DIRTY[COMPLETED]✔️

Chapter Eleven

I hadn’t seen or heard from Gavin since the night his mother had thrown books at him in the backyard. I looked at his house every night when I returned home from work and listened carefully at my walls for sounds of violence, but all had remained quiet. I saw his mother leaving in the morning, sometimes, but she never spoke to me. Her glare said enough. A new car, belonging to the infamous Dennis, was parked on our street. He appeared to have moved in permanently, but if his presence eased or exacerbated the situation with Gavin and his mother, I heard no sign of either. I thought a few times of going over or calling to see if he wanted to help me finish off the dining room, but I didn’t.
I’m not brave that way, with confrontations. It was easier to let it go, ignore the unease that had filled me that night and at the memory of the cuts on his arm. Easier to put it all from my mind.
The same way it had been easier to avoid talking to Chad after our argument. Thankfully, my little brother isn’t as much of an emotional wimp as I am, and he’s unafraid of reaching out.
He’d been smart, too, delivering the gift to my office to make sure I got it all right. A glass vase, filled with marbles and “Lucky” bamboo, tied with red ribbon. Far better than flowers.
I hadn’t been in my door five minutes when the phone rang, Chad calling to be certain I’d received the delivery.
“Hello, punkin,” he greeted before I could even say hello. “Peace?”
“Peace.” I set the bamboo on the center of my kitchen table. “You’re the best brother, you know that?”
“I try.”
We chatted about our jobs. About Luke. About the books we were reading and the television shows we were watching. We didn’t discuss my mother or father.
“Anything else going on with you, sweetie?”
I could tell Chad expected me to say no. “Actually…yes.”
“Hmm?” It was easy to imagine him sitting up straight. “Spill.”
“I’m seeing someone.”
“What? I mean, great!”
I laughed, embarrassed at his reaction, even though I’d expected it. “You don’t have to act like it’s a miracle, Chad.”
“Well, since I haven’t heard about the Red Sea parting again or anyone walking on water, I’d say it’s as close as I’m ever going to get.”
His teasing didn’t make me feel better. “Stop it.”
“Oh, sweetie, I’m happy for you. You know that.”
“I know. But it’s…” I couldn’t finish my sentence. I didn’t know what to say.
“I know, Ella. I know.”
I didn’t correct him on the name. “His name’s Dan. He’s very nice.”
“Uh-huh.”
“He’s a lawyer.”
“Okay.”
I appreciated the control Chad must have been exercising in not overwhelming me with questions. “He wears fun ties.”
“How long have you been seeing him?”
“About four months.”
Chad didn’t say anything for a moment or two. “Wow.”
“Stop. Just…please. Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” He sounded defensive. “Don’t jinx you? What?”
“Don’t point out to me that this is the first man I’ve seen more than once in years. Since Matthew.”
“Sweetie, Matthew’s name shouldn’t even cross your lips.”
“Maybe I’m not as good at holding grudges as you are, Chaddie.” I touched the curling stem of one of the bamboo shoots. “It’s not like I’m still holding a torch for Matthew. He’s not the reason why I haven’t seen anyone.”
Chad’s snort told me he didn’t quite believe me, but he didn’t argue. “This Dan man, he’s good to you?”
I chewed my lip before answering. “He is. Yes. So far, at least.”
“And you like him.”
“Yes. I like him.”
“Good for you, sweetie.” Chad sounded so sincere I didn’t have the heart to tell him I had my doubts about Dan’s place in my life. “Good for you.”
“It’s not that serious,” I cautioned. “We’re just seeing each other. It’s not even exclusive.”
“Are you seeing anyone else?” He always knew just how to poke me, one of the advantages and disadvantages to having siblings.
“No,” I had to admit.
“Is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“And you’re using condoms, I assume?”
“Chad, you don’t need to lecture me on safe sex. But yes.” I shook my head at his taking over the role of lecturer.
“Why don’t you know if he’s seeing someone else or not?”
“Because I haven’t asked.” The questions annoyed me, not only because they were nosy and prying, but because I had thought about asking them and simply never had. “I don’t really care to know.”
“How can you not care to know?” He sounded indignant on my behalf, and I loved him for it even as it annoyed me further. “He could be out banging half the city!”
“He could be! What difference does it make! He’s not my boyfriend! I’m not his girlfriend, Chad. We’re just seeing each other on occasion, and we sleep together when the mood strikes us. It’s a very convenient arrangement. That’s it.”
