That night was the best sex of my life and it wasn’t just about the physical act.
When I stand in front of his door years later, poised to knock, I know I have to make this right. There’s no more wasting time with mixed up priorities. If I have a chance at all with him, I’m taking it.
Footsteps echo off hardwood floors as he approaches the door. I didn’t know what to wear to make such love-struck declarations and hope the jeans and blouse are appropriate. When I hear the bolts being clicked unlocked, I suddenly feel as though I should have worn a dress.
When he slides the large metal door open, my eyes take him in as his do the same to me. He looks fantastic—dark fitted jeans, a crisp, white button up with a few buttons left open at the top and socked feet. He looks freshly showered. His hair is even a bit damp. “It’s good to see you. Thanks for coming,” he says, moving to the side, inviting me in.
I feel better about what I’m wearing, but I still feel like I’m walking into the unknown, so I walk in hesitantly. Everything in my life is always planned down to the smallest detail, calculated and weighed. But today has been shot to shit with spontaneity already, so why change now?
I hear the door slide shut behind me as I walk into the modern loft space. Just like his old apartment, it’s still very him—clean lines and muted colored palette. The exception is one shocking, bright burst of red, blue, and yellow exploding across a canvas hung above his couch, but other than that, it’s comforting. It’s him.
“I like your place,” I say, turning around to see him in the kitchen drinking wine, and watching me as I set my purse down on the coffee table.
“Thank you. Wine?” he asks, holding a glass up for me.
“Yes, thank you.”
“We’re so formal.” He looks down at the salad on the counter in front of him, and laughs as if I’ve missed the joke.
“It’s as if we’ve gone and grown up or something.”
“Yeah, something like that.” His smile gives him away, it always has. I know he’s over-thinking this whole thing.
“What?” I’m too curious to let it go, so I wander next to him and lean against the counter. I take a sip and wait.
“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head, a grin still clearly plastered across his face in amusement.
“No, I want to know,” I demand, feeling left out. Is he laughing at me? I’m starting to get paranoid, feeling exposed now.
“You haven’t changed at all actually,” he finally says.
I raise an eyebrow at him, thinking he’s still keeping something else from me.
Looking up, he says, “Fine! You, me, this. This is just fucking weird.”
“What is?” I play dumb, though I can admit how awkward this situation is for me also.
“In all honesty, Lydia, I don’t know what we’re doing here.” He shrugs. “You show up at my work, the courthouse no less, out of the blue, looking fucking beautiful and crazed at the same time, demanding answers that you really don’ t have the right to demand. Now, here you stand in my home, making me feel all those feelings for you all over again, and, yet, I’m gonna be the one who pays for this when you leave tonight.”
I set the glass down on the counter, and hold the eye contact. “Who says I’m leaving?”
He leans closer, and says, “Don’t toy with me. I paid the price when you left. I’m the one who got burned and I’m not going to do it again.” His tone is threatening but soft. He’s contradicting himself without even knowing it.
I stand on my tiptoes, pressing my mouth against the shell of his ear, and whisper, “I’m here. I paid a price, too, but I’m setting aside the bullshit just for you this one time, and exposing myself. You’ve got my heart. You’ve had it all along. So, I can either pack it up and leave now or let you hold onto it a bit longer and see where the night takes us.”
We both gulp, and I can see his jaw clenching as I lower myself back to the ground, taking another sip of my wine almost in challenge.
Moving in front of me, he puts his arms on either side of my body, trapping me between them. His face is so close that I can feel his breath warm me over when he asks, “Are you messing with me?”
“Our dear friends weren’t only protecting your secrets. I live in San Francisco. I moved back.”
His eyes narrow. “You did?”
“Mmhmm.”
I watch as his eyes go from mine down to my mouth, my neck, and back up to meet my eyes again. “What do you want, Lydia?”
“You know what I want. I can see it in your eyes.”
“I need you to tell me.”