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I didn’t wince when her artist friend, fresh from the studio and coated in paint, plopped down on our couch. If the stain didn’t come out, who cares? It would give the old thing some character.
When her handsy coworker, a bouncer who liked to hug a little too tightly pulled me in for a bear hug, I darted away with a laugh instead of a scowl.
I didn’t cringe when one of her model friends, already drunk or high or maybe both, started giving me a lap dance. In fact, I took a handful of Monopoly money from Lindsay and made it rain.
When Peter showed up, his cap on backwards, looking all doom and gloom like was surprised he was invited back after our last dinner party, I threw my arms around his neck, thanking him for coming.
My life was bright and sunny and filled with counting down the moments until 7:30. That’s when I slipped into the cab that took me to another world. D’s world, which felt like our world when he lit me up with his hand, his fingers, or that cat o’nine tails whip that I’d first looked at with a mixture of curiosity and terror.
After he disciplined me, he caressed me with gentleness and tender strokes. I’d even got a laugh or two out of him a few nights ago. I still felt him holding back, but tonight, all bets were off. I’d get some liquid courage at the party, then I’d find him at Hush and tell him that I was ready. We were ready...to finally be honest about what was happening between us.
I realized that I was still holding onto Peter and blushed. The person I really wanted to hold was the man in the black mask.
Peter looked down at me, surprise glowing in his eyes as a tentative smile crept across his face. “Quite the welcome - and I thought you'd avoid me after what happened the last time we saw each other.”
I frowned, unwrapping my arms from his neck.
His smile quickly turned to a frown of his own. “I guess it was a bigger deal in my head. We had our little falling out after the staff meeting? I gave you the Desmond O'Connell story and you passed it right back in front of our merciless boss?”
I tried to downplay the fact that I'd stepped onto some invisible minefield. To be honest, I'd completely forgotten about the O'Connell story and our awkward exchange after.
That's not the only thing you forgot. How's that story on Hush coming?
I swiped an almost empty red Dixie cup and maneuvered to the sink, rinsing out the cup for Peter. I headed toward the sangria bowl teetering on the edge of our tiny bar. “Ah.” I scooped the cranberry red liquid into the cup and held it out to him, my peace offering. “We're good now though, right?”
He glanced at my cup like he was getting flashbacks from the last party, and when he looked back up at me, he had the same deer-in-headlights look on his face. “Uh, you tell me. I've been blowing up your inbox for days.” When I looked at him strangely, he went immediately from apprehensive to annoyed. “The O'Connell story? We're both in charge of getting it done, as decreed by Perri the Obnoxious? And whether it succeeds or fails, is on us for crossing her?”
I was so used to smiling, charming Peter that watching him all but growl at me was a little unnerving.
“Normally, I wouldn't care about being a thorn in her side, but she has us in her crosshairs. I need you to take this seriously, Sophia.” He snatched the cup from me, almost sloshing the sangria on the floor. I looked down at the floor. It had just narrowly escaped a splash of liquor that would have gone well with the bits of tortilla chips, soiled napkins, and candy wrappers. The rest of the world was coming back into focus and my 'don't worry, be happy' attitude was slipping between my fingers.
I forced away the urge to grab a Clorox wipe and broom and slapped a smile on my face instead. “My bad.” The music kicked up several decibels halfway into my apology, so I leaned in, so he could hear me better. “Let me make it up to you by kicking your ass in Guillotine?”
His eyes darted around us, the half naked bodies swarming the room gyrating to the music. The last thing on their minds was a board game inspired by the French Revolution. I’d learned my lesson after finding some random couple halfway to third base on my bed and kept my bedroom locked when we had guests, but I quickly shot that down as an option. One look at his face and I took a step back because his neck and cheeks were on their way to matching the cup he was squeezing. I looked over at the open door that led to the balcony, the string lights blinking on the railing. The little cafe table and chairs we'd squeezed in the tiny space looked unoccupied.
Before things got weird with us, I would have just grabbed his hand while we maneuvered through the crowd, but I cocked my head in the direction of the balcony and he got the hint.
Once we were outside, I took a big gulp of the city air, almost as pungent as the reek of vaporizers and the incense Lindsay liked to burn. It was quiet, and I could tell Peter was relaxing so we just stood in silence. We gripped the railing, both of us angled toward the Hollywood sign that we had to imagine because I definitely couldn't afford an apartment with a view.
Remembering the game, I turned to head back inside and give us something to talk about besides the crappy friend and coworker I'd been lately.
“Is it cool if we just talk?” Peter asked softly, the question almost lost in the music that followed us outside.
I raked my fingers through my hair and fought to keep my face neutral. The last thing I wanted to talk about was the elephant in the room, the almost kiss that happened, but I told myself that he probably wanted to get on the same page about the O'Connell story.
“Sure!” I said cheerfully, even adding a playful nudge with my shoulder. We were cool, right? Buddies? If I wanted us to get back there, I had to stop thinking that he was constantly thinking about that night, and how I'd reacted. Or hadn't reacted.
“I want to talk about the last time I came over.”
I was grateful that the string lights weren't bright enough to broadcast my wince. “Peter-”
“Don't worry, I'm not about to try and kiss you again.” He tried to buddy nudge me back, but it just hurt. Not in a physically painful way, in an emotional way, because I could hear the hurt in his voice and I'd seen whispers of it in his eyes ever since that night.
“It's not that,” I explained. I focused on the railing, the sturdiness of the iron, and my mind went to the most inappropriate place possible. I thought about 'D'. How I wished he was here, his powerful body pressed against mine, forcing me to let go of the railing. To trust him. I wouldn't hesitate letting go of my death grip on the balcony railing if he whispered to obey. With Peter, I needed to hold onto something, because I felt like the wrong word, the wrong move, would be misinterpreted and I would hurt him again. More than before, because now, I knew how he felt about me.
“You sure?” Peter asked skeptically. “You can barely look at me.”
I twitched my eyes up at him, his green eyes swarming with hope and a undercurrent of fear that was so palpable that I could taste it. What could I say to that? I could barely last five seconds looking at him before I exhaled and turned back to the front, more comfortable with the dark than telling him a truth that would ruin our friendship. And that's when I knew, when the emotion built in my throat, making the words too heavy to say out loud. How hard had it been for him to be a good friend to me when he wanted more? The least I could do was be honest with him.
