Anywhere With You (6 page)

This rift between us lasted for twelve days until the office Christmas party interrupted my good intentions. I hated the holidays. Everyone was merry and I was alone. I don’t remember ever feeling as utterly alone as I did that Christmas. I hadn’t spoken to Jack in months, and I didn’t figure that I would. I didn’t have a family—other than my mom, who was in the Bahamas with her latest boyfriend for the holidays.

I had actually been mulling over what I might do for Christmas seeing that most of my friends had families of their own and those who didn’t, had at least someone special enough to have made plans with them. As I reached for another glass of champagne from the server’s tray, Ian intercepted. He told me he needed to speak with me, alone and led me by the hand to his office. But not before I’d downed the remainder of the champagne in my glass. I’d already consumed at least four of them prior. He handed me his half-empty glass as he closed the door. I watched as he locked it. “I can’t see,” I said, slurring a bit, still sober enough to realize I was doing so. His office was mostly dark, with all of the shades drawn.

“It’s better this way,” he purred. I took a sip of his drink even though I’d already had enough. The room was spinning just a little as I felt him come closer. “Hi there,” he said and the next thing I knew he was running his hands up my rib cage. “Drink the champagne, Amelie. We have something to celebrate.” He motioned, eying the glass. As I stepped backward, I found myself up against the wall, in more ways than one.

“Oh?” I asked. He grinned as he took a strand of my hair between his fingers.

“I’m going to publish your photos,” he said, leaning in and whispering into my ear, his breath hot and minty. I tried to move away yet I couldn’t make much headway. “But not because of this,” he murmured, sliding his hand between my legs. I had to admit it felt so good that I almost wanted him to keep going. Instead, he stopped, pulled back, and looked directly at me. “Are you happy?” he asked. I considered his question. But my head was swimming and not much made any sense in that moment. I wanted him to touch me, I wanted him to tell me that he wanted me, too, and I hated myself for it.

“Yes. Very,” I assured him, downing the champagne.

“You’re lying. I’ve been watching you,” he told me stepping forward as he pinned me once again. “I didn’t hear you say thank you.”

“Thank you,” I managed to choke out. He slipped a finger into my panties. “Do you like it when I touch you?”

“Yes,” I said, suddenly drunk on everything. Champagne, the relief of not feeling so alone, the joy that he’d chosen my work, hope that I might not be fired after all…

“Do you know what you do to me?” he demanded, as he came up for air, his mouth sucking and biting on my neck.

I shook my head.

“For twelve days, I’ve watched you prance around here all melancholy-like, and you know what I’ve wanted to do? I wanted to fuck that melancholy right out of you. But I couldn’t because I had to teach you a lesson. You don’t toy with me, Amelie. I’m a man, yes, but I have feelings.” He stopped kissing me and looked me square in the eye. “And I know when I’m being used.”

I swallowed hard. “I’m not using you.”

Ian leaned, kissed me hard, taking my bottom lip between his teeth. He bit down and then released it slowly. “Sure you are,” he said, before he slipped one finger inside me, plunging deep, causing every fiber in my body to tense. “And now it’s my turn.”

He pulled out and then pushed his finger in deeper this time. “Do you like this?”

I nodded.

“Turn around. I want you to pull your dress over your hips and place your hands on the wall. I want to see you.”

I did as I was told. I could feel his eyes on me. It felt like forever before he spoke again.

“Arch your back,” he finally ordered.

I did as he asked as I placed my forehead against the coolness of the wall to steady myself.

“Are you drunk, Amelie?” he asked, grabbing my ass.

“No.” I squirmed

“Don’t lie to me,” he said after making a clucking sound with his tongue. “I was sure you’d know better by now…”

“I’m not.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Maybe a little,” I relented

I felt him trail one finger along my backside. Then he pushed my panties to the side.

“Do you like feeling out of control.”

“No!”

He smacked my ass hard. I flinched. It stung. “You’re lying again.”

“I’m not,” I promised.

“Tell me you want me to use you.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

I sighed, drunkenly. “Because I don’t.”

“What do you want then, Amelie?”

“I don’t know.”

He slapped my other ass cheek. This hit hurt worse. “Sure you do.”

I tried to swallow the sting away.

“Well…” he demanded, and I felt him rear his hand back once again.

“I want you to fuck me.”

“That’s what I thought,” he said as he’d positioned himself behind me.

And fuck me, he did. Right there against his office wall.

It had been a long time since I’d been fucked like that.

Not since Jack.

“I’m not sure I like your friend,” Ian exclaimed over breakfast, interrupting my thoughts. “What are thinking about?” he asked eyeing the waitress. “You seem far off.”

I smiled. “The office Christmas party.”

“I see.” He beamed.

Ian was hungry and had decided the three of us should have breakfast at the hotel before getting on the road and driving the hour that it would take to get to his parents place. Thankfully, Jack had bowed out saying he was too hungover to eat and needed a shower anyhow.

I watched as Ian carefully cut his food. “Did you hear what I said?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “I don’t think I like your friend…”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I replied between bites. “Because he’s my oldest and dearest friend, Ian.”

