“Aaaah, ah, god, let me just be able to lift my damned leg….”
I gently sat on my bed, the action emitting a creaking in my head as every single joint in my body protested. Shirtless, and now pantsless, I fell back and became a dead starfish among the tangled sheets. Stupidly, I thought a kickboxing session at the gym with Jade was the intelligent thing to do before meeting Spence tonight. She’d been bugging me for months to try it out and she finally lucked out when, classes finished by two, I decided I’d rather attend boot camp than sit another minute at my desk while showering myself with analytics and financial accounting. The thought of meeting Spence kept arguing for space among the numbers and quantitative methods and no amount of coffee consumption or handwritten note-taking in perfect cursive was making him go away.
When Spence’s face wasn’t surfacing behind my eyes, it wasn’t mathematical equations that would take over but frustrated energy. I was fresh out of a break-up, Spence was maybe probably dating someone gorgeous named Daya, and, oh yeah, I’d only spoken to him on three occasions.
Becca was the first to answer this confusion a few hours earlier. She was splayed out on her striped blue and white comforter while I was curled up and angsty at her desk against the wall. Becca had painted her room a pale peach, her personal touch on hailing from Georgia. When she’d first started decorating in the middle of last year, she’d tossed a curve ball and added shades of deep purple and black. I nearly choked and died from the horror. Here was a woman whose casual street fashion was so on point and effortless that it was often admired by complete strangers on the sidewalk, but she was absolutely spastic at home decor. It was like if she closed her eyes and threw colors at it, the monstrosity would be muted.
Becca was always one to spot a fake and despite the unfettered it looks so…great face I gave her, she enlisted my help to overhaul her bedroom. It was a place she dubbed her nest, somewhere to retreat from the bangs and beats of the city that even Becca wanted a break from. Instead of twigs and branches (which she honestly thought to decorate with), I coaxed her into transforming her room to southern comfort with a beachy twist. The royal purple sheets and a pilled black comforter were sent back home and she now sported pale blue and white accents within the peach, a subtle nautical theme. Thick stripes and cream linens populated the space.
“Think about it,” Becca said, supported and comfortable with my pillows. “You’ve never had a crush before.”
I swiveled around in the chair to face her. “Of course I have.”
“Oh yeah? Who?”
I gave her a flat look. “Trevor, obviously.”
“Wrong.” She thrust a finger into the air. “Correct me if I’m misinformed, since I was not in high school with you and did not physically witness the couple that was mister and missus two souls, one heart, but were you the pursuer, or was he?”
I paused. “He was.”
“And did you admire him from afar before he noticed you?”
“Well…” Crap. I saw where this was going, so decided on the lame excuse. “It’s complicated.”
“Good thing I’ve heard this story before, then,” Becca said and shifted into a seated position. “It was he who came at you first, made you notice him initially, and for the past six years you’ve had nothing but one relationship to base romantic feelings on. No wonder Spence has you feeling all sorts of horny.”
“That’s one way to summarize my pathetic love life,” I said before rolling back to her desk and flipping through a fashion magazine.
“There’s nothing sad about it, Em. You were happy with Trev in high school, he was your introduction to everything, but now it’s time to spread your wings.” Becca fell back against the pillows with her arms out. “And by that I mean legs.”
I dropped the magazine. “I am not having sex with Spencer Rolfe.”
“Why not? He’s hot, a big flirt, probably loves a good fuck, available—”
“Nope. Daya, remember?”
“Pfff.” She waved a hand. “All signs point to plaything.”
“So you want me to be Spence’s next toy?”
“Hell no! I want him to be your funhouse. Nothing like a good romp to get an old relationship out of your system. Admit it, you’ve pictured Spence naked.”
“I barely know him!”
“Uh, who says you have to know a person before mentally taking their clothes off?”
I pushed against the desk, staring at the ceiling. “I’m not—it’s not me, Becs. Kudos to all the women who can freely fuck, but I can’t do it.”
