Rivalry.
Come to think of it, he’d probably seen her before. It was only in the past couple of weeks that Michelle had started bringing him coffee; he used to get it himself every Wednesday and Thursday before life had started feeling so exhausting; they were the hardest two days in the business week, Wednesday being dead smack in the middle, Thursday taunting him with the taste of the weekend only to be bitterly reminded that first he had to get through Friday.
He checked his reflection, his eyes catching the phone in the mirror. It was now Saturday night; she hadn’t called. Maybe Cindy had neglected to give her the note? Maybe he should stop being so obsessive and focus on Jess for a change. Friday’s breakfast had been a nightmare.
“I swear, Gambel can be so ridiculous, it’s as if he never even graduated high school… he’s so incompetent!” She noticed that his attention was on his napkin. “Baby?”
“Hmm?” He was thinking to himself how nice green looked against Greta’s skin.
“Are you listening?” The distress in Jess’ furrowed brows was unnerving.
“Huh?” He cleared his throat and sat up straighter. “I mean, yeah. Of course I’m listening.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Okay then, what did I say?”
His nervous glance around the restaurant told her that he had no idea.
She scoffed. “Did I ever tell you how amazing of a listener you are?” Her sarcasm thick and cold.
What an asshole. “I’m sorry.”
She rolled her eyes and let her gaze settle on her plate. Only a third of her food was gone, too busy venting to the one person she expected to care the most. Ever since Wednesday he’d seemed distant. Was this the part where he started to get cold feet? She thought the engagement dinner had been successful but she had noticed some odd, off moments then as well.
She felt the urge to cry welling in her throat.
He knew that strained, suppressed look. “Jess, I’m sorry. Tell me again; I’ll pay attention better this time, I promise.” She didn’t respond, just picked up her fork and started to eat slowly. “Jess?”But the silent treatment had already sank in.
He’d managed to fix things by suggesting Long Island with Trace and Delilah. Because he’d always hated double dates---even if they were with Trace and Del---but she loved them, and they still had yet to try this bar.
He let his eyes remain on the phone for one more second, then let it be done. That was the last moment of his life he’d spend fretting over this Greta chick.
***
“I’ve been thinking about how bad I want to fuck you all night.”
They were standing at the end of his bed and he was wasted, leering at her as if she were naked. She didn’t know if she should be worried---Justin hardly ever got shit-faced anymore---but before she could really contemplate what was going on he was beginning to topple over.
She tried steadying him. “You need to sleep.”
He smelled of tequila as he protested, swaying against her. “I don’t.” Grabbing the sides of her face. “I need you.” Kissing her hard, lustfully, a hand falling to his pants, unzipping hurriedly.
She was helpless to her desire to kiss back, equally lustful. It’d been almost two weeks since they last had sex, she could no longer deny how bad she was aching to feel him, casting her suspicions aside, lifting her dress, and bending over.
He didn’t hesitate, pushing into her suddenly, roughly. “I love you.” He pumped effortlessly considering his altered state, in and out, relishing in how tight she felt, her muscles clenching his dick. “I love you so much Jess.” His eyes were closed, guilt and intense pleasure building up. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I’m sorry Jess. I’m so sorry.” Apologizing over and over as he continued to thrust wildly.
She was panting, moving against him. It felt good, yet she was unable to fully enjoy herself. His apologies were disquieting. Had he done something and that’s why he was so distant?
He grabbed her hair tugging lightly the way she liked it. “I’m sorry.” On the verge of climaxing. She opened her mouth to tell him it was okay, but his thrusts quickened, became harder causing her to moan instead. She lost her train of thought, engulfed in his intensity. And just as they were both about to come, the phone rang.
A moment of indecision. He was drunk, but not that drunk. Not even the cloudiness from the alcohol coursing rapidly through his veins could stop him from wondering if it was Greta.
But in the end he decided to finish, satisfied by the cry that meant Jess had finished too. He had to stick to his vow to end the obsession.
***
Two A.M.
He sat at the edge of the bed scrolling through his caller ID. Jess’ breath was softly audible, uneven as she slept, her arm lying on his side of the bed where it had once draped over his body.
He felt so conflicted, stuck between curiosity (the prospect of something new) and shameful guilt (all his apprehensions that came with everything old).
Because of one stupid phone call suddenly his heart and his mind had become rivals.
***
Perhaps in his still slightly inebriated state he’d read the numbers wrong.
He found himself scrolling through the caller ID list again the next morning while Jess was in the shower.
But no luck; all the numbers were numbers he knew.
His mind said: “Very well. As it should be. You were supposed to be over this before you even went out last night.”
His heart frowned, and said in reply: “Fuck you.”
