Chapter 15 Connor
Connor
Twenty-two more days.
And I'd get to see Hannah again.
“We just had a new listing over in TriBeCa,” Bonnie said from her perch on the edge of my desk. “Maybe we could meet there Sunday? Get coffee after?”
The office was empty except for us, fluorescent lights humming overhead. I should have gone home hours ago, but home was just a bland studio corporate rental, somber as a tomb.
“This weekend’s not great,” I said, not looking up from my screen.
“You’ve been saying that for weeks.” She leaned closer. “Come on, Connor. Just coffee.”
My phone buzzed with the name: Goldilocks.
My throat closed in fear. She’d never called before.
We’d texted a few times—confirming the wedding date, her thanking me for leaving good coffee in the apartment—but not a single phone call in the month since I’d left Saratoga.
My brain spiraled with things that could be wrong. Someone attacked her walking home from the bar at four a.m. She confronted her old boss and he retaliated. Sebastian found out where she was living. The stress finally crushed her and she—
I grabbed the phone. Bonnie was still close enough to hear, so I kept my voice warm and intimate. “Hey baby, everything okay?”
Bonnie mouthed, “Baby?”
I held the phone away from my ear to mouth back, “My girlfriend.”
She grabbed her bag with a muttered, “You could have said that,” and headed for the elevator.
“Fucking great, baby.” Hannah’s voice slurred through the speaker. “Did you know ‘smy birthday?”
Not an emergency, just a good old Friday night drunk dial.
Relief flooded through me, followed immediately by something warmer when she laughed—this loose, unfiltered sound I’d never heard from her before.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” I said, shutting down my computer. Instead of the office feeling comforting, it suddenly just felt… empty. Like hearing her voice reminded me how alone I’d been. I grabbed my coat and headed for the elevators. “How are you celebrating?”
“Teresa took me out with her friends, and they’re all so young. They ordered body shots, Connor. Body shots. Where’s the dignity in that?”
I snorted, stepping outside into the early November cold. “How old are you turning?”
“My mother would tell you it’s rude to ask a woman her age.
” Hannah’s voice got that sharp edge it always did when she talked about her parents.
“Of course then she’d also tell you that by the time I turned thirty-five—thirty-fucking-five, by the way—I should be married with kids or some bullshit like that.
If she had her way, I’d have kept my mouth shut and become Hannah fucking Callihan. Shoot me now.”
Something crashed in the background.
“Instead I’m sleeping on the couch like a teenager.”
“I told you to sleep in my bed,” I said, walking down the street toward my apartment.
“Yeah, yeah, I am. A metaphorical couch. The existential couch of life.” She let out a long sigh, her voice going rougher, raspier. “Why didn’t you come?”
I frowned, crossing at the light. “Where, your birthday party?”
“Yeah. That too.”
Wait. That too?
“I didn’t know about it,” I said carefully. “You wanted me there?”
“I told Teresa to invite you.” Her voice dropped lower, that raspy quality that drunk people got late at night.
“You’re the only person I’ve met at the bar that I actually like.
Most guys just hit on me and expect free drinks, but they don’t actually get to know me.
They don’t look at me like you do.” She paused.
“But then those guys hang around and linger. You’re the only one I wanted to stay. You left anyway.”
My hand tightened around the phone. “I didn’t want to leave. I liked Saratoga, but my job—”
“Why couldn’t I have met you when I still lived there?” she murmured. “Everything would have been different.”
“I wasn’t here yet,” I said quietly. “I was in Saratoga until July, when—"
“Is it December third yet?” she interrupted. “Why isn’t time moving faster?”
“Twenty-two more days,” I said quietly, unlocking my building door. “I’ve been counting too.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Where are you?”
“Walking home. Just left the office.”
A taxi honked down the street and she sighed.
“God, I miss that sound. I miss everything about New York.” Her voice went dreamy, wistful.
“I miss the bodega on Bowery and Broome that was open twenty-four hours—the one where the cat slept on the newspaper rack. I miss taking the Q train over the Manhattan Bridge at sunset when the whole city lights up like it’s on fire. "
My breath caught, thinking of my mom's adoration of driving over the Golden Gate. Sure, it takes an hour to drive three miles after that, Connor. But the view over the Bay… isn't it worth it?
