The Pact(18)
I come wild and hard and in my most freeing moments my mind is not thinking of James at all…
…but Linden.
It takes everything I have not to call out his name , even though it’s his face that I see clearly, his rough but slender, oh so manly hands on my waist, his muscled thighs and wiry hair pressing up against mine.
But it’s thin, quick, heavily tatted James in my fucked up reality. Someone who any woman would give their left boob to be with, but he’s not that for me.
Only one man is.
And I wish he wasn’t.
After we’re done, I take my clothes into the small washroom at the back of the store and wash the crap off my skin. I’d bought a new sage and lavender hand soap from a pricey line just for this little room and I find myself giggling at how I’m using it.
I just christened my store.
I pat myself dry with a fluffy hand towel and then put my clothes back on. My shirt has a bit of a wine stain that I’ll have to attack with enzymes tomorrow. For now though, I’m kind of drunk on Syrah and orgasms. And the reality is starting to seep back in like mold in a dark place.
I just slept with my ex-boyfriend and my current-friend, James. He may have said it was just for one night but the scallops and cheese and wine and the strawberries (OMG, we still have chocolate-covered strawberries!) say something else. Maybe I’m reading too much into the whole night, but I’m really hoping that everything can immediately go back to normal.
I need normal. I don’t need another dose of myself at age twenty-one. I turn thirty next year and I’m not going to slide backward, especially not onto James’s dick, no matter how expertly pierced it is.
When I come out of the bathroom, I feel a bit like a skittish colt, unsure how to act around him now. I want to just move on like nothing happened but James can be so volatile that I can’t bet on anything.
He’s standing over the blanket, shirt off but jeans on, and staring down at the mess.
He gives me a quizzical look. “I guess I didn’t really think this through.”
“I’m sure the cheese and wine will come off in the wash,” I tell him and show him my bare arm as I run my other hand along it. “It came off me just fine.”
Now he’s looking proud. “I guess the moment overtook us.”
Yeah. Moment. Or a lot of planning and wine. Either or.
I shrug. “That’s what those moments are for.” Then I clear my throat and stride over to the blanket, crouching down and gathering up the boxes. The strawberries, unfortunately, are crushed.
I toss everything in the trash and give James an expectant look as he rolls up the blanket. “Well, thanks for coming by. That was fun.” Perhaps it was a bit abrupt, but the sooner the expectations are halted, the better.
He pauses mid-roll and gives me a searching look, like he’s not sure if I’m lying or not. And I’m not. It was fun. It’s just the type of fun I’d rather not experience with him again.
I really hope I don’t have to tell him that.
Shit. He’s still staring at me. I knew this was a mistake.
Stupid loneliness and old, cozy sweaters.
“Yeah, it was fun,” he says slowly. “Do you need a ride home?”
“Don’t tell me you drove here,” I warn him.
He shakes his head. “I cabbed it. Come on, it will be cheaper this way if we split it.”
I pretend I have to think about it for a moment, then say, “I still have some work to finish up here. I’ll probably take the last bus.”
“I can wait.”
No, you can’t.
I give him a placating smile. “I’ll be awhile. It’s paperwork, you know how it is. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
It’s like a rain cloud has settled over the store. His eyes stop shining and his lips twist insincerely. “Okay. Talk to you later.” His words are hard and clipped.
And just like that, James and his tote bag and his blanket and his dick piercing and his shady motivations leave the Fog & Cloth.
The door shuts behind him.
I breathe out a giant sight of relief.
It’s followed by nothing but regret.
CHAPTER FIVE
For my first week of age twenty-nine and second week of being a small business owner, I wonder if I’ve ruined one of the best friendships I’ve ever had.
No, not me and James, even though he would be the cause.
I’m talking about me and Linden. I sent him a text message about Nadine right after James and I slept together but I hadn’t heard back from him. Then Monday rolled around and I tried again. No response. Facebook – good old Facebook – told me that he was online commenting on posts and Nadine’s page said her surgery had gone fine (“nasty fucking appendix is out” – said her status) but I wasn’t getting anything in response.