Crash Ride (13 page)

We didn’t move. Her legs still pinned around me with her face buried against my shoulder, both of us breathing hard. She didn’t say a word, which made me edgy. Had me wondering if she was going to give me the we-shouldn’t-have-done this speech. But I couldn’t make myself regret it, being with her.

She tilted her head toward me and whispered. “Fuck.”

Yep, that was pretty much an accurate description of it.

I released her legs and she slowly lowered them to the floor. Her body was still unsteady as she tried to smooth out her messed up hair. Her make-up? I was wearing more of her lipstick than she was, but she still looked like a knockout. Keeping away from her had been impossible, and what’s worse was now I didn’t want to. Not just to get my rocks off, this girl was different. Things were different.

“I told you we were in a world of trouble.”

What the hell had
I done? Who has sex in a bathroom with one guy while on a date with someone else? I was some kind of freak. What’s worse is that if given the same chance, I would do it all over again. All that rhetoric about having wisdom in hindsight is bullshit. I take your hindsight and raise you one mind-blowing orgasm with the guy I’m obsessed with. Obsession, that’s what it was.

That’s how the whole mess started. He was the unattainable guy who looked like a sex God. He was famous. It would be fun. One time wouldn’t hurt anyone. Ok, so maybe just a few more times, but I could stop at any time I wanted. What does that sound like to you? Yep, I was going to need a twelve-step program and a sponsor.

Troy and I had fucked each other senseless while the two people each of us walked in with sat maybe twenty feet away in blissful oblivion, awaiting our return. Sure, technically neither of us was dating either of them but still, that was a very slippery slope. I mean, who does that? It’s like I couldn’t control myself— not at all.

Was it a mistake? That was a massive trick question. My brain was telling me yes, but something that felt that good could never be a mistake. Herein lies the biggest problem. Not the fact I had crazy, bathroom sex with Troy while I was supposed to be on a date with someone else i.e. the issue that I
should
see as the problem, but that we couldn’t seem to be able to be alone together and not end up naked.

How is that healthy? It’s certainly not a relationship. We weren’t dating, we were just fucking and while at the start of this little arrangement that had been fine, it didn’t sit well with me anymore. No, I didn’t think I was a whore or a pervert. Highly sexed with compulsion issues? Okay, so no one was perfect.

“Hey, we should get back.” I straightened my dress and picked up my shredded panties. They weren’t going to be much use to me so I tossed them in the trash and made the conscious effort to remember I was now sans underwear. Suddenly I had a new found affinity toward
Britney Spears
.

Troy pulled off his condom and tossed it the trashcan, ironically where it would lay with my discarded G-string, a tribute to our
good time
. “Are you okay?” He looked at me, concerned— probably wondering if I was going to start crying hysterically or insist he declare his intentions for me.

It was his lucky day, because not only did he just
blow his load
, he wasn’t going to be getting any emotional drama from me. Nope, not doing it. Not after I had told him shit wouldn’t get complicated, and I was capable of sex without emotion. There was no denying things had changed. Or at least they had for me. This wasn’t just about him being sexy and us having a good time, this was about the way he made me feel. Emotions—that dirty word—were most definitely involved.

“Megs, do you want to talk about what just happened?” Troy grabbed some paper towel and handed it to me before taking care of himself.

The clean up —the stark realism of the situation. It’s not like we could walk out back into the club with goo everywhere. I prayed no one would be murdered in the bathroom in the near future and it got swabbed for DNA.

“We had sex. We seem to do that a lot when were alone,” I responded drily as I turned on the faucet and washed my hands. Act normal I told myself and for God’s sake keep it together.

“Yeah, so…” Troy cocked his eyebrow looking for me to continue.

“So… we should probably try harder not to?” It was the best I could offer. What else could we do? Short of locking up my vagina, there wasn’t a lot it seemed. One of us was the weakest link and I couldn’t be sure it wasn’t me.

