IllicitImpulse (10 page)

“Right.” John waved back at her. “Goodnight, Grace. And
thank you.”

Had he already thanked her? Should he have?

“Night, John.” She sounded small. Lost and helpless and more
than a little tired.

He watched her turn and make her way into the dark and when
she disappeared around the corner, he started the long walk back to his car.

* * * * *

Tal yanked the sheets from the bed more roughly than he’d
really intended to, jerking the fitted sheet off the mattress before turning to
the pillowcases. He wadded everything together, cursing under his breath, and
then marched down the stairs to the washer, shoved everything inside, popped in
one of those detergent pod things and slammed the lid shut.

It was pointless busywork and he knew it. Hell, he’d
probably be asleep by the time the wash cycle ended and then he’d just have to
do it again tomorrow morning. But one way or the other, the sheets were getting
washed and getting washed right now.

He didn’t even want to go back upstairs. If he did that,
he’d just drink or fall asleep on the couch or do both, if he was really lucky.
He stomped off to the office instead. At least he could hear the washer from
there, and there wasn’t much chance of falling asleep at his desk. Maybe he’d
even find something to do.

He flung himself into the chair and let momentum roll him
toward the neat stack of bills waiting in the inbox. On top of the pile were a
couple of checks from his old-school clients who still preferred checks. He
could tend to those.

In the distance, the washer began to churn. He cracked his
knuckles and rifled through the center desk drawer for a deposit slip.

What was eating him? Even the memory of bending Grace over
the desk in here granted him no solace. All he could think about was the phone
call he’d taken in here earlier this evening.

The call from Ivy.

Well, she had a right to move on with her life. He’d said so
himself. And he was happy for her. He’d been saying for years that one day
she’d find someone who could really make her happy—a lawyer or a doctor or a
CEO or something—and they’d get married and have gorgeous kids.

A whole softball team of kids, Ivy.

And she had warmed up to that.
Maybe you could teach them
how to hit home runs?

He hadn’t known what to say then, so he’d given her a hug
and made the decision that everything had worked out. And apparently it had,
because she’d written, on the stationery he’d given her, to say that she’d met
a wonderful man, a doctor, and was going to be married, just as he’d predicted.
Now she was coming to town and called, just as he’d invited her to, so that she
could share her joy with him over coffee.

For some reason, that really pissed him off. Pushing Grace’s
friend up against the wall had only helped a little.

But it had helped, hadn’t it? And the sex hadn’t exactly
hurt.

Years ago, if he’d gotten into a slow-burning rage, he would
have gone somewhere to pick a fight. Nowadays, he would go for a swim, a
different kind of bout, where you could throw everything your body had at
something that took it without flinching.

Now he just wanted to sit here and stew. He slapped the
deposit slip on top of a stack of paperwork. Even the thought of a beer didn’t
entice him.

Shit, if putting on a show for Grace’s friend hadn’t worked,
beer wasn’t going to do the job either.

Maybe I should have kicked his ass, just on principle.

That guy was going to have to get on the stick. It was
pretty damn obvious that they’d been tiptoeing around this for a while. He
could tell when they touched earlier. Another man—one with nothing invested in
a relationship or friendship—would have let that kiss take him into feeling her
up, getting her nice and warm for the show to come. A man who did have
something invested would have made it clear he was lending her out on a
temporary basis to be returned promptly when this experiment or whatever was
over.

This guy just didn’t give a fuck. That rated an ass-beating.

The washer launched into a choppy sequence of banging and
creaking. Soon it’d be finished and he could put the sheets in the dryer and
turn in. Or he could wait. In a little while, he could go out for that swim and
come back in time to meet his early client. Before long, all would look right
with the world.

Saturday was coming and he’d be fine. By the time Ivy got to
town next week, he’d definitely be fine. He was just worked up because Grace’s
friend wasn’t going to move forward with her and Grace was apparently all right
with it.

Hell, pretty soon she’d be the one calling to say she was
getting married. That was how things usually went, right?

