Picking Up the Pieces (10 page)

              I inwardly groaned at the hokiness of putting a virtual macchiato in an email, but I clearly couldn't get past this pansy behavior. I quickly hit send before I had a chance to contemplate it any longer. And as soon as my email went cruising through cyberspace, on its way to the one person who could possibly hold the key to my sustained happiness, I regretted including the picture. I probably didn't need to start off with "It's Adam" either since the sender would be automatically listed.
Fucking asshole.

             
But whatever. What was done was done, and now the ball was in her court. She’d either write back or she wouldn’t. No need to obsess over it. Nothing more I could do now. Might as well get to work. Staring at my monitor wasn’t going to help the situation. I was just going to clear my mind of all things Lily and . . .
holy shit, was that a ping?
I catapulted myself closer to my monitor as I vice-gripped my mouse. There it was. An email from
Hamilton, Lily
. I couldn’t help but feel relieved at the swiftness of her response. I allowed my eyes to drift down to the body of her email and took a deep breath.

Hey Adam,

It was great to see you too.

“Great!”
She’d written “great.” That had to be a good sign.

Though I’m thinking it’s less great since you sent me a picture of the thing that I need most in the world right now. I’m jonesing in the worst way. So, I’m sorry to say that I will not be enjoying your poor excuse for “paying it back.” Better luck next time.

P.S. Shouldn’t you be working? :)

              By the time I realized just how broadly I was grinning, it was too late. I was too far gone and already typing my reply. It was frightening how insanely happy I was that she had joked with me like she would have done seven months ago. Filled with certainty that this wasn’t all a huge mistake and that I owed us both a second chance, I again gazed over my reply before hitting send.

Let me make it up to you. If you’re around tomorrow morning, stop by the coffeehouse and I’ll buy you the real thing. Around 9?

P.S. Shouldn’t you ;)

             
I sent the message off, and bit at my thumbnail as I awaited her response. I felt like I had when I’d asked Melissa Price to the junior prom. Though, when Lily’s reply came through, it blew Melissa's response out of the water.

See you then.

I exhaled the first deep breath I’d been able to release since this whole email nonsense had started. Sinking back into my chair, I thought about how this felt so . . . right. It was a do-over. And I was sure as fuck going to make sure it went right this time.

Chapter 13: Lily

Coffee. With Adam. Tomorrow morning. Had he just asked me out? Maybe not asked me out in the traditional sense. He’d only said that he would make it up to me by buying me a cup of coffee.
That would make us even, right?
I’d bought
him
one. Now he’d buy
me
one. Just friends having coffee together.

But the thing was, we weren’t friends.
I’d never been just friends with Adam.

So what would this be?

A wave of anxiety ran through me that nearly rattled my core.
Was Adam giving me a second chance? Did I even deserve one? I’d spent these last seven months rehashing, analyzing, and critiquing what had happened between us. And the only conclusion I could come to was that it had been entirely my fault. I’d been wrong to think that I could resist Max, even though I really
had
loved Adam.

Because it’s not that simple.

It doesn’t matter that you only love one person.
Everyone has urges, sexual desires that, when presented with the opportunity, are difficult to ignore. The key to being faithful is to avoid putting yourself in a situation where you’ll be tempted to act on those desires. It means avoiding drunken nights in clubs while you and your friends dance with hot guys. Because you might just be tempted to kiss one of them. It means leaving happy hour early before you and that co-worker you’ve had a crush on for the past few months are the only ones left and he offers you a ride home. Because you might just take it.

Being faithful isn’t something people are.
It’s is an action. It’s a choice. It said so in a
Cosmo
article I read recently.
God, that’s a great fucking magazine.

***

By Friday afternoon, I felt spent. The students had been writing persuasive essays about whether or not they should get paid to go to school. Not surprisingly, most of them said they should. On the Smartboard, I projected an example of how their paper’s heading should look. And though they gave it a genuine effort, when Sam Christianson put the words “Your Name” at the top of his paper instead of his actual name, I briefly lost all faith in America’s future generations. “No, Sam,” I said chuckling, “I just wrote ‘Your Name’ up there so you’d know that your own name goes on the top left. Type ‘Sam Christianson.’”

“Oh, okay,” he said as he changed the font to some large illegible script that I’d already told them they weren’t allowed to use.
And when he typed his name all in lowercase letters, I couldn’t help think that a future career as a smut writer looked better and better.

