I find myself sitting in Sylvia’s apartment as she prepares lunch for us both. She had invited me over, figuring that I could use the distraction. I really appreciate it. She was totally right. I really do need the distraction. My head is in a million different places, though. I do my best to pay attention to her, but I keep zoning out. There is just too much to think about. While she is dancing around in her kitchen, I am sitting in her little den on the sofa, staring mindlessly at the television.

I don’t even know what is on the television right now because I’m not really watching it. I keep thinking about Eddie, about the lawsuit, the people who were killed taking my supplements, about Éclair, and now I can’t stop thinking about Eddie’s brother Max and the nameless other siblings I have never met. My life has just been one disaster after another after another. It just won’t stop, and I don’t see an end in sight any time soon.

Eventually Sylvia is prancing into the den, two plates of homemade pizzas. I’m impressed. She had made the dough and the sauce from scratch. I smile as she puts the plates down on the little coffee table and hurries into the kitchen to fetch us some sodas. While she is searching for drinks, I take a bite out of the pizza. Damn. So she’s beautiful, athletic, smart, and she can make pizza from scratch? Where is this woman’s flaw?

The pizza is great, and I tell her that, but I have not exactly had much of an appetite in the past several days. I eat it anyways, though –not wanting to disappoint her or make her think that I don’t like her cooking. There is just so much on my mind right now, and I think she can tell. She winds up scooting right next to me on the couch. “Are you okay?” she asks despite probably knowing that I’m not.

“I will be eventually,” I say and give her a lazy peck on the cheek. “The past few weeks have just been a little rough.”

“That’s quite an understatement. It’s okay, you know? It’s okay to admit that you’re struggling.” She smiles at me. “A lesser person would be about ready to check into the nut house after everything that has happened to you in the past few weeks.”

“That’s because a lesser person might not have had you by their side the whole time,” I say with a smile. It’s true. She has definitely been my rock through all of the craziness. I mean, we’ve only just met, yet here she is making me pizza from scratch and letting me pretty much camp out in her apartment so that I have a place to sulk where I’m not completely alone. She’s a little charm.

She smiles at me and puts her plate of pizza down. She takes a swig of her soda and then puts that down as well. Sylvia looks at me with these longing eyes, and I have to say that if she is wanting to hurry to the bedroom that I don’t think I could ever be emotionally damaged enough to turn that down, but she seems almost too afraid to ask or hint at it. I let her know I’m game next time she leans in to give me one of those reassuring kisses of hers; I slip my tongue into her mouth. It causes her to lean into it more, and the next thing I know she has slipped her hand between the buttons of my shirt to touch my chest.

I start unbuttoning my shirt, and she tosses hers. Neither of us seem to have the energy to hurry back to the bedroom, but I like a good change of pace every once in a while. She removes her pants and after I toss the rest of my clothes, she climbs into my lap with her matching pink and silver undergarments still adorned. I blush. The pink and silver combination reminds me of Éclair, and I feel a hint of guilt run through my veins. It’s weird; I’ve never felt like I’m cheating on Éclair before. Both women, while I have obviously never met them, are perfectly aware of each other. Éclair and I have been sleeping around with other people ever since we first started our little love affair. And Sylvia knows I have myself an occasional fuck-buddy. The other night I had run out of Éclair’s house after sleeping with her because I had felt a weird sting of guilt. Why? Because I like Sylvia. Because I see a future with Sylvia, but I just can’t bring myself to start to think about settling down with everything going on. Yet, here I am, seeing Sylvia dressed in Éclair’s favorite colors, and it makes me hesitant.

“Are you okay?” Sylvia asks, noticing me freeze up for a moment.

I shake the weird and out-of-character thoughts I am having about Éclair and those gorgeous and completely unusual purple eyes of hers. I focus on Sylvia, and it only takes me a second before I am ready to go. I unsnap her bra, and she tosses her panties. She remains seated in my lap, her legs bent at my sides, as I slip myself up into her. Sylvia wraps her arms around my neck and works her hips up and down. I grab hold of her waist to give her some assistance.

She kisses my lips and I smile under that kiss. Her lips are always so soft. I smell a hint of pizza on her breath, and by the way she is acting I can tell she is slightly self-conscious about it. “Oh, James, oui!” she shrieks, and I cringe.

Did she just speak French? That is mine and Éclair’s thing. It’s like she’s trying to make me think about Éclair while I’m boning her. Now I can’t get Éclair out of my head. Why did Sylvia all of a sudden throw in a random French word? She’s not half French like Éclair, at least I don’t think she is. I recall that we had had our first date in France during the Tour de France. She must be fantasizing a little, but all that did is make me cringe again. I keep picturing Éclair now. Fuck! How the hell am I supposed to keep this shit up if every time I am with one of them I keep thinking about the other? I’m losing my mind. Plus, Sylvia is on top, another one of Éclair preferred methodologies. Just to make this feel a little less like I’m fucking Éclair, I wind up throwing Sylvia down onto her back on the couch. She doesn’t realize why I had the sudden change in preference, thank God, but she goes with it. She spreads her legs wide and pull me down onto her.

I kiss her throat and breasts, making her moan loudly with each movement. “You’re amazing, you know?” I tell her, trying my best to focus on every inch of her completely flawless body just so I can get Éclair out of my head. I notice a few cuts and scrapes on her –probably from her latest equipment test run. She’s a good athlete, but if she is anything like myself she likes to push herself. I kiss her little scrapes, and she laughs at the gesture. She has a large bruise on her waist. “What happened there?” I ask.

“Fell off my snowboard,” she says with a slight orgasmic cringe, “right into a damn tree, that is.”

I press myself as far up inside her as I can, and she cries out excitedly just as I am cumming. We both collapse next to one another, curling up close together to enjoy one another’s body heat. I’m able to focus on just Sylvia now. Thank God. I really am starting to think I’m going to have to decide what I want soon. I would hate to accidentally call Sylvia Éclair in bed; it would probably hurt her feelings, and calling Éclair Sylvia would probably get me punched in the dick.