Tal cracked his knuckles and resolved to take that swim
later. Or maybe a long, punishing run would feel just as good. The place would
smell like sweat, the sort of clean sweat from a workout begun right after a
shower. Right now everything still smelled just a bit like sex and it’d be hard
to maintain any kind of professional credibility that way.

He threw his pen at the inbox, where it clattered to a stop.
Then he glared at the phone.

Dammit. He hated when shit got all complicated like this.

He did say Thursday, right?

Grace bobbed up and down, dancing in place to ward off the
chilly air. Her breath emerged in a cloud, lit by John’s porch light, while she
rooted in her purse for the BlackBerry. She’d been almost certain he’d said
Thursday, but when she’d buzzed his apartment on the intercom, she’d been met with
silence. Maybe he’d meant next Thursday.

She found her handheld and scrolled hastily through the
texts. Yep. He’d said today, Thursday. His text had been all the more memorable
because he’d only sent one since their night together almost a week ago and
he’d waited until just yesterday to send it.

Now that’s not true.
He sent two messages. This one
and the one reminding her to meet him here and not at Bank.

He hadn’t been specific about the time though. She’d
presumed he meant the usual time, but maybe he had something else in mind.

Grace checked the time on the BlackBerry. Only 6:22. She
couldn’t be early, could she? She glanced across the street, tracing the route
she’d walked from her car. Maybe the trek from where she’d parked hadn’t taken
as long as she’d planned. Maybe he was up there and just hadn’t heard her—she
was early, after all.

Maybe he just forgot about you.

That didn’t make any sense. He’d set the time and place
himself, and this was the most important part of the process. What was the point
of any of this if she didn’t—

She willed herself to relax. The anxiety was taking over.
She walked around in a circle, letting the cold air settle her thoughts. It
would take too long to walk back to the car. By the time she arrived there, it
would be six thirty. Soon John would be here, and they’d move on, just like
they always did.

Except that this wasn’t business as usual. At least it
wasn’t for her. Everything had changed last week and while she’d known things
would be different, she certainly hadn’t predicted the way her experience would
color her relationship with her best friend.

Unpredictable. Not a word she would have thought to apply to
John. But when she’d kissed him that night, possibilities had slowly taken hold
of her mind and not let go over the long days since.

She’d had a lot of time to think about this and then try not
to think about it and then start thinking about it again. Her imagination
always started by pulling off John’s glasses, slowly letting him know that she
wasn’t going to release him quite as quickly as they’d all planned. From there,
her mind drifted off in a number of directions.

He eased her onto the table and opened her robe, baring her
body to his intense gaze. Or she pushed him back into the chair and lowered
herself onto his lap. Or they all ended up on the bed. Sometimes she would be
beneath Tal while John whispered instructions to them. Sometimes she was
between the two of them, their hands eagerly caressing her.

She puckered her lips and sipped at the cold, trying to get
her imagination under control. That sort of thing probably never occurred to
John. He seemed back to normal almost at once. Sure, he was all worried that
she was okay—and if she never heard that question again, she would be—but aside
from that, he didn’t seem to have considered what might have happened.

Just like in her hallway. God, when was she going to figure
this out?

Grace gazed into the distance and made out John’s shape
coming down the brick sidewalk, one hand in his coat pocket. Right on time. He
was only a few feet away when he looked up from the glistening sidewalk, close
enough for her to see surprise on his face.

“You’re early?”

Heat rose to her cheeks despite the evening chill. Did she
seem too eager? Did that matter anymore?

“I hope you haven’t been standing out here for long,” he
said. He came up the few steps toward her, making his way past her to the front
door.

“Just a few minutes,” she said. “Not long enough to walk
back to the car.”

John unlocked the door and let them into the elegant space
beyond, its vaulted ceiling lit by the ornate iron chandelier. They went up the
stairs to his door.

“I thought you would be here when I got here,” Grace said.

“Yeah, I was going for that too.” He opened the door and
stood back to let her precede him. “But you know. Work.”

Grace took off her coat while John shut the door behind
them. “Worse than usual?”

