"Talking is overrated," Sharon coos, touching her bottom lip with her tongue as though she'd been given a juicy steak. Her elbow is on the back of her couch and she's leaning in, pulling at strands of his hairline. "There are so many more things I'd rather be doing with my mouth..."
Keanu rakes his hair, pushing her hand aside. "No really, Sharon. We need to talk. Look, you're great."
She continues to toy with his hair, clearly ignoring him.
"This...," he motions back and forth between them, "has been great."
"You haven't seen anything yet." She lays her hand on his chest, lowering it slowly to circle around his pectorals.
He covers her hand with his, pulling it off his chest and clasping it between his palms. Tilting his head, he hooks his eyes into hers. "You are a beautiful woman, Sharon. You must have so many guys clamoring to be near you."
"Yes." Her other hand is roving now, scratching up and down his thigh with her nails.
"So many I'm sure a woman like you will not...notice...if there's one less."
Her eyebrows squish together. "What do you mean?"
"I mean...my attention is elsewhere."
"Give me five minutes, Keanu, and I'll have all your attention."
"I don't think you're hearing me. My thoughts are elsewhere. Sharon, my heart, right now, is...elsewhere."
Her hand stops and her eyes narrow. "Who is she?" she demands, with lips pressed together in a thin line.
He offers a kind smile and gently squeezes her hand before removing it from his thigh. "Does it matter?"
A puff of hot air shoots out of her nose. "No. It doesn't," she sneers. "Because whomever it is, didn't seem to stop you from coming here tonight, did it?"
"I wanted to explain, face-to-face. Put a stop to any misunderstanding directly. You deserve that."
Her elbow returns to the back of the couch and her fist presses into her cheek. She stares out her floor-to-ceiling windows, refusing to acknowledge him.
He takes a deep breath. "I should go," he stands up, reaching for his jacket strewn across her accent chair. "I hope this won't affect our friendship?"
She slices the air with her hand. "Just. Go."
He drops his chin to his chest and shoves his hands deep into his pockets, rocking back and forth on his worn timberlands.
"Now!"
He squeezes his eyes shut and nods. "Okay. Okay." Walking toward the door, he looks back one more time. "I'm sorry, Sharon. Really."
She lurches from the couch and stalks toward the door, whipping it open, nearly taking off his nose. "GO!!" she shouts, pointing out the door, then pulling her jacket closed and folding her arms across her chest.
Arrows shoot from her eyes as she watches him saunter down the front steps and swing his leg over his Norton. She continues to watch him fasten his helmet, push the kickstand up with his foot, then turn the key and roll the throttle, ramping up the motor.
She isn't heartbroken.
The sex is good, and the attention of a younger man always does a little something for the ego. Yet she isn't heartbroken. She isn't in love. She isn't going to be crying herself to sleep. But she is furious. She is embarrassed. And she is certain he doesn't know who the fuck she is or he wouldn't have dared to turn her down.
YOU ARE READING
The Beginning
Fanfiction"Come here," his voice is gentle again. She gives in, placing her small hand in his. Lifting the cloth, he sees her blood spill out from her palm. He inhales sharply through his teeth and presses the rag back down. They sit there like that for abo...
