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  I stopped thinking, became nothing but sensation when, finally, the pace quickened, my hips were gripped and my legs forced apart to allow him in deeper. I dug my fingers without purchase into the undulating layers of cloth and foam, trying to hold steady as each hard, deliberate thrust nearly knocked me down, flat. I wanted to thrust, to push backward as he moved ahead, to greaten the friction as our flesh pounded together, but found myself instead doing all that I could to just hold on for dear life.

  His movements became frantic against me, and our flesh slapped loudly every time it connected. I cried out, not in pain but with need. In response, my cunt was cupped and pressed hard in the sensitive place where we joined. My world went bright; colors danced behind my closed lids. My muscles trembled before coming to a full, satisfied stop. Jude wasn’t far behind, emptying himself into me with a final, violent thrust and a great shout. Then he stilled and became silent, too.

  Later that night, as we spooned, limbs entwined, in his oddly ornate, wooden four-poster bed, I felt at peace. Every cell of my being was sated and full. Exhausted, we slid together toward sleep with Jude’s hands tangled in the startlingly bright mass of my hair. Just before I slid over the edge into sleepy oblivion, I heard him murmur a name; too tired to do anything but hum a sound between my lips, I figured it was mine.

  Chapter Five

  “So, is it love, then?” Megan swept a ridiculous-looking, rhinestone-encrusted fuchsia feather duster over the shelves of the bookcase that was already, to my eye, immaculately clean. I didn’t answer immediately, not because I had nothing to say, but rather because my mouth was full. In preparation for the cocktail party she hosted that evening, Megan had gone to town preparing fancy, savory little hors d’oeuvres, baking pita chips and flatbread from scratch, and whirling together spices with creamy goodness to make succulent dips that likely carried a week’s worth of calories in every bite. I was at her apartment hours before the party was scheduled to help, supposedly, but as usual, my assistance consisted of stuffing my face with the intended offerings, though I preferred to call it quality control, giving my abject approval over every one. So, since my mouth was crammed with bits of crispy, spiced bread; cream cheese; and spinach, I took my time in replying, which the ever-efficient Megan took as hedging.

  “It’s not that hard a question, Desi,” she said as she moved about the room. “Do you love him, or don’t you?”

  “Of course, I love him,” I replied, and my conscience was saved from the fiery pit of hell because this was true. But there, you see, was where those different kinds of love come into play again. I loved Jude, sure I did, and had for almost ten years. But was I in love with him? After a month of togetherness, of sex so intense it made me delirious, of dinner dates and pillow talk, and the exchange of house keys, I still wasn’t sure. I mean, having loved him for so long already, was falling in love with him really going to feel any different? The only woman I felt comfortable dissecting the topic with was Megan, but it still struck me as…well…inappropriate, somehow, to discuss my lovey-dovey feelings about Jude with his ex.

  Truth be told, this change in the dynamics of our little group of four had caused a thin wall to slide into the space, which had once been wide open and free, between Megan and me. That is, I should say, I felt the presence of this wall, of this barrier tangible to me. Although I longed to discuss it, to talk it through until like the KOOL-AID Man I burst through it and reestablished a connection, I was afraid that talking about it, acknowledging it with words, would confirm its presence that might at that moment exist only in my head.

  Chewing contemplatively on a bundle of cranberries and cheese wrapped in flaky phyllo, I was startled to find Megan in the room with me across the island, slathering some kind of herby-looking thing onto a cracker. She popped it into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. She dusted her hands off on the thighs of her blue jeans, which likely cost her three times more than what a normal person would’ve paid. She tucked a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear, then rubbed a finger over the bridge of her nose. Finally, she lifted those startlingly blue eyes of hers to meet mine.

