And for one night, I’d indulge that memory. Let myself fantasize about what it would have been like to have her. Just once. If I knew it was my only chance.
I let my eyes drift shut and imagined her. In my mind, she was wearing that wrap dress, the one she’d had on the night we kissed in my office. It had been thin and silky, blue and white. She stood framed in my doorway, the light behind her, her hair loose across her shoulders. She’d stride toward the bed and tell me she’d had enough of my fake noble bullshit and we were going to make this right. In bed.
I’d reach for her, find her warm and solid under my hands as I pulled her to me. Her lips would part beneath mine as I rolled her under me. I reached beneath the sheets and took my cock in hand, stroking it, feeling it hot and thick in my grip. I imagined it was her hand as I stroked and pumped, jerking off to the thought of her thighs spread before me, my cock sinking into her at last, thrusting once, twice before coming hard and way too fast inside of her tight, wet passage. I would kiss her and kiss her, pull her against my chest and hold her. I’d finger her, lick her, make her come again and again. I would spend myself inside of her until we both were exhausted and weak from lovemaking. Then I would hold her, would spend a whole night with her in my arms, and then kiss her awake in the morning.
I had never been so restless, so fixated on one woman. I cleaned up and went back to bed, falling asleep to thoughts of her, of my mouth on hers and her arms wound around my neck.
13
Cat
Sarah Jo and Layla were a distraction and a comfort whenever we talked. They knew I’d had a crush on my boss, we’d flirted a little, and that I was sad now. They didn’t know we had made out against his office wall or that I had worn out a set of double-A batteries thinking about the man. They didn’t know that I missed him so much.
I wanted to text him—all the time—about stupid, hilarious things I saw or thought and knew he’d appreciate and laugh about, but I held myself back. I’d learned my lesson after all. Texting him got me nothing except rejection so I didn’t contact him. I didn’t see him at all.
For a few days, I moped around. Then when Jason from marketing asked me out for coffee, I said yes. We had lattes and split a piece of buttery coffee cake and talked shit about people who manage to live without carbs. It was fine. There was no spark whatsoever, but he was nice enough. He didn’t take my mind off Brent for even five minutes, but I had to start somewhere. Like going out with a nice man who didn’t deserve to be compared to a guy who didn’t even want me.
So when Jason asked me to go out again, for a real dinner, I agreed. Then he pissed me off by sending me flowers, a little glass cube of white roses that was waiting on my desk. It was a considerate and romantic gesture completely ruined for me by his name on the card. I wanted them to be from Brent. Some lavish apology that would send me rushing into his office to try out the plush couch in the corner.
I walked over to marketing and thanked Jason for the beautiful flowers. I even said I was looking forward to our dinner. Over lunch, I had an eyebrow waxing appointment and bought a new top to wear on the date. I was going to act like this was something to look forward to. Even if it felt like looking forward to a root canal. Going anywhere with another man felt wrong. It felt like I was being disloyal, unfaithful even. It didn’t’ matter to my stupid, pathetic heart that Brent Waltham had shown me the door. No, I should be true to him forever. No cute guys from marketing, no flowers or coffee or dinner. I should have just wandered around my apartment, refusing to change out of that wrap dress like some demented Miss Havisham.
It didn’t matter that I wanted a full and happy life. And even if Brent wanted nothing more than his career and an unblemished reputation, I wanted more. I wanted a partner, a man who listened to me and laughed with me and kissed me extremely well. A man who’d spoon up behind me in bed and let me put my cold feet on his legs. And Brent Waltham didn’t want to be that man. Not even if I’d debase myself by sneaking around with him and pretending in public like we’d only met a couple of times. Like I wasn’t already crazy about him.
Jason from marketing was no better off than Blandy had been, even worse in fact. Blandy had only been compared to my Forbes fantasy man, who had been charming when we met. Jason had to stand up to the memory of the sexiest man, the greatest kisser I’d ever known. He was doomed to fail, poor latte-drinking bastard. With his stupid flowers. They were lovely flowers. They were just from the wrong man.
And this was how it was going to end—with me dating a series of wrong men, marrying a wrong man because the right man had reservations about being with me, reservations that were stronger than his feelings for me. Even when nothing was stronger than what I felt for him. He had refused to sneak around and be secret lovers, but I still wanted him in spite of that. In spite of the fact that he didn’t choose me. How pathetic. I had to move on.
And moving on meant going out with Jason, just for somewhere to start. I got dressed up. I made myself text Sarah Jo and Layla to tell them how excited I was. I was faking excitement. I might as well get used to that because I’d be faking orgasms soon enough. I sighed. No, I wouldn’t fake those. I’d just teach the guy what I liked. I deserved orgasms, even if they were with the wrong man.
14
Brent
In a week, I’d be on my way to Greece. The travel arrangements were made, all my interim work had been delegated successfully to qualified people. Tom’s wedding was looming ahead of me. Instead of a fun break, a chance to spend time with friends in the Greek Isles, I considered it with dread. If I hadn’t cared so much for Tom, I would have canceled. He was part of my inner circle. He was a brother. For a brother, I could endure this for a few days. The celebration of a new beginning for a couple in love. I could even put aside the recollection I had of Tom jumping in the pool with the strippers in Hawaii.
Briefly, I considered inviting a date to the wedding. It would make me feel better, perhaps. Except there was no one I could invite who would feel like a partner in crime, there to celebrate but also make soothing sarcastic comments during the toasts at the reception. No one but Cat. Cat, who I had kissed a few times in my office. Cat, who was far too young and an employee. Cat, who felt like the only person who really spoke the same language I did. She was the person I wanted by my side at that absurd, decadent wedding celebration. I couldn’t ask her after the way I’d treated her. And the objections I’d had to a relationship with her remained valid. It was unethical, improper, unfair to her.
Sifting through my emails and jotting down notes, I looked up when Millie entered my office.
“Brent, sorry to interrupt. Is your off-the-books special project with the girl from HR completed?”
“Yes, why?” I said.
“I’m removing her from the carte blanche list then. In case I ever take a sick day, I keep that sort of information up to date for whatever poor bastard you get to take my place,” she said wryly.
“You may remove her from the list, thank you.”
She continued to stand in the doorway.
“Anything else?” I inquired.