I punched in the code to my floor as I reached my building’s elevator, stripping off my tie and jacket as soon as the doors closed. The fresco wool smelled like sugar, Kee’s perfume tagging along for the ride. It was a punch to the gut, sending me straight to the bar as soon as I walked in my front door.
I grabbed a bottle of Scotch that was older than me, the drink reserved for times of need. And it definitely was one.
The first swig went down with an angry burn, doing nothing to stop the churning in my guts. Nothing to numb the nerves. Nothing to shut off my mind, the images of the night replaying on loop.
My phone jingled a moment later.
Kee: Hope you made it home safe. Thanks again for a great time XOXO
I stared at the text for a long moment before throwing the phone across the room, the sound of the device’s screen shattering distinct.
I’d carefully painted a reality over the years, only to destroy it with one stupid mistake. I’d blurred the lines just enough for truth to poke through, allowing a burst of genuine feeling to sneak in behind it.
The laughs. The words. Kee saw me. No smoke. No mirrors. And fuck. That spark I felt, it was as genuine as it got, and damn if she didn’t feel it, too.
I tossed back the next gulp to stop it, another to forget it, then a final one to rinse away any aftertaste before heading to the master bath, pulling off clothing as if it burned me, the sugary sweet perfume everywhere even as I stood naked under the heavy spray, a dozen shower heads not even blasting it away.
With it came the sensation of her arms around me, every curve of that perfect body pressed tight against mine as our mouths moved in sync on the dance floor. The memory of her riding me setting me on fire all over again.
I gripped my cock, wanting nothing more than to make her mine again. I had the world at my fingertips, but the one thing I wanted most was entirely off-limits.
I worked my length, picking up the pace as I thought of her kneeling before me, looking up with those eyes wide, those full lips parted ready to take my cock again.
I pumped the thought out of my mind, cock rigid and ready. With a few more strokes I was there, coming hard and fast across the glass wall of the shower.
As the last tremors shook through my body, my mind wandered back to the woman I loved. The woman I needed to forget.
Keely
Mom: Dinner will be late tonight. Be here at 8.
I glanced at the text, already on the train bound for Braintree. It was odd she bothered to reach out since most of the time we didn’t eat until almost nine anyway. She existed on Marjorie time as Dad called it.
I tucked my cell back into my handbag, unfazed at spending extra time with my family. I needed time away from the apartment.
The next stop brought a seat mate, a sweaty gym rat gracing us all with his oh-so-sticky presence. Perspiration poured from every exposed inch of flesh, his dropped armhole tank showing more wet side-pec than I ever cared to see. Worse, as the train rolled forward, the stench of body odor wafted over. To up the ante, he started fist-pumping to his headphones, airing his pits to the world.
Only six more stops.
What was the record for the longest time a woman held her breath? Maybe I could beat it with his help.
I took a deep inhale before closing my eyes, lungs betraying me after only thirty-seconds. I sucked in a cloud of his funk as a result, catapulting myself back to a sixth-grade locker room. Only now I had the distinct displeasure of tasting it, too.
I stared at my bag, hoping to feel the buzz of a notification. Homework kept me busy most of the day, but with my mind free, I was all too aware that Ethan had yet to reach out.
We hadn’t discussed what our night was, but it sure felt like a date. So did his hands on my body, the ever-present hardness pressed against me on the dance floor. Oh yeah, and the epic sex thing.
But I wasn’t ready to have that conversation. Not yet. I’d let him reach out first. I couldn’t seem needy. I was mature. I could handle it.
Unlike the stench of my seat mate.
The next twenty-five minutes dragged, and unfortunately for me, stinky stayed planted in his seat, departing with me at Braintree before jogging off in the opposite direction toward a shopping plaza. One would hope he was going to pick up some dang deodorant.
The few blocks from the station to my parents’ colonial offered plenty of fresh air. I’d walked the route for years, passing the same well-manicured lawns of stately homes, some locked away in wrought iron prisons while others were more welcoming with billowing flowerbeds and friendly porch swings.
As I rounded the sidewalk to my parents’ home, I was greeted with the familiar sight of the pristine white siding, its black shutters sporting a fresh coat of paint while the gardens were as lush as ever. From the outside, it was the quintessential New England home, pressure-washed to Mom’s perfection. Inside, it was cold, a preserved shrine to the past, as Dad’s love of history and Mom’s pride collided to create a stiff, sterile environment.
I walked in to find Dad sitting in the front parlor with the newspaper, his usual glass of Chardonnay beside him. His blue eyes met mine over the sports section. “Hi, honey.”
Still the strapping Sean Doyle that once regularly graced the covers of local tabloids, he was dressed to impress in khakis and a dress shirt, never one to bum it in jeans and a tee like every other American dad. His salt and pepper locks were slicked
