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He is visiting his suicidal fiancée today to break up with her.
Or maybe he'll realize he's still in love with her.
***
Corine sends over a copy of my contract. Ryan looks it over when he gets home. Deems it acceptable. I sign and we celebrate with a dinner at a fancy restaurant in Santa Monica.
Ryan talks about the TV show he watched at the gym, some horribly inaccurate comedy drama about lawyers. He mocks the incompetent counselors with a verve I haven't seen in a long time. He matches my tequila consumption, getting drunker and sillier with every sip. Who is this guy and what did he do with my boring fiancé?
I check my phone in the bathroom. Nothing from Luke except a promise he'll be back tomorrow. He's probably with Samantha. Staring at her with those big, brown eyes, his fingertips running along her skin, sending electric tingles through her body. If the girl has any sense, she's drinking in his coffee colored eyes, her heart atwitter with daydreams of earning forgiveness on her knees. And, if he has any sense, he's letting her slip her lips around his cock, his hands digging into her stupid brown hair.
But he doesn't have any sense, does he?
She's probably realizing how desperately in love with him she is, and what a horrible mistake she's made. And she's begging him to take her back. She's begging him to take her, to fuck her, even if it's just one more time, even if that's all he wants her for. And, he's eating it all up, because he obviously loves her, and she obviously needs him, and they're already fucking engaged.
Ryan waits for me outside the bathroom. He presses me against the wall, his hips grinding against mine. His lips are soft enough, sweet enough, and I surrender to his kiss, my eyes closed, my mind so numbed by alcohol I barely remember Luke's name.
“I thought you didn't want me to end up on TMZ,” I say and feel my lips curve into a smile. I'm so used to this funny relationship
we have. I know how to act with Ryan. I know how to get what I want from Ryan.
And, for once, Ryan is eager to get something from me. He grabs me roughly, his hands sliding around my ass. I love Ryan, I do, and I do feel something, but it's a candle compared to the fire I feel for Luke.
I kiss Ryan back, pressing my body into his, slipping my tongue into his mouth. It feels good to touch him and have him touch me, but my mind keeps drifting back to Luke and Samantha.
I need to want this more. I need to need this more. I need 15 minutes with Ryan, where my mind will be focused on something other than Luke and Samantha.
Ryan whisks me outside, into a yellow checkered cab waiting just for us. It drives fast, cold air whizzing through the windows, over my increasingly exposed body. I don't think to object to the driver seeing us, even when Ryan pulls my dress to my waist. I close my eyes and surrender to my tipsy stupor. It's easier this way, with Ryan in control of everything. I love him. I have to love him. He's done so much for me. He's protected me. And if I don't love him, then what the fuck am I doing?
Ryan kisses my neck and I close my eyes but all I see is Luke and Samantha, fucking in his car. They've been together before. She knows what to do. She knows how to drive him crazy, how to make him groan, how to make him come.
And, when they finish fucking in the backseat, and they lie together stroking each other’s cheeks, he will realize how much better she is for him. She is educated. She is ambitious. She is available. Hell, she's engaged to him. Or she was. Or she could be.
When we get back to the apartment, I pour another glass of tequila. The images get fuzzy, so fuzzy they could be any two people fucking in some car. Ryan and I. Luke and I.
It could be anyone making those sounds.
I close my eyes and shift my body onto Ryan's. I need these fifteen minutes. I need them more than I've ever needed anything.
So, I grind my crotch against Ryan's, until he's hard, and I kiss him until his hands are on my ass. I bring my lips to his ear and I whisper, “Fuck me.”
“You're drunk,” he says, but he doesn't stop touching me.
“So are you.” I say and I bring his hands to my chest. He closes his eyes, moaning softly. I have him, and I'll have my fifteen minutes.
And, even though it doesn't fill me with electricity, it feels good to taste his lips, and feel his hands, and touch him. It's familiar. It's comforting. It's safe.
I slide my panties to my feet. He shifts his body over mine. He unzips his pants.
I press my hands into the soft fabric of his shirt. The fuzzy images flicker over my eyelids. Two people in a tiny space, completely naked, bodies pressed together.
I tear at Ryan's shirt. He grabs my hands and pins them to my sides. This won't do. Luke would never keep his shirt on.
But it will have to do. It's the only chance I have to shut off my thoughts.
“Now,” I breathe.
I close my eyes and let the fuzzy feeling overtake me.
