Chapter 30
LEO
Three Weeks Later
Wrapping up my lecture, I drum my fingers on the podium, glancing at the clock for what feels like the hundredth time. Fridays always seem to drag, with my last class ending around seven. Normally, I savor these moments, engaging with students and diving into the intricacies of psychology. But tonight is different. Vivian and I have plans to meet at Craft’s, our usual Friday evening spot, a tradition that’s grown into something I genuinely cherish.
“Alright, everyone,” I say, closing my laptop with a sense of finality. “That’s all for today. Have a great weekend, and don’t forget to review chapter six for Monday.” I try to sound casual, but my mind is already on the evening ahead.
As students start packing up, I silently pray no one approaches me with last-minute questions.
I’ve settled into a new routine over the last few months, and honestly, I’ve never been happier.
I’m on autopilot as I drive home, change my clothes, and walk to Craft’s. I’m meeting Vivian here at eight, and I arrive a few minutes early. She planned to work late tonight, as she’s been swamped with new clients lately. The stress has been getting to her .
Lucky for me, a naked massage always helps her unwind, and it usually leads to some incredible sex. It’s a win-win for both of us.
I slide into our usual spot at the end of the bar, where Noah has already set out an old fashioned and a Manhattan, just as we like them. Vivian texted me while I was on my way here, saying she’d be running a few minutes late.
At 8:15, Hurricane Vivian sweeps in, sliding into the seat next to me. “Oh my God,” she says, exasperated, tossing her purse onto the bar, taking a hefty sip of her drink. “Sorry I’m late.” She leans in, pressing her lips to mine, the taste of whiskey lingering on her lips, and it’s bloody delicious. She takes a deep breath, exhaling audibly, “What are we having tonight?” she asks, glancing at the menu before looking back at me, taking another large sip.
“Whoa, Viv… babe, slow down, yeah? You alright?” I squeeze her thigh gently and offer a reassuring smile.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she begins, her voice tight with frustration. “I just had a real shitty day at work. I’m super stressed, babe. I’ve taken on too many clients at once, and I feel like I can’t catch up.” She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers trembling slightly as they linger at her temple. “Then today, I had to go on site for my final walk-through at the Johnsons’ house—you know, the one I mentioned,” she says, her brow furrowing deeply. “And Nick was just making it so fucking awkward. Then we discovered this issue with one of the cabinets—it was made incorrectly. Now we have to rip it out and have it remade. Ugh, it’s going to push their move-in date back by a week because our cabinet guy is backed up.” She runs her hand through her hair, pausing to pick at the ends, a nervous habit of hers. “This delays the maximum time allotted for the home’s completion, which is going to cost the company money… I’m going to have to work all weekend.” She lets out a frustrated sigh, her fingers still fidgeting with her hair. “I just feel like I’m drowning, you know?”
She takes another large sip of her drink, her eyes glassy, hinting at tears she’s struggling to hold back.
“Babe,” I say gently, reaching for her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze, “I’m really sorry. That sounds like a shit day, and Nick making it awkward doesn’t help. But you’ll sort it out—I know you will. You’re amazing at your job, and sometimes shit just happens.”
Vivian nods, her gaze distant. “I know… it just sucks.”
“It does suck,” I agree, my voice steady. “What do you need right now to unwind, love, so we can make the most of tonight?”
She smiles warmly. “This right here is all I need,” she says, squeezing my hand. “Just you.” She finishes her drink with a long sip and then waves to Noah for a refill, which makes me chuckle.
* * * * * * * * * *
Something I love about Vivian is that she is really fucking fun. Despite starting the evening stressed and frustrated, here we are, laughing our asses off and having a fantastic time.
“Okay, quick! You’ve got ten seconds to find someone in this room to sleep with. Who are you taking home?” Vivian challenges, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Ten, nine, eight,” she counts down as I scan the room, trying to catch sight of someone appealing. “Five, four…” She starts tapping the counter, making it more urgent. I struggle to find a woman I’m attracted to. “Three, come on, Leo! Two,” she’s practically shouting now.
“I guess the blonde woman over there, the one in the black shirt,” I say, pointing toward a woman who seems vaguely attractive.
“You mean the sixty-something-year-old who might be a grandma?” Vivian laughs heartily, tipping her head back. “Come on! What about that girl in the red shirt?” She gestures toward a younger brunette who’s definitely a better choice.
“Hey, in my defense, she’s a good-looking older woman. I’m not opposed to a hot grandmother,” I retort with a grin. “She’s probably great in the sack, loads of experience.” I chuckle. This is the game Vivian came up with after downing two Manhattans in less than thirty minutes.
“Okay, your turn,” I say. “Ten, nine…”
She frantically scans the room, grimacing.
“Eight, seven… ”
She makes a face that says, maybe .
“Six, five…” Her mannerisms are killing me.
“Umm… I don’t know, probably Noah,” she says casually, gesturing toward the bartender.
