Ellis shared the story about when he was four and used his dad’s razor to give the dog a haircut. Natalie laughed so hard she cried.
I wanted to lick her tears. I wanted to make her cry. I needed to leave and never look at her again.
I ordered another drink.
Ellis and Lacey kissed. Natalie stared at me, cheeks flushed, lips stretched in a cute smirk. She rolled her eyes, made a funny face, then snapped a picture of the couple with her cell. Before tucking her phone away, she aimed the camera my way and said, “Say cheese.”
I laughed. The knots in my gut loosened.
We could be friends. I could do that. For Ellis.
I checked my phone. Victoria had been gone for ten minutes.
Martin returned, shirt rumpled, reeking of smoke.
“You see Vic back there?”
“Yeah. She’s on the balcony.” He pointed over his shoulder. “Said she needed some fresh air.”
I joined my fiancée outside, the night sky refreshing. When our lips met, I tasted whiskey and smoke. “I thought you quit.”
“Sorry. I’m trying, Cole. It’s just hard, watching those cunt—” She shook her head. Swallowed. “They hate me. And I’m trying. For your sake, I’m trying.”
“You’re brave, baby. I appreciate your efforts, but if it’s hurting you, we can go.”
“I don’t deserve you.” She stared through the glass doors, our table visible at the end of the long hallway. Martin’s arm hung loose over Natalie’s shoulder.
Victoria mumbled, “Hands off…” but her words were carried away by the warm breeze.
“What did you say?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she snapped, cheeks blazing, eyes narrowed. “Can we go?”
“Yeah. Let me hit the head. I’ll call for a car.”
“I can drive,” she said, words clipped.
“You’ve had more to drink than I have.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but I pinched her lips and shook my head. “We’ve both had too much to drink.”
“Yeah. You’re right.”
“Meet you at the table?”
“Meet me outside.” She walked away, her gait only a tad shakier than mine.
Two men stood at the bathroom sink. Suits and shiny hair. They shot me simultaneous nods and continued their conversation.
“You hear those two going at it in here?”
“Fuck, yeah. That bitch was hot.”
“Pretty sure she came twice.”
“In five minutes.”
“Wager a Benjamin on which one of us can get a lady in here first?”
“Deal.”
They shook hands. Washed. Left.
I laughed. I’d fucked in a bathroom stall once in college. Wasn’t easy. We were both drunk and horny. I came. She didn’t. Never saw her again.
Victoria would shudder at the thought of sex in a public setting. My cock ached. I needed to get my fiancée good and naked.
She passed out on the drive home. I carried her to bed. When I tried to help her undress, she slapped my hands away. I set a glass of water and pain relievers on her nightstand.
In the shower, I stroked my raging hard on, imagining a blond beauty wrapped around me, back pinned against a bathroom stall, riding my cock and screaming her release. Only it wasn’t Victoria’s cries I heard. It was Natalie’s. And it was Natalie I saw when I came all over my hand.
I cranked the hot water and washed away the shame. God, I was such an asshole.
I crawled into bed, head pounding, gut churning, and curled my arms around my fiancée.
She reeked of whiskey and smoke. I held her tighter, guilt settling like a set of kettlebells in my chest.
I vowed to never jack off to another woman.
Natalie and I could not be friends. I could never see her again.
“Oh, my God. You’re everywhere,” came the voice I tried to disdain yet heard every time my eyes closed. “Is any street corner safe?” she teased.
I shifted my attention from the construction crew across the street. There she stood, a lone daisy in a concrete wasteland, bright eyes, brighter smile. Tan plaid coat over faded jeans and a white T-shirt. Glasses with a pale pink frame that matched her jacket and her lips. Hair piled on top of her head in a just-rolled-out-of-bed way. “Hey, Natalie.”
Cars weaved through the busy intersection behind her. Above the mostly gray buildings, the clouds hung thick and dark, promising a downpour. Stormy like those silver, beguiling eyes of hers. She belonged on a billboard or the cover of a magazine. A city girl, if ever I’d seen one.
“You stalking me? Do I have to file a restraining order against you, too?” She laughed.
I wanted to hit something, but instead felt for the little gold trinket in my pocket and rubbed its smooth edges. “Your ex still harassing you?”
“I haven’t seen him in a coupla weeks.”
“Good.” My chest deflated. “How are the classes?” I’d avoided the gym during class hours to avoid bumping into Natalie, putting the whole out of sight, out of mind theory to work.
“Great! Thank you for suggesting them.” She adjusted her purse strap higher on her shoulder, her smile bulldozing my rectitude.
“Good,” I repeated, apparently struck dumb by her beauty.
Lifting her head, she squinted. “I joined your gym.” Her nose crinkled, as if waiting for me to protest.
“I heard.”
Since then, I’d taken to using the back entrance to my office and getting my workouts in before sunrise to avoid bumping into her. It was then I realized how fucked my life had become. A man of honor should be able to resist temptation. Shouldn’t have to rearrange his life because a woman who wasn’t his fiancée stole his thoughts, conscious and otherwise.
“Something wrong?”
“No.” I wanted to hate her. I wanted to hurt her for making me weak. “Nothing. Why?”
“You seem distracted.”
I pretended to be interested in a passing BMW. “Meeting my dad for lunch.”
“Oh.” She shoved her hands into the front pocket of her jeans. “That a bad thing?”
“No. Why?”
A shrug. “Like I said, you seem distracted.”
She had no right to care. She had no fucking right to be concerned for my emotional wellness. I was such a bastard for liking that she’d asked. I had to end
