Eighteen
Teagan
It’s Sunday dinner, and I’m significantly less annoyed than usual. Either the world is ending or Heath is really doing it for me. Not sure which I’d prefer, to be honest.
“How did the party go?” Mom asks to distract us from Dad’s grumbling. Even though we have a rule of no business at the dinner table, that doesn’t work when a big case gets tricky. When your clientele is mainly Fortune 500 companies on retainer, tricky is the name of the game. Corporate law is wild.
“It was fun,” I say, and I mean it. I had fun . I enjoyed something at a wedding event. It was sex that I enjoyed, but still.
Dad comes in from the next room, exhaustion hanging from his face. He must be losing sleep over it too. He sits with a sigh and picks up his glass of scotch. It’s a hard liquor kind of night.
“How’s everything going with the case?” I ask.
“Not well,” he answers, then takes a generous swig from his tumbler. “Always keep a client happy, and always keep them quiet. That’s my advice.”
Sounds like my contract with Heath.
Levi goes back and forth from the kitchen to the table, helping with the cleanup after our meal. Rowan has already left us to head back to his room to study yet again. I’m on my own with Mom and Dad, just waiting for an opportunity to excuse myself so I can drive back to the city and fulfill my contractual obligations.
“You were saying something about your class.” Mom prompts me to continue an earlier conversation.
“Right. We got our grades back for the summer semester last night. Ryan and I got a high pass for our trial performance.” The pride I feel must show on my face. My ego lies in wait for their rare praise.
“Very good, Teagan,” Dad says.
“Yes, great work, darling,” Mom agrees. She reaches forward and squeezes my hand in hers. “My perfect little girl. You always do well, and we know you always will.”
“Thank you.” My skin warms with their words. Inside, I’m bursting brighter than a sunrise. I live for their validation.
“And you received the top score, no doubt,” he says.
My warmth cools. “One team scored higher, but that’s out of ten teams. We both got a high pass, that’s all that matters.”
He hums as if he’s trying to solve a riddle. “I figured you would be first. You always come in first. Ryan is dragging you down with him.” Dad’s snide remark slips out as smooth as butter while he returns to his phone.
That’s not true. Ryan pulled me through half of the first day after the run-in with the security guard threw me off my game. “It wasn’t his fault. Something happened right before we went in.” I attempt to explain. “There was this security guard who—” Dad’s ringtone ruins my sentence.
“Sorry, I have to take this.” He rises from his seat. “Good job, Teagan. There’s always room for improvement.”
My smile twitches back up for his benefit, but faking it can’t mask the immediate downhill slide of my mood. My mind wanders for a moment as I cross my arms over my middle, fighting the urge to nibble at my thumb. Heaven forbid either one of my parents let me feel accomplished for more than a second before reminding me how I fell short. Accepted into six Ivy League schools? I wonder why the other two didn’t like you . Graduated valedictorian of my college? Someone was valedictorian of the university, but you can try again in law school . The joys of being the oldest child, the trial run for the appositeness of their lofty standards, losing a piece of myself every time they shape me to fit into their mold.
“Have you patched things up with Lenny?” my mother asks. My mood slips down the rest of the hill and drowns in a river as shitty as the Seine.
“Mom, no. I haven’t even seen him,” I respond in a tone much softer than I’d like. “He’s busy, I’m busy. You know how our schedules are.”
“Yes, but you must have spoken to him sometime in the last month.”
“We really haven’t, but that’s fine. He’s not mad and neither am I.” She doesn’t need to know how my last interaction with Lenny went, how hurt he was, or how hearing him slut-shame me made me want to drag his face across the pavement. My sex life is the only part of me I get to keep private.
“I don’t mean to pressure you into anything with him.” Yes, she does. “We just want to see you with someone who matches your ambition and won’t hold you back. Someone who can make you happy.”
“Really? You’ve hated everyone Teagan’s dated before,” Levi defends me as he comes back to the table.
“That is not true.” Her lips scrunch to the side the way they do when she’s upset with herself. Lawyers are rarely wrong. At least in their minds. While Levi takes the stack of plates to the kitchen, she adds, “That boy you were with in high school. He was a nice boy.”
“High school? That’s the last time you liked someone I was with?”
“I liked him a lot! We all did. Right, Levi?” she calls to him.
“Hm?” Levi comes to my side again, this time to grab the glasses.
“Can we please drop this?” I beg Mom not to continue the conversation in front of him.
She lets it go with a sigh, and I distract myself with my last sip of wine. “Well, the party will give you another chance to speak with Lenny if you can’t catch him before then.”
“The party? Which party?”
“The banquet. We’ll be hosting most of our associates, potential clients. It’s the perfect time to introduce him as a junior partner now that he’s passed the bar.”
“Oh.” Fucking fabulous . “That’s . . . great.”
Levi looks at me and smirks. I smack his arm as he rolls away.
~
My eyes cross when the climax quakes through me. My thighs shake like butterfly wings in the wind, the same frantic fluttering as the vibrator Heath holds against my favorite spot. I push it away to save myself, enjoying the last of my orgasm on my own.
