Chapter Six Vivian
Chapter Six
Vivian
I stay in bed until almost noon on Sunday, even though I wake up at seven.
Fucking hangovers are the worst.
I love a bottle of wine as much as the next girl, but what I don’t love is incessant phone calls from my ex. Which is what I dealt with last night after my tête-à-tête with Memphis at the restaurant bar. After the third call in thirty minutes, I decided that maybe waiting around for Murphy wasn’t in the cards. I instead took a little trip to the liquor store and bought a bottle of tequila.
I didn’t drink the whole thing—I mean, I’m still alive obviously—but I did play a foolish drinking game with myself that I would take a shot every time Theo called or texted.
A mistake, if ever one has been made.
After I finally stumble my way through putting clothes on and tucking my hair into a messy bun, I down a handful of ibuprofen, put on the biggest pair of sunglasses I own, and brave the outdoors. Thankfully, the worst of the summer weather seems to be in the rearview, and I’m greeted by a slightly overcast day, meaning I don’t feel the need to shrink into the shadows like a vampire with every step.
Eventually, I make it to Rosewood Roasters. I order a flat white and take a seat on one of the big, comfy couches. I need to write today. My deadline is slowly creeping toward me. But when I take a seat, all I can manage is to close my eyes, hoping to will away my headache.
The sound of my phone beeping with an incoming text actually startles me, and I peek at it, hoping it’s not another text from Theo. I’m not sure my liver can handle it.
I breathe out a sigh of relief when I see my screen.
Murphy: Hey, I have to head into SF with Wes tonight and prob won’t be back for a few days. Some stuff’s going on with his mom. You gonna be cool without me?
My brow furrows. I don’t know a lot about Wes’s mom, but from the few things Murphy has shared, it seems like she has some substance abuse issues that have caused drama at least a few times.
Me: No prob. I’ll be totally fine. Hope everything’s okay.
Murphy: She’s ... a lot. We’ll see. Sorry I’ve been so busy since you got here!
Me: Not a big deal. I promise. And I basically showed up uninvited lol. Not expecting you to be available every minute.
Murphy: I know. But I’ve missed you and I don’t want you to think I’m too busy to spend time with you.
I grin. Murphy’s one of those sentimental types. The one who always wants you to know how important you are and who waxes poetic about your friendship.
I’ve never had a friend like her before. Most of the people I grew up with and socialize with in the industry are fairly vapid and self-absorbed.
Her energy is refreshing, even if our time together here has been limited.
Me: You’re good. You love me. I love you. That’ll still be true when you get back from SF.
Murphy:
I set my phone down and close my eyes again. I hold my warm coffee cup between my hands in my lap. I sip it occasionally and let the lulling sounds of a coffee shop blur out the edges of my exhausted mind.
When another text comes through and I take a look, I grip my phone in frustration.
Theo: If I don’t hear from you soon, I’m going to call your parents.
I push out of my seat and head outside, shoving my sunglasses back on my face and dialing Theo’s number.
The idea that he’s going to talk to my parents doesn’t actually bother me. Our relationship has always been cold and fake, with both of them keeping me at arm’s length, more interested in themselves than in their only daughter. So if Theo were to call them to say I disappeared, I’m sure their response would be neutral at best.
I’m more concerned that he doesn’t seem to accept I don’t want to talk to him. Ever.
He answers almost immediately.
“Well, if I’d known that was all it would take to get you to call me back, I would have threatened to call your family days ago.”
“I don’t care if you talk to my parents, Theo. I barely talk to them myself, so have at it. I’m done with these ridiculous text messages and incessant phone calls, so I’m letting you know that it’s time to leave me alone.”
“Come on, Vi. You’re being ridiculous.”
“That’s what you keep saying.” I stroll down the street, heading toward the Firehouse but without any real direction. “I personally don’t think it’s ridiculous to ignore someone’s calls after catching them cheating in my own fucking bed .”
Theo sighs. “It didn’t mean anything, okay? Besides, we hadn’t had sex in months.”
“Didn’t mean anything? She’s your ex. Of course it meant something. And the fact we hadn’t slept together in months is irrelevant. Every couple goes through periods like that, and you know what helps? Time together. Date nights. Not sleeping with your ex.”
“It was familiar, Vi. That’s all. You know how I feel about you.”
“Do I? Because I thought you loved me. I thought we were in a committed relationship. And clearly, I was wrong on both counts.” I chuck my barely touched coffee into a trash can, needing the release of throwing something.
“Come on, baby. Come home. We can talk about this. You and me ... We’re meant to be together.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it, Theo. ‘You and me’ were over the second you decided that it was okay to put your dick into someone else.”
He groans. “Look, tell me where to meet you so we can talk, okay? Or at least tell me when you’ll be home.”