He picked at his Eggs Benedict. “I should be your dearest friend.” He took a bite and chewed. “And I think he’s in love with you.”

I dropped my fork. “You are my dearest boyfriend. Also, I’ve told you a million times that Jack is gay.”

The diners seated beside us stared. Ian either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“Why did he even come? You just sprung this on me and my poor mother—and, well, neither of us were expecting an extra guest. And you know how I hate surprises.”

I lowered my voice. “I told you—he didn’t have anyone to spend Thanksgiving with.”

“And?”

“And I wanted him to meet you.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t like you sharing a room with him. You didn’t tell me you were sharing a room with him!” His face reddened as his voice grew louder.

I raised my voice as I spoke, not caring who was listening. “Ian, we’ve been together for almost a year and a half, I’ve just flown halfway around the country to spend Thanksgiving with your family when it was technically out of my way, and you’re letting me know now that you don’t trust me?”

He placed his hand on mine and softened, although not much. “It’s not you I don’t trust.”

I looked up at him and smiled before turning serious. “Oh, Ian,” I lamented. “Jack is harmless. I don’t know how you can’t see that.” I raised my mimosa to my lips. “And besides, I really didn’t come all this way to fight with you.”

He considered me for a moment and then he exhaled. “You know… you’re right—I’m sorry. I don’t want to ruin Thanksgiving with my nonsense. If you tell me I can trust you, well, then, I’m going to trust you. I know you have too much riding on this relationship to go and mess it all up with someone like that anyway.”

“Someone like what?” I couldn’t help but ask. I knew I shouldn’t have taken the bait and yet I stop myself.

“Someone there’s no future with…”

“Ah,” I remarked my mouth forming a hardline.

“And, in any case, if you two really had a thing for one another you most certainly would have already done something about it by now.”

I laughed but just a little. “You’re forgetting one thing,” I told him.

“What’s that?” he asked raising his brow.

“Jack is gay.”

Jack

I hate her. I hate her not. I—

From the first moment I laid eyes on what’s-his-name, I despised him. Instantly, I could tell what kind of guy Ian Larson was—a small-minded, egotistical, control freak.

What Amelie sees in him or why she’s with him, I haven’t a clue. In addition, I’m pretty sure that he hadn’t bought the story that there was nothing between his girlfriend and I. And to be honest, if it hadn’t been for Amelie, and if I hadn’t slept with her that morning, I would have bailed the moment he showed up at the door. I don’t have time for the kind of bullshit a guy like him presents. I’m shocked that Amelie does. It makes me wonder if I even know her at all.

But I did sleep with her—and so bailing would’ve made me look like an asshole. But my staying also wasn’t purely unselfish. The truth was I wanted to sleep with her again. And again. But first, I figured I had to get through all the bullshit and red tape, better known as Ian Larson and his stupid fucking Thanksgiving plans.

So, I showered and met them down near the parking garage where we got into Ian’s car and he drove us out to his parent’s estate. The drive was awkward to say the least. Amelie barely spoke and when she did, she didn’t meet my eye. I don’t recall speaking much either. Ian did enough running his mouth for the both of us.

I could already tell on the drive in that the place, and likely its occupants were going to be pretentious pricks. Just like their son. And sure enough, I was right. They lived in a small suburb just outside of the city. Their home was a large Tudor style house that I wanted to dislike but couldn’t. Luckily, I didn’t have the same issue with Ian’s parents. Mrs. Larson was slim, her smile fake, her face plastic, and her most favorite thing was perhaps a toss-up between name dropping and talking down to people. She excelled at both as though, aside from her appearance, these were her only two missions in life. As for Mr. Larson, he clearly had excelled at producing progeny that were exact replicas of himself.

Dinner was catered, of course, and there were about forty or so people in attendance. Most of them, I found to be just as dreadful as their hosts were. Only one stuck out as original and down to earth, and she was for the most part occupied. With Amelie tied up, I considered how to bow out gracefully. Only just as I began to make my escape, Mrs. Larson took me by the hand and announced that dinner was being served. So, I took one for the team and stuck around, against my better judgment but kept the number I’d Googled for car services handy, just in case.

By the time the second course was brought around, the conversation had become all but unbearable. It was a matter of minutes before I’d planned to excuse myself citing an emergency. I could tell Amelie was over it too, and I hoped that she’d bow out with me, despite the fact she was doing her best to put on a good show.

I was seated to the right of Amelie. Ian was seated to her left, and as the turkey was brought out, I nudged her to get her attention. As everyone oohed and ahhed over the bird, I felt Amelie squeeze my thigh under the table. She glanced over at me, and I realized it was the first time she’d really looked at me since that morning in bed. She smiled and I saw it for what it was—a silent apology. In her expression, I understood all the things she wanted to say. She wanted to tell me she was sorry for bringing me here, sorry we hadn’t had more time, and most of all that she was sorry we’d spent so long apart. I nodded at her and then watched in slow motion as what’s-his-name clicked his crystal glass with his dinner fork. “I’d like to propose a toast,” he remarked gallantly. My stomach had been flip-flopping all afternoon, and already, I’d wanted to throw up the shitty appetizers I’d consumed. Hearing his voice certainly didn’t help matters any.

