Taint

“Are they that good? Like, will I be able to distinguish it from just regular sex?”

I grin, hoping that it comes off as more reassuring than mocking. “Think of the act of sex as a slow burn. There are highs and lows, of course. Some areas burn hotter than others. But for the most part, it just kindles until it’s eventually extinguished.

“Now, achieving orgasm…imagine that burn building into a flame. And that flame growing into a wildfire. And that wildfire combusting into a fireworks display on the 4th of July. Dozens of magnificent colors bursting, popping, sizzling. Lighting up the night sky with blinding brilliance. You can tell the difference between that slow, steady burn and fireworks, right?”

Ally picks up her spoon and digs around in the ice cream carton, avoiding eye contact. “Yes, of course.”

“Then you know whether or not you’ve achieved orgasm.” I pick up my spoon from the pint and lick the ice cream remnants before pointing it towards her. “So tell me, Ally…Did Evan ever make you feel fireworks?”

She’s quiet for a few beats, so I know I’ve crossed the line. But instead of slapping me across the face soap-opera style or high tailing it out of my house, she laughs. She laughs that carefree belly laugh that illuminates the darkness of my lonely heart. The kind that is usually accompanied by a snort and/or tears at the tiny crinkles around her eyes. The kind of laugh that makes me laugh too, for no damn reason at all.

“No,” she shakes her head, still laughing. “No, Evan never made me feel fireworks. Oh my God, how pathetic am I? Twenty-seven years old and I’ve never had an orgasm!” Hilarity overcomes her once more, and she slaps the kitchen top.

“Ally…” I say, catching my breath. “Ally, that doesn’t make you pathetic at all. That makes him pathetic. He has perfection at his fingertips, yet he can’t get you off? You were pure and untouched when you met him. Untainted. You gave him a beautiful gift. The least he could’ve done was make you come properly.”

That gets her attention, and all signs of humor are erased from her expression. “I guess you’re right. But it was just never a priority to Evan.” Her face falls, sadness creeping onto her delicate, porcelain features. “I was never a priority.”

I want to touch her so badly. I want to pull her chin up so she can see me…so she can feel the conviction in my next words. “Then why on Earth would you want to be with someone who only makes you an option? When you clearly have made him a priority?”

Her eyes meet mine, unmasked pain and confusion so evident in those cyan orbs. “Justice…don’t-”

“I mean, why would you put up with that when you know you deserve so much better?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know. I mean, do I really deserve better? Is there better than this? We grow up seeing the leaders of our nation being cheaters and liars. We hear about deception destroying marriages every day. What’s the alternative? Loneliness?”

No. Me. I’m the alternative.

But that would be a lie, wouldn’t it? That would make me just as bad as Evan and every other piece of shit that’s ever hurt a woman.

“Happiness,” I say instead. “Friendship. Freedom.”

“Ha, freedom,” she half-snorts. “Is there such a thing for us? When our lives are exploited for must-see-TV?”

“Mine isn’t,” I state matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, that’s because you didn’t grow up as an Upper East Side sock puppet. You got to have a real childhood, with parents who didn’t leave you to be raised by nannies and friends that actually liked you for you, and not for who you could introduce them to.”

“Don’t be so sure,” I murmur, rolling my eyes.

“Oh yeah? Then how did you escape the madness? How did you avoid the paparazzi and fakeness and disillusions of grandeur?”

“Circumstance.”

We both shrug and go back to raking our spoons over ribbons of mint and chocolate. I don’t want to explain, and she doesn’t want to hear an explanation. We’re both comfortable in this illusion of safety and normalcy where spying cameras and incriminating tabloids don’t exist.

“Ok, if you were on a first date with a woman, would you be more impressed if she ordered a salad or a big, juicy burger?”

I raise an amused brow at her unpredictability. “Huh?”

“Salad or burger? Which girl is gonna get the goods?” she says before plopping a dollop of ice cream on her tongue. I watch with rapt fascination as she licks the spoon clean, too absorbed to even attempt to answer her question. Ally catches my gaze and puts the spoon down, a mischievous smile twitching her lips. “Focus, Drake. Answer the question or I’ll be forced to steal your ice cream stash and eat it all, locked up in my room alone.”

I snap out of my trance and give her a half shrug. “What do you expect? I’m only human.”

“Your sudden lapse of ADD has nothing to do with being human and everything to do with you being a man. So put the testosterone on ice and answer the damn question.”

“Fine, fine.” I tilt my head from side to side, contemplating my answer. “I’d have to go with burger girl.”

“Burger girl? Even though she smells like deep-fried animal carcass and has a case of the meat sweats?”

“No, no,” I chuckle, shaking my head. “Because she isn’t afraid to be what she is.”

Both brows rise in confusion. “What she is? You mean bloated?”

“No, Ally,” I smile. “Real. She’s not afraid to show me who she truly is.”

“Interesting,” she remarks, tapping her spoon against her lips. “Especially considering that getting you to show me who you are is like pulling teeth.”

I look around as if she couldn’t possibly be talking to me. “Um, I’m pretty sure you’re in my house right now. And we’ve even quasi-swapped spit by sharing ice cream. You even wore my clothes!”

“But you’re so vague! You’re like a steel vault that I’m trying to tap into with a meat mallet.”

“You have a weird obsession with meat today,” I jibe, trying to resist my grin.

“Oh, you wish, buddy,” she retorts, not even realizing just how true that statement is. Or maybe she does?

Ally props her elbow on the countertop, resting her chin in her palm with a sigh. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Because you’re full of shit.”

“Ouch,” I cringe.

“You’d totally pick salad girl. You’d pick her, bring her back to your place then play her ribs like an xylophone.”

