“So, you haven’t had any friends, male or female, who’ve slept with someone they liked but didn’t love?” It’s not possible. Not in today’s day and age, and not in New York City.
She sighs with reluctant acknowledgement. “Actually, this is yet another thing you and Jill have in common, although I suspect she’s bothered by it more than she’d ever admit.” Lindsey’s glowering thinking about Jill, or me, or both.
“Well, I can’t speak for Jill, but I’ve always maintained a friendly status with women I’ve slept with, assuming I see them again. I told you, I don’t get involved with women who want something more than what I’m offering. If Jill comes to visit, well, you’d have to advise me on how to proceed there.” I’m teasing, hoping to lighten the mood. She shoots me a look that tells me I failed.
“I thought you weren’t attracted to Jill.” Her eyes reflect betrayal, which is oddly gratifying. Seems I might not be the only one who’s wading into dangerous emotional territory.
“Not true. I said she’s pretty. Just said you’re prettier. But you’re not in the market for a casual fling, are you?” I ask jokingly, but I mean it, too. Now I’ve intentionally wandered toward the end of the plank. I watch her, hoping perhaps she’ll amuse me with her response, but she doesn’t.
“Not now, not ever.” She stares at the highway. “Let’s change the subject, since we don’t see eye to eye.”
“Okay by me.” I lay my head back against the headrest and close my eyes. This whole conversation was a major miscalculation on my part. I’m not used to being on the losing end of any game.
We enter the house in silence and I immediately slide into the hospital bed. The ride and the chair at Duke’s strained my back, but I don’t complain because I suspect she’d be unsympathetic in her current mood.
I don’t care what Lindsey says or denies—there’s a ton of sexual tension between us.
But pursuing Lindsey would mean breaking all my rules, or changing myself into something I’ve never been. The only viable solution is to rid myself of this longing. I suspect it’ll be easier said than done as long as I’m living in this house.
Lindsey
I take my mail up to my room, unable to face Levi while I’m still seeing red. No wonder he suggested lunch at Duke’s. Shari draped herself all over him. How’d she know he and I weren’t dating, or did she intend to sabotage our relationship . . . friendship . . . whatever? She kept touching his hair, caressing his shoulders. Ugh.
She oozed sexual confidence. More awful, she’s hot in the same carnal way he’s hot. Meanwhile, Levi relaxed there, basking in all of her attention. I thought he didn’t have close friends. I have plenty of friendly acquaintances. Friendly acquaintance my ass!
I’m burning with jealousy and curiosity, but can’t ask more questions without tipping him off. He’s right about me taking it personally, too.
Maybe we’re not dating, but we’ve spent so much time together. I know he’s shared personal details with me he’s never discussed with her, or anyone. We’re not physically involved, but that’s less important than our emotional attachment, isn’t it? I mean, really, how could he be satisfied with a purely physical relationship now?
Of course, he can’t understand me, considering his limited experience in this arena. Our different outlooks and upbringings make us utterly incompatible. I should maintain some distance. Besides, I’ve no business indulging my desire until I’m one hundred percent resolved about Rob.
I’ve been cut off from him for two-thirds of the summer and haven’t spoken to him since our last call. Would he be proud of, or unimpressed by, my foray into the nonprofit world? Probably the latter since Rob’s most interested in money and power.
Perhaps that’s why he sought intrigue with Ava. She works at Goldman, so she must share his ambition and professional interests. Has he spent more time with her, or any other woman, this summer? Will I ever be certain, one way or the other, about the right choice where Rob’s concerned?
I sit on my bed and flip through my mail. My heart skips a beat when I come across a mail pouch from Rob. The e-mails had stopped after our last argument, so this package shocks me.
I tear it open to find a card and a framed photo of the two of us taken at a party this past winter. I recognize it as the photo I used to keep in our living room beside the sofa. My fingers trace his face, and my heart aches to see how happy I looked. I lay the frame on my lap and open the card.