  “Does he love you?” Her gaze steady and true. I didn’t know what to say, so I stuffed a handful of breaded carrots into my mouth. Didn’t know what to say, because I didn’t know the answer myself. Did Jude love me? Well, of course he did, and he had for a long, long time; I knew that, certainly. But was he in love with me? I didn’t know, couldn’t answer that any more than I could the reciprocal question. But what I really wanted to know was, why did Megan care? Did she, in fact, care? The thought that she might threw me for a bit of a loop.

  I knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that once upon a time, Megan and Jude had, indeed, been in love with one another. But, while their connection had lasted significantly longer than mine with Jude had, it had still seemed to burn fast and bright and had been extinguished just as quickly. And she had done the ending, if I recalled correctly, so was it really possible that a torch might still burn in her heart?

  The answer seemed to lie in her eyes, which were dark with interest disguised as casual concern. I wanted to say something, anything, to remove the curtain of awkwardness, but nothing, not a thing, flowed off of my tongue. I stared at her helplessly with my hands full of crudités that with my appetite gone, I knew I wouldn’t eat. My mouth opened wide, and then closed. I wished for a drink of icy water that could and would unglue my tongue from the roof of my mouth but found myself rooted to the spot, frozen in place, able to do nothing more than breathe and stare.

  Slowly, awkwardly, Megan reached across the island to lay a hand on my shoulder. “Just…be careful,” she told me, her expression deadly serious.

  “I will,” I replied automatically and with the silence broken busied myself with peeling cello wrap from the platters and hauling them into the living room. As I did, my thoughts were consumed with wonder over what on earth she meant.

  It was later that night that I found out.

  Chapter Six

  I stood in a corner of the room with Jude, a glass of red wine in one hand with my eyes glued to the gorgeous sight of Megan as she twirled about her living room, doing a sexy cha-cha to something with a hot and heavy Latin beat and the hands of a very handsome man I didn’t recognize upon her. I smiled, happy she was having such a good time; I, however, wasn’t. Our conversation from earlier in the day threw me out of sorts in the worst possible way and straight into a funk the likes of which hadn’t come over me since the disturbing days of my teen angst. And Jude wasn’t much help, running off as he kept doing to chat with someone else, to munch from the table full of appetizing morsels I had eaten myself sick on earlier in the day, or to fetch yet another drink. I could tell he edged past tipsy and toward full-blown drunk from the pungent fumes on the breath that blew hot and ripe on the back of my neck. True, he stayed put, dutifully, after I snapped at him for leaving me yet again. The last time he had gone off somewhere, playing the social butterfly. In my disgruntled state, I resented his presence if it was going to be offered reluctantly.

  Sulking into my wine, I thought sarcastically to myself that it was shame I wasted my new dress on my undeserving boyfriend. A mere slip of fabric, red silk and black lace, it was one of the most daring things I’d ever worn, and I had envisioned Jude mentally taking it off me with his eyes even as I slipped it on. But, even when combined with black fishnets and four-inch fuck-me heels, it had solicited a simple, “You look very nice, Desi,” from him, and I hadn’t been in the mood to tease a bigger compliment from him.

  The music changed to an old Michael Jackson number, a cheesy one but one that nonetheless filled the dance floor. “C’mon, let’s dance,” Jude said as he tugged on my arm. I tugged back, not sure he’d be able to even stand up unaccompanied by the wall for a whole five minutes, but sometimes when you’re small, you find yourself maneuvered more easily than you would if you were six feet instead of barely five. The long stem of my glass was removed from my hand, and I was
all but carried into the middle of the throng of people. I wondered if Megan even knew all of the people who were currently tromping around her apartment, but she seemed singularly unconcerned, so I let the thought go. And my frosted layer of pure bitch thawed, a tiny little bit, when Jude pulled me close and nuzzled my neck.

  “I love you, babe,” he said. “You know that, don’t you?” I tried to rationalize away the instantaneous flipping of my stomach at his words, telling myself it wasn’t anything I hadn’t heard before from him, but a small trickle of girlish pleasure made its way through. I allowed a smile, foolish and bright, to cross my face.

