Page 23 of Just Past Two

“Right. Okay.” Good, so she wasn’t offended. He should apologize for the rest of it, too, the parts about seeing her fucking other guys, play all that off to fantasy. Even as he went to open his mouth and say it, though, something stopped him. He couldn’t blame that on getting carried away. He had been fantasizing about that, and more than just tonight. His mind had been turning it over and over ever since the reunion, when he’d first found out some details from her past.

He closed his mouth, kept washing her, turning away from eye contact. Guilt simmered in his stomach. He couldn’t deny that tonight was hot. He didn’t want to undo anything that had happened. But it was all said, now; everything was out in the open, for better or worse. She might pretend none of it mattered, but that didn’t undo it.

And he didn’t want to undo it. He’d loved every minute of this, even when she was desperate and begging him. She came undone, and he reveled in it.

“I feel like I should be washing you,” Abby said, her voice loud after the silence that had fallen between them.

“Huh?” He rinsed the sponge off under the water.

“You know. Serving you and all that.” She gestured toward the bedroom. He followed her gesture, even though that direction was only shower curtain.

“Oh. That’s…over. That’s not…that was just…”

“I know.” She smiled. “It wasn’t real. It was just a fantasy.” She stepped under the stream of water and began to rinse the suds from her body. He couldn’t even argue with her, because she was giving him the benefit of the doubt. She’d taken this to just be him, enjoying himself while fulfilling her fantasy. She had no way of knowing how turned on he’d been all week, thinking about this type of control. He’d gotten hard every night, seeing her shift in her sleep, her hips moving in sleepy arousal. A few times, he’d jerked off in the shower, so turned on by her frustration and this heady sense of power over her. He couldn’t get this needy, desperate Abby out of his head, and shit, he didn’t want to.

What kind of a man was he, if he loved taking control of her this much? She’d yielded so beautifully and had apparently enjoyed herself immensely in the process. Sure, she was smiling now, rinsing the conditioner from her hair, sated and content. But they couldn’t take back what had been said and done. Things were different between them, and they couldn’t go back to the way they’d been together before this all began.

Abby opened her eyes and pulled him close, oblivious to the turmoil inside him. “Come on. It’s my turn to wash you.”

…

Sam let the kettlebell hit the ground with a lot more force than normal, the jolt vibrating up his arms, and he shook them out and unclenched his hands. His muscles were doing that trembly, Jell-O-like thing when he’d been working out too much, but at some point, working out this hard was going to make the unsettled, anxious feelings go away. It always worked. He could come here to CrossFit, bust his ass, and end up feeling way better than when he went in. Tonight, though, all he was getting was sore.

He hadn’t seen Mitchell come up next to him, but suddenly the guy was there, doing effortless pull-ups on the pull-up bar. Mitchell moved quietly, too quietly for his size, and had a propensity for sneaking up on people. He was also watching Sam. That was weird. Mitchell kept to himself a lot of the time, chatting with the guys when they went out for drinks, but not usually opening up very much and definitely not usually staring down Sam like he was a project that needed solving.

“Hey,” Mitchell said. He paused, hanging from the pull-up bar, and then dropped down to the ground. “You okay?”

So apparently it was that obvious. Sam flushed. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just got a lot on my mind.”

Mitchell made a soft “hmm” noise. “Want to get a drink after the workout?”

Sam didn’t exactly want to go and talk about his feelings, but it would be nice to have some company, since Abby was at pottery tonight. When he hesitated, Mitchell added, “I’m trying to avoid doing some kitchen prep work for the week, and it would be nice to have an excuse.”

So Sam rolled into the Night Owl after his workout to see Mitchell already there, sitting at the bar, empty chairs on either side of him and a glass of Scotch whisky in front.

Sam pulled up the chair next to him and leaned on the bar. His hair was still wet from the gym shower, and tiny curls of ice clung to its ends from the freezing walk in from his parking spot. “Whisky again?”

Mitchell nodded, giving a little half smile. “It felt like a nice indulgence on a cold night like this.” He looked out at the night, the dark windows with the lights of Main Street beyond. “We’ve been lucky for snow so far.”

Sam ordered an Old Fashioned from the bartender when she came over. “I don’t mind the snow. Abby and I try to go skiing as often as we can, but lately, the skiing season’s been getting shorter and shorter.” He sighed, folding his arms on the bar.

Mitchell tipped back his whisky, the amber liquid rushing past the ice cubes into his mouth. He grimaced and swallowed. “You an Old Fashioned kind of guy?” At Sam’s blank stare, he gestured to the bartender. “The drink.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah, I like it.” He chuckled at a memory. “Abby used to tease me about it. Every time I ordered one, she’d tell me I’m, and I quote, ‘really fucking old.’” Those were back in the days when they were dating, when everything had seemed simpler.

“That what’s got you working yourself into the ground tonight? Something going on with Abby?” Mitchell glanced over as the bartender set the Old Fashioned down in front of Sam, then turned back to his own drink and nursed another sip.

Sam drank the Old Fashioned, tipped it back and downed half in one gulp. It burned all the way down, up into his sinuses and down his throat. He hadn’t eaten much, just a sandwich after work before going to the gym, and maybe that was a mistake. It didn’t stop him from taking another large gulp from the glass. “I don’t know. Things are confusing. Got a lot on my mind.” He finished the drink in one. There it was, the soft hum of alcohol in his system. He got the bartender’s attention and ordered a second.

Mitchell raised an eyebrow. “You aren’t gonna drink like that and drive.” It wasn’t a question.

“Nah.” Sam shook his head. “I’m in overnight parking the next lot over. I can just take a cab.” The prospect of letting alcohol fuzz through his system was too good to pass up.

The bartender brought him a second drink, which he downed as quickly as the first, and then ordered some tequila shots. “How about some food?” she asked. “Some nachos? Fries?”

“Sure. Nachos.” That would be fine.

“Don’t worry, Bella,” Mitchell reassured her. “He tries to drive and I’ll beat the shit out of him.”