Come Alive (The Cityscape 2)

“Great,” I said. “So I’ll stop by again next year.”

“Har-har.” He pulled me back into his arms. “Actually, I’m glad you’re here. I have something to tell you.”

“Okay,” I prompted.

“I just heard back from Jeanine about the house. We didn’t get it.”

“Oh.” I exhaled loudly. I felt simultaneously relieved and disappointed. “Why not?”

“She didn’t say, but she’s going to find out and get back to us.”

“Well, that sucks,” I said.

“Yeah it does,” he agreed. “I’m sorry.”

I looked down at his arms around me. “It’s not your fault. You were so sweet to go through the trouble. Thank you.”

For some reason, the tense way he rubbed his eyes made me feel overwhelmingly guilty. I’d spent late nights trying not to wish that life away, and maybe on some level I had willed it. Was this my fault?

“I know we’ll find something else,” he said. “I’m just so tired of this whole process.”

“Maybe we should take a break for a while,” I suggested.

“No, I don’t want to do that.” He paused for a deep sigh. “How was your day?”

“It was all right. I missed you.”

He smiled. “Me too. Speaking of fishing,” he said, gesturing to the photograph behind him, “Hugh and the guys invited us on the boat next weekend. Interested?”

“Gretchen’s party is that weekend. I mentioned it a couple days ago.”

“Oh. I don’t remember that. I’ll tell them no.”

“No, it’s okay. You should go, sweetie.”

“Without you?”

“I won’t be any fun without Lucy, and she’ll still be on her honeymoon.”

“True. What about the party?”

“Well, maybe I’ll go with Gretchen and Greg. Gosh, that is so weird to say. I still cannot believe they’re back together.”

“Which one is Greg?”

“Honey, seriously? I also told you this the other night. Greg, from college. The one who ditched Gretchen to move to Japan.”

“Yeah, sorry. I’ve had a lot on my mind with work and the house. That’s exciting, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Just don’t get your hopes up.”

“Why?”

“You know her. She’s a floozy.”

“A floozy?” I repeated.

“Come on, she’s always with a new guy. If I knew this Greg, I would warn him,” he said with a chuckle.

“You would not. This is different for her. They’re like college sweethearts.”

“Whatever, Livs, I don’t want to talk about Gretchen. Are you sure you don’t mind that I go fishing?”

“No,” I said, clearing some hair from his face. “I don’t mind. Tell them yes.”

“Great.” He kissed my cheek. “You’re the best.”

“Do you want to go get dinner?”

“Shit, I really can’t. If I don’t keep on track I’ll have to come in this weekend.”

“Okay. I’ll see you at home then.”

“Liv?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m really glad that you’re, uh, doing better. I hope losing the house won’t change that.”

“Um.” I felt the color leave my face. I could only think of one terrible reason for the change. “Yeah,” I said. “I mean no. I don’t think it will.”

“Good.” He kissed me on the cheek again and glanced at the closed door. “Also . . .”

“Yes?”

“It’s been a while since we . . . You know.”

I nodded in agreement. “It has been a long while.”

“Think we could give it another go?’

“Of course,” I agreed. “Now?”

“No.” He laughed.

“Why not?” I touched his crotch, and his shoulders stiffened.

“Liv, no,” he insisted, trying to push my hand away, but I was already undoing his pants. I raised an eyebrow and backed away to lock his door.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea . . . ,” he protested.

“The office is almost empty,” I pointed out.

I went to sit on his desk when he stopped me. “Jesus, not on the legal briefs. The couch.”

He walked over and lay lengthwise across it. I climbed up and settled into a straddle over his hips. His hands gripped my hips before bunching up the fabric of my skirt.

“Honey,” I said, leaning over so we were face to face. “I want to go slow.”

“I would like that, too.” He pecked me on the lips. “And finally no condom,” he whispered, tucking some hair behind my ear.

“Well, there were a couple times in the beginning.”

“But you always freaked out halfway through.” We laughed and pecked again. When I drew back, his smile had fallen away. He pressed his lips to mine, holding me by my nape. I felt the passion behind his kiss, but there was something ghostly about it; a s

hadow of a kiss, a kiss that seemed to go right through me. It made me feel suddenly tired and dry, like my eyes had been open for days.

He ran one hand up my blouse and massaged my breast. My nipple swelled into his palm, and he put it in his mouth. His lips kissed down my sternum, and he sat up to urge me onto my back. His mouth continued over my belly until finding its way under my skirt. I could count on one hand the number of times that he’d gone down on me, so I gasped when his mouth closed over me.

“How’s that?” he asked after a moment, glancing up at me.

“Fine,” I exhaled. “Actually, you can be less . . . gentle,” I instructed tentatively. I can do this, I thought. I can make this happen. I reached down to spread myself wider and circled my other hand over my clit.

I can do this, I recited to myself. I remembered Bill as my boyfriend, my fiancé, my husband. We had history. We had a present and a future. His touch was familiar; it was just for me, and mine was for him. I bowed my back and moved my hand faster, frustrated that my body didn’t respond the way I wanted it to. “Finger me . . . Yes,” I breathed when he touched me. “More.”

“More what?”

“More fingers.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

It took a moment until I felt the pressure. I was still rubbing myself, and he pulled his mouth away to watch. Come on, come on, I pleaded. After what felt like ten minutes, but what could have been two, I told him I was ready.

He was over me in a moment, groaning as he entered me. “Shit. Why don’t we do this more often?” His face distorted with pleasure as he found his rhythm. He kissed his way down my neck, and then up to my jawline. I appealed to the ceiling, praying for more than what I had to give.

But my body was still broken.

I wasn’t sure what inside of me had surfaced that night with David, but it wasn’t present now. An orgasm wasn’t even within reach. As Bill worked on top of me, sadness settled inside of me.

“Oh, babe,” he said between gritted teeth. “I can’t wait, I’m so sensitive. I’m going to come.”

“Bill,” I uttered, gripping his arms. “Pull out.”