“You’ve never tried.”
“Because I’ve never wanted to. I had Trev—”
“Who by all accounts was extremely selfish in bed.” Becca raised a brow, daring me to contradict her.
I couldn’t. Trev loved sex, but as our first time fell farther back in time, so did his attentive love-making. We’d have quick bangs on countertops, drunken sex at three a.m., shower romps first thing in the morning, but looking back, all of them possessed one habit: me on my knees on the tiles, me rolling my hips so I could emit the best groans from him, me willing to experiment since he seemed so eager to try. Me buying the best lingerie, wandering into sex shops, shimmying on everything from crotchless to flavored. Me…
…trying to do whatever and whenever in order to keep him interested and around.
Eventually, I stopped hoping for orgasms.
“Spence is excellent in bed,” Becca said, cutting into the moroseness of my memories. “Believe me. I’ve heard stories.”
“Then I’d rather save myself the STD.” I busied myself organizing her stack of magazines.
“Think about it,” Becca said as she stretched and rolled off her bed. “Or at the very least, continue enjoying the view. Whether you know it or not, this dude will help you shake off the remnants of fucking Trevor Knowles…pun intended. Now, go away so I can study my Pinterest page in peace.”
“Nuh-uh. Not until you give me the details on what you’ve been up to.”
She paused in rolling me out of her room with the chair. “There’s nothing to know.”
“Oh, please.” I twisted to look at her. “You’ve been mysteriously—nay, suspiciously quiet all through my boy drama.”
“Not true! I’ve given you tons of advice.”
“You’ve spoken boatloads about me, that’s true. But I know you. Rarely is there a time when you can’t segue into tidbits of your own life.”
“You make me sound so selfish.”
I laughed. “What I mean is, there’s always give and take with our inner turmoils. And I’ve been doing all the taking. So tell me, what’s been going on that has you so secretive?”
We warred with our eyes for a while, until I started to get a crick in my neck and flinched. Becca must’ve taken that as a glare because she huffed back down on her bed and said, “Fine. Maybe there’s someone.”
“Yes!” I fist pumped the air. “Who? The suspense has been killing me.”
“You’ve known about this for two seconds.”
“Seconds of torture. Now go.”
“It’s…” She worried her lower lip. “I’m not sure how you’re going to take it.”
I grew serious and leaned forward. “Becs, what is it?”
Becca picked at her comforter, and with her rare display of hesitation all sorts of armageddon fired through my mind. What had she gotten into? Someone older? Much older? Becca wasn’t ever one to put age before sexual attraction. Was it a felon? BDSM? Some kind of black market crap? A guy she was ashamed to bring around us? Or…couldn’t bring around? “Oh my God, Becs, are you sleeping with a professor?”
She nearly ripped her comforter in half. “Ew, no! All my profs are like, sixty, Emme. Don’t be so gross.”
“But you’re not giving me anything!” I threw my hands up. “I’m thinking all kinds of things over here, and you really aren’t gonna like where I’m going. Maybe furry animal costumes are involved—”
“Yuck, how do you even know about that stuff?”
“You gotta help me out or I’m going deep, deep into fetish land.”
She mumbled something.
“What? I can’t hear you.”
“I said it’s a girl, okay?”
“What?” My screech wasn’t withheld in time.
“Don’t!” Becca shot to her feet and pointed. “Don’t do that. Don’t judge me when you can’t know—”
“Becca, no. I’m not judging. You’ve caught me off-guard. I’m only trying to process…I mean, that’s the last thing I…” Shit, was I ever fucking this up. I took a deep breath and tried again. “I’ve only ever wanted you to be happy.”
“She’s a sophomore. I met her in my Spanish class.”
I vaguely remembered Becca saying she wanted to try minoring in a language. “And you…started dating her?”