Now it’s my turn to laugh hysterically. “Oh hell no! Definitely not.”

“All guys pick salad girl. It’s a proven fact,” she nods confidently. “Burger chicks get no love.”

What is it about this girl? She’s so cool and cute and funny, and just…real. She’s my burger girl. Everyone else is just salad—cold and unfulfilling.

We finish off the last of the ice cream before moving to the living room to channel surf. Ally snatches the remote and instantly turns it to an old episode of Friends on Nick-At-Night. It’s the episode where Monica and Chandler get married.

“I love these guys,” she remarks, settling in at my side. I stretch my arm across the back of the loveseat (don’t even get me started on that name) and she curls into me even more. Holy f*ck. Please don’t get hard, please don’t get hard, please don’t get hard…

“Yeah? Why?” I ask, trying to distract my mind.

“Well…they’re the ultimate BFFs. Six friends, living in the city, experiencing life together. From mishaps and misadventures to love, romance, friendship. I just love everything about them.”

Ross threatens to kick Chandler’s ass, and Ally giggles. I smile down at her as she watches intently, her face glowing with tenderness. It’s like observing an extraterrestrial being, something so foreign and exotic and exciting that you just can’t stop staring. You don’t want to move, you don’t even want to blink, in fear that they’ll fade away into oblivion.

“I miss those days,” she sighs, as we watch Monica walk down the aisle. I know what she means, and something in my chest sinks. I want to pull away and let her live her memory alone when she continues. “Not the wedding. Just that feeling of togetherness. Having friends to experience the highs and lows of life with you. I miss it.”

I shrug. Ally feels the rise and fall of my chest and looks up with a frown. “You don’t miss it?”

“I never had it.”

“Oh, come on. No old friends from Denton Academy that you raised hell with? If memory serves me well, I remember Denton guys having quite the reputation.”

I shake my head with a smile. Oh, I raised hell. Shit, I was legendary. But she’d never know that.

“I never had friends like that. I don’t even have friends like that now,” I tell her.

Ally lets her hand drift until it finds mine. She squeezes, her eyes smiling like they’ve just found a shiny, new penny. “Well…you have me. I’m your friend, right?”

Friend. Friend.

Is that what I am to her? Is there any other option?

I came into this with intentions of being something different. Her teacher. Her advisor. Her guide.

But then…then I wanted to be something else. Her friend, yes, but unconsciously, I thought that I would mean more. Something deeper.

Her lover.

I wanted to be this woman’s lover. This married woman’s lover.

As jaded and selfish and all–around f*cked up as it makes me, it’s what I want. And even knowing that this could never be, I still want that illusion. I want to dig my heart out with a teaspoon and set it aflame, when I can clearly see how it will destroy me. That this woman—this delicate little dove—will destroy me.

“We are.” It’s all I can say without giving way to my true feelings. Without analyzing all the coulda-shoulda-wouldas that currently run through my head.

I squeeze the side of her arm and look back at the TV. Joey is officiating, and he tells Monica and Chandler to kiss once more. I laugh. Because that’s what a friend would do.

SEX, LIES, VIDEO TAPE AND PREGNANCY RUMORS?

Upper East Side socialite, Evan Carr, was caught with another woman while leaving a secluded clinic in Hoboken yesterday, dressed in plain clothing, a baseball cap and dark shades. The woman, also dressed similarly, appears to be the same woman from the sex tape that surfaced a week ago.

Rumors of infidelity are nothing new for the 29-year-old Manhattan playboy, and sources say that the woman in the tape and photographs is actually wife Allison Elliot-Carr’s best friend, Kelsie van Weiss. Kelsie and Allison both attended St. Mary’s Prep and even studied at Columbia together. According to sources close to the couple, Allison has indeed left their penthouse home in the city and has checked into a treatment facility for an addiction to painkillers, sparked by the cheating fallout. No word on which center at this time, but stay tuned for the latest breaking news…

I read the story again. Then again, hoping that I’ve misread. I mean, it’s the internet. Shit gets twisted, turned around and lost in translation. This can’t be correct. So what if I’m still basking in the rose-colored haze left behind by Ally’s presence last night. Something this awful, this disgusting, this hurtful can’t happen to her. Not even a prick like Evan could stoop that low.

I close the Google alert on my phone and scroll to my contacts. Heidi picks up on the first ring.

“I’m on it, Drake,” she snaps over the blaring sounds of car horns and shouting food vendors.

“Tell me this shit isn’t true.”

“What? You read Page Six, right? It’s all over E! and TMZ.”

“I know.” I silently scold myself for giving Evan too much credit. Of course, he would be that vile. It’s his true nature. That’s what happens when two ain’t-shit people procreate. They birth ain’t-shit kids that grow up to be ain’t-shit husbands.

“Like I said, I’m on it. We’ve already leaked check-in information for Mrs. Carr. Even some photos of her enjoying a massage and a facial that we pulled from your security. Everything will check out on her end. As for Evan…nothing we can do there.”

“And you ensured the header is displayed on the documents?” For tax purposes, Oasis is technically an ultra-exclusive spa. Few people know it exists, and even fewer actually know its location. The pap wouldn’t even know where to look.

“Yes, of course, Justice. This isn’t my first rodeo, you know.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Heidi asks, annoyance in her voice. When it comes to business, Heidi is about as no-nonsense as it gets. She isn’t challenged often– she has no reason to be. Her reputation speaks for itself.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a migraine digging its way from my eyelids to my temples. Definitely not the way I had planned to spend my Saturday morning. “I thought I asked you to have someone on Evan?”

“And I did! We can’t monitor his every move, Justice. I actually have other clients, you know.”

