On a Tuesday (One Week 1)

I obliged and kept my gaze locked on his as he thrust in and out of me. I cried out with each one—feeling a mix of pain and light pleasure.

“Grayson...”

“Yes?” He slid inside of me again, burying himself deep.

I moaned, unable to say anything else. Just as I was adjusting to his length and his rhythm, grabbing onto his hair to hold on, he suddenly pulled out of me. Catching me completely off guard, he gave me a quick kiss on my lips and flipped me onto my stomach.

Planting kisses up and down my spine, he positioned himself between my legs and slid his cock inside of me.

I couldn’t help but clench the sheets as he established a slower but more reckless rhythm, as he filled me again and again. I shut my eyes as he gripped my sides and controlled me, as he made love to me for what felt like forever.

I felt him stilling behind me—moaning, and he held my hips a little tighter as he found his release.

He whispered something I couldn’t comprehend before pulling out of me and getting out of the bed.

I lay still, unable to move a muscle and seconds later he returned.

“Are you okay?” He pulled me into his arms

“Yes.” I nodded, and we lay entangled in the darkness—his lips casually pressing kisses against mine as I rubbed my hands against his chest.

“What are you thinking about?” he whispered against my mouth hours later.

“Something I want to ask you.”

“Something bad?”

“Not really.”

He rolled me on top of him, looking concerned. “What is it?”

“Can we do that again?”

CHARLOTTE: NOW

Present Day

New York City

I UNLOCKED THE DOOR to my gallery at five o’clock in the morning and hit the lights. I didn’t normally come to work this early, but my latest collection was drawing record attention and I was struggling to keep up with all the orders.

Determined to finish my current work-in-progress, I turned on a pot of coffee and set up my easel near the windows. I rinsed my favorite brushes and set out my newest range of reds.

Checking my emails, I noticed there was a new one from Nadira.

SUBJECT: LAST TUESDAY.

How did it go?

—Dira

SUBJECT: RE: LAST TUESDAY.

It didn’t. I didn’t show up.

—C. Taylor

CEO and Founder, Rosy-gan Cafes & Galleries

I BRACED MYSELF FOR a “Why the hell not?” message, but I didn’t need to explain myself.

The morning I was supposed to meet Grayson, I felt dread and anxiety in the pit of my stomach. I’d written all the things I wanted to say, and most of those things were a mix of “You’re a douchebag,” “I never want to see you again,” and “I can’t believe I’m even speaking to you after what you did to me.”

I’d managed to get dressed and make it halfway to the cafe, but I broke down in tears in the middle of Fifth Avenue, so I returned home and hoped he wouldn’t show up at my place. I hoped he would get the message and do his best to move on like I had.

Nadira’s name popped onto my screen via phone call and I hit the speaker button.

“Good morning,” I said.

“Don’t ‘good morning’ me.” Her voice was terse. “Why didn’t you show up to meet him, Charlotte?”

“I told you,” I said. “I’ll never forgive him for what he did, so there’s no point in catching up or rehashing old memories. I’m over him.”

“You’re over him?”

“Beyond over him.” I slumped in a chair. “I mean, he’s still attractive and sexy to me, but there are no feelings there. I wish I’d known he was going to be at the reunion, though. I would’ve never showed up.”

She sighed. “I told him you were going to be there.”

“What?”

“I didn’t stutter.”

“Nadira, you know what he did.” I felt my blood boiling. “How could you do something like that to me?”

She didn’t answer.

“You know how much pain he caused me. How he literally dropped me like some type of used toy at the end of our relationship. Yet, you told him I was going to be there? I can’t believe my so-called best friend would—”

“Shut the hell up, Charlotte.” She interrupted me, sounding as if she’d been wanting to say those words to me for a long time. “Just shut up.”

Silence.

“I told him you were coming because I think the two of you need to talk,” she said. “Because seven years have gone by and all you’ve done is live in the shadows of a relationship that was probably one of the best things that ever happened to you.”

“Yes, being treated like crap at the end was definitely one of the best things that ever happened to me.”

“Do you know that he’s called me six times a year since you broke up just to ask if I’ve heard anything from you?” she asked. “That he begged me, time and time again, for your fake overseas address because he wanted to find you?”