I guess, but it’s more the fact that you’re willing to stand up for what you feel is right, but you’re also willing to compromise when it really comes down to it. Not always, though,” I add. “You can be pretty pigheaded.”
“So,” he says, “does that mean the infatuation has already worn off?”
“I don’t know,” I answer, looking him up and down. “I’d say the attraction’s there; I’m just trying to figure you out.”
“What do you want to know?” he asks.
“If you could have the one thing you want most in life, would you give up everything else to get it?” I ask.
He looks at me and takes a drink.
As far as he’s concerned, this is just a question that I ask people. I doubt he knows that I know.
“I don’t know,” he says. “I used to want to say yes to that question, but I think there’s just always more to want. How would I know that one single thing would be enough? Maybe the things I’d be giving up would be necessary in order to have a full life. I guess it would come down to a case-by-case basis.”
He’s testing me.
A lot of his answer is new, but he came pretty close to quoting my response to the question directly, too.
“What about you?” he asks, searching for any sign that I’ve got it figured out yet.
“I don’t know about that,” I tell him. “I think that if you really want something, you’ve got to go for it. Consequences be damned.”
Now I’m testing him. That’s nowhere near the answer I gave him last time, and I’m kind of hoping that he’s going to call me on it so we can move past this whole charade.
“I guess I can see that,” he says. “Although, in my experience, you never really know until you’re already there. Life is a series of choices. We try to make our choices, planning ahead, but there’s never any guarantee that the outcome is going to be what we’re anticipating. Doing something that seems like it’s the healthiest thing in the world might turn out to be one of the worst decisions you’ve ever made. Doing something that seems stupid or impulsive, on the other hand, well that’s just a mixed bag like everything else.”
“If I didn’t know any better, Eric,” I say, “I’d think you were hitting on me.”
“Oh, we wouldn’t want that,” he says. “After all, you are the big boss lady.”
He’s moving toward me slowly, that look in his eyes that has me ready to melt, but I stay in character.
“So you’re basically saying that no matter what we do, we can never expect an outcome?” I ask.
“Kind of,” he says, “yeah.”
“Wouldn’t that mean that it doesn’t really matter what a person chooses to do?” I ask as he gets within a couple inches of me.
I’m looking up at him as he’s looking down at me and he answers, “I don’t know if it’s that simple. I think there are some choices that will almost always end badly and some choices that will almost always end positively. What I’m really talking about are the leaps of faith,” he says. “Sometimes it takes just that extra inch of courage to take a leap that you might not otherwise be prepared to take.”
“It sounds like you have something specific in mind,” I smile.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’m wondering what would happen if I kissed you right now.”
He’s already bending down, and despite the fact that I’ve hardly made any progress in my fact-finding mission, there isn’t a single part of me that wants to turn my head or walk away.
Our lips meet, the salty tang of his skin mixed with the orange juice, and liquor fills my senses and I put my arms over his shoulders.
We kiss deeply, our tongues timid but playful as we test his personal chaos theory.
He pulls away and I stare into his deep green eyes.
“So, was that a mistake?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” he says. “It didn’t feel like a mistake to me.”
“Yeah, that felt rather nice,” I assent.
As much as I’d like to think through all of this, it’s all I can do to keep my feet on the floor.
I know I’m attracted to him, and for now at least, that’s enough for me to tilt my head back again and welcome the taste and touch of his lips on mine.
My hands move on their own over his firm upper body, and I can taste the adrenaline that’s surging through my body.
With a simple motion, he lifts my shirt up and off, and I respond in kind, feeling his warm skin pressing into mine.
I’m not ready to take this all the way just yet, but I have a feeling that inclination isn’t going to take very long to land.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, before kissing my lips again and wrapping his strong arms around me.
My eyes are closed now as we continue to kiss, and I can feel myself sinking into him, my knees barely capable of keeping me upright.
He pulls away again, and I push him backward lightly, giving myself enough room to reach behind my back and unhook my bra.
“We should probably go somewhere a little more comfortable,” I breathe. “I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to stand, and I’d like to have a nice, soft place to land.”
He smiles and takes my hand, leading me out to the living room, but as he goes to release my hand, I only grasp his tighter and lead him through the apartment to my bedroom.
I don’t know where this is going to go after tonight, but for now at least, tonight is enough to know that I want to do this.
“Lie down,” he tells me, and I do.
He bends down and unbuttons my pants, kissing just below my navel as he slides the fabric off of my legs and onto the floor.
I’d anticipated that I’d meet the man on the other end of the phone, and although I didn’t know where it would go or how far it would go, I’m the kind of woman who likes to be prepared for all eventualities.
His fingers slip between my thin, black tanga and my skin and slide them off of me easily.
Eric runs his hands up my legs and over my thighs, kissing my knees and all the way up toward my center.
“Take your pants off,” I tell him.
He stops what he’s doing and smiles.
“What?” I ask. “I thought you said you liked a woman who knows how to get what she wants.”
He chuckles and undoes his pants, pulling them and his dark boxers down and steps out of them.
Irene wasn’t lying. Eric is—let’s just say he’s a big boy.
His hands move back up my thighs and over my stomach while his mouth kisses the inside of my legs, staying just far enough away from my core to tantalize me, make me want it even more.
When his lips finally graze my folds, that electricity that I’ve so long forgotten returns, and I gasp deeply as he flicks his tongue over my clit.
His hands move back down my body and wrap around my thighs, holding me in place as his lips and tongue speak silent, breathless verses that flow throughout my entire body, and I writhe in sweet anguish as I can feel myself growing ever wetter with his touch.