“I don’t give a damn about your other clients, Heidi. Take care of this.” Knocking resonates from the front door, and I jump to my feet, anxious and irritated. “Look, fix this shit. The last thing Ally needs is bullshit addiction rumors. Do whatever you need to do.” End.

I stalk to the front door, my patience diminishing with each step. Too preoccupied, I yank it open without bothering to look out the peephole.

Ally’s gaze sweeps my frame, eyes wide with curious delight, and those red locks illuminated by the bright morning sun. She’s dressed in jeans, a green silk camisole and a purple cardigan, more casual than I’ve ever seen her. However, I’m less than decent in soft flannel pajama pants…and nothing else.

“Well, good morning,” she smiles slyly, sliding through the door, her shoulder grazing mine. She’s holding a brown paper sack and goes straight to the kitchen to set it down. She’s comfortable here. She’s comfortable with me.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, quickly closing the door, but not before checking to make sure no one followed her here.

“Yeesh, you’re grumpy in the morning. For your information, I wanted to surprise you with something totally sweet and awesome, but I can leave if you want.” She flips her hair dramatically and makes her way back to the door. I step into her path before she can even get close.

“Sorry, uh, I just wasn’t expecting you,” I say, gazing down at her, resisting the urge to take my finger and free her bottom lip from its cute, little pout. “And I had a rough morning. Please stay. I could use something totally sweet and awesome.” I flash her a grin, just to soften her up. A face that gentle, that delicate, should never frown.

“Are you mocking me, Drake?” she smirks.

“Maybe. Depends on what you’ve got in that bag.”

Ally smiles, and warmth sweeps over me. Not the heat I feel when I imagine her tight, little body under mine. But real, palpable, comforting warmth. Her smile is the sun—bright and infectious. I’d rather go blind from staring than be without it.

She turns back around and sets the bag on the counter. “Well, it’s your lucky day, because honestly, this is as much of a treat for me as it will be for you.” She begins to unpack her paper sack, splaying things on the marble countertop. “First—breakfast! Your friend Riku—who is a total, freakin’ hottie, by the way—hooked me up with my favorite brunch food ever, fried chicken and waffles!” She uncovers a large Tupperware and the mouthwatering scents of fried batter, spices and syrup fill the room. My stomach rumbles in approval.

“You eat chicken and waffles?” I ask, stepping forward to get a better look at the piping hot, deep-fried fare.

“Hell yes!” she exclaims proudly. “I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve gone to Melba’s in Harlem. You ever been?”

“Can’t say I have.”

She slaps my bare chest lightly and damn near squeals. “You have to let me take you! It’s da bomb!”

“And apparently you have to go back in time to 1996 to eat there,” I jibe, causing her to give me another playful slap.

She laughs, and I join her out of reflex and necessity. Ally means well, but she could never know what she’s doing to me. Making plans after this, as if I could actually have a place in her life outside these four walls? As if she and I could continue this…thing?

I’m not sure whether I should be pissed at her for giving me false hope or be contented by the fact that she wants me in her life. But when I look at her, so happy—happy with me—I can’t feel anything but grateful for the charade, even though it will kill me when the curtain closes.

Ally raises the dish until it’s eye level, taunting me with the sweet, spicy aromas. “Shut up! Or you don’t get any of this.”

“Riku made that?”

“Yup. He was actually pretty surprised at my request. Guess the other ladies are too concerned with gaining an ounce to enjoy some real food,” she shrugs. “Geez, I see why you keep him locked up in the kitchen. He’d totally get molested by all these horny housewives!”

I give her a half-grin before turning toward the cabinets in an attempt to hide my flare of jealousy. I have no business feeling any type of possessiveness over Ally. She isn’t mine. But f*ck it, I never copped to being rational.

“That’s cool of him,” I remark, as coolly as I can possibly muster.

“Yeah. Anyway, my plan is to fill you with fat and cholesterol, then I was hoping you’d be satisfied enough to humor me…”

I turn around with plates and silverware, just in time to catch a sheepish look on her face. “Humor you?”

“Yeah.” She sets down the dish, opens her bag again, and gleefully reveals the next item, clutching it to her chest like it’s her most prized possession. “Friends marathon!”

“You’re kidding, right?”

Ally hugs the boxed set of DVDs and shakes her head. “I never kid about Friends. Come on, Justice! It’ll be fun! I even brought sustenance so we don’t have to leave your house for the entire day,” she says, pulling out bags of chips, packages of microwavable popcorn, candy and a two-liter of soda. “Just me, you, Ross, Monica, Rachel, Phoebe, Chandler and Joey. And enough junk food to clog all of our arteries.”

I pick up a king-size bag of peanut M&Ms. “Where’d you get all this stuff?”

“I begged Diane to help me out, telling her I had some serious PMS cravings that would only be satisfied with carbs. I wanted to make you an offer you couldn’t refuse.”

I make a disparaging face and rub the back of my neck. Ally’s expression falls in response. “Well… you’re lucky clogged arteries are so in style this season.”

Ally smiles and the sun burns my eyes. I just squint and smile too.

“OH MY GOD. That was…”

“Mmmmm.” I rub my full belly and swallow the last, delicious morsel of crispy fried chicken, fluffy waffle and sweet syrup. It’s the perfect bite.

“…amazing, delicious. Better than sex.”

“I don’t know about that,” I say, wiping my mouth with a napkin. “Riku is a great chef and all, but nothing is better than sex.”

“Meh.”

I raise a brow. “Meh?”

“Meh. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s pretty good. But sex is just… I don’t know. Just sex. I get why people enjoy it so much, but I just don’t understand why we give it so much power. It’s a physical act of love or affection, not love or affection itself. Relationships are about so much more than sex. It’s about trust, loyalty, honesty, kindness, respect—all things that don’t require a woman to spread her legs.”

