“Whatever she told you, don’t do it,” he goes on, sotto voce. “Be rational.”
“It’s nothing,” I assure him. “Just an old friend. Bye, Mom. Bye, Rusty.”
“Wait!” Rusty shouts. It’s the most dramatic wait I’ve ever heard. “Wait, wait!”
Then she powers over on her short legs and runs straight into my leg, both arms going around it, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Bye Seth,” she says into my upper thigh.
“Bye, kiddo,” I tell her, and lean down to plant a kiss on the top of her head. “Keep your dad on his toes, all right?”
She looks up and just bares her teeth at me, making a grrr sound.
“Just like that,” I tell her, and then she runs back to her blocks.
I leave my mom’s house, get in my car, and drive to Harrisonburg without stopping.Chapter Twenty-TwoDelilahStill Six and a Half Years AgoI get to the hotel before he does, and I have a drink. Then another. Both whiskey sours, both stronger than you’d think in a hotel bar.
Then I get a room and pay in cash. Not two days ago, my lawyer suggested that any unseemly behavior could be used against me in court if Nolan felt like making this more difficult or dragging this out.
Not that it really matters. We’ve agreed in writing to split the house down the middle, and after that he keeps what’s his and I keep what’s mine. It’s all in a trust, any way. We don’t have kids or other shared property, so according to my lawyer, after the mandatory six-month separation I’m free and clear.
Right now I’m subletting, using my dad’s money to live, figuring out what to do next. I know it’s a luxury that I don’t need to have a plan yet.
Another whiskey sour. I try to make friends with the bartender, but she’s not really interested. I google go to college for art on my phone.
When Seth walks in, it feels like the whole bar turns sideways, then rights itself. He looks around for a moment, sees me sitting on a stool, walks over. Hops up himself.
Orders a whiskey and puts his hand on my knee below the bar, on bare skin. I turn toward him.
“Thanks for coming,” I say. “And on such short notice.”
Seth just gives me a long, slow look. I’m wearing a tank top and shorts, and I wish I were wearing either more or less. More, if I wanted him to take me seriously.
Less, if I were being honest about what I want.
“Want to go sit in a booth?” I ask, nodding toward the back. His hand has already crept a couple inches up my thigh, and there’s a corresponding ache in my core. “Easier to talk.”
“Sure,” he says, that sandpaper-on-velvet voice low.
We pretend to talk for another five minutes, but we don’t really say anything. Already his hand is up my shorts and I’m practically in his lap, his erection thick steel under my thigh, when we finally kiss.
I moan when we do, because I’m drunk and a little desperate and a lot horny, because I’m twenty-three and just got divorced and I want someone to fuck me without hoping he’ll knock me up.
In response Seth bites my lip and shoves his hand under my panties, stroking one thumb over my slick folds right there in the hotel bar.
The booth’s not dark enough. People are starting to look over at us but before anything can say anything, we throw back the rest of our drinks and I pull Seth to the elevator, the fifth floor, into the room I haven’t even seen yet.
I’m out of my clothes in seconds, then him. We haven’t even gotten to the light switch and I’m on my knees, his cock in my mouth and then my throat and his hand in my hair and I moan again with pure relief that this is happening, that my long mistake is finally over.
Relief that I’m wanted, not tolerated.
Too soon Seth pulls my head back, drags his thumb over my lips.
“Bed,” he says, quiet in the dark. “Now.”
He pushes me in front of him, sprawls me back onto the white expanse. Spreads my thighs and slides three fingers into me and strokes himself with the other hand and oh God I can’t stop moaning, whimpering, making desperate little noises like I’m starved for attention.
“Condom?” he asks, crooking his fingers inside me so hard my hips rise off the bed in pleasure.
“It’s okay,” I whisper.
For the first time since he walked into the bar, Seth pauses.
“Birth control,” I say again, pushing my hips against his hand. “It’s fine.”
Technically it’s an IUD. Technically those three little letters are the lynchpin of my divorce, but none of that’s important right now.
The only important part is how much I want Seth to fuck me bare.
He pulls his fingers out, licks them clean as I stare up at him. It’s something he’s never done before but holy shit it’s hot, watching him casually taste me as he strokes his huge, thick cock.