***

As I made my way out of CrossFit a little after eight, I crossed my arms at the bitter chill that stung my cheeks. We’d had some unseasonably warm weather for the past few weeks, but suddenly, in early November, it seemed winter had come early. I cranked up the heat in my car and turned on my headlights as I pulled out of the parking lot. I’d told Tina and Trish that I’d meet them for a few drinks at a nearby bar that had a psychic on Friday nights. I wasn’t too interested in seeing what my own future held though. To be honest, I was a little frightened of psychics. Something about the way their eyes always looked glazed over. But the thought of getting Trish drunk was just too good to pass up.

Unfortunately, when I opened the door to my apartment and saw Amanda gorging herself on a gallon of ice cream, I thought maybe I’d have to take a rain check on my girls’ night.
She’d been avoiding Shane for weeks. But instead of getting better, she seemed to be getting worse. I couldn’t stand by and watch her self-destruct while I did nothing. “Why are you already in your pajamas eating an entire carton of ice cream?” I asked, accusation plaguing my tone.

I was sure she thought I’d already gone out for the night when she jumped at my question.
She gave some sarcastic answer, asked me why I was there, and then went back to her DVR’d
episode of
Sons of Anarchy
.

“Don’t be a smartass.
I’m going out in a bit,” I answered, studying her closely. She seemed to have lost a little of what made Amanda
Amanda
. When she’d walked away from Shane, she’d walked away from a part of herself too. “But by the looks of you, I actually don’t think I’m going anywhere. I’ve let this go on long enough . . . you, avoiding Shane . . . avoiding me . . . avoiding your own feelings. Let me take a shower. I’ll be out in ten minutes. You better be ready to talk then.”

Damn. Charlie Hunnam would have made one hell of a Christian Grey
, I thought as I glanced at the TV before making my way down the hallway to shower. Just when I’d been hoping the size of his dick would have made up for his strange accent, he’d backed out of the role.
Fantasizing about fictional characters? Christ, I’m becoming
extra
sexually frustrated lately.
Maybe it was finally time to invest in that vibrator Tina had suggested last year.

***

Saturday morning I was up before the sun. I’d slept surprisingly well, despite the nervous energy I’d been feeling most of the day Friday. Even if my conversation with Amanda hadn’t opened
her
eyes, it had opened
mine
. As I’d spoken about Amanda, I’d spoken, too, about myself and the mistakes I’d made. I’d told her that everyone deserves a second chance, even a dumbass like her. I’d given my friendship with Max that chance. And now Adam was giving me mine. And if
he
thought I deserved it . . . well, then I guess so did I.

             
I put on one of my Under Armour ColdGear shirts and some sweats, and threw my hair up before heading out the door for a run. The brisk morning air woke me up, and I’d gotten in three miles before heading home to shower.

             
I’d somehow managed to keep my mind clear from thinking about Adam for much of last night and this morning, but as the hot water sprayed against my skin, the smell of my vanilla body wash brought me back to the last time I’d been with him. We’d made love by the couch in a way that made a silky slickness run down my thighs at the thought. Afterward, we’d been in this same shower together. And my mind filled with images of rubbing soap along his solid chest and down the length of his cock until he hardened again. My heart raced at the memory, and I bit my lip to replace the emptiness my mouth felt without him thrusting inside it.

             
I rubbed the loofah across my chest and around my neck as I let the water hit my face and make its way down between my legs. I needed this man. Physically, emotionally, I wanted all of him. But I would take the pieces as he’d offer them. At his pace. If he even offered them at all. For now, just the thought of him was enough. Dropping my loofah, I let my hands sweep across my slippery breasts until one hand drifted down to calm the ache between my thighs.

             
Instantly, my own hand became Adam’s fingers skirting my clit . . . teasing me with subtle pressure until I craved him inside me . . . his mouth sucking hungrily at my opening as his tongue slipped in and out in soft, deliberate strokes. This is what I imagined as I closed my eyes and rested my head against my forearm on the tile wall, working my way to a much-needed release.

             
My breathing quickened as I tapped gently against myself to thoughts of Adam’s lips on my throat, his long fingers urging me over the edge. I felt my legs get weaker, shaking with every roll of my hips. I needed this. But as much as I tried, I just couldn’t get myself there.
Fuck!
I banged my head toward the shower wall in frustration, thankful that my arm was there to take the impact.
Yup, definitely going to need to invest in a vibrator. And preferably a waterproof one.