I peg her with a bewildered stare. “You do know who you’re talking to, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, Mr. Sexpert Extraordinaire. And I’ll admit; you know your stuff. But don’t you think there are other factors in a relationship, namely a marriage, which can impact sex? For instance, if your lover is sweet and sensitive and treats you like a treasure, don’t you think sex would be amazing? Even if it’s not that great physically?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.” I push my plate to the side and prop my elbows on the countertop, leaning towards her. “I agree that all of those elements are necessary and required in a relationship, but to be honest, it all leads to sex. You see, we’re sweet and funny and kind because we want sex. We sit through chick flicks, the theater and ballet because we want sex. We wait patiently as you try 83 variations of a black peep-toe pump because we want sex…while you wear the shoes.

“Think of it this way: trust, honesty, respect…all those things are like the playoffs during football season. You need to play them. They’re necessary to get you to where you want to be—the Super Bowl. Sex is the Super Bowl, Ally. And while those playoff games may have gotten you there, they really can’t win the game for you. No one says, “They played great in that game a few weeks ago, so it’s ok that they’re losing now.” It’s how you play the game that day that matters. That’s the only thing people care about.”

Ally nods solemnly as she mindlessly swirls the remnants of syrup on her plate with a fork. “So…what if you don’t have all the other stuff? What if there is no trust, no honesty, no respect? What if your partner loses every single game? Why on earth do they still feel deserving of sitting in the bleachers, let alone playing, at the Super Bowl?”

I look down where her hand continues to slide that fork through the sticky syrup. At the hand that houses her diamond wedding ring. Then I’m looking into her eyes, urging her to see me. To hear me. “Maybe you’re just rooting for the wrong team.”

She’s quiet, but she holds my gaze, those wild eyes uncovering every complicated layer of my admission. I know she wants to ask me what I mean, and at this moment, I can’t lie to her. When she looks at me like that, like I somehow matter in her world, that I actually take up space somewhere in her thoughts, she can ask me anything. And I’d hand her every single one of my secrets on a silver platter.

“Come on,” I say, standing to my feet and breaking our trance. I hold out my hand, offering the only thing I can provide her. The only thing I’m worthy of giving her: right now. “I want to watch Friends with my friend.”

“I THINK THIS may be my favorite episode,” Ally says with half a Twizzler dangling from between her lips. I pull off a piece and pop it in my mouth.

“That’s what you said about the last five episodes.”

“I know, but this one is the best. This is the one where they all go to Bermuda and Monica’s hair takes on a life of its own. And she’s walking around with that little white hat on top of this massive mountain of black frizz. I die every time I see it!”

I shake my head and smile. Of course. My facial muscles haven’t gotten this much of a workout since…since, well, ever. I look down at Ally curled up at my side like a cat, her bare feet tucked underneath her. I watch how she mouths her favorite parts and laughs, even though she knows the joke’s coming. She squeezes my thigh and looks up at me, giggling. Thank God I had sense enough to throw on a t-shirt and a pair of worn jeans.

“What?” she grins.

“Nothing. It’s just…cute how addicted you are to this stuff. You’ve probably seen every episode at least ten times, yet you still think it’s funny. It’s a little scary. But kinda adorable too.”

“I can’t help it,” she shrugs. “It’s my vice. Some people smoke. Some people like booze or drugs. I’m addicted to Friends reruns and ice cream.”

“You’re so bad ass.”

“And sometimes, when I’m feeling really naughty, I watch Friends while eating ice cream. Hashtag BOOM.”

“Ok, that’s really scary. And not in the way you think.”

We both break into an easy, unfiltered laugh that causes me to pull her closer, siphoning her warmth and goodness like a fiend. I know I should stop. I know that no matter how innocent I may try to make my actions appear, they are anything but. Yet I can’t stop. I can’t lose this now. I may never touch an angel ever again.

“So Justice, what’s your vice?” she asks, reaching for a handful of Sour Patch Kids. “And don’t you dare say something stupid and healthy like swimming or running, or I may have to reevaluate this friendship.”

“I don’t have one.”

She sits up and turns to face me, disbelief etched in her face. “I call bullshit! Everyone has a vice. Come on, what’s that one thing you gotta have? That one addiction that makes you psychotically happy? I promise I won’t judge. Unless it’s something weird like goat porn. Or Crocs.”

I roll my eyes and shake my head, stifling a laugh.

“Oh my God, is it something weird? It’s goat porn, isn’t it? Or worse—Crocs! I bet you have a whole collection in different colors! Oh my-”

“I’m not into Crocs.”

“—and here I thought you were a normal-”

“Or any weird porn involving farm animals,” I say over her sugar-induced rambling.

“Then what? Spill it, Drake.”

I exhale and rub the back of my neck, trying to pacify her with an answer that doesn’t make me look like a total jackass.

Sex.

Money.

You.

Even thinking of her in the same conscious stream seems wrong, though it was both sex and money that brought her to me.

“Work,” I resolve.

“Work? You’re addicted to work?” She throws a Sour Patch Kid at me, pegging me in my shoulder. “What kind of vice is that? Lame, dude. Lame.”

“Hey, not my fault I haven’t been corrupted by junk food and bad TV. And I like my work. It’s important to me.”

Ally twists her lips to one side, and her eyes narrow to small slits. “Ummm... You know what you do, right? You’re not curing cancer or creating calorie-free cookies.”

I lift a single brow. “But it’s still important. It brought you here, didn’t it?”