“Oh my God!” I exclaim. “All this time we’ve been coming here, and you’re secretly jonesing for the young bartender?” I laugh and lean in closer. “Should I tell him? Hey, mate!” I call out, not loud enough for Noah to hear, but enough to get a rise out of her.
“No! GOD, don’t you dare!” she says, grabbing my arm and pointing a finger at me, her eyes wide and scolding.
“You like robbing the cradle, yeah? Is he even old enough to work here?” I tease with a grin.
“Well, I should hope so, didn’t you hire him?” she rebuts, crossing her arms. “Sure, he’s a few years younger than me and has a bit of a baby face, but he’s a good-looking man… boy… man-boy,” she stutters, flustered. “And I had to pick someone… he was the best choice with the ten seconds I had. I bet Noah’s a fantastic lay,” she adds with a smile, clearly trying to convince herself more than me.
“Oh, I bet,” I say, nodding in fake agreement. “Super experienced, that one, with all his twenty-four years of life.” I lean closer, my hand resting on her thigh. “I bet he can’t make you come like I do,” I whisper in her ear, “you know that thing I do with my tongue that you like so much?” I pull back, giving her a pointed look. “I’m just sayin’…” I shrug and grin, challenging her.
I see her eyes light up, a spark of mischief igniting, just as I knew it would. I love this part—whatever comes next is what I love about Vivian. I’ve just turned her on, and now she’s going to try to one-up me. That’s how this goes.
Noah sets another round of drinks down for us, and I can’t help but smirk. Vivian just smiles confidently, raising an eyebrow at me.
She’s still in her work clothes—wearing all white and looking sexy as hell, like always. Her top is one of those suit vests that’s appropriate for work but low-cut enough that I’ve glanced at her tits more times than I can count—waiting for the moment I can rip it off her and take one into my mouth.
Vivian undoes the top button of her vest, giving me an unobstructed view of her cleavage. She then casually slides off her stool and stands between my legs, facing me. Her hand glides up my chest as she bites her bottom lip, eyes locked on mine. She cups the back of my neck and pulls me forward.
I chuckle softly, aware that people might be watching our little seductive show.
She leans in close to my ear. “You know that thing you do with your tongue?” she whispers, her breath hot against my ear.
I nod, savoring every tantalizing word.
“That’s what I think about when my hand is between my thighs… imagining it’s your tongue. The way you slowly drag it up the center, making me want more. How you tease me with flicks until I’m aching, begging for you to taste me. That’s what I crave when you’re not with me.” She leans back slightly, her eyes drifting down to my hardening cock, undeniably straining against the inseam of my pants. A sly smile curls on her lips, and she lifts her brows, fully satisfied with the reaction she’s provoked. She settles back into her chair and casually buttons her vest, her movements slow and deliberate. She plucks a grape from the charcuterie board and pops it into her mouth with a knowing grin.
We always have to get the charcuterie.
“You lose,” she says arrogantly.
“You don’t play very fair,” I reply.
“What’s not fair about it? There aren’t any ground rules.”
“Well, there should be.” I sip my old fashioned, unable to shake the image of her. It’s pathetic how easily she can turn me on. “Do you really think about that… when you touch yourself?” I ask, needing to know, lowering my voice.
Her eyes lock onto mine, and she leans in closer, her voice a sultry whisper. “Every. Single. Time.” She bites her lip, letting the silence hang, her gaze never wavering. My pulse quickens, the room suddenly feeling too small, too hot .
“Damn,” I murmur, my mind racing. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?”
She laughs softly, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “Only if you’re lucky.”
I let out a laugh. She’s good, but so am I. “I know you think you’ve won, but after that confession, I think I’m the real winner tonight,” I say, a smug grin spreading across my face. “Knowing you think of me while you touch yourself.” I relax into my chair, getting comfortable, ready to drag this on all night as she gives me the evil eye. “God, I must be really good if that’s what you envision when you get yourself off,” I joke, pausing to let the words sink in. “Will you let me watch?”
She cocks a brow. “Maybe,” she says, taking a sip of her drink. “Do you think about me?”
“Do I think about you?” I rub my thumb and index finger on my chin, pretending to ponder.
She folds her arms and purses her lips, clearly unamused. “We are not leaving here until you admit it,” she says confidently.
“Admit what?” I ask, feigning innocence.
“Oh, you know what.”
“I really don’t,” I say, shaking my head. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
She lets out a sigh of frustration. She’s desperate to know the truth, and I’ve never seen her so flustered. It’s fucking adorable, honestly.
“Yes,” I say. Yes, I think about you, all the goddamn time.”
I lean in closer, my voice low and intimate. “But I don’t just think about you. I imagine every detail—how you’d feel, how you’d taste, the sounds you’d make.” I let my words hang in the air, watching the flush spread across her cheeks. “And now, I’m going to think about how you look when you’re flustered and biting your lip like that.”
“Mmm. I love that,” she murmurs, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Thinking about you thinking about me… that’s hot.” She leans closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Maybe next time, I’ll let you watch.” She smiles deviously, as if there’s more where that came from .
