Push

chapter Fourteen

Emma—Present Day

It’s a few minutes before six, and I am nearly crawling out of my skin. The day has gone achingly slow. Matt has been a f*cking drag, talking incessantly about a trip to Mexico he is taking with some friends in a few months. I’ve tried all day to disconnect from him, but apparently social cues are not his thing. I did manage to escape to the ladies room more often than usual just to break away from the banter. And, despite his invitation to eat lunch together, I ate my meal in the peaceful company of a few other male coworkers. At first I worried about hurting Matt’s feelings by lunching with them, but then I decided I needed to preserve my sanity. His prattle is exhausting.
I haven’t heard from David all day, which means that either he is fuming about my shoe stunt or embarrassed about passing out on my floor. Or, I hope, maybe he’s just busy with his own work. Whatever the reason, I am surprised at how much I missed hearing from him. In part, I think the day passed so slowly because I missed the diversion. As I gather my purse and satchel, I briefly wonder if he’s all right and what kind of shape he was in this morning when he woke up. I can’t imagine David wears a hangover badly, but he must have had a lot of alcohol in him to smell that fierce.
As I push the elevator call button, my phone pings. I pull it out of my purse and slide it open.


Hi.


I wonder immediately if he forgot that he offered to pick me up. Maybe he didn’t see my note.


Hi back.


R u coming? I’m waiting outside.


Yes. On my way now. B down in a sec.


U had better b wearing those shoes...


Why?


Because I had to f*ck a certain someone up to get the left one back.


WHAT????


He wouldn’t give it to me voluntarily.


Jesus, David. U should have let him have it.


I did.


I meant the shoe.


No way in hell.


R u ok?


Did I look ok this morning?


Yes. Sort of.


That’s because I won.


The elevator arrives, and I shuffle inside. Matt is there, too, along with three other guys. I am engulfed in David’s text and don’t even look up. One of them pushes the lobby button, and we head down. I want to ask David if Brad is all right, but then I decide that’s a very bad idea. Clearly David knows his friends well, and I’m beginning to think that jacking off to a box of tampons is, in fact, not above any of them. Why did I think my little game would end differently? Still, knowing that David kicked the crap out of one of his friends just to get my damn shoe back is kind of arousing. It makes me wonder what else he would do for me. The elevator door opens, and I walk absently through the lobby as I type my reply.


Should I come out of the building ass up for your victory parade?


I walk out the front door of the building with Matt and the other three guys flanking me. One of them holds the door open for me, but I don’t see who it is because my face is still aimed at the phone.


No.