Her gaze falls, and I instantly feel like a tactless bastard for throwing her presence at Oasis in her face. I’m like a fish out of water…caring about people’s feelings, thinking about what passes my lips before I just blurt it out. This isn’t me. This isn’t the Justice Drake that people know and loathe. Yet, I don’t want to be any other way with Ally. I like who I am when she’s around. For once, I can just…breathe. I can just be.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

“No, you’re right,” she says, shaking her head. “You’re right. I am here. And I’m glad I came.”

“Why?” The question is out before I can stop it. It’s been eating away at me since the day she set fire to my deserted paradise.

She shakes her head again, casting her eyes down to the few sugary remains of candy. “I came because…because I thought it was what Evan wanted. I thought it would fix what was broken. But I soon realized that you can’t fix what’s beyond repair. What was never really meant to be in the first place.”

I don’t want to read too much into her words, but I can’t help that tiny inkling of hope that blooms in the space between my ribcage and my chest. That small space that beats in overtime whenever she smiles at me, all white teeth and soft, pink lips, like I’m the only one that can make her do that. Like I’m the only man in the world she’s reserved those smiles for.

It’s corny and sweet, and so unlike me in every way possible, but it’s the truth. And after years of lying to myself and everyone else, it’s a welcomed dilemma.

“And now?” I ask, causing her gaze to touch mine.

“Now?

“You said you were glad you came. Why? Why now?”

Scarlet kisses her cheeks and she grins, looking back down at her hands bashfully. “I’ve learned a lot. About myself and…sex. About what I like and what I want.” She sweeps her eyes back to mine and gives me a naughty smile. I don’t even think she knows it’s naughty. But the way I can feel it, right down to the tip of my dick … oh yeah, naughty as f*ck. “I’ve never been outwardly sexual. Hell, usually I just use humor to mask my discomfort whenever the subject comes up. But now, I just feel more confident and free to explore this new side of me. And it’s pretty damn exciting. So even if this is all for nothing, and Evan and I can’t fix this… I’ll know better for next time.”

“Next time?”

“I’ll know how to be a better lover. I can be what men want.”

It takes every ounce of self-control and common sense not to grab her by her shoulders and shake the shit out of her, telling her that she is what men want. That she was perfectly designed to be a goddess to every man that she graces with her presence. There’s nothing wrong with her– not a damn thing. But how do I get her to see that– to believe that – without looking like a fraud? Or worse: showing her that I actually am one?

“You know that no matter how amazing you are in bed, Evan will always be Evan, right?” He’ll always be a spineless, cheating bastard.

She frowns, yet nods in agreement. “I know. I knew it the day I married him. Still…I thought marriage would change him. I thought I could change him.”

“Common misconception,” I remark, grabbing a Twizzler. I tap her nose with the tip of it in an attempt to lighten the mood. She takes the bait, snapping at it like a hungry piranha.

“I know, I know,” she says, chomping a mouthful of red licorice.

“And honestly, you shouldn’t have to. He should want to change…for you. Because you’re worth it.”

My eyes still pinned on hers, I slide the candy between my lips, touching my tongue to the same place that she just bit seconds ago. Her eyes watch the movement, studying my lips as they wrap around the thin, red vine. It’s like kissing her, tasting her. Feeding my addiction to her. It’s not nearly enough, yet so much more than I should have.

Cue the 1980s porn music and dim the lights, because under normal circumstances, this would be the point at which I’d tell a woman to lose the clothes and bury her face in my lap. But Ally is no ordinary woman. And married or not, I could never treat her like I’ve treated so many before her.

Ally’s face blooms red, and she turns back towards the television, nestling into the space– her space – against my side.

“I take that back,” she says with a small yawn. “This one is my favorite.”

The episode has changed, but the gang is still in Bermuda. Monica gets Bo Derek braids and Ross hooks up with Joey’s girl, Charlie. Joey can’t even be truly upset because it makes sense. Ross is a better fit; he deserves her. He could never give Charlie what she wants. He could never truly fulfill her. He’s Joey… womanizing, simple-minded, irresponsible Joey. He’ll never change. They never do.

I PACE THE stage, waiting, watching the entrance like a hawk. I can feel my anxiety multiplying with every second, the remembrance of Ally’s warmth searing the side of my torso. I haven’t been able to feel anything else since she left my arms just as dawn lit the early Sunday morning sky, transforming it into a cotton candy canvas.

We fell asleep sometime after Rachel and Joey finally hooked up. Ally was curled against my side like a small, wild cat, her knees drawn up on the sofa. With her hand fisting my t-shirt, that fiery mane falling into her closed eyes, she snored softly against my chest, using my body as her personal, heated pillow. I woke up just as the sun peeked over the horizon, just in time to watch quiet, lazy sunlight dance across her face. Even with my eyes hazed in sleep, she was glorious. Pure and reborn into a new day with new possibilities. New opportunities to be beside her and let her warmth smother the consequences that rest just beyond those jagged hills at the edge of my oasis.

The moment my eyes find her in her in the crowd, I can breathe again. My vision is clearer. I’m better when she’s near, even when I deny myself the pleasure of actually looking at her. Most days, it’s better when I don’t. This is one of those days.

“I know you’re all wondering why I asked you to meet me in our theater this morning. Well, today we have a special demonstration of sorts. However, before we get started, I’d like to know how you all handled your homework assignment last session. Anyone care to share with the class?”

A sardonic smile rests on my lips as I watch them squirming in their seats as they imagine their bodies quaking at their own hands. I can’t help it. I get off on this shit. No matter how I feel about Ally and the future that we can never, ever have, I can’t change who I am. And who I am is not Ally’s husband. So it shouldn’t matter that I love what I do. It shouldn’t matter that I get hard just thinking about a woman slipping her trembling fingers inside her slick p-ssy for the first time. And it shouldn’t matter that I want sex, need sex, and plan to have sex as soon as I possibly can. My mind might be conflicted about it, but my body definitely doesn’t feel the same. And after today’s class, my mind may quickly follow.