“That’s not just it, Elle,” my brother said. “Not four months worth of convenience. I know you better than that.”
“You don’t know everything,” I told him, the childish answer flying from my lips before I could stop it. “It just works out, that’s all.”
He greeted that answer with a small sigh. “Okay. But remember, Elle, even Princess Pennywhistle eventually found her prince.”
I held the phone from my ear to glare into it, a gesture useless but satisfying. “Princess Pennywhistle is a made-up character. She’s not real. She’s fiction. And bad fiction, at that.”
“Hey! Princess Pennywhistle is great! I can’t believe you’d say that about her!”
I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. “Princess Pennywhistle was a know-it-all.”
“At least she knew how to admit when it was time to stop fighting dragons and start saving princes,” Chad said, and I hung up on him.
�
What Chad had said was enough to set the wheels turning. I’d been denying my feelings for Dan, convincing myself it was sex and nothing more. Something casual. No attachments. But I no longer could pretend that it wasn’t becoming more than that.
Dan’s office building was nice. Big. Lots of windows overlooking the street, and plants that looked healthy. A secretary who kept her hair silver and her glasses on a chain around her neck. His office, like mine, had a door and, like mine, a nicely engraved nameplate on it.
“Mr. Stewart said for you to go right in.” The secretary smiled at me, no evidence in her eyes that she knew I wasn’t there for a meeting. She gestured toward the door, closed, and I put my hand to the cool metal knob.
I counted. Fast, so fast nobody would know what I was doing, should they be watching me. I can do that now, not like in childhood when I had to count out loud, and slowly, and always gave myself away. I counted, multiplying the number of letters in his name with the number in mine and dividing it by two. No significance in the results, but the act of doing the calculation calmed me enough so when I turned the knob and opened the door, I could enter the room with a smile that didn’t feel as though it screamed “faker.”
He was on the phone when I entered. He held up one finger to indicate he’d be done in a minute, and I amused myself by looking around his office. He had framed diplomas on his wall. Good schools. He had some framed photos, a smiling Dan with people I didn’t recognize. Family, some of them, I could tell by the resemblances. Others looked more like standard meet-and-greet publicity shots, two men shaking hands, their grins broad and somewhat fake, while in the background people mingled on a golf course or in a hotel ballroom.
He had a nice, broad desk. Flat. His computer squatted on a smaller desk behind him, so he could twist his chair to work on it while leaving his other desk free for paperwork. He had a little bit of work on his desk, nothing like the usual stacks of papers and folders and files found on mine. This peek into his personality amused me. The way he arranged the cup holding his pens, the cube of notepaper, the small container of paper clips, the stapler. The desk calendar, unblemished with doodles, but the blocks for every day filled with neat printing.
I set my purse down on his desk and came around behind him to look over his shoulder at some of the things he’d written. To my surprise, I saw my own name there. More than once. No notation as to what it meant, just the letters written in dark ink.
That he’d noted the days he’d seen me made me look at him, but his concentration still focused on his call. What did this mean, my name marked with importance apparently equal to such events as “meeting with John” and “Second Quarter reports due?” I checked today’s date and found my name at the bottom of the block. He’d written it in a different color ink, perhaps only after I’d called.
He’d been keeping track. I had not. I wondered if I should feel guilty, that what we were doing meant more to him and less to me. Maybe he marked down the names of every woman he saw—and that reminded me that I didn’t know if he was seeing other women. I checked quickly, but though he had, indeed, marked down some feminine names, all were incorporated with other things. None of them stood alone, like mine did, a name without explanation or with meaning discernable only to him.
“Sorry about that.” He hung up the phone and reached for my wrist, tugging me down onto his lap before I had the chance to pull away. His chair swiveled. I had to grab his shoulder to steady myself. “You’re a little early.”
I was not early, I was exactly on time, but I didn’t argue. “Your secretary sent me in.”
“She’s under strict orders to send all gorgeous women in to see me right away. No waiting.” His tone was teasing as he tilted his head back to look up at me. His hand fell naturally to my hip, fingers warm through the thin linen of my skirt.
“Oh, really.” I frowned, also teasing. “And you get a lot of gorgeous women coming to see you?”
“Not today,” he said. “Today I have only one.”
“Well.” I pretended to try and get up from his lap. “I’d better get out of the way so you can see her, then.”