Shit. He is pissed about me giving my shoe to Brad. Then, why show up here at all? Why not make me take the bus home? Why not just let Brad have the shoe...and me, for that matter?
“Bye, Emma,” says Matt. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay. See you then,” I say, looking up at Matt who is now standing in front of me. I am flustered about David’s text, and I can feel my skin heating.
“Are you okay?” asks Matt.
“Yes, I’m fine.” I say quietly. “I, um, I just got a confusing text, that’s all.” And then I see David. He is walking straight toward us. No, he’s not walking exactly. He’s striding. Like a real bad-ass. Like some movie guy about to take over the world. I can’t look anywhere else. I want to smile at him or something, but my face is frozen because I don’t know what the hell is happening. His eyes are locked on mine and when he gets to us, he reaches for my waist, pulls me against him roughly, and kisses me hard. My hands are dangling at my sides, but I kiss him back like a sailor. Our teeth click together, and I push my hips into him. It is a long kiss. The kind that makes me want to sink to my knees. When David pulls away, he is still holding on to my waist and looking right at me. F*cking hell.
“We should go,” David says, and I watch his face turn toward Matt who, for some unknown reason, is still standing next to me.
“Okay,” I say as David lets me go. I give Matt a sideways smile and a nod. As David and I walk side by side away from the building, he snakes his hand across my back and around to my other hip. His fingers squeeze into me as he pulls me close to his side. It is the same sign of possession he displayed to Michael. And now he is doing it to Matt. I can see Matt in my peripheral vision, standing there with his mouth open, watching us walk away.
David and I walk down Wood Street and into a parking garage. He keeps his arm around my waist the entire time but doesn’t say a word. I can hear him breathing as we walk, and an image of a fire-breathing dragon pops into my head. I can tell he is angry. I can tell because of his silence. Because of the way he is breathing. Because of the rigidity in the arm that is wrapped around me. But he can’t be that angry, right? Otherwise he wouldn’t be here. It’s bullshit.
“Tell me what you’re so mad about.” I say as we walk down the rows of cars.
“Mad?” he questions, an eerie calm in his voice. He stops in the middle of the lane, disconnects from my waist, and looks at me quizzically. “You think I’m mad?”
“Yes, I do,” Does this mean that he isn’t mad? If this isn’t anger I’m sensing, what is it? “Look, if it’s because of the shoe thing, I’m sorry. I didn’t know my joke was going to end in warfare. I thought he would do what he promised he would. I thought he would give you the shoe and my message and be done with it. You can’t be pissed off at me because your friend decided to be a dick.”
“My friend didn’t decide to be a dick, Emma. He’s always a dick. They all are. I told you that already. And I’m not f*cking mad about the shoe. I enjoyed wiping the floor with Brad. It was a long time coming. Whatever message you gave him never made it to me. He called a bet with your shoe, dropped it on the poker table, and told me you were one hell of a screw. I though he stole it from your place the other day. What was I supposed to do?” He really isn’t angry about it. In fact, he’s quite relaxed.
I, on the other hand, am anything but relaxed. “That f*cking a*shole,” I say bitterly. “I am going to run him over with his own goddamned lawnmower the next time I see him.” Now I am the dragon, and if I knew where Brad lived, I would burn his f*cking house down right now. I can feel the swell of rage boil up under my skin. It makes me wish I had someone to hit.
“Ah, so that’s how you met him,” David says. “Now I get it.”
“You might not be pissed off about this, but I sure as shit am,” I sneer. “I was feeling guilty as hell about the guy getting beat up, but now, now I want to punch his teeth out myself.” I think David is a little startled at the extent of my anger. He takes a small step backwards and puts on a tiny, sideways grin. I forgot how much he enjoys seeing me angry.
Then something else strikes me. “Wait,” I add, “if he didn’t give you my message about needing the shoe back this morning, then why the hell were you sleeping on my floor last night?”
“Look, I had just beat the living shit out of one of my best friends because of you. I was shit-faced, Emma, and I needed to see you.”
“And?” I ask, the pounding in my veins waning.
“And you were doing the whole rock-sleeping thing, and I knew you had to work today, and I didn’t want you to be pissed off at me for waking you up. So I just lay down on your floor, and that is that.”
“Oh,” I say awkwardly.