Lacey is the first to raise her hand, and she climbs to her spike-heeled feet. She looks…different, to say the least. Tight red cami, no bra, and a short leather skirt. Huh. Interesting.

“Obviously, that was not my first time,” Lacey begins with an air of arrogance. A few of her colleagues roll their eyes and whisper insults under their breath. “But I did quite enjoy that toy. It was very…potent.”

I call her bluff. “What’d you like about it, Lacey?”

“Um, it was…” she stammers, clutching the top of her exposed chest. A flush sweeps its way from that patch of evocative skin up to her neck until landing on the thin apples of her cheeks. “It was powerful. Strong. Like the moment it touched me, I could feel myself lose control. But I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to press it harder.” She closes her eyes, speaking as if we’re the only two in the vast room. Speaking as if she’s communicating something to me… her wants, her desires. “I needed something inside of me.”

I take a step toward her, charging that room with an unseen current. It seems smaller now, more intimate. “And did you put something inside you, Lacey?”

Her voice is raspy and full of need. “Yes.”

“And did it feel good to you?” I match her affected tone.

“Yes.”

My voice dips even lower. “Did you come, Lacey? Did you come with your fingers deep inside your p-ssy?”

“Y-yes,” she barely whispers.

“Good!” I state with a loud clap of my hands, releasing her from her lustful trance. Lacey’s visibly shaken with the sudden change in the atmosphere, her shallow breaths quickening into a pant. “Now, let’s get started.”

Had this been a regular day and a regular class, I wouldn’t have let her off the hook so easily. I would’ve abandoned my place at the stage to stand behind her, close enough that she could feel my heat, but far enough that she would shiver with the need to be touched. I’d brush those bare shoulders lightly and watch with fascination as goose bumps instantly appeared. She’d tremble with expectation, but I wouldn’t give her any more. Instead, I’d bring my lips to her ear, close enough that I could look down and see her nipples pebble under that thin tank. Then I’d whisper a command, just for her, my words both intoxicating and terrifying her.

“Show me how you touch yourself, Lacey.”

She’d stutter all the reasons why she shouldn’t, shaking her head adamantly. But her body…her body would grow hot with excitement. She’d get wet at the thrill of it. So f*cking wet that I’d smell her, telling me she’s not even wearing panties to smother her spicy scent.

When my hand touched hers, still clutched to her chest, she’d flinch but she wouldn’t pull away. She’d let me guide it between her swollen breasts and down to her flat belly, brushing the bit of exposed skin where the hem of her shirt rides up. Then I’d let her fingers play with the jewel in her navel, manipulating each digit as if that diamond-studded barbell was her *. Demonstrating how I would stroke it for her.

When she began to pant and mewl gently, I’d finally put Lacey out of her misery and guide her hand down further until her fingertips grazed the tops of her thighs. And I’d whisper, “Go ahead, Lacey. Touch yourself. Show me how to please you.”

But I wouldn’t abandon her just yet. She isn’t confident enough. She’d like to believe that she is, but I would feel the trepidation beating from her chest. So I’d ease that hand to the apex of her thighs, to that humid space that aches to be touched. She’d want me to do it, but I wouldn’t, and that would frustrate her. So, I’d tell her again, this time my voice gruffer, more commanding. “Touch your p-ssy, Lacey.”

With embarrassed tears in her eyes, she’d sink her fingers between her folds, teasing her * just as we had teased her jeweled belly button. She’d be humiliated and somewhat disgusted with herself, but she would moan and let her head fall back on my shoulder. She wouldn’t be able to help it. Because as mortified as she’d be, she’d be doubly turned on. And I’d stand there, a satisfied grin on my face, because I broke her. I’d unleashed the deviant that had been lying dormant within her walls of inhibition. And when she’d sink the first finger deep inside herself, while me and ten awestruck women watched on in wonder, she’d feel it too. And she’d know that she could never be caged again.

That’s what I’d do under different circumstances. It’s what I’ve done countless times before. But the thought of touching Lacey doesn’t excite me. It doesn’t make the little devil in me rejoice at the opportunity to reduce her to a writhing mess in my theater. It kind of makes me sad that I ever thought it was kosher to do. And even feeling an ounce of remorse pisses me the f*ck off.

The little devil sits on my shoulder, whipping his sharp, thorned tail to the back of my neck before jabbing it into my skin. “F*cking soft,” he hisses in my ear. I can’t even be mad at him.

“OH YEAH…YEAH. Right there, baby. Oh God, yes!”

“Stop!”

I get as close as suitably possible to the couple positioned at the middle of the stage. They look up at me, their eyes hooded and hungry, yet they halt their movements. The man is still buried deep inside of his lover’s warm, wet p-ssy, and it’s taking every ounce of his self-control not to thrust again. The woman’s naked chest heaves with her labored breaths, and she leans back to rest on the odd-shaped, leather chair currently elevating her pelvis.

That’s right.

We’re watching people have sex.

How are you even surprised?

The couple is a husband and wife team that teaches tantric yoga out in Cali. They’ve also been known to dabble in webcam sex shows online, much like the one they are giving us today. Only difference is, I pay them quite a bit more than $2.99 per minute.

“Now you see the way Brad was thrusting into Laura? Tell me about her. What did you see her doing?” I say, addressing the class. As expected, no one says a word. “Ok, since you all obviously are not paying attention, I want you to watch Laura’s hands. You’ll notice that they are always moving—clutching the chair, pinching her nipples, grabbing Brad’s ass and pushing him in deeper. Still hands are a dead giveaway to bad sex. You should be pawing at your lover like a hungry lioness. Make him feel like you are so overwhelmed with pleasure that you just can’t keep still. Ok? Resume.”