“Yeah, probably.” He nodded as he took his turn at the sink. It was all so civilized.

“Good, we agree. That was the last time.” The paper towel I was using went sailing into the trash. I got the distinctive feeling of déjà vu. We’ve been here before and I had been just as convincing, hopefully this time, it would stick.

“Okay.” Troy dried his hand. The zipping of his pants and adjusting of his T-shirt happened soon after. “So we’re good then?” He looked skeptical, liked he expected more. Maybe he honestly did believe I was going to cry.

“Yep, we’re perfectly fine.” I was amazed at how easy the lie passed through my lips.

We did our best to tidy ourselves up so we didn’t look like we just had sex, but there was only so much I could do with a compact and a lipstick. I already had a massive hickey developing on my neck, the thrill of explaining that to friends and co-workers was something I hoped to avoid.

Troy walked out first and then I followed after the obligatory five minutes. It was ridiculous really, the cloak and dagger routine. No one in the club gave us so much as a secondary glance and the only people who may have shown some concern were our
dates
, but even they didn’t seem to wise up.

When I had gotten back to our little awesome foursome, Callum and Amber were laughing hysterically about some joke they had shared. The two of them discovered they both had
so much in common
, how nice for them. Troy looked bored as they generously got me up to speed on everything in the conversation I had missed. They needn’t have bothered, it was plainly obvious Troy and I had been replaced.

Sitting across from Troy after just having had him inside of me was weird. There was no getting around that. Oh I gave it my best shot, playing it off like I had sex in club bathrooms all the time, and this was no big deal, but the truth remained—it was a big deal. He gave me a few concerned looks from time to time, but each time I met his eye I gave him my best it’s-all-good smile and calculated when would be a good time to make my exit.

Another drink later and I had reached a respectable arbitrary length of time for me to leave. I did the whole I-have-work-in-the-morning excuse and said my goodbyes. Troy offered to call TJ for me but I declined. I’d already received one ride courtesy of Troy Harris that evening. I didn’t need another.

Callum walked me outside so I could hail a cab. His hug goodbye warm but noticeably less familiar than when we’d walked it and just like that— I’d been friend-zoned.

“Hey, Megsy, thanks so much for asking me out tonight. I had a ball. Your friends are awesome.”

I smiled as I returned the hug. “Yeah, well I really only know Troy. Amber, not so much.”

“She’s pretty great.” His sheepish grin alluding to the fact he thought she was more than just
great
.

It should’ve been awkward, his interest in another woman while he was speaking to me, but it wasn’t. Let’s be honest, I was in no position to judge. He hadn’t been the one to sneak off for a quickie in the bathroom.

“Yep. So I guess I’ll see you at
Jilly Beans
.” There was no need to see each other socially again. It was clear he was interested in Amber and the connection between us was non-existent.

“Extra large, extra hot, extra shot.” He rattled off my usual order.

“That’s me. Just want a little extra of everything.” I laughed but it was so
not
funny. Extra trouble is what I would be getting whether I’d ordered it or not.

****

No more sex with Troy Harris.

Ever.

It can’t happen.

Not again.

It was like my daily mantra reminding me that the
casual fling
hadn’t worked. Hold on to your seats folks, I had feelings for Troy Harris. Not just the ones that make your girlie bits tingle, I’m talking about the ones that make your heart ache.

I had stopped seeing him just as someone to be lusted over and craved for him to be my
one
, and I wanted to be his.

When that actually happened, eluded me and honestly it didn’t matter—what mattered was we weren’t good for each other.

The intensity we had would eventually burn out, and then what? You can’t sustain a relationship on sex alone; you would eventually have to be regular people and do normal stuff. We lacked that capacity.

He had made it clear from the start; he wasn’t interested in dating me. Stupidly I had convinced myself that it didn’t matter. Like this girl could suddenly be ok with having feelings for a guy that weren’t reciprocated. Not likely.