  I caught Megan’s eye as Jude and I swayed, surrounded by bodies, and was upset when she frowned at me. While I doubted it was a frown of jealousy or of discontent at my happiness, and it was merely a further expression of the concern she had shown me earlier, I still took it harshly, pissed off that any bad vibes intruded on the moment. Deliberately, I turned my face inward so it pressed against the good-smelling flesh of Jude’s chest, which laid beneath the ever-present black T-shirt, and thought that maybe, if I could get him alone later, the dress wouldn’t be such a waste after all.

  I felt his hands lower to my hips, pulling me into a sensuous bump-and-grind he led. One hand slipped between the heat of our bellies and tickled at the soft swell of flesh, and I enjoyed the intimacy of the gesture, the closeness it brought even in the midst of so many souls. When his hand dipped lower, and those clever fingers of his sampled the moisture of my center through the thin silk of my dress, I stiffened, shocked he dared to touch me so intimately in such a public place. Don’t get me wrong. I was no prude, and I’d never been averse to the occasional display of public affection, but this was…kind of weird. What if someone saw? It was completely inappropriate, to my way of thinking, anyways, and especially rude to Megan, our hostess, who was the ex-girlfriend, for goodness sake, of the man who currently touched me in places best meant for a dark room and candlelight.

  I shifted against him, trying to move his fingers to a safer, less intimate zone, and as I did so I felt the press of his full-fledged erection, right into the curves of my soft belly. I opened my mouth to protest but managed only a weak squeak when he began his work in earnest, rubbing his fingers hard and fast over my clit, through the soft silk, which added an extra layer of pressure, in an unmistakably concerted effort to get me off. I felt like I should leave, push my way out of the throng of dancing bodies, to make my views on the matter known, but it seemed that my views became less and less concrete as the seconds ticked by. The pulse between my legs came faster, and my world narrowed to that one hot, bright point. I ceased trying to shove away and instead ground my hips against his clever fingers, begging for more, more heat, more pressure, more everything. Unconsciously, the rest of my body joined in the dance, writhing and rubbing against Jude shamelessly, a straight-up fuck with our clothes on. And I ceased to care who saw, desiring only that Jude continued what he did, continued fucking me with his hand, continued without stopping, until I came. I don’t know if it was the thrill that accompanied the naughtiness of what we did that helped me over the edge so quickly, or if I was merely ripe and ready through no conscious effort of my own. Instead of the long, slow climb to orgasm I normally experienced, I came quickly in a rush against the firm pressure of Jude’s hand as we rocked our bodies to the sound of Michael Jackson. Stunned, I stumbled, and Jude caught me in his arms and held me still. Looking up to see the crystal-clear triumph in his eyes, I wondered if he was as drunk as he’d seemed. He looked so pleased with himself that I had to smile, but felt oddly exposed still, shocked at what I had done, and terrified someone saw. I excused myself to run to the washroom.

  I bypassed the main toilet, which had a lineup three deep, and slipped through Megan’s bedroom to the smaller chamber in the back. I didn’t actually have to pee; I merely wanted to survey the damage caused by sex on the dance floor, to see if I had that unmistakable just-fucked look.

  I did, and I took my time repairing it, relieved to have a moment away from the press of people. The smell of perfume, food, and human flesh. Oddly, the illicit orgasm had relieved me of the black mood I’d been trapped in. After a long, cool drink of water from the ceramic cup at the side of the brass sink, I deemed myself refreshed enough to rejoin the party, to rejoin my boyfriend, and to bask in the light of the words of love he’d spoken to me.

  As I stepped out of Megan’s bedroom and into the long, narrow hall the light faded somewhat though, as I saw them, standing together at the back of a group of people that had joined the line for the toilets. Turned toward each other, they were mirror images, each with a shoulder and hip against the cool green paint and another hand in the matching jeans pocket. It was nothing new, really, seeing Trevor and Jude stand together, which I had seen them do millions of times before. What gave me pause, what had me halting for a startled moment in the doorway of Megan’s bedroom, was the way in which they stood together. Hips cocked, toes turned inwards. Heads tilted. From here, it looked…well, it looked distinctly flirtatious, like they were coming on to each other, though I knew that couldn’t possibly be true. It must just be the angle at which I stood, I told myself; that was all. But still, I held back a breath, making myself dizzy. When Jude leaned in to murmur something in Trevor’s ear, I waited for the touch of their lips.