The couple picks up where they left off without missing a beat. Brad holds Laura’s legs wide by her thighs and moves into her, slowly at first. Then he’s gaining momentum, f*cking her like a man possessed. Laura croons his name, raking her nails over his bare chest.

“You see? Look at what she’s doing,” I say, as her fingers drift down to stimulate her *. “And you see how she looks at him? How their eyes stay locked on each other? What do you think that simple act represents?”

“Intimacy,” someone calls out over the couple’s moans.

“Right,” I nod. “What else?”

“Togetherness.”

“Passion.”

“Exactly.” I pace the stage as if there isn’t a live sex show occurring just feet away from me. “There are two types of lovers, ladies. The kind who f*cks and the kind who gets f*cked. Always be the kind that f*cks. No matter what position you’re in, be passionate. Be engaging. Commit to the moment 100%.” I give them all an encouraging smile, feeling a tinge of pride at their progress. “Now let’s see how well Laura rides.”

Again, the two seamlessly move together in perfect choreography. Brad reclines back on the Tantra chair and Laura straddles his lap, slowly lowering herself onto his length, gasping at the deepness the new position provides.

“How many of you watch porn?” I ask. Several of the women raise their hands without hesitance. I don’t even look in Ally’s direction to see if she is among them. “Good. Get used to watching it. You can learn a lot about sexual positions and acts that your partner may be interested in trying. Not all pornography is created equal; there’s truly something that can appeal to everyone.”

Laura begins to buck faster and faster, fisting Brad’s hair as she bounces wildly. He grips her hips and thrusts upward to meet her intensity before reaching around and slapping her ass.

“Don’t be afraid of a little spanking, ladies. It can be pleasurable for both parties, and it doesn’t mean that you’re a masochist or any bullshit labels like that. Your mate won’t judge you. He’ll think it’s insanely hot.”

Every eye stays transfixed on the licentious dance playing out within these theater walls. No one speaks; no one even blinks. It’s erotically hypnotizing, like watching two animals in the wild, biting and thrashing as they try to dominate the other to sate their carnal need. I’m fascinated by the raw visceral act, just as much as it arouses me. Maybe even more. It’s basal, human nature in its most beautiful form.

Laura cries out as she chases her orgasm, and Brad sits up to draw her nipple into his mouth, growling against the puckered skin. He’s trying to hold back, trying to regain control so he can keep feeling her, keep f*cking her. It feels too good to stop now.

Caught up in the frenzy of it all, I glance out at the audience to gauge their reactions, and everything just…stops. Laura and Brad fall away, their raucous moans quieting to a whisper. The women’s heated pants of excitement, the squeaking of their seats as they cross and uncross their legs. It all fades to black, and I am immersed into pools of blue-green ice water, jostling me from my train of thought.

Ally looks at me – looks into me – eyes wild, and those flushed cheeks bleeding into her cascade of crimson hair. Her pouty lips part only a fraction, as if she wants to say something to me, but she just continues to stare. Maybe she gasps. Maybe she moans. Maybe she is just as lost for words as I am.

I know what’s happening now just feet away from me. But I can’t hear Laura as she screams with climax, bearing down on Brad as her p-ssy contracts. I don’t see the way he jerks as her flexing inner muscles milk his orgasm. I can’t care about anything beyond the fiery angel sitting yards away. Everything else is background noise. Muted, colorless and insignificant.

She shifts in her seat and casts her glance down to her lap, releasing me from her hold. I glance to see Brad and Laura work to come down, kissing and touching each other, as their bodies quake with aftershocks. Yet, I feel nothing. I’ve become numb to it all.

My gaze sweeps over the room, catching looks of confusion, as eleven women await my instruction.

“Um, uh…uh…”

I clear my throat and try again, but the words just don’t come out. Ally has stolen my breath and reduced me to a pathetic, stuttering mess. There’s nothing left to say—nothing I trust myself to say.

So I do the only thing I possibly can right now that won’t jeopardize everything I thought I truly wanted.

I turn and walk away.

I HAVE TO f*ck her.

It’s the only way. The only thing that will clear my head and get me back to where I need to be. So yeah…I’m going to f*ck her. It’s what she wants anyway, and it’s what I need, that’s for damn sure. I’ll enjoy it; she’ll love it. And once my balls aren’t as heavy as my conscience, I’ll move on and finish the job I was hired to do. Simple as that.

My finger hovers over the Call icon, hesitation crawling all over my body like mites. Just do it, you p-ssy. You know you want to.

I do want to. Badly. But not for the reasons I should.

I have to f*ck her. I have to.

F*ck it.

My thumb just barely grazes the phone icon, and the line begins to ring. Her voice greets me moments later, sounding both surprised and delighted. “Justice?”

“Yes.”

“I’m so glad you called.”

She knows what this is. Erin has been waiting for this moment for years. She could see it in me when she was last here – the desperation, the confusion. The guilt. She knew it would only be a matter of time before I came crawling back, craving her pretty, pink p-ssy and those perfect, perky tits. And what man wouldn’t?

“How glad are you?” I ask, my tone low and husky. Unlike Jewel and Candi, Erin needs to be stroked and nurtured first. In all honesty, I could have just called them up, but I was craving something else…something more intimate. Plus, that twosome is about as shrewd as I am when it comes to reading body language. They would see how I was deflecting from a mile away. They already had.

A pleased, erotic sound rumbles in Erin’s throat. “So glad, Justice. I wish I was there so you could reach between my thighs and feel how glad I am.”