We were friends, and I had to push it and open my big mouth.
Sleep with him; get him out of your system, have your fun and you will be strong enough to walk away
. That is what I had told myself. Yeah that was all a big fat lie.

So do I tell him —
hey remember when I said I could handle this and wouldn’t ask for more? Yeah, I take that all back, I’m asking for more.
Or do I pretend nothing has changed, try and move on and really—and I mean
really
this time— try to date someone who is going to fulfill all my needs, and be available in the boyfriend sense of the word. I wouldn’t beg, not for a guy to want me, so that left only the latter option.

Troy had called the next day and I had pretended it was business as usual. I avoided talking about
us
and asked him where the tattoo voucher he’d bought me was. We fell into our usual rhythm of daily, nonsensical fodder with the plan that I slowly wean myself. Eventually I wouldn’t have to fake the we’re-just-friends thing, it would just be. And what a glorious day that would be.

The wedding was a good distraction. Ashlyn and Dan had finally set a date. A few months from now, in November. The bridal party was limited to two —Troy and me. Yeah, it took me a few minutes breathing into a paper bag to calm down.

Forget. That’s what I needed to do.

In my bid to
forget, I tried to avoid social situations with Ash and limited our contact to a few phone calls and coffee catch-ups. I blamed work— it was a believable excuse.

I hated keeping my distance but couldn’t risk running Troy, so I stayed away.

So what does a person do when they are trying to forget? They go and get a permanent reminder etched into their skin. Just like that.

Oh look, a tattoo parlor.

Tattoos had always fascinated me, but I had always chickened out. First, because I knew my parents would freak out and later because I couldn’t choose something I could live with for the Rest. Of. My. Life. That tramp stamp isn’t going to just wash off when you decide it’s no longer cool. The pressure was too great.

It was a whim and I assumed that my feet would
hit
the door before the needle
hit
my skin, but then I met Josh—the tattoo artist. He made me so comfortable, I actually wanted to do it. We talked about what I wanted and placement and before you knew it I was laying on his table in my panties, getting a stunningly, beautiful gray-scale feather etched above each hipbone. They were soft and feminine and just for me. My own little private rebellion.

The tattoos had hurt. A lot. I couldn’t even imagine the pain ink-work like Troy’s would have caused. I just closed my eyes and absorbed it. It was real, tangible and in a crazy way actually made me feel better.

Josh the tattooist was hot. His tall muscular frame was covered with intricate artwork. His black hair that was shaved short and tight against his skull made his stunning blue eyes stand out. He made me laugh, which helped considering the world of hurt I was in, and was a consummate professional while inking me. He didn’t look at my rack once. Well, not that I saw anyway.

After it was done, he suggested maybe we could go out—if I was interested. No pressure.

I said yes.

Not that I wanted to, but figured it was best to get back on the horse and at least pretend I was interested in other men. Besides, he’d already seen me in my panties.

Our first date had been relatively low key— a new fusion restaurant in Chinatown. The usual first date conversation followed, favorite foods, movies and uh-hem… music. He was a Power Station fan too— sure, that wasn’t weird at all.

I steered the conversation away from all things Troy Harris to talk about my work at the hospital. He didn’t cut and run the minute I’d told him I was a psychologist,
or
ask me to read his future. Oh it happens and
psychic
, I am not. But I’d known in the first date he was never going to be my forever.

The second date was a little more fun. We watched the goofy classic,
The Rocky Horror Picture Show
at
Landmark Sunshine Cinemas
on the Lower East Side. Josh joined me in the aisle for a loud, off-key rendition of “Time-Warp” —neither of us would be quitting our day jobs.

It was on the second date when he’d kissed me.

After the movie we’d stopped in at my old work place
Garro’s
for a drink. Our waitress had just sauntered off with instructions to load us up with cheese fries and soda when Josh leaned across the table and kissed me.

