Chapter 17 Barbara
BARBARA
Iwake up feeling groggy, almost hungover. Sex intoxication? I definitely felt like Ethan’s cock drugged me yesterday. I also hurt.
My lower back aches.
My thighs ache.
My ass aches.
My soul aches a little too.
I groan into my pillow. “Oh my God. What the hell was that?”
I’m so thankful I took an extra day off work.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and for a moment, I think it’s Seb. Then I remember Seb is actually Ethan, and I roll my eyes.
I reach for the phone, patting around the nightstand like a granny without her glasses, and notice it’s Basia who’s texting.
She actually has perfect timing. Emily is on her honeymoon. Morgan is busy at work because her boss got caught embezzling, and she’s taking over his clients. And I need to talk to someone about… this… sexcapade.
Basia:
You alive?
Barely.
I flop onto my back and stare at the ceiling like it has answers. It does not. The ceiling is mocking me.
Me:
Define alive.
Her reply is immediate.
Basia:
What did you do?
Oh, you know.
Normal Sunday night activities.
Laundry.
Snacks.
Getting hunted and ravaged by a man I swore I’d never let touch me.
My fingers hover. I can’t do this over text. I don’t have the emotional stamina to see my own confession in print.
Me:
Can we talk? Like in person?
Basia:
Central Park in 45? I need a walk anyway. Caleb keeps hovering too close when we’re indoors.
Ah, yes. Her mountain of a bodyguard. Deliciously intense.
Me:
See you then.
I drag myself out of bed like a corpse escaping its grave, shower, throw on comfortable leggings, a knit sweater, and sunglasses the size of my personality issues.
Still sore and confused.
Still replaying Ethan pinning me to the warehouse floor and whispering Run’s over, little bee.
God, my brain is a traitor. Or is it my pussy? One of those.
Central Park is its usual chaotic stew of strollers, joggers, tiny dogs in sweaters, and aggressively happy tourists.
Basia spots me first. Her hair is in a ponytail, and she’s wearing a mint-green coat with a soft pink scarf. Very ‘cute girl next door.’ Very not ‘woman being stalked by a creep and guarded by a man who looks like he eats steel beams for breakfast.’
“Hey,” she greets, pulling me into a hug. She smells like coconut shampoo and eau de anxiety.
“You look stressed,” I say as we fall into step along one of the quieter winding paths.
Basia snorts. “Caleb tried to follow me. I escaped by threatening to set off the fire alarm.”
I bug my eyes out. “You did not.”
“I did. He looked so betrayed.” She sighs, looking a bit guilty. “I’ll text him later. Maybe.”
We walk a few more steps before she glances sideways. “Your turn. You’re giving off… ‘post-traumatic slutty’ energy.”
I choke. “Excuse me?”
“You know what I mean.” She waves a hand. “Something happened. Big eyes. Weird posture. You’re walking like you rode a horse yesterday.”
Kill me. Kill me now.
I tug my scarf up to hide my face. “I’m not discussing this in public.”
Basia scoffs. “We’re in the middle of Central Park. No one cares.”
A corgi wearing boots trots by. He cares. He definitely cares.
My newest friend bumps her shoulder into mine. “Come on. Spill it. I know that look. It’s the ‘Emily, I made a questionable decision’ look.”
“Well, Emily’s on her honeymoon,” I sigh dramatically. “And you know Morgan’s busy as heck. So you’re all I’ve got.”
“I feel honored,” Basia says deadpan. “Now talk.”
I inhale deeply. Exhale shakily.
“Okay,” I start. “So… last night… Ethan and I…”
Basia raises an eyebrow. “Already off to a concerning start.”
I ignore her. “We had sex.”
She blinks. “I assumed that part. You look like you’re in physical recovery.”
“Basia!” I hiss.
“What? I’m being supportive!”
I groan. Why did I come here? Why do I have friends?
I run my hands over my face. “It wasn’t just sex. It was—oh my God, I cannot believe I’m about to say this out loud—it was a simulation.”
She stops walking. “Like… a sex simulation?”
“Not initially! It was a horror sim.”
Basia blinks at me. “…a horror sex simulation?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Let me explain before this becomes a kink meme.”
She laughs, and we resume walking. Slowly. People with walkers are passing us. I can’t help it if my coochie was demolished.
“So,” I begin, “you know how Ethan is… Ethan.”
“Nerdy. Smug. The emotional maturity of a golden retriever hopped up on espresso.”
“Yes, exactly. That. Well…” I lower my voice. “I told him about one of my fantasies.”
Basia’s eyes widen. “You told him? Voluntarily?”
Is it hot today? I mean, it’s only February…
“Shut up,” I mutter.
“What kind of fantasy?”
I stare straight ahead, refusing to make eye contact.
“Barbara,” Basia insists.
“I’m thinking of moving to a different country,” I announce.
She stops again. “Barbara.”