  It didn’t happen. Even as relief, heady enough to make me dizzy, shot through me, something about the scene dredged up a stream of something thick, thick and sickly, which coiled slowly in my stomach like viscous molasses being poured from its small paper carton. Since I had no other place to go, I squeezed by them in the crowded hall, pretending not to have seen their very male figures standing so intimately, and made my way into the kitchen, hoping for another glass of water, one that I contemplated pouring right over my head. As I stood at the sink, gazing out into the night of the city from six floors up, I saw the reflection of my boyfriend, my boyfriend I knew so well, or at least I thought I knew, approaching me from behind.

  “Hey,” he said, rubbing a caring hand over the nape of my neck. “How’s it going?” I stiffened a bit before forcing myself to relax, wondering…well, just wondering. I turned to face him, and buried my face again into his familiar smell. “You okay?” I didn’t want to lie, but I couldn’t honestly say that I was, either.

  “I’m feeling a bit off,” I told him in complete truth. “I think I might book it, head home for a bath.” Was I imagining the wicked light that came into his eyes, the light that overshadowed his concern? Was this just female paranoia, feeding off of the two very large glasses of wine that had joined the other fluids of my body in the course of the last hour, or was it something else, something real?

  “Want me to go with you?” The offer relieved some of the pressure in my belly. My spirits lifting a tad, I shook my head ruefully and offered up a small smile. “No, I’m okay, but thanks.” I stood on my tippy toes for a kiss good-bye, and the one he offered was deep and delicious, long and soothing, instead of the quick peck I expected. With a full-fledged smile this time, I squeezed his butt, hard, once, before leaving to find my jacket. I just couldn’t muster up the energy to wind my way through more bodies than I had to, to retrieve it from the spare room.

  I eagerly anticipated the fresh air of the cool night outside on my face, thinking it’d clear my head and help me to get a handle on the dredges of my foul mood. Instead, the contrast of the cold from the fevered heat of inside brought greasy nausea roiling into my belly. Fearing I’d empty the contents of my stomach into my surroundings, I opted to walk the ten blocks rather than ruin some poor cabbie’s night by adding the fragrance of eau de vomit to his vehicle.

  I looked up as I started walking and picked out Megan’s window from the dozens surrounding it by counting up and over. It showed the silhouette of the mass of undulating bodies that writhed away behind its screen, looking for all the world like the secret to life was hidden there, in that room, that room filled with joy. But I
knew that it was a pretense, that not every person there could possibly being having as much fun as the perfect party in a beer commercial suggested; I knew somewhere in the mass of flesh, someone else was likely feeling just as outcast as I was. The realization, the suspicion that I wasn’t in it alone, didn’t help to remove any of my misery because, as I walked away from the party and my heels clicking sharply on the pavement was the only noise that could be heard, I felt, somehow, that I still was.

  Alone.

  Chapter Seven

  Something was wrong.

  I couldn’t put a finger on it, couldn’t tell you how I knew, but my woman’s intuition told me something was up. And since it was Jude who kept popping into my head, I figured it had to do with him. I’d never been the kind of woman to create trouble where it didn’t exist, to pick a fight over something that didn’t need to get fought over. But something about this evening, about Jude’s frequent disappearances, about his odd exhibitionist behavior on the dance floor, about his all-around strangeness had an army of little cowboys two-stepping their way around my already queasy stomach.

  Of course, that moment in the hallway. That moment I did my best to forget, but it kept creeping into my mind unawares, mockingly, to announce that there was something I missed, something big, along the way.