Never Kiss a Stranger (14 page)

Lainey sauntered over to the sofa, stepping between it and the coffee table until she was straddling my legs. Lowering herself into my lap, a fog of her signature Juicy Couture perfume enveloped us, and I found myself mourning the classic Chanel No. 5 Addison used to strategically dab behind her ears and in the crook of her elbows. It wasn’t much, but it was just enough for me to appreciate whenever I devoured her.

The warmth of Lainey’s lips as they pressed against my forehead sent my body into a state of rigor. My hands, which should’ve been halfway up her shirt by then, were paralyzed at my side. My cock hadn’t a single throb.

Fuck
.

Even though I wasn’t with Addison anymore, my body and soul and all that I was still belonged to her and only her. Not even no-strings-attached sex with Lainey McQuinn could make me forget the pain.

I gently pushed her off my lap. “Fuck, Lainey. I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

“What the hell is your problem?” She crossed her arms, brow furrowed.

“I’m sorry.” There was nothing more to say, and it sure as hell wasn’t anything I needed to talk to her about. Bolting for the door, I got the hell out of there.

I paced the dated kitchen of a musty, abandoned apartment building, checking my watch every other minute. I’d received a tip on a building about to hit the market, and like the good agent I was, notified Wilder immediately and scheduled a showing.

We hadn’t seen each other nor spoken in two weeks. Two very long, excruciating weeks. I tried to lose myself in running and work, and any free time I had was spent following Coco around like a lost puppy or organizing and re-organizing my closet. Coco assured me I had done the right thing for everyone involved, and she let me cry on her shoulder every night that first week.

“The scars will always be there,” she’d said as she rubbed my back, her voice distant as if she were recalling her own pain. “No denying that. But with time, it won’t hurt as much.”

A knock on the door made my heart fall flat on the floor. Straightening my shoulders and bracing myself, I let him in. Dressed in an Italian silk suit with a bold red tie and polished shoes, he offered me a cordial nod as he stepped past, his cold, uninviting demeanor a far cry from the man falling apart at the seams just two weeks ago.

“So, this hits the market tomorrow,” I said, getting right down to business and praying the overwhelming urge to talk about us would dissipate. “There are nine units as well as retail space at ground level. It’s currently being occupied by a longtime tenant, as I’m sure you already noticed.”

His hands in his pockets, he went from room to room in the small, one-bedroom apartment, saying nothing.

“There are five studios, three one-bedroom units, and one two-bedroom unit,” I added, following him, yet keeping a careful distance. “Seller insists all units are up to code mechanically. He was in the middle of renovating the building and ran into some money problems, so that should give us plenty of leverage if you want to move quick on this. I’d suggest and all cash offer and a three-day close. That’s assuming you want the place.”

I flipped a light switch, and the room lit up for three seconds before the bulb popped and burnt out.

“Place needs a lot of work. No denying that. We’ll demand an inspection, of course,” I continued, silently willing him to speak. His quietude ate away at me second by second. “The location couldn’t be better. I mean, units like this, at this price, don’t come around often.”

Wilder turned on his heel, walking up to me with a steady cadence. “I really need you to stop talking right now.”

My lips sealed at his demand and the heaviness in my chest weighed me down. He never used to speak to me that way. I knew he was hurting, but he had to know I was too.

He turned away, heading into the bathroom of the unit and inspecting drawers and fixtures. Normally I’d have told him the water was turned off or that I knew of a guy who remodeled bathrooms at a discount, but I kept my mouth shut just as he’d asked.

We headed back to the kitchen where my bag waited on the dusty Formica countertop.

“I’ll think about this and let you know.” His lifeless aqua eyes avoided mine as he raked his palm across the hint of a five o’clock shadow lining his chiseled jaw.

I nodded, scared to breathe a word that might set him off. We lingered in the stillness of the vacated apartment for a moment before I took the first step away from him, ignoring his penetrating stare. But by the time I reached the door, it was too much. I couldn’t leave like that.

“I’m hurting too, you know.” I winced, though he didn’t see it. My back toward him, I was too terrified to turn around. “I miss you every second of every day.”

Giving him a few seconds to respond, my heart sunk when I realized he wasn’t going to say anything. With an unsteady hand twisting the black iron doorknob, I stepped out into the hall, picking up the key box from the floor and waiting for him to leave.

By the time he emerged, he made a beeline for the stairs, saying nothing. A teasing whisper of his cologne breezed by as he walked away, lingering as I listened to the fade of his footsteps. A couple weeks ago we were lovers, tackling this bullshit called life together.

Now he hated me.

* * *

I kicked off my heels and dug my aching feet into the soft rug by my front door. Seeing Wilder that morning had left me a mess of scattershot emotions, disabling me from uttering a complete sentence for the remainder of the afternoon. I was in the midst of cancelling my afternoon appointments, something I’d never done before, when Skylar brought me a handful of chocolates.

“You all right?” she’d asked me after I returned from showing Wilder the unit on 86
th
Street. “You don’t seem like yourself lately.”