“I’ve gone on vacation for two weeks, Theo, so let it go. Your stuff is with the super. Just collect it and let’s be done.”
“Two weeks?”
“And please stop calling and texting me. I’m not going to pick up, and I’m not going to respond. We’re over.”
I hang up the phone, my heart pounding angrily in my chest.
Not just in my chest. I can feel it thumping everywhere. In my fingers and at my neck. In my knees, even.
I wasn’t expecting to be so enraged after speaking with him. At hearing his voice.
And at the same time, I knew I would be.
I’ve spent years hearing that voice. Listening to the words that came out of that mouth. Laughing at the stories that rolled off that tongue.
Too bad it was forked in two.
Too bad it belonged to a snake.
Too fucking bad I didn’t know it until after I’d already been bit.
Most of the day goes by in a blur, and I don’t write a single word.
I don’t even take notes.
After that messed-up phone call to Theo, I sat outside to people watch, but inspiration failed me.
Then I got lunch at The Carlisle—a chicken pesto panini that should have rocked my world but didn’t because I was too distracted to appreciate it.
Finally, I went on a drive. That’s what finally pulled me out of my funk.
When you’re a kid growing up in LA, going on a drive means sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic. So when I finally discovered the magic of road trips in areas where there wasn’t a constant Carmageddon, I was hooked.
Road trips became my jam.
Today, it cleansed something as I listened to an angry playlist I found on Spotify. I rocked out with the music on blast, drove with the windows down, and sang at the top of my lungs. I didn’t know half of the songs, many of them having been made popular when I was still in diapers. But the vibes were right, and I knew at least some of the lyrics. Like always, it fed something in my soul.
And even though I’m still plagued with questions—about my breakup, about the future, about the next chapter of my life—something that was sitting on my chest after I got off the phone has finally been purged.
Which is why I’m able to take a shower, do my hair and my makeup, and head to The Standard for a drink as the day comes to an end, with a promise to myself that I will not have another hangover tomorrow.
Murphy talked about this bar all the time back in LA, to the point that it feels familiar when I walk inside. There’s nothing particularly special about it. There’s a pinball machine, a pool table, and a dart board to the left, and a handful of booths and open tables to the right. A bar stretches along most of the back wall. It’s the kind of town centerpiece that you see in TV shows and movies, and the perfect place to spend an evening.
I sidle up to the bar and take a seat, setting my clutch on the counter and returning the smile of the graying bartender.
“Would you like to see the beer and wine list? Or are you looking for something a little harder?”
I wince. “No liquor tonight. I’ll take whatever’s on tap that you recommend. Something local, maybe?”
He gives me a nod. “I got just the thing.”
I turn on the swiveling stool to survey the room again, taking in the aging decor on the walls and the old glass lighting over the booths.
When I spot a familiar face, something unfamiliar flutters around in my stomach. I hope both that he looks my way and that he doesn’t.
He’s standing around the pool table, chatting with a few other guys, his expression easy and his posture relaxed.
When his coffee-colored eyes finally connect with mine, I see something I’m not expecting: a smile. It’s small, but I see it all the same. It disappears almost immediately, though, masked with a look that reveals he’s as uncertain about seeing me as I am about seeing him.
Memphis says something to one of the guys, then hangs his pool stick up on a rack before he crosses the room in my direction.
I should turn around and face the sweet old bartender, but I don’t. Instead, I watch Memphis as he approaches, not even trying to hide the way my eyes scan him up and down.
He’s wearing a long sleeve thermal and dark jeans that outline his physique. My memory jumps back to Memphis standing shirtless in the kitchen that first night, his broad shoulders and toned arms and chest on display. But he’s as delicious fully clothed.
How inconsiderate.
“Enjoying the view?”
My eyes flick up to connect with his, then narrow as he comes to a stop before me.
“Hardly. Just trying to figure out why you won’t leave me alone.”
I spin in my chair so I’m facing the bar again, and Memphis leans against it to my left, dipping his body toward mine.
“I won’t leave you alone. I live here. These are my stomping grounds. I seem to recall you showing up at my place of work and my home on several occasions ...”
“Twice,” I interrupt, holding up two fingers before giving the bartender a grateful smile as he sets the pale beer in front of me. “And I was invited.”
“So if anyone is stalking anyone, it’s the other way around,” he continues as if I’ve said nothing.
“That’s the narrative you keep putting out there, but from my point of view, I’m simply existing and you’re crawling into my physical space like you can’t get enough of me,” I tease, bringing the beer to my lips and eyeing him over the rim. “The restaurant, the kitchen, the restaurant again, now here.”
Memphis inches toward me, his face so close to mine as I take a sip. “You couldn’t be more wrong.”
“So that night in the kitchen was, what? You showing me your disinterest?” I roll my eyes. “Consider me convinced.”