All the hot air left her lungs when she slumped and said, “I know. I didn’t see it coming, either. We started studying together, but there was always a current underneath. It’s so hard to explain. This connection…like, something I’d say to you would come out so differently when I spoke to her. Our studying became longer, as if neither of us wanted it to end. Then, totally innocently, I invited her out to have a girls’ night one Saturday. Thinking it’d be just like when I went out with you and Jade. But, no. Of course it wouldn’t be like that—I knew it as my heart just leap-frogged, like it would if a guy I was into said yes to a date. Seriously Ems, I didn’t know what the fuck was going on with me.”
My heart swelled for her. “Oh, honey.” I stood and enveloped her in my arms, hugging her hard. “What do you want to do?”
“Just…be there for me when I need you, okay?” she said into my hair. “Because I may act like I know what I’m doing most of the time, but I’m seriously in kindergarten right now. And please.” She held me at arm’s length. “Don’t tell anyone. Not even Jade. Not yet. There’s still too much to figure out.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“Like, six months.”
“Six—” At her look I cut the shrillness in half. “And you haven’t told anyone about it?”
“I’m talking to you right now.”
Sort of. Becca wasn’t exactly giving me a detailed overview. She was holding herself back, reluctant to divulge the whole truth, and the more I pushed, the more she’d distance. “You can come to me. For anything, anytime.”
“I will.”
“I’d like you to tell me the full story, once you’re comfortable.”
“You’ll have it. Give me some time. I’m so used to keeping this a secret…”
I squeezed her shoulders. “You don’t have to.”
“Soon,” she said quietly. “I’ll tell you everything soon. Now go, I’m serious. I know how much work you have to do.”
“Which means nothing if you’re—”
“Go. I mean it.” She lightly pushed me through the door. “I’m fine. For half a year you didn’t know this shit has been going on. What’s a few more days?”
“Becs, your skill in keeping this under wraps doesn’t exactly make me feel—”
“Love you,” she said. And shut her door, nearly nicking my nose.
With that lovely farewell, I skulked to my room and was faced with a heavy coursework and a mountain of thoughts. When Jade leaned in saying she was off to the gym, I’d figured there’d be nothing better than punching and kicking a human-sized bag for a while.
Flash-forward two hours later and here I was sporting injuries of an eight-year-old and unable to croak, never mind twitch a toe. Yet, I could not afford another C-minus on my scholarship, so I summoned enough movement to change into fresh yoga pants and an oversized gray sweatshirt, complaining all the way. At all the choked animal sounds, Becca stopped by to check on me, laughed, and then scampered away.
Grimacing while gently placing the strap of my tote on my shoulder, I wobbled out of the apartment, creaked across intersections, and narrowly avoided muscle atrophy by taking the library stairs.
Spence was, of course, seated at the same table we’d used last time, books open, notes spread, glasses perched, and laptop on and gleaming.
“Hey,” I said, and with the effort of a trillion men, lifted my tote to rest it across from him. “Sorry I’m late.”
He glanced up from the textbook he had open, but the annoyed spark to his eyes faded the longer he assessed me. “You okay?”
“I had a run-in with a sadistic trainer who only knows how to threaten at high volume and throws beanbags at his victims.”
He leaned back in his seat while lazily flicking his pen in one hand. “Jericho’s class, right?”
Slowly, carefully, delicately, I lowered myself onto the chair. “Yeah, that’s him. How’d you know?”
“Daya takes that class. Her first time, I don’t think she could bend her knees for a week.”
My lip curl was stifled just in time. Of course Daya took this class and of course she and her knees were mentioned within two minutes of sitting down with Spence. Like I do in all times of stress, I reached for—
Shit.
“I forgot to get the coffee,” I said, moaning more to myself than to Spence.
“I’ll at least save you there,” Spence said. He lowered his laptop lid, and hidden behind it like the treasure gems they were, were two cups of coffee.
“Omigod, I love you right now.” I held out both hands. “Gimme. Please.”