***

By 8:30 I had settled myself into a high-top table by the window of the coffeehouse.
I wanted to make sure I was there early because, for some reason, I didn’t want Adam to be waiting for
me
. Even though he’d offered to buy my coffee, I’d ordered my own when I’d arrived, figuring I’d drink it while I waited and collected my thoughts. Then, when Adam arrived, I would have another.

I sipped on my beverage
while I tried to wait patiently. But I was on edge, unsure of what the two of us would have to talk about. It was one thing to say a quick hello in a parking lot or exchange cute emails when each person had time to carefully compose their response. It was another thing entirely to sit there across from one another like everything that had happened between us hadn’t happened at all.

And it was probably even worse to sit
there across from one another knowing it
had
.

“Morning.” I was awakened from my internal monologue
by the sound of Adam’s voice. Good thing I was early. It was only 8:45. “You already bought yourself a cup,” he said, gesturing toward my coffee. “I thought it was my treat?”

“Uh . . . yeah, sorry.
I thought I’d be ready for another one when you got here. I’ll have another in a bit though. Thanks.”

“Okay, well let me grab a drink and I’ll be right back.”

Once Adam got in line, I spent the next two minutes staring at how his perfectly round ass looked in his fitted dark jeans. It didn’t take me long to remember how sexually frustrated I’d felt since that morning, and by the time he arrived back at the table, I was wiggling in my seat, trying desperately to find a position that would dull the ache between my legs.

“You okay?” Adam asked, a curious grin on his face.

Could be better
. “Yeah, just trying to get comfortable.”

“So,” he said, placing his coat on the back of his chair and taking a seat, “what’s new?”

God, this already feels so awkward
. Neither one of us would be able to make more than idle small talk.
Maybe it was a mistake to come here.
“Um, nothing really.” I searched my brain, trying desperately to find something to talk about. Anything.
Let’s see, what’s new, what’s new? I made a mess of my life and yours . . . wait, that’s not new. Shit. I joined CrossFit . . .who the hell wants to hear stories about CrossFit? Nobody, that’s who. I tried to get myself off in the shower this morning to thoughts of you . . . it didn’t work. Yeah, like I’d ever fuckin’ say that. Think, dammit. Got it:
“I went to Europe over the summer.”

“Really?
Where? Who’d you go with?”

I gave him a brief overview of my trip
—famous museums I’d visited, beautiful cathedrals I’d enjoyed
,
the delicious food I’d tasted. And he seemed genuinely interested as I shared some of the details. But after I revealed the fact that I’d gone alone, he’d gotten quiet.

Did he think I’d gone alone because of
him
? I’d gone alone because of
myself
. Maybe it had been a mistake to talk about Europe.
Maybe I
should
tell him about CrossFit or my masturbation attempt. Shit. I needed to get the attention off of me before I said something stupid.
“Did
you
go anywhere fun this summer?” I asked, hoping to alleviate some of the tension that seemed to have settled over the table since Adam’s arrival.

“The beach.”

Oookay. Guess we’re sticking with short answers.
I sat for a moment, listening to the sound of both of us sipping on our drinks, the cappuccino machines steaming behind the counter, the meaningless chatter of the employees. “Are we gonna talk about what happened between us?” I asked suddenly.

My question not only seemed to surprise Adam, it also surprised me. But I was immediately glad I’d said it.

 
Adam’s face softened as he seemed to be deciding how to respond. “I don’t know. Should we?”

“I’m not sure.
Maybe. We're not doing so well attempting to talk about anything else.”

Adam moved his coffee cup between his hands nervously.
“Nothing either one of us can say will change what happened last spring. I’m not sure if we should even be doing this right now.” Finally, Adam looked up, and his eyes met mine. “I just . . . when I saw you the other day . . . I couldn’t
not
see you again.”

I wasn’t sure what I saw on his face as he said those words:
I couldn’t
not
see you again.
Behind his composed exterior, I was sure I’d seen pain. Pain that
I’d
caused. But I also thought I saw a spark of hope glistening in his eyes as he looked at me. Hope that maybe, despite everything we’d been through, everything I’d done,
this
time might be different. “I couldn't not see you either,” I said quietly.

Adam’s tongue swept across his lips before he spoke.
“We . . . we were never really friends. We had feelings for each other so quickly after we met. I just can’t do that again." His eyes bore into mine, as if he saw some secret answer written there.