“To my parents,” he said, raising his glass. “It’s so wonderful of them to have us all here together.”

There were a few cheers and murmured sentiments. He then clinked his glass with the fork once more and again for good measure. He turned to Amelie. “But the person I especially would like to thank is this woman seated right here next to me.” He motioned toward Amelie, and I watched as her face reddened. She smiled nervously as she glanced around the table. All eyes on her.

Are you fucking kidding me? I wanted to kill the bastard. But mostly, I wanted to save her. Only it was too late. Timing never had been our thing.

“This woman… she has brought nothing but immense joy to my life and so…” He trailed off as he pulled a little blue box from his coat pocket. I watched as he bent down and knelt before her. Amelie’s hands flew to her mouth. “And so,” he raised his voice, “I’d like to ask her to be my wife.” What the fuck is this? He’s actually proposing with bad poetry? “Amelie,” he said opening the box, “will you marry me?” There was dead silence. I’m pretty sure I held my breath. He eyed her expectantly. Until, finally, she answered. And what else could she have said other than… yes.

“No, it’s fine, really,” I assured her. “I’m taking a cab back.” I checked my watch for the fifteenth time in the past five minutes. “It should be here any minute.”

By this point, we’d retreated into the garden, away from prying eyes of the crowd. I took her left hand in mine and eyed the ring. “Impressive,” I said, letting her hand drop. She stared off into the distance and then up at the sky. It was cold out, the day overcast and grey. She wasn’t wearing a jacket, and I wanted to give her mine, but I didn’t. Fitting, I thought to myself.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” she whispered without looking at me. I followed her gaze and saw that she’d been watching children playing out on the lawn. “I know this has been miserable… and I’m sure there are a thousand other, better ways you could’ve spent Thanksgiving.”

She looked up at me then, and I saw something in her eyes I hadn’t seen before. Hesitation.

“Yes, there are. But I wanted to spend it with you.”

“And now you have,” she choked out.

“And now I have,” I said.

“I-I didn’t know—”

“It’s ok,” I murmured, cutting her off.

“Is it?” she asked.

I smiled. “It will be.”

I heard someone call out that a cab was waiting out front.

“Are you sure?” she asked again.

I didn’t know what she meant. It could have been a lot of things. Either way, I lied. “Yes, I’m sure,” I said, and I pulled her close.

She kissed my cheek and pulled back slowly. “I’ll call you.”

I nodded, gave her hand one last squeeze, and then I walked away.

This time was easier than the last. For, this time, she’d watched me go.

I’d already booked a red-eye flight five minutes into the cab ride on the way back to the hotel. I realized instantly that I had to go and that I had to make it quick. Just like ripping off a Band-Aid. So, I went straight back to the hotel room, grabbed my things, and deftly scribbled a note for Amelie.

Sorry but I had to run.

Love,

Jack

P.S. You’re an absolute fool if you marry him.

I placed the note on her pillow, and then I hightailed it out of Boston without looking back. If I’d disliked that city before, I surely hated it now.

It would be seven long months before I would hear Amelie’s voice again. Even in my weakest moments, I couldn’t force myself to answer her calls—or return them whenever she crossed my mind. Which was a lot. But I was pissed, and I didn’t want to hear her shitty excuses. I wanted space. I wanted her to understand that what she did was wrong. That she made the wrong choice by saying yes, by staying—no matter how awkward it might have been if she’d left. Mostly, I wanted her to feel as shitty as I felt.

A few days before Christmas, at the office, I received a card in the mail. I recognized the handwriting immediately, and when I opened it, a small photo fell into my lap. Anxious to read the card, I didn’t immediately pick the photo up.

Dear Jack,

I don’t know how many other ways I can say it… I’m sorry. And I wish you’d let me explain.

Also, a memento from one of my favorite parts of our trip. I thought you might like to have a copy.

Hope you’re well.

Merry Christmas.

Love,

Amelie

I lifted the photo from my lap and studied it. It was a beautiful black and white shot of the old man from the plane and his newborn grandson. She actually did it. I’d thought about that man many times, and I wondered how he was doing. I studied the photo, and while I’m not one for sentimentality, something about the picture got to me. It may have simply been the holidays, or it may have been hearing from her, but—something about that man’s smile reminded me once again of all I didn’t have.

Still, I didn’t write back and I didn’t call. Another email arrived on New Year’s Eve.

To: Jack Harrison

From: Amelie Rose

Subject: Running.

Dear Jack,

And here I was thinking that I’d always been the runner—yet look at you showing me up. You know how I hate that.

But I have to say, your skills at both running and ignoring me are rather impressive.

Also, I want you to know that I understand you’re angry with me and why. You have every right to be.

But this doesn’t mean that I don’t miss my best friend. Secondly, last time I checked we were both adults.

Can we start acting like it? Please?

After all, tomorrow marks the start of the New Year.

And I, for one, am hopeful for new beginnings.

Happy New Year, Jack.

Hope you’re doing something amazing to celebrate.

Love,

Amelie

This time I couldn’t help myself. I wrote back.

To: Amelie Rose