Laughing, he handed one over and took a sip of his. “So you also revert into a childlike state when deprived of caffeine for more than an hour. Looks like we have one thing in common.”
I lifted the cup to my lips, avoiding any reply because I wasn’t sure if he was flirting with me or not when he smiled like that. We were just talking about Daya, so it couldn’t be true, most especially after my chat with Becca. Never had I felt so inept and inexperienced as I did sitting across from my tutor I was one hundred percent sexually attracted to. This realization, made over an harmless offer of coffee, was a difficult one to accept. But it was there, just like his scent, which beckoned to me like the allure and sparkle of a lost diamond.
I swigged back a large gulp—and choked. “Agh—” A cloying sweetness coated my mouth unlike any liquid that had come before. “What is—what?”
“Oh dear me, you don’t enjoy peppermint with your coffee?” Spence asked, palming a hand to his chest.
“Bleh—guh.” I placed the coffee on the table, then inched it farther away.
Mischief quirked his expression. “I only wanted to return the flavor.”
“Your pun and revenge plot has been received,” I said, still pursing my lips. “I’ll never again dare to give you anything but black coffee.”
“Best six bucks I ever spent,” he said, laughing at my disgusted expression. “Here, a peace offering.” He handed me his own cup. “This is my fourth, I think, so it’s probably high time I switch to stuff my body can actually use.”
I accepted the cup while lecturing myself not to act like a middle schooler and enjoy the fact that his lips touched the same rim that mine would. After a careful sip (because, like fine wines, everyone has their coffee preference, many worse than others), I said, “Lots of milk, no sugar. Exactly how I take it.”
His eyes met mine, we had another moment, and I shied away like the middle schooler I was. “Okay. So. What does Dante have to enlighten me with today?”
The moment was lost and Spence was back in tutor mode. “Pull out the paperback and go to page sixty-five, I’ve underlined a few points we can draw from for your make-up…”
And on he went. I focused less on his words than on his face, and the spheres of his stare, then had to shake myself out of it because scholarship. Grades. Success. As beautiful as I found Spence to be, I could not start drooling in my junior year of college. Trev gave me butterflies and wowed me in the ways a top lacrosse player going after the pretty, quiet girl could. I was swooped and swooned and convinced I was in love, but I wasn’t always looking to find Trev in a crowded party or feel his hand in mine. I didn’t sense him come into a room before I could see him. I loved his company and the way we confided in each other. I loved his body and his laugh. We were perfect together and for each other. Everybody thought so, including me.
So how did it take sitting across from a stranger to notice the fractures in such an epic relationship?
“Emme? You got that?”
Spence went from a blur to high definition. “Yes. The cantos. Got it.”
He didn’t appear convinced. “Are you hurting too much to study?”
My gaze widened. There was no way he could see that deeply into my emotions so soon.
Spence must’ve taken my surprised expression as confusion, because he followed up with, “From your boot camp. Should you be lying down with some frozen peas right now?”
Ah. “No really, I’m fine. Took a bunch of ibuprofen and currently have one of those disposable hot packs on my back. I’m as prepared as I’ll ever be.”
Spence took another pause of assessment, and in that period I physically felt each part of my face his gaze landed on. Tiny brushes and tingles, each one more pleasurable than the last. “How about I take it easy on you today. Read that passage in front of you while I write down a few questions.”
Nodding, I cast a finger down the page to the spot he pointed out, from then on ready to concentrate on Hell and Hell only, and a forty minutes of success passed before it all went to shit.
“Hey.”
The presence of someone else shadowed our table. I glanced up and immediately wished I hadn’t. “Trev. What are you doing here?”
The question got Spence’s attention.
Trevor stood at the end of the table, hands shoved in his jeans, shoulders sloped. Strands of his black hair tousled against his forehead like he’d been sleeping restlessly for weeks. Which I damn well hoped he had.