“I won’t pretend that I wasn’t interested. You’re beautiful, there’s no question, and any man would be stupid not to at least consider it.”
I can’t deny loving the compliment, but I immediately brush it to the side because I know there’s a but coming just behind it.
“But I don’t have time for what a girl like you would be looking for.”
One eyebrow lifts. “Oh? And what is a girl like me looking for exactly? Please, inform the class.”
“A beck-and-call boy,” he says, smirking. “You look like a woman who is used to people catering to your every whim, men who follow you around like puppies. And I promise you, I am not that guy.”
I lick my lips, chuckling under my breath.
“What’s so funny?”
“Well, if anyone here is wrong tonight, Memphis, it’s you. That’s what’s so funny.”
“I’m not wrong.”
“You couldn’t be more wrong,” I say, imitating his tone when he said the same words to me a few minutes go. “Besides, what I want probably isn’t something you could give me anyways.”
Something flashes behind his eyes.
Ah, so he’s like every other man, easy to bait when you place a challenge in front of him.
“Oh yeah? And what’s that?”
I lean the last bit in to him, so my lips are right by his ear. So I can whisper exactly what I want from him without risking someone hearing what I have to say.
“I want to be fucked, Memphis.”
I hear his sudden intake of breath, a little thing, but noticeable nonetheless.
“I want someone to split me in half,” I continue, pressing a finger into his chest, between his pecs, and tracing slowly downward. “I want to come so hard I black out.”
I tilt back, putting a few inches of space between us, a thrill racing through me when I see how his eyes have clouded over. His lids are heavy, his mouth parted slightly. Part of me thinks if I were to press my hand between his legs right now, he’d be rock solid.
“So, like I said ... I’m not so sure you’re the right man for the job.”
He watches me for a long moment, like something is warring inside him. Like maybe he’s trying to decide if he wants to actually give in to this obvious attraction between us. It’s easy to blow off something that happened in the kitchen in the middle of the night. Chalk it up to being in a weak mental state or not having the ability to resist temptation.
But there’s something completely different about making an active decision to sleep with someone. There’s no way to brush it off or place blame somewhere else.
Memphis seems like the type to confront his problems head-on. But for whatever reason, he keeps picking fights with me instead of accepting that he wants to get me naked.
When it comes to sex, I am definitely a head-on kind of gal. Exhibit A: my I want to be fucked speech. Though I’m also guilty of picking my own fights sometimes. I mean, I picked one with Memphis, didn’t I?
“You want to be fucked, Vivian?” he says, his voice a low rumble. “Name the time and the place, and I’ll be there.”
I blink, mild shock flooding through me, followed by a wave of desire so strong that I can barely keep my enthusiasm to myself when I reply, “Right now, anywhere you want me.”
He looks a little stunned, but it takes him less than a second to shift gears. Memphis tugs his wallet out, slaps a twenty on the counter, then takes me by the hand and leads me through The Standard. We storm past the bathrooms and what looks like a little office, before he pushes through a door into a dark room and tugs me in behind him.
“What are . . .”
But my words cut off when he shoves me up against the closed door and slams his mouth against mine.
Everything around us fades into nothing and I open for him, inviting him in, wanting nothing more than the taste of him on my tongue again.
And it tastes so good. Like beer and honey and something else that I recognize from the last time we kissed ... something that is all Memphis.
It’s an intoxicating combination, and only seconds pass before I feel drunk on him.
Bringing both hands up to his neck, I thread my fingers through the hair at the back of his head, I grip tightly and tilt his head how I want as I suck on his tongue and nibble on his lip.
But he pulls back, shaking my hands off him.
“You seem to think you’re in control here,” he says, keeping his voice quiet. “But if you want to be fucked, Vivian, then I’m in charge.”
A shiver races through me, and then he’s kissing me again. But this time, he’s directing each movement. His mouth moves to my neck, his hands to my ass, and I let out a moan when I feel the thick rod between his legs pressed up against me.
Memphis licks and nibbles at my skin. My neck, over my clavicle, then down the deep V of my top. He tugs the stretchy material to the side, revealing the meaty flesh of my breast behind a bralette, zeroing in on my nipple and circling the nub with his tongue before sucking it into his mouth through the lace.
I squirm, the pulse between my legs growing as he lavishes me with his attention. First one breast, then the other. Over the material and then tugging that to the side as well so his tongue is directly on my skin.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had this much focus on my breasts, and I grow wet as he continues, my lower lips surely glistening with desire.
“Do you know how hard it is not to stare at these?” he asks, his tongue flicking teasingly against one nipple.
“Probably as hard as it is for me not to ogle you in those stupidly tight polo shirts,” I answer, whimpering as his teeth graze against me.
He pulls back and I mourn the loss of the contact. But only briefly, because his mouth is back on mine, his hands gripping at my hips and working at the button on my jeans.