“Little bit, yeah.” He took her coat and hung it next to his
on the hooks near the door. “Just lots of things happening at once.”

Grace stepped out of her shoes and headed for the couch
while her friend went for the kitchen, dropping his messenger bag on the way.
She settled into the familiar corner of the couch and turned on the tall lamp
that stood behind her. They went through the same choreography whenever she
came over, as if they lived together.

This felt normal. She’d wrapped Christmas presents on the
floor there by the fireplace. She’d brought over hot-and-sour soup when John
lay on this very couch, wrapped in a blanket with the flu. They’d watched the
last episode of
ER
here because they knew they could count on each other
not to talk until the commercial breaks. In the difficult days between
boyfriends, she’d eaten ice cream and drowned her sorrows with bourbon and
gathered the strength to move forward.

This was normal, the first thing to feel normal in a long
time. How could anything bad happen here?

“Want a drink?” he asked from the kitchen.

“Is that kosher?”

The rich ripple of his laughter reminded her of their
situation. “I think we’re kind of past that now, Grace.”

“Well, are you drinking?” She smiled at the thought of
joining him as he bent this one last rule.

“Yep. Jack and Coke. And believe me, if there was any way I
could have done this for all the interviews, I would have.”

She smiled at the thought of sharing cocktails with him in
that prison cell where they had been meeting. “In that case, I’ll have one too.
Can’t have you drinking by yourself.”

“You got it.”

Grace let her head fall onto the back of the couch and
closed her eyes, listening to him opening the cabinets, to the clinking of ice
in the glasses. What would this be like every day? Her imagination gradually
pulled her away to another evening in the future. He’d bring her a drink and
they’d talk about their long day apart. She’d put her head on his shoulder.
Maybe they’d watch the flames in his fireplace in silence. Maybe then he’d
reach up to turn out the lamp. He’d lower his arm around her and she’d look up
to find herself so close to him, close enough to—

Her eyes burned. She pressed her thumb and forefinger to the
seams of her eyelids and found them wet.

Whatever is suddenly wrong with you, you need to handle
it. Now.

“Okay. Now we’re ready.” She opened her eyes and the sight
of him standing over her, holding their drinks, pushed her back into her
domestic fantasy with so much force that she had to anchor herself in reality
with a long breath. She reached for her glass, nearly dropping it as she tried
to avoid brushing her fingers against his. “Got it?”

“Yeah.” She cradled the glass in both hands and sat up.
“Sorry.”

His smile made her self-conscious. Did he think he needed to
reassure her? He put the other glass on the coffee table and went back to the
messenger bag for his legal pad and a couple of pencils. “You ready to start?” he
asked.

“Sure.” Grace set her glass on the table and then laced her
fingers together on her lap. She’d tried hard not to think about what this
interview was going to be like. The prospect of it made her queasy. But she’d
known from the beginning that this little sexual joyride wouldn’t be totally
free of consequences. “How did you want to go about doing this?”

“We could just do it the way we usually do.” He sat down
next to her and set the spare pencil on the table. “Just like normal, plus a
drink, minus the tape recorder.”

“No tape recorder this time?” she asked.

He rested the legal pad on his knee. “I thought it best not
to have a recording of how I watched my best friend with her partner as they
had intercourse under the influence of a product we’re still testing.”

“Good thought.” Her hands twisted together as she watched
him write the date in the top corner of the page. Her throat tightened with
each stroke of his pencil. “Actually, can we…can we just talk about this?”

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d said that to a
man. Most of them would rather hear the first few bars of
Dueling Banjos
coming from the darkness beyond the campfire. She knew John was different, but
his quizzical expression behind those glasses wasn’t exactly encouraging.

“Nothing really different, just not as structured as usual.”
She willed her voice not to break. “Please?”

His brows drew together and she wondered if he was about to
protest or ask questions. She tried to decide which would be worse. But after a
moment, he just nodded and leaned forward to set the legal pad and the pencil
on the table next to his drink.

“Thanks.” Her deep breath didn’t steady her as much as she
had hoped and she pushed her palms together. “I guess this has been harder than
I thought it would be.”

