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“And I want your cock inside me.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Please.”
“I'd love nothing better,” he replies.
“But…?”
“But we need to talk.”
I stare out the window for a while. Then, I hear my phone ring with another text from Luke: “Maybe you need some space to figure all this out.”
“If I want space I'll ask for it,” I reply.
“Maybe you don't know what you need.”
“You sound like Ryan,” I reply and turn off my phone. I prepare my happy face, but I don't hear Ryan's keys in the door until 11. I turn off the lights and pretend I am asleep. I can't bring myself to lie to him again.
When I wake up Thursday, I try to avoid the lure of my phone. But it is so tempting with its sleek glass screen and its plastic pink case. Luke wouldn't be able to stand being compared to Ryan. He must have said something.
I lock myself in the bathroom and turn my phone on.
His reply is the first thing I see:
“You're right. I'm sorry.”
My heart thumps in my chest. Does he want to talk to me? Does he want to fuck me? Does he want to meet me to end things once and for all?
“I have rehearsals today. Meet me after,” I reply. We decide to meet after work, at a hotel near his office. He tells me it's only because Ryan is suspicious. He tells me not to get the wrong idea.
***
I make use of my wrong ideas, channeling my lust into Marie Jane. I am bubbly, excited, and energetic during rehearsals. I am loud, giggly, and obnoxious during breaks. Laurie applauds my verve, but asks me to cut back on caffeine when we actually shoot next week.
My stomach is a mess of nerves on my drive to the hotel. I can barely feel my fingers on the steering wheel. I can barely feel my foot against the gas pedal.
I am the first to arrive at our room. I change in the bathroom, stripping off my casual work clothes, changing into a matching pink lingerie set. I lie on the bed and will myself to calm down, but my head is a flurry of activity.
Luke arrives a few minutes later, wearing a sleek, black suit. I watch as he removes his coat and tie, undoing the top two buttons of his shirt. He's going to torture me with the time it takes to remove that shirt, isn't he?
“Are you trying to kill me?” he asks as I slide out from under the covers.
“No,” I say, and I don't waste any time. I pull him onto the bed and press my lips into his. He groans and I move his hands to my chest, over the soft fabric of my bra.
“We need to talk first,” he says, and ever so politely pushes my body away from his. I brace myself for the worst. What's wrong with him that he would agree to meet me at a hotel then deprive me of his body? What's wrong with him that he would delay something so painful? Why not just get on with it?
“So you and Samantha…” I don't bother to ask an actual question. If I don't ask if he loves her, he might not say he loves her.
“Are officially not engaged.”
/> “Oh,” I say. Then why does he look so miserable?
“I told you before. It's been over between us for years.” His gaze drifts to the floor as he lowers his voice. “Listen, Alyssa, I know what you and Ryan did last night…”
Is he going to antagonize me for having sex with my fiancé? It's not like he could expect anything else.
It's not like you didn't know it was wrong.