He laughed, squeezing me gently. “Are you hungry? I thought we might hit the Sandwich Man. Grab something and take it to the River Walk? It’s a nice day. How much time do you have?”
“As much as I want. One of the perks of being VP,” I told him. “I get to take long lunch breaks.”
He made an impressed face. “Ah, well, what do you know, I happen to have nothing scheduled for this afternoon, which means I can take as long as I want, too.”
We smiled at each other, and I saw the desire in his eyes at the same moment I felt it flare in mine. His gaze shot to the door. “It’s not locked.”
“Are you expecting anyone to come in?”
“No.”
His hand slid between my knees, then up higher. When he found the bare skin of my thighs above my stockings, he gave a little groan.
“You’re killing me, Elle. You know that? Killing me.”
“That’s not good,” I said. “I don’t want to do that.”
He shifted my weight on his lap, and his erection pressed my thigh. “See what you do to me?”
I leaned against him. “Very impressive.”
His hand moved higher and around my hip to tug at my panties. “Why do you bother to wear these when you come to see me? You know I’m only going to take them off.”
“Next time I’ll remember.”
He laughed. With coordinated efforts we undid his pants, removed my panties, sheathed him. The arms of his chair were open so I could slide my legs through and straddle him.
He fucked me hard and fast, but I’d been thinking about him all morning and didn’t need much but a few strokes from my hand to get to the edge. He looked down between us, at my hand touching myself, my skirt pushed up around my hips, and he licked his lips before looking up to meet my eyes again.
“I love it when you do that,” he murmured.
“This?” I rubbed my clit in slow circles as I rocked against him, my breath catching.
“That,” he agreed. “That you don’t need to wait for me to guess what you want, you just…ah, fuck, Elle.”
We came together and he pulled me close as I put both my arms around him. We stayed like that for a moment, breathing hard, and then I extricated myself from him and pulled a small package of baby wipes from my bag to use.
He watched, amused. “You think of everything. Did you know we were going to do that when you said you’d meet me here?”
“I didn’t know for sure, no.”
“You’re just always ready.”
I grinned at him. “Dan. C’mon. Is there any other reason we get together? Should I not assume this is going to happen?”
The moment the words left my mouth I knew they were wrong. Something perhaps meant to be thought, not spoken. His grin faded, brilliant blue-green eyes shuttered, and he looked away.
“Yeah. I guess you’re right.”
I’d hurt him, but wasn’t sure how to fix it without acknowledging that something was wrong. Ignoring it was easier, and that’s what I did.
He was quieter than usual on the way to the river. We stopped at the Sandwich Man and picked up sandwiches and drinks before walking the last block to cross Front Street. A lot of people had the same idea, a nice lunch in the fresh air. We had to walk a distance before we found a bench. We walked the way in silence I pretended was normal.
By that time I didn’t have much appetite, but I unwrapped my food anyway and shook a little packet of mustard before tearing it open and spreading it along the turkey. Dan had ordered a sloppy steak sub with grilled onions and peppers I could smell from my seat.
“Whoa,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “Someone’s going to need some gum.”
He looked up at me without smiling. “Why? You planning on kissing me?”
I should have expected him, at some point, to get sick of me, but when it actually happened it felt like he’d taken an inch of flesh from some tender spot and twisted it. I looked quickly down to my sandwich. I put aside the empty mustard packet and put the roll back together, but I didn’t eat.
Dan looked out toward the water. The Market Street Bridge bustled with cars, and the trees on City Island had turned green. On a nice summer day like today, the carousel and the kiddie train would be in full gear. Maybe tonight there’d be a baseball game at the stadium. Maybe I should ask him to go there with me, try the batting cages. Eat ice cream. Ride the carousel.
I didn’t ask him to do any of those things. Those date type things. I could have. I even wanted to. I just…didn’t.
Dan chewed. Sipped his soda. Swallowed. Wiped his mouth and fingers with his napkin. He ate without getting sauce or grease on his clothes, and I surreptitiously admired him. I had to struggle not to drip mustard on my skirt. I’d already splashed iced tea on my shirt.
We’d often
sat in silence before but it had always been companionable. Comfortable, I realized with growing dismay. I’d grown comfortable with Dan, and today, we had become worse than strangers. We’d become people who had almost, but not quite, become friends.
I drank my tea but couldn’t force the sandwich down my throat. I crumpled the napkin in my hands, shredding it. Small shreds of paper littered my skirt, and I brushed them away.