But Hannah just kept going. "I miss getting dollar slices at two a.m. and arguing about whether Scarr’s or Joe’s is better—it’s Joe’s, obviously.
I miss my old dry cleaner on Lafayette who called me ‘Miss Hannah’ and always had my clothes ready early.
” She laughed. “Everything changes there but somehow it stays the same, you know? The bodega guy retired and his son runs it now, and he knew my order too. That’s what I miss—being known. ”
I stepped into my apartment, something twisting in my gut. I’d felt that way in Saratoga—known. But here in the city, I was anonymous again, just another suit. Maybe that’s what we both wanted from each other—the life the other one had left behind.
“I’m being stupid. Forget I called.”
“I won’t forget.”
“But I should let you go. You probably had plans.” A pause. “Were you with someone when I called?”
“Yeah.”
“With a woman?”
My pulse picked up. “Yeah.”
“Falling in love with snickerdoodle lady, huh? Lucky bitch.” She laughed, but it sounded hollow. Then: “Hey, why didn’t you come?”
There it was again. My hand stilled on my tie.
“I would have swallowed, Connor.”
“Jesus, Hannah.” I palmed myself through my pants, already half-hard just from her voice.
“Last month. In my bed—your bed, whatever.” That raspy edge crept back into her voice. “You were naked too. You made me come. But then you just jerked off when we could have…” She trailed off.
The image slammed into me: Hannah naked in my bed, her skin flushed, those brown eyes dark with want, her lips parted as she came apart under my hand.
“Didn’t you want to fuck me?” Her voice got smaller, uncertain in a way sober Hannah let on.
I had to brace myself against the doorframe. “I did. But I was already too turned on just from watching you, I couldn’t have stopped it if I tried. Trust me, I wanted it.”
“Oh.” She went quiet for a moment. “I wish you were here to watch me now.”
Then I heard it. The soft buzz of a vibrator.
Heat shot straight through me. “Hannah, are you—”
She giggled. “What are you wearing?” Then she giggled again and repeated it in this terrible, breathy phone-sex-operator voice: “What are you weeeearing?”
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“No. But things fall apart when I try to do the right thing, so why not do what I want?” The playfulness dropped from her voice, replaced by something rawer. “Connor?”
My hands shook as I loosened my tie, toeing off my shoes. “My suit. Just came from work.”
“Captain Three-Piece.” She laughed, breathless. “The same one from the engagement party? When I went down on you?”
The image flashed behind my eyes—her on her knees, her perfect lips stretched around my cock.
The buzz got louder. I heard her gasp, and something about that sound—breathless and needy—made me unzip my trousers and let them drop on my way to the bedroom.
I wrapped my hand around my cock, stroking slowly. “Are you in bed?”
“Mm-hmm. Your bed.” She took a shaky breath. “The sheets don’t smell like you anymore. I’ve been here too long. It’s my bed now, not yours.”
That shouldn’t have hurt, but it did. Like she’d already moved on, already made my space hers in my absence.
“I’m so wet,” she whispered. “I’ve thought about this so many times since then. You watching me like you wanted to devour me.”
I sat on the edge of the bed, stroking faster. “I wanted to taste you.”
“Next time.” Another gasp. “Next time you can— oh fuck, Connor… I wish it was your hand. Or your mouth. Or—” She moaned, and the sound went straight to my cock. “Would you have fucked me? If I’d asked?”
“Yes.”
“Even though it’s a bad idea?”
“Especially because it’s a bad idea.” I tightened my grip, stroking harder.
“I’m gonna, oh shit, I’m—”
She cried out, and I came with her, biting back a groan as I spilled over my hand. My whole body went taut, then loose.
For a moment there was just breathing on both ends. Heavy. Ragged.
Then I heard her sigh—that long, boneless sound of endorphins flooding her system. The buzz clicked off.
A soft moan, almost like she was settling into sleep. Then a snore.
“Hannah?”
Another snore, gentle and steady.
I almost stayed on the line just to listen to her breathe, but that felt too much like something a stalker would do.
Or a boyfriend.
“Happy birthday, Hannah,” I whispered. “Drink some water.”
I hung up and stared at my phone, my heart still racing, my hand still sticky with come, completely and utterly alone in this bland corporate apartment that would never smell like her.
Twenty-two more days.
It might actually kill me.