“But then, I spend the whole day today feeling like an ass for passing out on your floor and wanting to text you but feeling like I can’t because you are at work. And when I finally get to see you, you come out of the f*cking building wearing those heels and looking like that—but you are surrounded by four other men.” So this is what his silence and rigidity were about. “I wanted my victory parade, Emma. But instead, I got to see you with the men you spend nine hours a day with, and maybe I am a little mad. Well, not mad really, more jealous. But I hate jealousy. I don’t do jealousy. Ever. Look, I know I gave you that whole goddamned speech about it the other day, but I don’t think I can help it. I guess I’m angry at myself for feeling that way.” He’s saying the words with great conviction, yet his voice isn’t hurried or heated. It’s as if he has thought them out and practiced them very carefully.
“Jesus, David.” I want to smile at him, but I don’t want him to think that I am laughing at his words. It’s just that the thought of someone like him having those feelings because of me seems ridiculous. And unbelievable.
“I’ll try to keep it in check, Emma. Really I will.”
But that’s not what I want.
“I don’t want you to keep it in check,” I say, holding his face and lining up our noses. “I like it. No one has ever wanted to protect me before. No one. And I am happy as shit about it.”
“Oh,” he says, looking very confused. I kiss him, and he weaves his fingers through my hair to the back of my neck. He holds me there, against his mouth, for a long time. My tongue laps against his in a slippery, seductive dance. He pulls his hands out of my hair and picks me up by the ass. I wrap my legs around his waist and press myself against him. He walks with me swathed around him, our lips still together and my bags hanging from my shoulder, until he gets to what must be his car. He sits me up on the trunk and stands between my legs. My skirt has lifted to my hips and I feel exposed, but his body is blocking the view. Our lips eventually separate, but he’s still touching me, touching the tops of my thighs. Rubbing them. Making my body fill with need. I want him to f*ck me in this parking garage on top of this car. But when I tell him those words, he steps back with a smirk and tells me to get in the goddamn car. And so I do.
It is a red BMW, but not a fancy-ass new one. An old, reconditioned one. It must be twenty or thirty years old, but it looks and feels awesome. The leather seats are soft, the paint is fresh, and the engine hums far better than I expected. I’m willing to bet my right shoe that David fixed it up himself.
We drive out of the parking garage and head out of the city. The sun is starting to drop in the sky, and I wonder where he is going, but I don’t ask. Neither of us says a word. He is headed toward home, and he is driving at the speed of sound. The radio is off, and the only noise I can hear is the tires whirring against the asphalt. He said he wanted to show me something. I thought we were going somewhere. But we aren’t, and before I know it, we pull up to our apartment building. It has taken precisely twenty-nine minutes of silence for us to get here. Way faster than the bus. He pulls into the lot behind the building and parks in one of the back spaces. He puts the car in park, sets the brake and cuts the engine.
“Come on,” he says, as he opens his door and gets out of the car. I follow suit, grabbing my purse and bag from the floor behind me. We walk around to the front of the building together, and he opens the door. He starts up the steps, and for a second, I think he is going to stop at my apartment door, but he doesn’t. He keeps on going. I stop at my door, though, thinking maybe I am not supposed to follow him. Maybe he really was just giving me a ride home. Maybe he doesn’t want to show me something anymore. He must hear that I have stopped because he turns around on the landing and starts walking back down toward me. He grabs my hand and walks back up the steps, pulling me along behind him. When we get to his door, he opens it. It’s unlocked.
The moment we step into the door his hands are on me. First, they touch my neck, then they move down to my shoulders, pushing my bags to the floor. They travel down my sides and around to the small of my back. His touch isn’t soft. It isn’t a caress. It is too needful for that. This man f*cking wants me, and the mere idea of it is more arousing than any pornographic material known to man. Sweet Jesus. He kisses me across the top of my shoulder and up the front of my neck to my mouth. He begins to undress me. When he completes most of his task, he stops kissing me just long enough to take off his own shirt. I run my hands across his chest and down his arms and wrap my fingers into his. He begins to walk backwards toward his bedroom, still holding my hands at his sides and looking lustful as hell.
When we reach his bedroom, I unbutton his jeans. As I am sweeping them down over his hips, he touches my breasts, rubbing them coarsely between his thumb and forefinger. My blood rushes and my nerves jump to attention. A rough sigh claws its way out of my throat. As David’s eyes move to mine, a deep longing furrows his brow. My body responds with want of its own, pushing all semblance of self-possession out of my brain and replacing it with absolute desire. The chair we f*cked on the other night is right next to us, and in one swift motion, David swings it around and folds me over the back. I rest my hands on the seat. I am ass up. And still wearing my heels.