“I didn’t mean it,” I said finally. “What I said before.”
“You meant it. Besides,” he said with a shrug. “It’s true. Isn’t it?”
It should have been true, but I knew it wasn’t. “I’m sorry, Dan.”
He shrugged again, not looking at me. His eyes scanned the Susquehanna River, wide but not deep, its gray-green surface ruffled today by the breeze. He wrapped up the remains of his lunch and tucked it back into the bag, sucked the last of his soda until the straw crackled along the bottom, and put that in, too. He tossed it in the trash basket next to the bench.
“Ready to head back?”
I hadn’t even eaten more than a few bites, but I nodded and packed it all up to toss. The trash basket was made of metal mesh, interlocking octagons formed by the intersections of the metal. I counted 123 of them before I turned back to him.
“Ready.”
Dan had put his hands into his pockets and undone his suit jacket. The breeze pushed his sandy hair back from his forehead. The tree overhead cast dappled shadows on his face, looking in profile so different than full-on. I saw small lines at the corner of his eyes I’d never noticed before.
I didn’t know his birthday, or if he had siblings, or where he’d grown up. I didn’t know his favorite color, or if he’d played sports. I knew how he tasted and smelled, and I knew the length and girth of his penis, the curve of his ass, the pattern of freckles on his shoulder, the number of hairs surrounding his nipples. I knew he liked to laugh and that he could be kind or demanding, or kindly demanding or demandingly kind.
“My favorite flavor of ice cream is teaberry.” As I said it, the flavor carried on memory burst on my tongue. “You can’t find it many places, but that stand over there on City Island has it. And waffle cones.”
One eyebrow raised, he glanced over his shoulder at me. “Yeah?”
“Yes.” I nodded.
I didn’t deserve for him to give me an inch, and he didn’t. It made me respect him more, that he didn’t trot after me like a puppy expecting a treat. He looked back over to City Island. The breeze flapped his tie. Today it featured Sponge-Bob Squarepants.
“Maybe we could go there sometime,” I offered. “Get some?”
He looked at me again, and I saw in his face he wasn’t going to buckle. But I liked that about him, that he didn’t let me walk all over him. That he wasn’t willing to let me use him. That he was willing to push me.
“Maybe we could,” he said.
I gave him a tentative smile. One step forward. He couldn’t know how much courage it took, but then…I didn’t want him to know.
We stood apart like that for a bit longer before he took his hands out of his pockets. The smile he gave me wasn’t as bright as usual, but it seemed real enough. “I’ve got to head back.”
I nodded, disappointed but relieved, too, that he didn’t want to walk and talk. A little at a time was all I could handle. I needed time to think about this, all of it. Where it was going. Where I wanted it to go, or not.
“Want me to get you a cab?”
I nodded again. My office wasn’t within walking distance, especially not in business clothes.
“Thanks for lunch,” I said before I got in the cab. I hesitated, watching another pair of lunchtime trysters saying goodbye with quite a bit more passion than we were displaying.
I watched him from the window as the cab drove away. He waved, a not-so-tall man in an expensive business suit and a tie that flapped in the breeze. I waved back.
�
I had the best intentions when I got into my car and started to drive. My childhood home wasn’t far out of the city. A forty-minute drive, in Saturday traffic. Too close and too far, too.
The town of my childhood hadn’t changed too much. Wide, tree-lined streets. Houses more than fifty years old, some of them turned into specialty shops or boutiques. There were a few more gas stations and chain restaurants, but other than that, I could have been riding my bike, my hair in pigtails. Maybe going to the library or the swimming pool.
Instead I drove my car and turned down the street toward my parents’ neighborhood. The same houses, painted the same colors, greeted me. The trees had grown. Porches had been added or driveways paved. A vacant lot had sprouted an out-of-place apartment building.
I meant to visit my father. I truly did. My mother might be a martyr and a drama queen, but for her to admit his illness meant he was really sick. Dying, perhaps. I should talk to him before he did that. I knew all too well the empty feeling left behind when someone I loved died before I had a chance to make my peace with him.
Yet, when it came right down to it, I didn’t pull into the driveway. I stopped across the street to look at the house in which I’d grown up. My stomach twisted, acidic as if I’d drunk too much coffee.