“Okay!” I hiss. “Fine! A chase scene.”
Basia’s mouth drops open. “Like… horror-movie chase?”
“Yes,” I admit reluctantly.
Basia doesn’t let it go. “With him chasing you?”
“Yes.”
By now, her eyes are comically large.
“And you running in… oh God… were you wearing clothes?”
“Barely!”
She covers her mouth with both hands like she’s trying not to shriek on the sidewalk.
“And he—he built the simulation? Like… custom?”
“Sort of. Modified a training exercise he made as a joke for the boys.”
“Barbara, that’s—” She flails helplessly. “—that’s the most unhinged, intimate thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”
“I know!”
“And then you two…?”
I’m mortified. “He caught me. And then he—then we—then—”
“Nope, don’t want the visuals,” she blurts, hands up. “I’d like to remain uncorrupted.”
But then she peeks at me.
“You liked it.”
I press my lips together. Then press my thighs together.
She gasps. “You did.”
“I’m confused,” I whisper. “I’ve never… like, been with someone who… listens? Not just in the ‘yeah, babe, sure’ way. But actually listens. I mean, he was monitoring my vitals. Made sure I was okay as he was telling me just how he’s going to use me.”
Basia blushes crimson. “Okay, don’t say things like that in public. I have a heart condition now. Caleb is going to sense it through his freaky bodyguard telepathy.”
I laugh weakly. But then my smile drops.
“And afterward… in the car… he was sweet,” I admit quietly.
“Oh no,” Basia whispers. “Sweet is how it starts. Sweet is the gateway drug.”
“Right?” I fling my hands. “He was all attentive and soft-spoken and weirdly vulnerable. And then he got intense again. And then sweet again. And now my brain is soup.”
She nudges me. “So… you’re into him.”
“I am not into him,” I say immediately.
Basia looks at me like I just said I’m not into oxygen.
“You literally let the man hunt you.”
I make a wounded noise. “It was consensual!”
“Exactly my point.”
We keep walking until we hit one of the quiet lakeside paths. Ducks quack at us judgmentally. Even they know I’m a slutty mess.
“So what’s the actual problem?” Basia asks gently.
I swallow. “What if it wasn’t just the fantasy?” I admit. “What if I liked… him. All of it. Him being attentive. Him knowing what I needed. Him…” I wave helplessly. “Caring.”
Basia’s expression softens. “Oh, Barbara.”
“I don’t do this,” I whisper. “I don’t… lose myself in people.”
“You’re not losing yourself,” she says. “You’re feeling. There’s a difference.”
I snort. “Sure. Great. Fantastic. So now I get to have feelings and trauma and orgasms all at once. Love that for me.”
Basia laughs. “You sound like Morgan when she first told me about her and Damien.”
I wave her off. “No. No, this is not a Morgan-Damien situation.”
“Well,” Basia says thoughtfully, “you’re both being wooed by intense, intelligent men who want to protect you and ruin you simultaneously.”
“Basia, please.” I roll my eyes. “And who says ‘wooed’? Is this a regency novel?”
“I’m just saying,” she shrugs. “Maybe we all have a type.”
“Oh my God.”
We walk a little more in silence, the cold air nipping my cheeks.
Then she nudges me. “So what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
“What do you want to do?” she asks gently.
My stomach does that awful fluttery thing. Not anxiety. Not lust. Something worse. Hope.
“I want…” I bite my lip. “I want to see him again.”
Basia squeezes my hand. “Then see him.”
“But what if I end up completely losing myself to him?”
She grins. “Then he’ll have to lose himself a little, too.”
I groan. “Why are you good at advice today? You’re supposed to be the chaos friend.”
Basia blinks innocently. “I can multitask.”
We loop back toward the park entrance, just as a rare ray of sunshine pierces through the clouds.
Basia’s phone buzzes—Caleb, undoubtedly.
She sighs dreamily and rolls her eyes at herself. “I should go before he breaks into Central Park and tranquilizes a duck by accident.”
“Tell him hi from me,” I tease.
“Absolutely not,” she says. “He’ll get ideas.”
We stop at the curb, and she pulls me into a hug.
“Barbara. Whatever you decide,” she murmurs, “don’t be afraid of wanting things that make you happy.”
My throat tightens. “Thanks, Bas.”
She gives me one last encouraging smile before typing something on her phone and heading off.
I watch her go. Then I pull out my phone. There’s a text waiting.
Ethan:
Dinner. 7 p.m. Don’t flake.
My heart does a very stupid, very dramatic somersault. I text back before I can overthink it.
Me:
Fine.
His reply hits instantly.
Ethan:
Wear something I’ll want to rip off.
I stare at the screen for a solid ten seconds. Then I reply.
Me:
You’re paying for the dress. And underwear.
Ethan:
With pleasure, little bee.
I close my eyes. And smile up at the sun.