He stands behind me, kissing my back and sliding my last article of clothing down over my hips. He kicks aside my panties and parts my legs while his hands move smoothly across my skin. Being like this should make me feel exposed, vulnerable, but it doesn’t. I want him to do whatever he wants. I want this to be his victory parade. His fingers skim down the outside of my leg and slowly back up the inside of my thigh. My eyes close, and the sweet pleasure of expectation rolls over me. When he reaches the top, his fingers rub me in small, tight circles. My body loosens instinctively, and I push my rear upwards, silently begging for more. Two of his fingers are inside me now, moving in and out and around in a delectable, rhythmic pattern. I am swimming in a river of bliss. I want to grind backwards against his fingers, but I don’t. Because I don’t want to come yet. I don’t want to be too eager. I want to make him wait.
But I think he knows that I am holding back because he pulls out, drops to his knees, and puts his mouth on me. Jesus. If he is good at this, it is over for me. His mouth is hot and slick, and his tongue sweeps at me in quick, supple strokes. I am lost. I want to touch him, to hold his head and control him. I want to make him move a certain way, but I can’t because I am holding on to this chair. I am at his mercy, and even though just a few minutes ago I wanted to make him wait, I don’t want to wait anymore. But now... now, he is taunting me, bringing me close and then pulling back. And then, as his tongue circles me, I feel his fingers glide inside, and it is heaven. He pushes deeply into me only a few times before I lose it. My blood is rushing, and I am singing inside. Singing like a goddamned bird. One of David’s birds.
He stands up and tells me to go bend over the bed. I rest my face against the mattress, my legs are apart, and once again, I am ass up in my heels. Then he is inside me, lithe and swift. In and out. His hands latch on to my waist, and he pulls me towards him in tempo with his own movement. I cling to the covers, trying to hold myself in place, trying to keep a tangible grip on reality. I am almost there...again. He slides one hand around my hip and down between my legs. Over and over his fingers move in those small circles while he is pushing into me. I am undone. Unfurling like a motherf*cking flag on the Fourth of July.
“F*ck, Emma,” he says as my body shudders with satisfaction. His voice sounds taut and throaty.
When my body calms, I crawl forward on the bed, releasing him from inside me, and turn around to face him. I kneel, looking at him and thinking about how powerful he makes me feel. About how much confidence his touch gives me. I tug him forward by his shoulders and kiss him hard. I reach down and latch on to him, stroking him firmly. He is slippery, and my hand glides back and forth, over and over, while we kiss. Part of me wants to play his game, to taunt him as he taunted me, but I can’t. I want to make him come. I want to make him happy. I want to show him the power he gives me. In a second I am on the floor, kneeling in front of him with my back against the bed. I take him into my mouth; he is sweet because of me. I suck him and stroke him and he grips the back of my head, holding me there, on him. Around him.
“Emma,” he says again, and I know he is telling me that he is ready. But I don’t stop, I don’t move away. I keep my mouth on him, and he pushes himself into me deeper, nearly too far. He exhales harshly and stiffens.
The parade is over. And I am smiling inside.
He stands in front of me for a few minutes, breathing heavily. I am still kneeling on the floor, but I am sitting on my haunches now, my eyes aimed at the floor. Then I feel his hand on my face. It is cold against my hot skin. I press my cheek into it and look up at him. His face looks serious, somber even. I wonder what he is thinking.
“Why so serious?” I ask with a smile, not sure I want to know the answer.
“You know what kills me, Emma?” Uh-oh.
“What?”
“Knowing that you’ve done this before. With someone else.”
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t with anyone that mattered, that’s for sure.” And that is the truth. No one has ever made me feel this way before, and I sure-as-shit have never wanted someone like this before. I’m not telling him that, though, not yet anyway. We haven’t even known each other a week, for Christ’s sake.
“And do I?”
I smile up at him. That is all I am giving him—and it is probably too much—but it makes him grin a little, and because of it, I know that I matter, too.
“Well, then,” he says, “let’s go. I still have something I want to show you.” Oh, yes. That.
* * *