While unexpected, it wasn’t all together horrible. More of a savor-my-lips than tongue-down-my-throat kind of kiss and when it was over, I smiled and said thank you. Thank you! Like the man had just handed me a napkin or a bottle of ketchup.

After that second date, I told Troy about Josh.

It was the right thing to do. Sure we’d never dated and were no longer sleeping together, but I still felt I needed to tell him. If I was honest with myself, I told him hoping to illicit some reaction. Maybe a
hey, don’t date him
or
I really miss sleeping with you
—the second response probably more likely than the first— but I just thought he might, I don’t know, have an opinion.

He didn’t. Well, at least none he shared with me. He instead let me talk about my dates and didn’t even make a wise-ass remark about the guy kissing me. Part of me was disappointed. Whatever Troy and I had shared romantically, it was now the past.

With the third date came a certain amount of anticipation. He’d already kissed me and while it had been very PG-13, he would probably want to up that rating. Possibly get some hands on action.

Usually not a problem for me— a good make out session with some dry humping was good for the soul. Like chicken soup for your libido. But, my soul and my libido were playing a solid game of hide-and-go-seek when it came to tattoo guy Josh. I was attracted to him; I just wasn’t attracted to him
enough
.

So the third date was the deal-breaker. Either some magic started to happen or we said our friendly goodbyes and saved ourselves the trouble. To test the chemistry, I decided to go all out— sexy outfit, sexy shoes, a venue that would be conducive to
the mood
and alcohol. Lots of alcohol. Might as well give poor Josh a fighting chance.

Josh arrived at my apartment around seven. He looked great, dressed head to toe in black —black baggy jeans, black button down shirt and black heavy boots; his tattooed arm sleeves and neck on display. He smiled with appreciation at the plunging neckline of my new red dress. Discreetly readjusting his man-bits as we got into his Jeep Wrangler. Objective of the dress—met.

For this monumental make-or-break date, I’d pick a little basement bar in Soho. Not the typical eye-rolling ultra trendy club that usually graced the sidewalk of that locale, no, it was a bar. Like a speakeasy but without the jazz band or moonshine.

Donavan’s
was a hidden gem. With no markings or signage—word of mouth was the only way you found this dirty little secret. It promised a plethora of liquor, dartboards, pool tables, and good music at the hand of the hottest DJs in town.

“You sure this is the right place?” Josh followed me down the narrow, rickety stairwell.

“Relax, where’s your sense of adventure?” I tapped on the dilapidated door.

“Do we need a secret handshake?” Josh grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze.

“’Sup.” The security guard was huge. His large menacing body filling the doorway he’d opened.

“Hey, umm is there a code word or something?” Neither my cheesy grin nor my attempt at humor impressed the giant in front of me. My bad.

“IDs?” Amazing how that small demand translated into
show me your IDs and stop wasting my time.
Powerful and scary. It kind of excited me. The night was definitely not going to suck.

“You really know how to pick a place.” Josh slung his arm around me, his pleased smile teased at the corners of his mouth.

On the inside, the place was huge. It expended into a large but slightly uneven rectangle. And like a Steampunk wet dream, it featured celling to floor matte black walls with gold gilded cornices.

“Rumor has it, anything goes in this place. Don’t ask, don’t tell.” I pulled his arm playfully.

“Is that why there’s a dude smoking a joint in the corner?”

“Could be medicinal. So judgey.”

“Want a beer to go with the contact high?” Josh wrapped his arms around me and nuzzled my neck. Okay so the touchy-feely stuff was going to happen sooner than later. In that case I was definitely going to need that drink.

“Um, can I have a Long Island Iced Tea instead?” Beer wasn’t going to cut it.

“Sure, baby. You can have whatever you want.” Josh brushed the hair away from my face. Calling me
baby
was a new development.

We made it to the bar through the maze of people and ordered our drinks. Josh handed over some cash as the disinterested bartender prepared my Long Island and twisted the cap off Josh’s Coors Light. He didn’t look up at us once. Perhaps this was the anti-
Cheers
of the bar world— “where everybody knows your name” didn’t apply. They didn’t only
not
know it, but they didn’t care to either.

