He suddenly has my full and complete attention. I had never heard this story and had no idea how he’d kept it from me for so long.
“She left the next day for San Diego, had just accepted a job at a small pharmaceutical company. I followed her. Found her in downtown San Diego and begged her to give us a chance. Even long distance. I’d been pining for this girl for so long and every dream I’d ever had about her came to life in the six hours we’d spent together.”
“So what happened, why aren’t you with her?”
He shrugs, “She said no.”
“That’s it? She said no and you just let it go?”
“And that, Damian, is my point exactly. Sometimes I want to kick my own ass. Don’t make me kick yours.” He takes another swig of his beer then fixes his eyes on mine. “I know I’m skeptical of Addison, but I was the one who had to pick your ass up off the ground three years ago. I don’t want to do that again.”
I sit there silently taking in what he just said. “I’m not that same person Reed.”
He nods in understanding. “Fix things with Addison, make her see that sometimes two wrongs make a right.”
I should call in sick today. I’m still not feeling great, but my boss would not be happy. We’ve had a ton of cases lately. I have to go in.
I think about heading in early, avoiding the coffee morning routine that has become our neighborly thing. But, if I do that, the tension that’s already building will become tighter, and it will make it harder to move forward with whatever relationship we can salvage.
I slept for twelve straight hours last night. Falling into bed the minute I knew he was home from the track. I’d heard his shower turn on and finally relaxed under my comforter, content that he was home.
The evidence of our night still marks my skin and I’d be lying to myself if my heart hadn’t been slightly marked as well. It feels as though I left a piece of it behind when I snuck out, and I need to figure out how to get it back. I’m not ready to hand it out just yet.
Opening my cupboard, I carefully look over all the mugs. I pick a plain white ceramic one that says, “I’m a douche” on the bottom. It’s a way of apologizing without having to admit that I was wrong, because at this point, drunk sex with my neighbor wasn’t a good idea, even if it was the best sex I’ve ever experienced.
I’m stirring my milk into my coffee when I hear his front door slam closed. He’s either coming or going and I’m not sure which scenario I’d rather have.
Only one way to find out. Taking a deep slow breath, I calm my racing heart and head out to the balcony, sliding the door to the side and carefully stepping outside. Sitting down in one of my white chairs, I slowly sip my coffee. It’s eerily quiet, and I’m sure he’s ditched me, when his door slides open. I close my eyes and tell my heart to chill; it’s going to be fine.
Opening one eye at a time I find is a big mistake. His hair seems extra messy, his shirt is off and the track shorts he’s wearing are pulled down low on his hips, causing my breath to hitch and my fingers and toes to curl. I know what that skin feels like, I can practically still taste him on my tongue and the desire that’s been here for weeks hasn’t vanished, if anything, it’s stronger.
He’s playing with something in his hand—his coffee cup, that plain black boring one he sometimes uses is abandoned on the table. I can’t see what he’s holding, but suddenly he straightens and turns, his dark eyes intense as they take me in.
“Addison.” It’s an acknowledgement that I’m here. There’s no emotion in his voice, no kind eyes to wish me good morning, no teasing joke about my white mug.
He advances towards me, his hands still busy with whatever he’s holding. I’m cemented in place, slightly afraid, slightly curious but mostly mesmerized by a man who looks the same as Damian, but strangely, seems to be someone else.
Reaching his hand in my direction, I break my eyes away to see what he’s holding. “Can you please put this on my back.”
A deep burning blush crawls over my cheeks as I take the Neosporin from his fingers. “Sure.”
He turns and the angry welts from my nails are healing but look red and painful. A stark reminder that I can call it a mistake all I want, but the cold facts say something different.
The tip of my index finger touches the top of the largest and deepest cut and he stiffens.
“Sorry.”
His back is expanding with each breath he takes, his muscles flexing and relaxing under his smooth olive skin. Gently I slide a lubricated finger down the first mark, the tip of my finger the only part of me touching his skin. He shivers slightly on a large exhale, and I leave my finger at the bottom of that scratch, my hand beginning to shake with the urge to touch him more. To rub my hands over his shoulders and down to his fingers that only days ago made my body tremble and my insides shake.
Standing perfectly erect, he’s barely breathing, as my finger stays put, not in control enough to move on to the other marks.
Inhaling sharply, I remove my finger. The slightest release of his shoulders tells me this is as painful for him as it is for me. I can’t help but wonder if he now considers that night a mistake as well. If it were possible, would he want to erase it from his memory? I continue my first aide on each of the subsequent scratches, his shoulders tense again, and he’s barely breathing, his body wound tightly until I get to the final one. When I’m finished he turns, his eyes softer, his lips slightly parted as he takes the tube from my hand.
“Thanks.” Then he’s gone, and I’m left outside, unease creeping all over my skin.
Work sucks. I can’t concentrate, I have a slight headache, and I’m checking my phone constantly for any text from Damian. I am hoping for an apology for the distant behavior this morning, an invite to the track or a run this afternoon. Anything to let me know we are going to be okay. But my phone stays deafeningly silent. The only incoming messages I’m receiving are from Paige wanting to know exactly what went down with the sexy neighbor.
Paige: You can’t ignore me forever. I want details.
Me: I’m not ready to talk.
Paige: Mia started talking multiples.
Me: Don’t remind me.
I should have expected this. Damian couldn’t have been clearer that he wasn’t looking for anything easy. He knew I wasn’t ready, told me hours before I begged him that I’d better be prepared for a lot more than just one night. This is entirely my fault.
“Hey, Addison.” I look up to see Veronica Allen in my doorway. She’s the only other female associate in this office and while we’re not exactly friends, we do have each other’s backs. “How was your weekend?” she asks.
“Good, busy. Yours?” I say too quickly hoping she’ll move on from this topic. My weekend is the last thing I want to discuss.
“Fine.” She looks over her shoulder, her red hair falling into her face. “Wanted to warn you Thomas is on a war path this morning and your name was mentioned.”
My shoulders fall forward. I really don’t want to deal with him today.
“Sorry to deliver the bad news.” Her nose scrunches up in genuine sympathy. “I think he wants you to start working on that pro bono case.”
“Ugh, Thanks for the warning.”
“Addison!” Thomas begins shouting through my intercom and I jump.
“Here we go,” I say to Veronica as she nods and takes off.
“I need you in my office.”
Gathering a notepad and pen I make my way down the hall. It’s a small office. Five attorneys in total and two of them are partners. For the most part, I keep to myself, do my job, then go home and have my other life. The one that was pretty pathetic and boring until recently.