Page 56 of All That History
I heard the footsteps, as I pulled on my clothes.Almost not daring to turn around, to see which of them it would be, as I buttoned only as much of my shirt as was necessary to keep it from flapping open.
A hand on my arm.
“You can shower.”William, still looking surprised.
I shook my head.“It’s okay, I gotta go.”
He nodded, still seeming confused.“Well...can I get your number?”
My turn to frown.“What for?”
A glance back, at the bedroom neither of us could see into now.“You’re hot.You’re a good fuck.I’d like to do this again.”
I could picture Flynn in the chair, silently glowering.“Is he gonna be up for that?”I jerked my chin.
William winked.“What he doesn’t know...”
I could feel the frown forming; forced the expression to clear.To show no judgement, just curiosity.“Is that something you guys do?”
An eye-roll.“You’ve seen how he is.Why should he care, if I’m doing it by myself.”
“So just you and me, then?And he doesn’t know you meet other guys?”
William gave an exasperated snort.“Look, if you’re not interested...”
I shrugged.“Just not in town that often, is all.”I could tell I’d annoyed him.
William reached past me, to pull open the door.“Pity.Anyway.Have a good night, then.”
It was clear dismissal.I pushed my feet into my shoes.
“Yeah, you too.”
He didn’t even reply, just closed the door.
#
The cold of the streetwas like a slap.Reality after the daze of their apartment.Unruly, compared to the orchestrations of Flynn and William’s bedroom; the way I felt like a chess piece, moved around according to some arcane set of rules.A version of the world that I was too transient in, to be worth having it explained.
All I could see was the expression in Flynn’s eyes as I stood over him, jerking myself.Hunger and shock, and something else I’d been too horny, too caught up in the moment, to recognize fully.My brain too flushed with the thrill of what I was doing, how I’d upended their script; as if it was merely one of the thousands of permutations of the evening that I’d imagined, not reality.
I walked quicker, wishing that I’d brought a jacket.Knowing that I should just pull out my phone, summon a ride in one of the apps that was so useless back home and so ubiquitous here.Only the thought of seeing a message from Flynn on the screen as I went to unlock it - or, equally terrifying, there being no message at all - kept me striding down the sidewalk.
He’d be angry, even if he was turned on.Some deep, instinctive part of me knew that.Not just because I’d dared careen off the rails of their performance, but because I knew his secret motivation in it.The rigidity of his self-imposed control, stability amid the runaway uncertainty of the rest of his life.
The guilt hit me like ice water.So shocking, I almost stumbled over my feet.Glanced around myself, embarrassed, hoping nobody had seen me come so close to tripping.Relieved, a moment later, that such concern - such interest - wasn’t a part of life in the city.
Which just left me with my sudden shame.
I’d not been thinking about Flynn, not really, when I’d stood astride his lap.Only my uncontrollable desire for him, my desperate attempt to reshape the evening, make it so that the man I was performing for was more involved than merely unblinking eyes across the room.Selfish, even as I told myself he wanted that, too; reminded myself of the heft of his erection through his jeans, after we’d kissed outside the restaurant.Selective blindness, focusing solely on that physical reaction and not the words with which he’d tried to explain himself.
I fought the urge to stop in the hotel lobby.To fall into one of the chairs off reception; to gasp, my skin prickling from the sudden change of temperature, and let my brain continue reeling from this understanding of how deeply I’d fucked up.How thoroughly I’d managed to convince myself I was doing, even if not a good thing, then at least something both Flynn and I wanted.Blinded in it, by my own needs.
The mirrored wall of the elevator was cold against my forehead.I turned, eyes barely open, at the chime of the doors opening; almost collided with a couple getting in.
“Oh...oh, sorry.”My apology a stutter.
“My fault, I thought this was going down.”An older man, late-fifties.Dressed for a late dinner; his hand at the small of his wife’s back.
