“Here.” I handed her a towel and wrapped another around my waist.
I walked into my closet and pulled out the bottom dresser drawer where I’d tossed more of the random things I’d found hidden around my place since she first left. I grabbed a pair of black leggings, an oversized Boston U. T-shirt, and a pair of panties. And for some reason, I left her other clothing items inside and closed the drawer.
I returned to the bedroom and sat down next to her, handing her the clothes.
“Thank you,” she said softly, looking surprised. “Where did you find these?”
“Where they didn’t belong.” I put on a pair of black sweatpants. “But you’re welcome.”
She looked at me as she put on her clothes, giving me that strange look she often gave when we finished having sex.
“Did I hurt you?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “I would’ve told you in the shower.”
“I meant at the gala. Did I grab your arm from behind the way you did to me here?”
“No.” She shook her head.
I sighed, hesitating. “I am sorry, actually.”
“For talking to me the way that you did?”
“For doing it publicly.”
“Jake—”
“Yes,” I said, taking her hands and helping her stand up. “I’m sorry for talking to you that way.”
“So, it won’t happen again?”
“Not unless you feel the need to talk to my brother again.”
“I won’t…” She bit her lip. “Were you adopted? Is Evan your stepbrother?”
“This conversation can’t happen,” I said. “Drop it.”
“Evan never mentioned a brother when I interviewed him at my newspaper years ago. I’m just asking.”
“Gillian, if you and I are going to work—” I tried to keep my voice calm. “If whatever the hell this is is going to work, I mean, I need you to drop this and never bring it up again. It has nothing to do with whatever the hell we’re doing.”
She smiled a sarcastic smile. “Are you saying you’re now open to more since you do enjoy talking to me? That you could see yourself falling in love with me?”
“This is hardly love.”
“Then it’s hardly lust.”
“Then we’ll just call it us.” I rolled my eyes and led her into the guest bedroom, picking up her clutch on the way and handing it to her. Hitting the lights, I walked her over to the bed and pulled back the sheets. “You can sleep here tonight. I’ll have you taken home in the morning.”
“Thank you.” She climbed into the bed, looking sexier than ever.
“How did you get here tonight?” I asked.
“My roommate dropped me off.”
“You’re lying.” I saw it in her eyes. “How did you really get here?”
“I took the bus.”
“Were there no cabs or Uber drivers available?”
“Yes, but some of us weren’t born rich, so we have to wait until pay day to have access to our money.”
“I wasn’t born rich,” I said, roughly fluffing the pillow behind her head. “Next time you’re that angry, just get a cab. I’ll pay for it.”
She looked stunned. “Is that an open invitation to stay at your place whenever I need to?”
“I think you’ve stayed in my place more than enough.” I slipped my hands beneath her thighs and pulled her closer to me. “But fuck no, that’s not an invitation to stay here at all. Outside of tonight, I can guarantee you’ll never spend the night here again.”
“Too worried you’ll catch feelings for me?”
“Too worried you’ll think I’m catching feelings for you.” I trailed her lips with my finger. “I’m not, Gillian, but I do enjoy talking to you. Sometimes.”
She let out a soft breath and started talking again—launching into one of those long monologues, slowly turning me on with each and every word that fell from her puffy pink lips.
This time, when she finally finished, I just stared at her. Then I realized I needed to end this conversation right now before we had sex again, before I failed to get enough sleep for my flight tomorrow night.
I didn’t say anything else to her. I simply took one last look at her, hit the lights, and walked away. I walked into the kitchen, put away the shot glasses and bourbon, and retreated to my own room where her previous strawberry scent was just now beginning to fade away.
Laying back on the bed, I stared at the ceiling, wondering how the hell we’d once again gone from arguing to fucking to cordial conversation.
Every other woman I’d argued with in the past—no matter the discussion, instantly landed on my ‘never speak to again’ list. Our ties were immediately cut, our communication forever frozen to that one particular moment in time. Yet, multiple arguments later, and I wasn’t feeling the need to block Gillian’s number or replace her with someone else.
When I finally shut my eyes hours later, I drifted into the easiest sleep I’d had in months. But when I woke up, I realized that I wasn’t in my own bedroom anymore. I was laying next to Gillian and she was wrapped in my arms.
Blog Post
Gillian
Present Day
I don’t want to get my hopes up, and I don’t want to forget how quickly he’s capable of switching the hot and cold switch, but I really like him. A lot more than I probably should…And regardless of the nonchalant tone he sometimes takes with me, the way he now kisses me, and the way he takes his time fucking me, only reveals he likes me, too.
That said, I think this man is going to get me fired…
The discretion we shared before—the perfectly weighted “Meet me here” at this time, is now replaced with “The second I see you, we’re fucking.”
He takes my hand in public—leading me away with no regard for our hundreds of coworkers or whoever else may see. Each time, I attempt to play it off as some type of silly game, but I always lose because he only fucks me harder every time I do that. And the day he fucked me in an abandoned food court stock room in Minneapolis/St. Paul International, I started looking up new jobs.
It’s only a matter of time.
Write later,
**Taylor G.**
1 comment posted:
KayTROLL: You’ll be getting yourself fired. Just like before. At least this time you won’t have anyone else to blame but yourself…
Blog Post
Gillian
Present Day
* * *
There are now nightly phone calls, endless emails as we fly overseas, and text messages that never fail to make me wet. And yet, despite the fact that we are talking more than ever, that he only occasionally sends me those “This message is not about fucking” lines, he only lets our conversations skim the surface.
Questions about his past or his family are still abruptly cut short, any mention of ‘us’ is quickly dissolved into other safe topics, and when he can’t find another distraction, he ends our discussion with sex.