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Drew left about thirty minutes ago, and I’ve cleared away and grabbed a quick shower.
Coming out, with a towel wrapped low around my hips, I gaze at my empty bed and wonder about what he said. Could it be as simple as that? Is it just that I need to have sex?
I sit on the edge of the mattress and rub my hands down my face, allowing the thought to filter through my mind. I picture myself with a beautiful woman… the two of us writhing around on the bed, our limbs entwined, our bodies joined. My cock hardens and I lie back, closing my eyes and immersing myself in the scene as the woman gazes down into my eyes, her body rising and falling, a breathless need written in every sigh and moan. I roll her onto her back, raising myself above her and she reaches up, touching my cheek with her fingertips, matching my every move, giving herself to me. I give myself back, even as I’m holding her, thrusting into her… taking her.
“Oh, fuck…” I open my eyes, staring up at the ceiling. That wasn’t sex. That was making love… and that’s the last thing I need. Making love implies a relationship. It implies feelings, and worst of all, it implies trust. That’s something I’m incapable of. I’d like to say that’s because of what Sadie did. It would be the simplest explanation. But the truth is, Drew was right. I didn’t love Sadie and whatever problems I’ve got, they go a lot further back than that. It’s been years since I’ve trusted anyone.
Maybe that’s something else I have to thank my dad for… or maybe it’s connected with Mom, as well. Who knows?
I sit up and then stand, ignoring my hard-on, and wander back to the bathroom to brush my teeth. Staring at myself in the mirror, I overlook the tiredness around my eyes and the sadness behind them and I wonder if thirty-two is too old to have casual sex.
Is that the problem?
I’m just getting too old for this shit.
“I guess there’s only one way to find out…”
Chapter Two
Livia
“How’s work going?”
My couch is still a bed, even though I’ve just finished eating dinner, and I lie back on it, holding my phone to my ear. Mom sounds concerned, but that’s normal for her, and while I’d love to tell her it’s great, I settle for, “It’s fine.”
I still feel disappointed Lucian wasn’t more supportive when I spoke to him yesterday, but there’s no way I can tell her about that… or the photographs, or my thoughts about whether I really want to keep working for Lucian at all. I haven’t decided how I feel about that yet, and until I do, I think it’s best to keep it to myself. Mom wasn’t sure about the idea of me moving to Boston in the first place. Leaving home was one thing. Finding my own feet was fabulous. Settling in such a big city was something else altogether. If she got so much as a hint that I was uncertain about my future, she’d be booking me a ticket on the next bus out of here.
“How’s Dad?” I ask, changing the subject. She sighs and I prepare myself for bad news, wondering if that might be the real reason for her call. “Mom? He is okay, isn’t he? He hasn’t had another stroke or anything?”
“No, sweetheart. He’s fine. He’s just a bit low at the moment.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
“Nothing in particular. But you remember what he was like when he first had the stroke?”
“Yeah. He was absolutely convinced he was gonna get back to normal in no time at all, even though he couldn’t move one side of his body, and struggled to speak.”
“Exactly. I’m not saying I didn’t admire his optimism, but now and then, the reality proves a little hard for him to accept.”
“He’s improved so much, though.”
“I know that,” she says. “And you know that, but sometimes it’s hard convincing him. He hates that he’s so slow, that he’s still having to use a walking stick, and he gets really frustrated when he can’t think of the right words.”
“How’s the therapy going with his hand?”
“He keeps trying with it, and we practice every day, but this far down the line, I’m not sure it’s gonna get much better now.”
“So he still can’t write?”
“No. I think that’s the hardest part for him.”
That makes sense. My dad was an academic. Writing was a huge part of his life. I can’t imagine how difficult it’s been for him to give that up.
“Do you want me to come home at the weekend?” I ask.
I know I’m supposed to be seeing Cole, but I’m sure he’d understand if I had to cancel… as long as I explained.
“That’s why I called,” Mom says. “I wanted to check you weren’t thinking of coming, because we’re going away.”
