Chapter 32
32
Two Nights Before
T he Shonda Rhimes talk at the TV Academy had been totally worth the drive to the Valley. The dinner with colleagues, not so much. Who suggests a sushi place when one of the members in your party is vegan? And my former colleague Greg needed to start doing something with that unruly haircut of his. But then again, so did I.
I’d just parked at home and had taken the elevator at the parking level of the Eastern Columbia. I was checking my overgrown hair in the mirror inside the elevator and thinking I should make an appointment with my hairdresser before my mother would accuse me of being unkempt again when the elevator stopped at ground level.
Aargh! I had no desire to make small talk with any neighbor at the moment.
When the doors of the elevator opened and I saw him waiting at the building’s main vestibule, he didn’t say a word, didn’t even acknowledge me. But his eyes told me, I’ll take the stairs .
The doors to the elevator closed again and I made my way to the tenth floor alone, thinking about him. Was he working out more? Had I seen him running more often? Had he gotten new clothes fit for rebels? He looked so damn sexy.
I got into my place, left the keys inside the crap bowl at the entrance, checked the time, and realized it was still early.
I smiled, dimmed the lights to a mood-affecting glow, set the sound system to play Mitski’s “First Love/Late Spring,” and started undressing slowly and playfully.
I opened the pleasure box, popped a cannabis-infused, chocolate-covered blueberry, and chose a toy.
I settled on the sofa and let my mind drift to thoughts of sexy half-undressed people and romps on the beach. I was on the edge of a much-needed release at the end of a long, testing day when I heard the front door open.
I guess I probably smiled again. Wider.
Am I interrupting something? his eyes said.
Please join , mine told him.
He took his T-shirt off first and even in the nonexistent light, I could see the lines of that tattoo of his that I was so surprised to discover six months before when our wordless, sex-filled game had started.
He’s definitely putting in more hours at the yoga studio. Or did he ditch yoga for some CrossFit? But I didn’t let those words reach my eyes. He didn’t need to know I liked this toned version of him so much more or how much I was obsessing over him even when we weren’t together.
I kept watching while he continued undressing. In the spirit of full disclosure, I wasn’t only watching. My toy was still humming earnestly. And yes, there are few things more arousing than watching your lover stripping while you are getting yourself off.
You know George complained about us being loud that night? My neighbor is a gossipmonger, and I can’t stand the sight of him—mainly because he always wants to talk to me. But he was telling the truth.
David approached from behind and I made room for his body. I kneeled on the sofa and, when his thighs surrounded my legs, I sat on his lap. His cock pressed against my ass.
He teased my neck with his teeth. The skin of his chest was lighting my back on fire. The heel of his left hand pushed against my breast and crushed my throbbing nipple.
He somehow managed to take control of the vibrator between my legs and pushed it hard against my clit. I shuddered in pleasure. He was so acquainted with all the gadgets in my collection, he knew exactly how to work that particular one for maximum efficiency. But I was close again and I didn’t want to be the one doing all the screaming this time.
My arm left the contour of David’s strong thigh for one moment and pointed to the one place in my living room where we both knew I kept condoms.
He chuckled, and I could feel his breathing in my whole body. But I wasn’t being lazy like he seemed to imply. His arms were simply longer. His chest left my back for one fraction of a second while he reached for the pleasure box on top of the coffee table.
I missed his body dearly.
He was soon back. I heard the foil package opening. And when I felt him inside me, I sighed in relief. Everything felt right.
I’m not sure how long the loudness lasted. I just know I wasn’t the only one to scream. We were still on the sofa, gasping for breath and interrogating each other’s eyes about what we could do to each other next when we were distracted by a screeching noise outside. It sounded like a car speeding on Broadway, leaving a trail of burnt tire rubber on the pavement.
The imitation midcentury digital clock on top of my media console flickered and I saw it was 10:21 p.m. I relished yet again at the idea of it being so early and bit his lower lip.
What I didn’t realize at the time was how vital that time stamp would be. I had listened to the voicemail Dashing Henry had left his lawyer. The police had told me Henry’s fatal hit-and-run happened right before that, at around 10:17 p.m. That car bolting at high speed on Broadway was the killer.
Even if he looked like one, David wasn’t that killer. He was a liar and the worst possible kind of ex, one who wouldn’t disappear, but not the person responsible for Henry’s death.
I warned you about red herrings.