Twenty minutes later we pull into a gravel parking lot off the side of the road. It is not somewhere I have been before, but I haven’t lived here very long, so, frankly, there are lots of places I have never been. I saw the entrance sign to Addison Park a mile or so ago, and I am now aware that it is the largest of the county’s parks. When we pull into the lot, I begin to wonder if he is taking me somewhere to teach me how to use the gun. It’s nearly dark outside, though, and I can’t imagine myself shooting the gun in the light, let alone in the dark.
We get out of the car, and David pops the trunk. He grabs a cooler and a pair of flashlights, and he heads down a small gravel path on the side of the parking lot. He hands me one of the flashlights on his way.
“David,” I say, “you do know that I’m wearing heels, right?”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot about that. Wait a sec.” He puts down the cooler, walks back to the car, and pops the trunk open again. Out of it he pulls a pair of shit kickers and hands them to me. “Here, you can wear these.” Really?
Since I don’t want to ruin my favorite shoes, I dutifully take them off and toss them into the trunk. The boots are way too big, and I stumble along the trail behind him, my flashlight wavering through the dark. He doesn’t walk for long, though, thank goodness, and about fifteen minutes later, he stops. We are at the tree line now, and there is a pile of huge rocks next to us. He clambers up the rocks and reaches down to help me do the same. It’s tough going in my skirt, but, since I know no one else is here, I hike it up so my legs can stretch farther. I wish it were light enough for me to see his face.
When we get to the top of the rock pile, he stops. And once I am no longer worried about tripping over my own feet, I raise my head and draw in a quick breath. There is just enough light left for me to see the drop-off in front of us. The ledge is pretty sheer, and it is definitely not a place where I want to lose my balance. But out in front, below the cliff, stretches the entire city. The grid of the streets is laid out in lights. There are barges on the river, cars cruising the roads, and buildings of all shapes and sizes. From here, the city looks so handsome, so active. I love it, and I am grateful to David for showing it to me.
“Wow. It’s beautiful. Really. I had no idea.” I sit on the rock, tucking my legs up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them. David follows suit, stretching his legs out and crossing them at the ankles. He puts his flashlight down and opens the cooler. God, I hope there is food in there. Despite my want of a sandwich, he hands me a newly opened beer, and I swallow. It is cold and fresh, but it’s no ham on rye. Still, I drink it in the darkness, enjoying the quiet view.
“David, I need to know something,” I finally say. “It’s been bothering me since I met you, so I’m just going to ask.”
“What?” he says. “Ask whatever you want.”
I take a long, dramatic pause and breathe in deeply, pretending to think hard. “What’s your last name?”
He throws his head back and lets loose a gigantic laugh. It’s the first time I’ve heard anything more than a soft chuckle from him. It is unabashed, lucid laughter. And it sounds at once both heavenly and demonic. I can’t help but laugh myself, and soon we are immersed in a fit of laughter, together. Both of our flashlights are off now, so I can’t see him, but I imagine what his face looks like wearing a full-blown smile.
I wipe the tears off my eyes, and in a few minutes we both wind down.
“Calgaro, Emma. My last name is Calgaro.” As he says it, he scoots his bottom over next to mine and wraps his arm around my shoulder. It’s starting to get chilly now, and I am thankful for his closeness. We sit in silence and drink another beer. I don’t want to ask him anything else. I don’t really want to know anything else about him. And I don’t want him to ask me any questions either. Because I don’t want to tell him about me.
Eventually he lies back on the rock, resting his hands behind his head. I lie back, too, putting my head into the crook of his underarm. His body is warm, so I push myself a little closer to him and line my torso and legs up snugly with his. A few minutes pass, and I can’t help myself. My stomach is growling.
“Do you have a f*cking sandwich in there or not?”
I can tell he is thinking about my question. “Shit, Emma. You haven’t eaten, have you?”
“Not since lunch.”
“Damn it. I’m sorry. I ate downtown before I met you, so it wasn’t even on my radar. Come on, let’s go.” He flips on his flashlight, stands and extends his hand to help me up. We walk back down the trail and get into the car.
“Where do you want to go?” he asks.
“Home,” I say. “I want to make us something in my fine-ass kitchen. But you should know that this time I will not let you off the hook. Tomorrow morning I will wake up with you in my bed.”
He starts the engine, backs out of the lot, and floors it all the way home.