I mirror his actions, my hands working at his fly with a desperation I wasn’t expecting but can’t seem to help.
The room is nearly pitch black, so even as my eyes adjust, it’s hard to see much. But I don’t need to see anything to know that the man in front of me is as desperate for this as I am. A fact that’s only confirmed when my hand slips into his jeans and grips him over his boxers.
Memphis pauses, his hands rising and bracing on the door on either side of me, a groan coming from somewhere deep in his chest as I squeeze him.
“Is this for me?” I ask him, gently biting on his ear and loving the little breaths I can hear falling from his mouth.
His hips begin to shift, his dick thrusting gently against my hand. And when I slip my hand inside the cotton and grip his hot flesh, he whispers a quiet “Fuck” into my ear.
Everything after that seems to move in double time, each of us making quick work of ripping the other out of their clothing, barely enough to access what we want. In record time his pants are shoved down, the crinkle of a foil packet the only sound in the room apart from our heavy breaths as he wraps up.
My jeans and panties are at my feet a few seconds later, one leg freed and hitched up under his arm, opening me to him.
“God, you’re so wet,” he grits out as his thumb strokes me between my lower lips, confirming my earlier assessment that I’m fucking drenched.
He slides one finger inside me, then two, testing my readiness.
“I’m ready,” I tell him. “Fuck, I’m so ready.”
Memphis chuckles, then flicks his fingers. I whimper, feeling like he could resolve that ache deep inside me just like this, just at that little touch.
God, it’s been so long, and I feel like I’ve been coiled so tight. I need this. So fucking bad.
Instead of letting him continue to tease me, I bat his hand away and grab his cock again. Memphis’s laughter cuts off, and he inhales sharply as I guide him to my entrance.
“Fuck me,” I tell him, rubbing his head in my wetness and then shifting my hips so that he begins to slip inside.
“Shit.” It’s the last thing he says before he’s thrusting inside me in one smooth movement, all the way to the hilt, slamming against something deep inside that makes me cry out in the best kind of pleasure pain.
He pauses, though, and doesn’t move his hips again. His hand comes up and covers my mouth, then he puts his forehead against mine.
“You need to be quiet,” he says, smirking as he rotates his hips, his dick bumping against something delicious.
I whimper.
“Let me know if you can be quiet, Vivian,” he growls, repeating both his words and his actions as his cock continues to nudge that same spot inside me.
I nod, desperate for him to keep moving.
“Good. Because there’s a bar full of people fifteen feet away from this door. And it could be a big problem if they hear you screaming out my name.”
Cocky shit.
But that’s barely even a thought before he’s pulling back and slamming in again, causing my entire body to throb with need.
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck.
Memphis thrusts a few more times before he pulls his hand away from my mouth, seemingly satisfied that I won’t call out again.
And I manage to keep my cries to myself, but barely.
The way his cock spears into me, over and over again, hitting that spot inside me that hasn’t been soothed in who the fuck knows how long ... God, I can barely handle it.
My entire body is a live wire, and Memphis is the fuse.
He adjusts where he’s holding up my leg, opening me wider, and I scramble to ground myself. My arms are wrapped around him and slipped up under his shirt, my fingers dragging along his damp skin, trying to find purchase.
“God, you feel amazing,” he whispers, his mouth open and sucking against my neck. Then his head raises and his eyes drop to my breasts bouncing between us. “Pinch your nipples.”
My hand moves immediately, following his direction. And when I pinch at one, and then the other, my pussy flutters around him.
He bites out a quiet curse as his movements stutter for a beat or two, but then he’s grabbing my other leg and lifting that up as well, the entire weight of me now balanced on his arms and braced against the door.
I thread my hands into his hair again and yank his mouth back to mine, sucking at his tongue and moaning as quietly as I can until I can barely handle the tension coiling inside me.
“I’m close,” I tell him. “Fuck, I’m so close.”
His voice comes out in a rumble. “Rub your clit,” he tells me. “I’ll be right behind you.”
I slip my hand between us and strum against my little nub, hardly needing to touch it before I splinter apart. Ecstasy ripples through me, starting where we’re joined and then shooting outward, up my middle and out to my limbs, tingling in my fingers and toes and all along my scalp. All of it made more intense by the effort it takes to stay quiet and not scream out the way I want to.
I dig my fingernails into his shoulders, my head falling back and hitting the door behind me with a thump.
“I’m there,” he says, and then his body jolts, the fluidity of his movements becoming jerky and uncontrolled as he follows me to bliss.
We stay there for a long moment, each of us panting loudly in the quiet room, our bodies still pressed together and slick with sweat.
I was wrong before about wanting to be split in two. That’s not what I want.
This is what I want.
I didn’t split in half.
I shattered into a million fucking pieces.
And it’s never felt so amazing to be falling apart.