The intensity in her look sends a heat coursing through my veins. I lean back, taking a slow sip of my drink, chuckling to myself.
This game is far from over.
* * * * * * * * * *
It’s a perfect summer night. The breeze from Lake Michigan cools the warm air, making our walk home pleasant.
As we pass the outdoor patio of a popular bar, our conversation is interrupted.
“Leo?” a familiar female voice calls out.
I turn to see Ashley slide out of her bar-top seat and walk toward me.
Fuck me, sideways.
This is the last thing I need right now. My grip on Vivian’s hand tightens involuntarily as Ashley approaches, and I feel a bead of sweat form at my temple.
“Oh, hey, Ashley,” I say awkwardly. Awkward is not a word I’d ever use to describe myself.
Vivian tenses beside me, her hand going limp in mine. Great, just great.
Ashley is beautiful, a very successful Instagram influencer, and she’s wearing a shirt, if that’s what you’d call it, that leaves very little to the imagination. She doesn’t compare to Vivian, in my opinion, but all of that aside, this is not an encounter I want to have right now.
“Who’s your friend?” Ashley asks, staring Vivian down.
“Oh, sorry. Ashley, this is my friend, Vivian. Vivian, this is Ashley,” I say, immediately regretting the use of friend. Vivian is so much more to me than a friend. But friend … it would have been better to say nothing at all, just ‘ this is Vivian’.
Ashley smiles, satisfied with my fucking stupidity.
She barely glances at Vivian, giving her a little wave. “Hi,” she says, dismissing her just as quickly. She reaches out to touch my arm. “You look good. Give me a call later if you’re free,” she adds coyly .
“I’m actually tied up all night,” I reply, looking at Vivian and silently pleading with her not to hold this against me.
“Well, some other time then,” she says confidently. “See you later.” She turns and walks back to her seat, completely ignoring Vivian.
“God, I’m sorry, Viv.” I don’t know what else to say.
“It’s fine,” she says, but I know from her tone that it most definitely is not.
A stifling discomfort settles between us, making the clean Chicago air feel suffocating.
“That was Ashley.”
“She said that,” Vivian replies sarcastically.
“She’s Johnny’s friend… We’ve… you know, um,” I stammer, struggling to find the right words, knowing whatever I say won’t help.
“I gathered as much. Honestly, I assume that half the women we pass have fucked you at one point or another. It’s fine, I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
Oh wow, ouch. The claws are coming out, but not in the witty, fun way that I love. I know I should apologize for using the term friend, but that would lead to a conversation I’m purposely avoiding.
We walk the rest of the way home hand in hand, silent except for my occasional attempts to fill the void with surface-level chatter.
When we reach her townhouse, she doesn’t stop me from following her inside, which I take as a good sign. She kicks off her shoes and immediately heads upstairs.
“Can you please lock up and make sure all the lights are turned off?” she calls down to me without looking back.
After securing the house and shutting everything off for the night, I find Vivian in the bathroom, washing her face in nothing but an oversized T-shirt and her underwear.
I stand behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her close, kissing the top of her head.
“Hey,” I say gently, “are you okay?” I pause, noticing her hesitation. “I’m sorry. ”
She turns toward me and places her hands on my chest, looking up at me with a fleeting fear in her eyes. I hate seeing her like this. Why can’t I just call her my girlfriend? Because I’m terrified. The label, the commitment—it ties someone to something more, something deeper. And that scares the hell out of me. I hate myself for it. She deserves more, and I can’t even call her what she clearly is.
“Are you?” she asks pointedly. “What are you sorry for?”
“For that awkward encounter.” I know it’s the wrong answer and that I should apologize for calling her my friend, but I don’t. I’m putting up shields, protecting myself.
She sighs softly, rubbing her thumb against my chest. “Okay,” she says somberly. “Thanks for the apology.”
She offers her lips to mine, a silent truce, and we end up making love because that’s what it’s become with Vivian. A goddamn connection mixed with incredible sex, making me feel phenomenal things, all while feeling terrified at the same time.
Her heart’s not in it, though. She’s reserved and quiet, silently pulling away, closing herself off, going through the motions. Her touch lacks the usual fervor. I feel the distance she’s putting between us, even in this intimate moment.
When we finish, she turns her back to me, not bothering to get up and use the restroom like usual. I get up and splash my face with cold water in the bathroom sink, gripping the back of my neck in frustration. My stomach churns with a knot of nerves entangling, twisting, and pulling.
I lay back down beside her, scooting closer to close the gap between us. I slide an arm around her, feeling her body tense at my touch. She’s building a wall again—maybe not a ten-foot wall, possibly just a fence—but a barrier nonetheless. I don’t know how to break it down, I can’t lose her.
I lay awake an hour later, watching her, knowing she’s wide awake too. She rolls out of my arms, and sleep eludes us both as she tosses and turns for the next couple of hours. Her mind is obviously racing in a million different directions, while mine fixates only on her. Somewhere in the midst of the uncomfortable avoidance, I eventually fall asleep, my arm stretched out across the bed, reaching for Vivian.