I peered up into her round, doe eyes, the eyes of a fresh college graduate who probably lived her life one selfie and social engagement at a time, and I longed for an ounce of her naïveté.

“I’m fine,” I lied, sweeping the chocolates off my desk and into the palm of my hand where they began to melt. “Just tired.” That part was true. I hadn’t been sleeping well the last couple weeks. Cold bed sheets and an ache in my heart that couldn’t be ignored made it impossible. I popped a couple pieces of the candy into my mouth, but I couldn’t taste them.

I cut out of the office early and headed straight home, fully intending on drowning my pain in an overflowing glass of red wine and the hottest bubble bath I could possibly stand; the kind I’d have to slowly lower myself into one inch at a time; the kind that scalded my skin into a painful shade of raw pink. I needed to hurt on the outside to numb the hurt on the inside.

But no sooner had I kicked off my heels than there was a knock on my door. I glanced at my watch. It was maybe three o’clock, and I wasn’t expecting a delivery. Standing up on my toes, I squinted through the peephole.

Wilder
.

He must have seen me walking home.

I smoothed my hair flat and pulled the door open. He was still in the suit from that morning, the one with the angry red tie.

“Hi?”

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“You think about me every moment of every day?”

I nodded, shrinking half my body behind the door. Our eyes met, and I couldn’t look away no matter how hard I tried. Before I realized what I was saying, I found myself muttering, “You can come in, if you want.”

He brushed past me, our shoulders grazing just enough to send a current of livewire down my side, and I shut the door behind him.

“I meant all of it,” I said, clasping my hand across my chest and digging my fingers into the flesh of my neck. “It’s not the same since…”

“Since you walked away.” He finished my sentence in such a way that I knew he was still the Wilder from that morning, the one still so ripe with hurt he could hardly look at me without flaring his nostrils. His hands rested on his hips, and the glint of his belt buckle caught the late afternoon sun that trickled through the curtains of my dim apartment. It was still daylight outside, but inside we stood in a whole different world, a darker world where we weren’t supposed to be together. But being together was the only thing that might save us.

“I don’t know what to do.” My voice broke and my mind was a flurry of all the thoughts I’d been thinking the last two weeks. I imagined the look on Coco’s face if we were to get back together. I imagined the heartbreak it would cause my mother. I imagined my reputation as a realtor crumbling to rubble as my competitors flung ruthless nicknames and rumors in my direction.

Wilder lunged at me, pinning me against the door with the magnitude of his intense stare. Hot tears stung my eyes, blurring my vision as I attempted to fight them off. All I wanted was for him to kiss me. I remembered what it felt like, but I was beginning to forget. Each day that passed pushed that sensory memory further and further away, like a dream I’d had weeks ago and I was beginning to forget the details. I needed him to look at me the way he used to and not like I was some kind of horrible monster. I was falling apart, and only his love would save me.

“Stop talking,” he commanded. His hands found my hips, and his fingers dug into my skin as if he were holding tight and incapable of letting me go. My eyes closed. Tears streamed down my cheeks. A warmth against my lips, like the kind I dreamt of every night, ignited a spark inside me.

He kissed me.

And the kiss was soft and tender, not angry or bitter. His right hand left my side and trailed up to the side of my cheek, delicately cupping my face as his lips worked mine apart. Our tongues danced, and the taste of him set me on fire. I’d craved him; his touch, his taste, his scent. Convinced that I was dreaming it all up, I refused to open my eyes.

His left hand traveled down my side until it found the hem of my skirt. He hiked it up to the top of my thighs before slipping his hand between them and tugging my silk panties to the side. One finger passed between my folds as he found the innermost part of me. Wilder slipped one finger inside, followed by a second, curling them toward him and stroking me, long and gentle, slow and meaningful, as if he were trying to savor our time together. His fingers filled me while his lips worked mine.

I didn’t even try to stop it. I’d willed this. I’d fantasized about it every single night for two weeks. I’d dreamt of him nightly and cried myself awake from a deep slumber more times than I cared to admit.

Wilder removed his hand from my wetness and ripped my panties off. Soft, lace-covered shreds tickled my skin as he tugged them down, but I didn’t care. With my eyes still clenched tight, I heard the clinking of his belt buckle. My heart pounded hard in my chest. I just wanted the emptiness to go away. I wanted to feel every inch of him inside me.

The sensation of his hand freeing his erection from his pants and positioning it at my entrance as my legs gripped his sides sent an ache straight to my core. But the second he entered me, the heavy, burdening pain dissipated into thin air. Like it was never there in the first place. With my arms draped over his shoulders, I gave myself to him.

But did it matter? I was his anyway.

The raw awareness of his unsheathed cock coupled with the fact that none of that was supposed to be happening made every thrust a thousand times more intense than I ever dreamed possible. At least I was on the pill, though I don’t think it’d have changed anything. I wanted him more than anything, and my body was willing to go into self-destruct mode to get it.