He moves one hand up to grasp mine while with the other he punctuates his ode, at first playing with my wetness and then plunging two fingers inside of me.
I’m gritting my teeth to keep from wailing in ecstasy as I marvel that it can feel so intense, my hips responding to his every touch, inviting him to come closer, feel every part of me.
With my free hand, I run my fingers through his hair and then up my own body, grasping my breast and delighting in the rigidity of my nipples as his tongue traces forgotten shapes over my most sensitive skin.
“That’s it,” I whisper, “right there.”
With his fingers inside of me, he’s rubbing my G-spot with a deftness I know I’ve never felt.
He moves his mouth away to kiss the angle between my thigh and my pussy, softly sucking my skin and filling me with the sweetest drug.
“I want you inside me,” I tell him as my legs begin to quiver on their own.
“Not yet,” he says, sensing my proximity to a place I could only dream of these past few years.
My free hand leaves my own body and slithers again through his thick hair, and I lightly pull him toward me, the pressure of his mouth and fingers increasing at my command.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, feeling myself catapulting upward into a thick, warm something, and the only thought left on my mind as my whole body shakes is that I’ve been without this feeling far too long.
I moan with alternating heavy breaths, a hint of hyperventilation only giving rise to more pleasure as my mind is blotted out, and I grit my teeth again, unable to keep my mouth closed as a cry escapes my lips.
My body is hot and cold, rigid and loose as he guides me through the most powerful orgasm of my life.
My body jerks and releases with tiny movements as the crescendo dies down, and I can’t wait another moment.
“I want you inside me now,” I tell him, breaking the moment just long enough to grab a condom from my nightstand.
I almost didn’t buy them, but the thought of meeting the man on the other end of the phone persuaded me.
In this moment, I can’t imagine it being anyone else.
I toss the condom to him unceremoniously, but he catches it and he quickly pulls the closed ring from its wrapper, placing it over himself.
“Are you ready?” he asks, and I’m far too eager to feign politeness.
“Now,” I tell him. “I want you inside me now.”
It’s been too long.
He climbs on top of me and kisses my neck as he slides his sheathed tip over my wetness before pushing himself into me.
My arms and legs close around his body, and he brushes the hair off of my face with his hand as he stares into my eyes now, desire and the promise of beautiful gratification written so clearly on his face that I can feel my own yearning reflected in him.
“Harder,” I tell him, and he increases the tempo.
His skin moves over and against mine, the friction of the moment driving me out of my mind.
I pull his head down, his lips meeting mine, and I unwrap my legs from around his body, lifting one hip, letting him know without words that I want to be on top of him, looking down over his gorgeous body.
We rotate together, and in a moment, my knees are under me and he’s running the palm of his hand between my breasts and down my body, settling his hand opposite the other, both resting against my hips as I ride him.
With a quick motion, I pull the tie from my hair, letting every strand fall over my naked shoulders, teasing him with the threat of covering my breasts.
My hands are on his chest now, and I’m lifting myself straight up, feeling him against every part of the inside of me as I work myself up and down, pushing him deeper.
His hands move around my body and come to rest on my ass, the strength in his fingers now dormant, now active as we move together now, one with another.
His feet are flat against the bed, his knees raised, and I hook my own feet beneath his thighs, leaning forward to feel the warmth and firmness of his body as he penetrates me so fully.
“God, you’re hot,” I tell him in a distant echo from the completely different existence of 20 minutes or more, and I kiss his chest, the wonderful taste of his salty sweat bringing new life to my body, and I tilt my head downward so my hair covers my eyes as they well up with pure satisfaction, only the urge to keep every part of this moment as every part of my world for as long as possible.
I kiss his chest again and run my tongue over one of his nipples, eliciting a quick breath from him as he parts the dark curtains of my hair to find my smile as I look up at him expectantly.
He smiles back at me, and I slide my arms up his body and under the pillow supporting his head, my upper body content to remain pressed against his.
His hands move up my back with a feather touch, and my skin comes to a new level of awareness, tiny pinpricks of invisible energy at once consuming and yet exuding from my body.
With one hand on my shoulder, pulling me onto him, and the other on my lower back, pulling me into him, our movement both opposite and perfectly aligned and he drops his knees, my ankles still beneath his thighs, only driving me farther onto him.
We kiss, and I cradle the back of his head with my hands now, my body stretched out and clasped by his.
“I want to taste you,” I tell him. “Tell me when you’re about to come.”
He nods and whispers, “It’s not going to be long.”
Like the right key unlocking me, his words propel me upward again, and I’m breathing heavily against him, my skin, my breasts, every part of me pulsing against him with every lungful of air.
I grind myself onto him greedily, feeling my own rising passion as I can feel the beating of his heart and the flexing of his muscles as he fills me faster and faster.
Breathless now, he mouths the word, “Okay,” and I’m instant to untangle my body from his.
Lifting my pulsing core from him, I turn my body around to straddle his head as I take the condom off of his member and seal my lips over him, my hand attending to what my mouth can’t cover, and his warmth explodes into me, his own mouth sucking my clit between those perfect lips.
I swallow every drop and continue to suck him as he brings me again to that delicious fulfillment, stronger than before.
My mouth leaves him and I swallow again, feeling him everywhere on and inside of me, and within a moment, I am beyond breath, only one question on my mind.
When the contractions cease, I use the last bit of energy I have left to turn around and crawl next to him, falling into his arms.
He turns his head and kisses me.
Still catching my breath, bathing in the afterglow, I can’t wait any longer.
I have to know.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.