“I stopped by your place, spoke to Becca. She said you were here.”
I narrowed in on Becca’s name. My best friend, no fan of Trev, would’ve been deliberate with her instructions on where I was. Probably so Trev could see me laughing and flirting my ass off with Spence—or, in Becca’s imagination, humping him in plain view on top of our study notes.
“I’m pretty busy.” I gestured over to Spence. “We’re in the middle of an assignment, so would you mind—”
“Fuck.” The sharp sound drew the attention of other studiers around us. “Yes, Emme, I mind.”
“Hey.” Spence’s biceps tensed. “If you’re gonna be like that, take it outside. Without her.”
Trev pulled his fists out of his pockets. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“The guy that’s standing between you and your ex-girlfriend.” Spence stood at his full height.
“Okay,” I said, standing with them. “Trev, you have to leave.”
His brown eyes, the color of which I used to lovingly attribute to melted milk chocolate, took on a plaintive gleam. “Can’t you at least talk to me before moving on to some douchebag?”
Spence drew back with a sour smile. “I’m pretty sure she ditched the douchebag some time ago.”
“You’re making a lot of assumptions,” I said to Trev before he could retort. “And this isn’t the place. Please. Go.”
“You’re ignoring everything I’m trying to say to you. Like that I’m sorry, I’m a huge asshole, and I don’t deserve you but hell, I love you so much, Emme. I need you to forgive me,” Trev said.
I shook my head, my arms becoming dead at my sides. “You lost me.”
“It was one mistake. It was a stupid text thing that got out of control but I swear, Em, I never slept with Laurie—”
“You’re not hearing me,” I said, and instinctively, habitually, moved toward him. “You lost me years ago. I didn’t see it—didn’t want to—but I’ve been so devoted to making our relationship work that I didn’t calculate the distance between us. You have to admit it, Trev, we haven’t been good since we came to New York. I was so determined to try with you that I’ve been sacrificing pieces of my happiness in order to do it.”
Trev said, “That is so completely unfair. You’re saying our relationship made you less of a person?”
“You weren’t happy!” I said, and despite my efforts, my voice cracked. “You were never content with whatever I did. You had me jumping through hoops for you, you know that? Trev doesn’t like this, what else can I do to keep him satisfied? Trev doesn’t think my cooking is good enough, what recipe shows can I watch to make him enjoy the hours I spent in front of a stovetop again? Trev doesn’t think I could cut it as an entrepreneur, what if I tried a business major instead to prove to him I’m smart? Trev thinks women look better with D-cups, should I look into surgery or will he walk away? Trev this, Trev that—never me!” I smacked a palm to my chest. “I was lost. And the whole time I was looking for someone who never wanted to find me in return.”
Trev, stricken, backed away. Spence remained still and unmoving in my peripheral vision, but I sensed his eyes on me. By this time, all the surrounding study-goers’ were riveted and the librarian on duty was making swift strides our way.
“I’m not saying it’s your fault,” I said, softer.
“Could’ve fuckin’ fooled me,” he said.
“I don’t want to go back to that endless place of pleasing again, so Trev, let me go.”
Trev was halfway through a headshake of denial by the time the librarian reached us. “You three better take your issues outside this instant. You’re disturbing the entire floor.”
“Very sorry, Miss Ives,” Spence said. “We’re leaving.”
He started to pack up his stuff, and I followed. Trev remained frozen, clearly desperate to put up the good fight. I paused in my clean-up and used everything in my internal arsenal to convey to him how much he needed to leave me be. For good.
Trev didn’t move and before I could open my mouth and regain more of Miss Ives’s ire, Spence moved between us, his physical presence a reassuring buffer. His arm brushed against mine a few times and at one point we shared a glance, his reassuring, mine embarrassed.
“You’re making a mistake with him,” Trev said.
By the time Spence straightened, Trev was gone.