“Have I told how great that dress looks on you?” Josh’s smile hinted he was more interested in what was under the dress, as he leaned up against the bar.

“Thanks.” Smile. “It’s new.” Smile. Why was this drink taking so long to make? Next time, order shots.

“Megan.”

He refused to call me Megs, preferring to use the name that graced my birth certificate. It all stemmed from a previously owned pet cat named Megs that had died when he was eight. I wasn’t sure if I should be horrified that someone had named their cat
Megs
or if I should book this guy in for therapy. You were eight, dude—she is in a better place, move on.

“Are you nervous?” His hand grazed across my cheek.

“No.” My exaggerated laugh didn’t fool anyone. “Yes.”

“It’s the whole third-date-third-base expectation. I’m not sure I am ready to sleep with you.” What the fuck was I saying? My mouth spewed words my brain was convinced I should not be saying.

“Baby, you are far from a foregone conclusion.” He smiled; it was a nice smile. Just not as nice as Troy’s. “Have I done anything to make you think that?”

Thank you, sweet baby Jesus, my drink was finally ready. I snatched the highball the minute it hit the bar, sipping the icy alcoholic goodness through a straw. Smile. “No, of course not.” Smile. Hiding emotions was something I clearly sucked at.

“Megan, we’re not going to do anything you’re not comfortable with. No expectations here, okay?” He grabbed his beer from the bar and took a sip.

“I don’t usually suck this much at dating.” It was more of an apology than an explanation. My
game
was very much missing in action.

“Why don’t we go shoot some pool or something?” His head jerked to the direction of the back left hand corner where we were told we’d find a couple of tables. “Get the ball action out of the way so you can relax.” The smile lit up his blue eyes.

I laughed. And not the fake kind. “I’d like that.” God he was sweet. That alone deserved a kiss.

He looped his arm around my waist and led us to the back end of the club. The pool tables were situated in little secluded alcoves, almost like little hidey-holes. Kudos management — it was a cute way to give the players privacy and probably facilitated more than just a blowjob or two. Things were looking up; I was thinking about blowjobs and not having a full-on panic attack. Awesome.

As we rounded the corner and stepped into the pool-cave the brighter light of the gaming area distorted my vision momentarily.

“Megs?” Troy’s eyes widened as he stood from taking his shot at the table. Every curve of his chest was displayed through the tight fabric of his white
Nirvana
T-shirt.

Wow. He looked
good
. Wearing faded blue jeans and black boots; he was his usual mix of unpretentious sexiness. Why tonight did it seem so much more… sexier.

“Megs, aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?” I was guessing from his tone I had been staring and unresponsive. It had been a while since he had affected me like that. Usually, I had time to prepare myself to act normal. Psyche myself up to see him and play my usual game of pretend. This was something else, I had been blindsided. I had also been drinking, so we can put some blame on that. I ignored the fact the couple of sips I had taken wouldn’t qualify as drinking.

“Yes, of course.” My brain kicked into gear as I peeled my eyes away from Troy’s chest. Jason, who I hadn’t noticed up until now, gave me a friendly wave.

“Troy and Jason, this is Josh. He’s a friend. Josh, this is Jason and Troy.” I stopped short not knowing how to explain my affiliation.
Here are two members of Power Station, my best friend’s fiancé’s band and before I forget to mention it, I slept with one of them
, didn’t seem like a good idea.

“Hey, dude.” Jason stepped forward and shook Josh’s hand, Josh returned the handshake with a mix of shock and genuine awe on his face. I was wondering how long it would be before he broke out the you-didn’t-tell-me-you-knew-Power-Station speech. Jase gave me a huge hug and a cheeky smile before adding, “Megs, you look like you’re going to start some trouble in that dress tonight.”