Chapter 12

Kathleen

It's four on a sunny Sunday afternoon. I'm in my apartment, enjoying the breeze through my open window as I curl up on my couch and drink hot tea. Green. Just the right temperature.

Sure, I've got work crap sprawled across my lap. And sure, I'm watching the same movies I always watch on my days off. If you can call this that. I mean, I am working.

Yet everything feels so peaceful that I'm about to fall asleep on my couch with this mug of hot tea in my hand, and I don't caaaare.

I've been in this state ever since Friday night. Have you ever been so sexually satisfied that everything inside your body – and mind – has recalibrated, refocused your perspective, and is now so at peace that you can barely even stand yourself? That's me right now.

It's been a helluva long time since I last felt this way after sex. Let alone two days after. Usually by now, I'm antsy again. Enough to curl up in bed with my plastic partner and take a tour of a masturbatory world. Nope. I don't even want to do that. In fact, I am so satisfied that the mere thought of having sex again is abhorrent.

Until I think about the way Ira slammed me against the wall, anyway. Or I think about how she sounded when she had me. Touched me. Kept going even after I came God knew how many times. Okay, so maybe I could have sex again. With Ira.

I laugh, because that's stupid. We had sex because, clearly, we needed it. Not just because we're two younger people with hormones raging in our 20s, but because it's something we've both thought about over the years. Now we know. Now we can move on.

I'll probably be ready to play by this weekend, after the public presentation. I'll go to Midnight and find Ms. Beautiful again. This time I'll finish the job. All over her.

Cackling, I drink my tea and look over my notes for the presentation.

My phone buzzes. Someone is texting me. I already know who.

"Get me out of here. This is the most boring party e v e r." Poor Eve. Dragged to the Mathisons' party along with her sister. Eve only likes rich people parties if she's half-drunk or it's likely to end in an orgy for her to amuse herself with.

"You made your bed. Lie in it." I think I'm going to follow my tea up with some wine at dinner. There's this Thai place I love. Delivery? Yes.

"I overheard Lara Anderssen and Ira Mathison. They were talking about you."

My heart stops. I put my tea on the table and sit up, blankets falling away from me. "Oh, yeah?" What is Ira saying? Surely, she's not going around bragging about fucking me. Or is she? No. She's not the type. I haven't even told Eve about it. I'm not sure I will… unless I have to.

It takes way too long for her to get back to me. During that time, I start sweating. So much for my relaxing afternoon. "Lara's mad about you screwing up your presentation last week and is convinced it's going to happen again. She wants Ira to be your keeper. That's what I got out of it, anyway."

"Fuck her. Only not really. Don't fuck her, Eve."

"Yeah, right. I ain't going near that. She'd try to eat me alive, and then get her wifey to film it. You hear they might be starting an adult line of something or other? God help us all."

No, I hadn't heard that, but it doesn't surprise me. "Has Ira been saying anything weird about me?"

"Huh? No. Why? You guys have a row?"

"You could say that."

"Don't worry about that asshole. She's probably preoccupied with looking for her next blond bimbo. Hey, maybe it could be you!"

I don't say anything for a while. Not until I see her getting ready to type something else. "Don't even joke about that."

Eve disappears for a while. Probably talking to someone. Probably drinking. Probably answering for the umpteenth time that, no, she wasn't there to watch her sister fuck her girlfriend in public. Why do people ask her that? I was there. No way Eve would have hung around for more than five minutes after the festivities began. Speaking of, I have yet to get a wedding invitation from the Warners. I'm slighted.

My evening is ruined. Not because something bad has happened, but because now I'm no longer able to enjoy the afterglow I've been simmering in since Friday night. I don't want to have sex, but I'm thinking weird things about Ira. And my work. She's going to ride me hard about my presentation all this week. What will happen when we see each other tomorrow? Will we acknowledge what happened? Or are we going to pretend it's all in the past… like what happened a decade ago?

Against my better judgment, I text Ira.

"We need to talk. About Friday."

I hit send before I lose my nerve.

Unsurprisingly, I haven't heard from her for a long time. She's at her family's party, and I'm here working to keep me distracted. I order that Thai for dinner. Soon enough I'm in the bath, relaxing in a plethora of bubbles and staring at my tablet, trying to read a book.

My phone, which is perched safely on a shelf, buzzes.

At first, I forget that I texted Ira. Which is good, because otherwise I may not have picked up my phone and looked at her message.

"What is there to talk about?"

Seriously? I'm gonna I don't even know.

"You know what. Unless it was so terrible that you've blocked it out of your mind."

"Hardly."

That's it for a minute. She wants me to continue the conversation.

"Is it going to be weird tomorrow?"

"Only if you're the one making it weird."

"So we're good?"

"We're good."

I watch my bubbles bob on the water, my teeth toying with a hangnail. "See you tomorrow."

"Good night."

For some reason, this exchange hasn't made me feel better. If anything, I'm more anxious than ever. Because… well, you know. Ira and I had sex. Not just any sex. Really, really hot sex that nearly ate me alive and left her breathless afterward. I don't care who you are. I don't care if you're the most hardened ice queen in the universe – emotionally, that is. If you have that kind of sex with a woman, it's going to affect you. You're going to treat her differently.

And this is Ira Mathison we're talking about here. Someone who, even back when I first decided to sleep with her, is known for going through a lot of women. Quickly. That doesn't mean she treats them with disrespect, of course. I have never heard about that, but it does mean that I'm no longer an interest to her. She's conquered me. She knows what it's like to fuck Kathleen Allen. She knows what my nipples look like and what I sound like coming from her special way of making love, and what it's like to have my stupid horny pussy go nuts because she's touching me. Fuck me. I am so stupid.

Excuse me while I try to finish my bath in peace. It's going to be a long week, and I need all the relaxation I can get.