Spence cupped my elbow as we made our way to the elevator and met my stiff and careful strides with patience. Adrenaline helped to forget the strain on my body but the crash that followed made me into a robot.
“I’ll walk you home,” Spence said as the elevator doors opened.
“You don’t have to do that.” Head down, I stepped in.
“I want to,” he said, and left it at that.
We rode the three floors in silence, but I was conscious of his hand still on my arm. Every now and again he squeezed, as if to remind me he was there.
When we reached the street, he stayed close, though the sidewalks were relatively empty at this time of night—or as clear as New York City streets ever get, which is to say there was still a trickling river of pedestrians heading south.
As we stopped at an intersection, Spence finally ventured, “How long were you guys dating?”
I couldn’t expect Spence to leave it alone. No one, after witnessing that kind of display, would want to turn their back and ignore it. At least, not someone who cared.
“Since ninth grade,” I said, but spoke to the curb below our feet.
Spence let out a whistle. “I think…yep, that’s more years than the pet I had as a kid.”
I snorted, and at last, he drew my gaze.
“I had a hamster,” he said with a shrug. “Also known as the longest relationship I’ve ever been committed to.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” I said through a laugh.
“And I’m sorry for yours,” he said in all seriousness.
I sobered. “It needed to happen.”
“Hearing what I did up there…” He laid a hand on my shoulder, his fingers soothing gently. “I don’t think you’re wrong about that.”
“In a way, it’s a good thing. It’s like I’ve found this hidden knowledge about myself that’s always been there, I just didn’t know how to look for it. But there it is. And here I am. Flawed. Wounded. But man, I hope so much smarter.”
“Nobody comes out of a six-year relationship dumber,” he said. Then, leaning in, he added, “You’re taking kickboxing classes. That’s a start.”
While I laughed as his hand dropped away, I was somewhat disappointed. Was he flirting with me or simply being nice? He took our connection from one second being so tangible the heat between us could redden our cheeks, to smirking and making some comment that would chill us into the friend zone.
“I wish you better luck with Daya,” I said as the light changed and we headed onto the road.
“Daya?” His brows rose. “Oh. No, she’s not my girlfriend. We hang out sometimes.”
Damn it. There it was again. That spark of hope that had to be firmly smashed. “I didn’t mean to presume.”
“You didn’t. I’m glad you asked.”
I dared a quizzical glance his way, but didn’t push it. We’d reached the entrance to my apartment and now had to endure that awkward moment of saying good-bye after he’d involuntarily witnessed the baring of my soul.
“Thank you for walking me home,” I said, stomping my feet against the cold. “How much do I owe you for the session?”
“Don’t sweat it,” he said, and it was accompanied by his now familiar side-curve of a smile. “This one can be on the house.”
“I can’t ask that of you—”
“You didn’t. I want to.”
“Really. I don’t need any favors.”
“It’s not,” he said. “We’d only got forty minutes into a two hour session. It wouldn’t be fair to charge you, or even pro-rate you. My perfectionism won’t allow it—we barely got anything done.”
I relented. “I appreciate it. Next time, I promise no interruptions,” I said, then fished for the keys in my tote.
“I know a way to ensure it. Let’s do it at my place next time.”
Keys nearly hit pavement. “Your place?”
“Sure. I promise I’m not a serial killer. I have a roommate who could be a solid chaperone—he’s training to be a cop.” Spence shifted uncomfortably under my silence before quipping, “Nor will I throw beanbags at you.”
I laughed, but it was hollow. Nervous. “Sure—of course. That sounds great.”
“I’ll see you Thursday, then? I have a study group and moot court tomorrow.” He took a step back and lifted his hand in a wave.
“I’ll make it work. And Spence,” I said as he turned to leave. “Thank you.”
His gaze softened. “I’m not sure what for, since you stood up for yourself and did all the work. But you’re welcome.”
I held onto that reminder of strength all the way up the flights of my apartment building, and well into my dreams.