He’s still hard inside me. I have to brace myself against his strong, tattooed thighs, and enjoy stroking him deep just a few more times until I hear the beautiful sound of him getting his too. Our pace tapers off, and the heat of my orgasm settles into a drunken warmth.
Reverse cowgirl isn’t usually my thing, but I like the way Heath stares at my ass when he’s inside me—positively mesmerized by its resplendence. It makes a girl feel pretty. He probably wishes he was in my ass instead, but I don’t care. He knows how to get me there regardless of the position—propping himself up on a hand to give me a better angle, adding a little friend to the equation—and this time was no different. Both times. I switch off the wand beside me, dabbing the sweat from my upper lip.
Heath collapses onto his back behind me. I look at him over my shoulder and smirk at how depleted he is. His arms laid off to the side, his eyes closed, all semblance of emotion stricken by euphoria. The only indicator that he’s alive is the movement of his chest as he breathes.
“You okay?” I ask.
“ Mm-hmm ,” he hums slowly.
Forget about my day, forget my parents’ approval or lack thereof, forget my schedule of impending events and this newly added Lenny banquet. Riding Heath out of consciousness was just what I needed to clear my mind. I may hate him, but I don’t hate his brand of validation.
Reluctantly, I let him slip from me, letting out an embarrassing whimper when he does. I cover it by clearing my throat. “I’m gonna go pee.”
“Cool.” His voice is raspy like I woke him up from a nap. “Pee quick, I gotta . . .”
I wait for him to finish his sentence. “Gotta what?”
“I forgot.” His eyes close again. I already know he’s going to fall asleep.
After I grab my clothes from the floor, I glance at his phone. The screen is full of calls and texts from Mom .
I love his mother. Truly. She is kind, comforting, and warm—beautiful inside and out, as they say. She never gives backhanded compliments or adds a “but” after saying she’s proud of you. She is as lovely as her personality, with her gorgeous brown skin and waves of hair that fall to her hips like a waterfall. For a blond, his dad is fine too, but Heath won’t hear a single good word about that man.
When it rings again, I look over at Sleeping Beauty and yell, “Heath!”
“What?”
“It’s your mom calling. Answer it.”
“Shit.”
He darts up and fumbles with his phone. I leave him for the bathroom, do my business, wash my hands, put on my underwear, and hop into my pants. I still hear him talking through the door when I notice my shirt is missing. Not wanting to interrupt, I peek out and find it lying by his feet. So much for good intentions.
“I can’t do that, Mom. I don’t want to talk to him. You have to do it.” He scrubs a hand over his face, letting his fingers tangle in his hair. Whatever they’re talking about is really stressing him out. “Eventually. I don’t know, but not today. I have to go. I love you.” He ends the call and his hand joins the other to press against his forehead.
“Is everything okay?” I ask. He looks at me for a moment, as if he’s surprised by my question. When his eyes drop to his feet, I decide not to press it further. “Sorry, forget I asked.”
He grabs his pants from the floor and hands me my shirt. “It’s fine. Parent drama again. You know how it is.”
We may repulse each other now, but there was a time when we bonded over the tepid nature of our families. His dad is so much like my parents—the looming disappointment at every turn. In the love-hate relationship with his parents, his mom is all the love and his dad all the hate.
“Are they finally getting a divorce?” My joke doesn’t land the way I wanted.
He lets out a weak laugh. “I wish.”
We dress in silence. The air feels heavy with unspoken words, but what am I supposed to do? Talking isn’t in our agreement. It’s only coming and going—emphasis on the coming.
He stretches his shirt over his arms to pull it over his head. I frown when the clothes conceal his body from my view. He catches me, an eyebrow raising in question. “You good?”
“Yeah, I’m good. I’m leaving.”
We awkwardly exit the room together. I grab my purse from the kitchen counter as I pass by. “See you Wednesday,” I say as a reminder. “It’s in the calendar.”
“Oh, I know.” A flirtatious grin returns to his face. There’s the Heath we all know and tolerate.
“Bye, stupid.” I leave him and his little smirk behind.
As I stroll down the sidewalk, the lightness in my step has returned. There’s something about these extra days, the ability to fuck away the Sunday Scaries and get my mind off the bullshit of family dinner. After three days in a row, I’m not thinking about anything but the good sleep I’m about to get.
I consider my cuticle before sacrificing it to the violence of my nervous tic. It has almost fully healed since the damage I did leading up to the reception. The only time I manage to keep myself intact is on days with Heath. That was the goal, technically, but it worries me.
I’m not catching feelings—I don’t catch feelings—but Heath is making it a little harder to hold on to the contempt I have for him.
As little as I want to remember it, there are times when the reason for my hatred pops into my mind. Always quick, never lingering, I push it down easier every time, but years still haven’t been long enough to bleach it from my mind. Forgetting is as hard for me as forgiving. Maybe it’s a character flaw, but it serves me well enough.
It’s not that deep. My parents are a mess, Lenny continues to ruin my day, even when he’s not in it, and the wedding saps the rest of my energy, so of course I enjoy being around Heath. Sex with him makes me feel good when little else does.
It’s nothing more than that.