That should’ve at least piqued my interest. Maybe even a little tingle down below. But nope. Nothing.

“Do you want to be here?” That’s right. I’ll play the game. A little cat and mouse will get my blood pumping.

“What do you think?” She plays her part flawlessly.

I’m just about to tell her to pack a bag and head to the airport where a first class ticket will be waiting for her, when a banging sound rattles my skull. Has Jiminy Cricket gotten off his green ass and decided to finally do his job? Or has that tiny devil cooked up an even better plan to sate our licentious needs?

Listen to my delusional ass. I really need to get out more.

The banging echoes through the space again, before I finally realize that it’s not just a figment of my imagination. It’s the door.

I make my way to the nearest curtain where I peek out, my cell still attached to my ear. I instantly regret it the second my eyes fall on her, so shiny and bright and alive.

I don’t want shiny and bright and alive. I want dark, devious and shameful. That’s what people like me deserve.

“Uh, hello? Justice?” Erin calls out from the receiver. I ignore her and go to open the front door much quicker than what is deemed acceptable for a man like myself.

Who am I kidding? I busted a Usain Bolt, then damn near hurtled over an end table, only to nearly break off the door handle.

“Hey!” Ally smiles.

Ally smiles. It’s like a song lyric, or an ancient proverb.

“Hey,” I exhale out of relief, as if I hadn’t breathed easily without her presence. I hate how my body just knows her. How it reacts so differently to her than anyone else. It gives her power over me, something no one has ever relinquished since the day I extricated myself from her world.

“Can I come in?”

“Hello? Hellooooo?” Oh shit. Erin.

“Let me call you back,” I murmur into the phone. Ally raises a speculative brow.

“What?” Erin snaps loudly. “Who is that? Who’s over there?”

“Maybe I should come back,” Ally whispers over Erin’s annoying screeching. I shake my head at her and hold up a finger as she tries to back away. Then I turn around so I can handle Erin properly.

“Who I have at my home is none of your concern,” I say into the receiver, my voice so cold that frost damn near settles on the touchscreen. “Do you understand me? You are an employee, and nothing else. But the next time you even think to open your mouth to question me, you won’t even be that.” I press End to keep from losing my shit and scaring Ally, ensuring that she’ll never return. I turn back to her slowly, hoping—praying—that she’s still there.

“Wow,” she says, her eyes wide and sparked with amusement. “Look at you, boss man, cracking the whip. Ouch.”

“Cracking the whip?” I smirk, stepping aside so she can enter. I stroke her cheek with a single finger just as she brushes past. “You wish you were so lucky.”

“Mr. Drake, are you flirting with me?” she asks, spinning to face me with a hand on her hip.

I close the front door and lean back on it, crossing my arms in front of me. “I don’t know. Depends on what you’re here for.” I grin, feeling the icy discomfort of just seconds ago melt away.

Reluctance shadows Ally’s face and she looks down at the ground. “It’s embarrassing. Which is stupid, seeing as I’ve already drooled on you, and you probably heard me snore. By the way, we’ll just forget that ever happened, capiche?”

I push off from the door to stand directly in front of her and cup her cheeks in my hand, stalling her self-deprecating rambling. She’s so soft, and I feel her face heat in my palms. It’s like holding fire. “What can I do for you, Ally?”

She looks at me with wonder in those too-big eyes, and her lips part, causing my gaze to study the movement. This could be it. This could be the moment I confess my sins and kiss this beautiful angel. I could taste heaven for the very first time.

Do it. Look at her—she’s begging you to.

Kissing Ally would be so easy. Touching her, holding her, tasting her… it’d be like breathing.

I want to breathe. I want to inhale her in every way possible. I want her life to sustain me, her heartbeat to synchronize with mine.

But I don’t want to taint her. I don’t want her to be like me. A cheater. A deviant. An outcast. She deserves better, and I’m not better. Not better than what she already has, which is Evan.

She doesn’t want me. She has him.

The realization is like being dumped in a tub of ice water, and I step away from her, removing my hands from the curve of her cheeks. Ally blinks rapidly as if she’s been sleepwalking, and knots her hands in front of her.

“So, um, yeah. I need your help.”

I run my hand through my short-cropped hair just to give myself something to do. Then I go to the kitchen to get a drink for my suddenly dry mouth. I grab a kettle for tea. Nah. That won’t do the trick. Juice? Water?

Wine. When in doubt, always go with wine. I hold up the bottle and she nods, so I grab two glasses, filling them with rich, velvety liquid. Ally meets me halfway to take hers.

“So like I was saying…” she begins before taking a large gulp. “I need help.”

“I gathered that. Care to tell me with what? Because I’m pretty sure I could make a short list of things you need help with. Professional help.”

“Hey now!” she shrieks with mock offense. “It took a lot of practice to be this magnificently awkward. Dude, I was awkward before awkward was cool. I’m a pioneer for the movement.”

I chuckle before taking a slug of my wine. “Awkward was never cool. Only uncool people believe that.”

Once again, we fall into that easiness. No expectations. No games. Just real, genuine companionship. I laugh at her corny jokes. She shakes her head at mine. Whenever I look at her, she smiles. And in turn, I smile too.

How could I have ever thought that there was room for more?

“So anyway. For real this time, I need help.”

“With what?” I down the last of my wine and go to top off both our glasses.

“I have a confession to make: I’m a horrible dancer. I know what you’re thinking—how can someone so graceful and elegant be a bad dancer? But it’s true. Sad, but true. And ever since Candi and Jewel came, I’ve been really self-conscious. So I was wondering if you would help me, ol’ buddy ol’ pal.”

“Help you?”