The last time I’d been in this house had been the day I left to attend a college my mother didn’t approve of. She’d told me never to come back, and I’d been too happy to oblige. Her tune had changed but mine hadn’t. I hated that house and the things that had happened in it, and I couldn’t go back. Not even to see my almost certainly dying father. I drove on by, made the turn at the end of the street and headed back toward the city I’d adopted as my home.
�
Marcy seemed surprised to see me when she opened her door, and no wonder. Night had fallen by the time I got there, and I hadn’t called first. She opened the door to let me in, and I saw Wayne at the table as I stepped inside.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m interrupting.” I turned to go, but she stepped in front of me.
“Don’t be silly. We were just having something to eat. C’mon in.” Marcy looked at me. “Elle. Come on. Want a drink?”
I’d been drinking already, a few shots of vodka at a bar down the street, but I nodded. “Sure. Whatever you’re having.”
They exchanged a look I could have interpreted if I hadn’t already been blurred with booze. Wayne got up and went to the cupboard to pull out a bottle of lemon-flavored vodka and a couple of shot glasses. Marcy pulled some lemons from the fridge and the sugar bowl from the counter.
“Lemon shooters?” she asked.
I nodded again. “I’m sorry to barge in like this on a Saturday night. You must have plans.”
“Actually, we’re just waiting on some friends.” Marcy sounded embarrassed. “We’re going to play some games.”
“Board games?” I blinked at her answer. It seemed so incongruous with the picture of the Marcy I knew.
Wayne laughed. “Yeah. Board games. Some Saturday night, huh?”
His arm went around Marcy’s shoulders and he kissed her temple while she swatted him. They smiled at each other, sharing a secret. I watched them, feeling an outsider.
“I should go.”
“No, Elle, stay. It’ll be fun. I promise.” Marcy reached to pull me toward her. “Stay.”
I stayed. We drank. Marcy’s friends arrived, and we pulled out board games. Balderdash, Guesstures, Pictionary, Trivial Pursuit. We divided into teams, boys against girls, and we drank lemon shooters while we scarfed nachos and pretzels. The girls won two out of three, but the boys didn’t seem to care. I was the only singleton there, but nobody seemed to care about that, either. At least nobody mentioned it, and if there were any pitying looks shot my way I didn’t notice.
It had been a long time since I’d been part of a group like this. Laughing, playing games. In fact, I had to think about if I’d ever been part of a group like this. In high school I’d been quiet, a brainiac. My best friend Susan Dietz had moved away when we were in tenth grade and after that…well, after that, things changed. In college I’d had friends. Matthew had pulled me into his group and made me a part of it. Late-night laughing, drinking, playing games. Kissing and more under blankets while watching scary movies. I’d had a year, at least, of friends and parties and love, before that too had changed.
Those memories didn’t make me melancholy. They were part of my past. The truth. Not all the memories were bad.
The party dispersed around 1:00 a.m. with much hugging and tipsy taunts about mental prowess. I was soundly squeezed and petted by most of the people there, as Marcy’s friends seemed to be as hands-on as she was. I didn’t really mind, although I’m not much of a hugger.
“I’m glad you came over tonight.” Marcy wrapped her arms around me. I gave her back an awkward pat. She kissed my cheek, and I squirmed away with a laugh.
“Thanks for letting me stay.”
“Are you gonna be all right getting home? Wayne can take you.”
Wayne looked up from his flopped-out place on the chair. “Sure, Elle.”
I shook my head. “Thanks, but I can take a cab. Don’t worry.”
I might’ve been drunk, but not so drunk I’d get in a car with Wayne, who’d been drinking steadily all night. He gave a languid wave and a goofy grin, then turned his attention back to the television. Marcy walked me to the door, stopping me just outside it and closing it partway behind us.
“I’m glad you came tonight. Are you all right?”
I nodded. “I just thought I’d stop by. See what you were up to. I didn’t mean to crash your party.”
“You didn’t.” Marcy glanced over her shoulder, then back at me. “You had a good time?”
“I did.” I didn’t have to fake a smile. “I haven’t played a board game in…well, forever.”
“You should come again.” Pause. “Bring Dan.”
I made a face before I could stop it, smoothing it with effort. “Sure. Okay.”
“You won’t? Did you stop seeing him?” She leaned in her doorway, arms crossed, and I realized Marcy had barely been drinking at all.
An awkward position to be in, deflecting questions from someone way less intoxicated than myself. “No. I’m still seeing him.”
“Good.” Marcy grinned.