“It has?” he asked. Then, when some small part of her had
begun to anticipate an apology, he asked, “How so?”

She wanted to tell him what it was like to kiss him. That
she was in a fog just dense enough to stop her from considering the
consequences but not thick enough to obscure her actions completely. That
wasn’t where he seemed to be headed though, and she didn’t want to go there
alone. She turned away from him and gazed into the space just beyond the coffee
table.

“Grace.” She waited for him to continue but looked up at him
when he didn’t. Finally he took a deep breath and said, “I guess what I keep
coming back to is this. Are you sorry? Do you regret doing this?”

She looked down into her drink as if it were a Magic 8 Ball,
with all the answers floating there among the ice cubes. She gave the glass a
little twist, hoping that some resolution would rise up to meet her. Hell,
she’d even settle for “Ask Again Later”.

“No,” she said. “I mean, it was weird. Strange. To have you
watching us.”

“Strange how?”

Grace realized she didn’t have the vocabulary to describe
the particular brand of strange that suited this occasion. “I don’t know
really.”

“Creepy?” John suggested.

“No,” she answered. “Not creepy at all. Just… I didn’t mind
knowing you were out there. Not at the time.” She met his eyes again. “That
stuff really makes you crazy, John.”

He turned toward her, resting his arm on the back of the
couch, so close to her that he could brush her hair away from her face if he
extended his long fingers toward her. “Do you…do you wish you hadn’t?”

“It’s not that easy,” she said. “You know, that’s like a
normal conversation. You do something crazy like this and then right afterward
you wish you hadn’t.”

He pushed his glasses up. He did understand how far away
this was from normal, didn’t he?

“But what was it like, Grace? What did you feel?”

“I’m so used to feeling powerful after I take it. And I did
for a while. Everyone’s eyes on me.” She relaxed into his couch and wished she
could be closer to him, with his arms around her as he spoke about anything in
the world but this. “I’m not going to lie. It felt good. But that’s my point.”

He raised his eyebrow. “What is?”

“You don’t really feel
anything
while you’re on
Impulse. While it’s working.” She looked away from his efforts to make sense of
what she was saying. “I didn’t realize any of this until you touched me.”

She heard him moving, making the leather creak. “I still
don’t follow you.”

“It’s more than just wanting the sex. It’s like that’s
all
there is. I didn’t, you know, get that until you were there. See, that’s
basically what it feels like all the time with Tal. But if it can make me feel
like that with you…” She put her hands over her face, hoping he wouldn’t see
all the fantasies she’d indulged in. In his mind, she was still a test subject.
She had access to his couch and his liquor and all the comfort a good friend
could provide, but she’d never be more to him than that, and suddenly what she
had just wasn’t enough anymore.

Her eyes were watering again.

“You okay?” Without looking at him, she could tell he was
trying to decide whether or not to touch her shoulder.

She nodded and rubbed her eyes. “Yeah.” She sat up and put
her hands back into her lap. The air was cool on her heated skin. “Sorry. It’s
tough to remember all that.” She tried to smile. “You know, the high on that
stuff is amazing, but coming down is a little tougher every time.”

He reached for her, brushing her cheek with the backs of his
long fingers. “I’m sorry.” His whisper made her eyes burn again, and this time,
he caught her tear with his thumb as it made its way down her cheek. “I’m
really sorry.”

Unbidden, her hand moved to cover his, responding to a need
that the rest of her longed to acknowledge. “It’s not your fault. I started
this.”

He shook his head. “
I
started it, Grace.”

“It doesn’t matter now.” Grace closed her eyes and inhaled,
catching the faint scent of him, something warm and sweet, before she took his
hand away from her face. “Right?”

She watched him search for what to say next. She knew he’d
come up with the right thing to tell her. She also knew she couldn’t bear to
hear him say that he hadn’t meant to interfere with her and Tal, that he hoped
his own friendship with her was intact, or something else that would be
comforting if she weren’t in such a fucked-up state of mind.

Grace glanced at her watch without noticing the time. “I
should go.”