I said nothing. She squeezed me again. This time I hugged her, too, if only so she’d release me sooner.
“Elle? Are you all right?”
Her question stopped me at the elevator, and I turned. “Sure.”
“Are you sure? You look a little down.”
I almost told her about my dad then, but it’s not something that should be blurted out in a hallway at one in the morning. Especially not after the consumption of much alcohol. So I did what I do best. I lied.
“No, just a little tired.” I smiled and waved at her as I got on the elevator, and the closing door cut off the sight of her concerned face.
Again, I had the best intentions. Plenty of cabs cruised past the block of bars and clubs still swinging in full gear. I’d heard this section of Second Street referred to as Hookup Alley because of the crowds of young singles cruising it on club nights. The police probably called it something else. Their cars lined the street as officers patrolled in groups of two and three, keeping the rowdy and the horny in line. I headed for the bus stop, but I didn’t make it.
Three years ago I’d been one of the regulars on Hookup Alley. I’d had no problem letting boys buy me drinks in exchange for a dance or a feel. Sometimes, lots of times, a hand job or even a fuck. Because I didn’t dress like a tramp, or dance on the bar, my hookups were less like conquests and more like secrets. My little secrets.
Tonight I wasn’t dressed for clubbing, but I went inside, anyway. The bouncer scanned my driver’s license and took my ten dollars without cracking a smile. I had a better reception when I went inside. The club at this hour had a sense of desperation about it. Last call was in less than an hour. Time was running out to make the hookup. As I pushed through the crowd gathered around the door and entered the bar area, heads turned. Fresh meat had arrived.
Girls looked me up and down, checking out my clothes and turning to comment behind their hands to their girlfriends. Boys stared, their beers in their hands. And I? I, for my part, slipped into an old role with as much ease as slipping into a favorite pair of worn jeans that hug your ass just right.
I didn’t stop to think about why I was doing it. Why, when I had Dan, I had come to a bar to see how far a stranger would take me. I moved through the crowd without making eye contact until after I’d ordered my drink. Then, sipping, I turned and surveyed them.
Striped shirts seemed to be in season, and two out of three men there wore them. The rest wore T-shirts emblazoned with clever slogans like Kiss Me, I’m a Pirate. I wasn’t looking for a pirate.
The group of girls in front of me had clustered around three young men who appeared to be enjoying the attention. They bumped and ground individually with the ladies, all of them laughing and looking quite drunk. They made quite a spectacle.
The man next to me, tall, dark-haired, slightly older, pointed with his beer bottle. “Five girls. Three guys. Someone’s gonna get left out.”
He had to lean in close so I could hear him, and I didn’t bother looking any further. I turned to him and smiled. I raised my beer in his direction, like a toast.
“They look like they’re having fun,” I said.
He nodded. The music here was inconsistent, one minute a hip-hop ode to the female posterior and the next a hard-edged rock ballad full of angst and woe. At the moment, the song had softened into a retro-pop tune that seemed to make everyone want to bounce.
He was cute. I leaned closer. He smelled good, even after a night sweating in smoke. I leaned back. Our eyes met. I let him take me out to the parking lot, where I got in the backseat of his car and he put his hand up my skirt.
I didn’t ask his name, and he didn’t offer it. I told him my name was Jennifer, and I was twenty-two. He seemed to believe me. He got into my panties with fumbling fingers as he unzipped his pants and put his erection into my hand.
He understood the etiquette of Hookup Alley and didn’t press for intercourse. He also attempted, at least, to get me off, and it wasn’t quite his fault that he didn’t. I made the appropriate noises and writhed beneath him, though I was as far away from coming as a woman can be without being dead.
He came after about five minutes of jacking, which was before my wrist started to ache but about four minutes after I’d lost interest. He ejaculated into my fist with a loud cry I hoped no passing cops would seek to investigate and collapsed on top of me like he’d passed out. We stayed that way for a minute or so, until I pushed him to get up.
We blinked at each other without saying anything for a moment. I wiped my hand on the tails of his shirt. He looked down with a grimace but didn’t complain. I sat back from him and rearranged my clothes.
“Can I give you a ride home?” He scored points for chivalry, at least.
“No, thanks.” I smiled. It wasn’t his fault he’d been meant to be a distraction.
“Are you sure? Because—”
I got out of the car before he could finish. I didn’t feel drunk anymore. This time, when I hailed a cab, I actually got in.