An hour? I thought. Try eight.
In actuality, it was more like thirty minutes - and he woke me. The next time was slow and sweet. Sensing my exhaustion, he rocked me like a baby in a cradle, keeping me on the brink for ages. When I was ready to weep with longing, he pushed us both over the edge in a deep, muscle-wrenching climax. I stayed awake long enough to sample the brandy-soaked pears he'd finally remembered making, after which I sank into a billow of pleasant dreams.
At 3 a.m., a metallic rattle disrupted my slumber. Heart pounding, I bolted up in bed. Someone was trying to force the lock on the front door.
I flashed back to the months following my divorce when I was a woman alone in a big city living in a creaky old house that, for all I knew, was haunted by the ghost of my dear-departed lesbian aunt. Mind you, Aunt Sally loved me enough to bequeath me the house, but she was also the sort to drop in uninvited, just to say 'hi'. Frankly, I didn't welcome a visit from the Other Side any more than I welcomed a visit from a burglar.
A snore from Joe returned me to the present. Thank God. 'Joe, wake up.' I shook his shoulder. 'Wake up!' 'Wha-?' He lifted his head and rubbed his eyes. 'I think someone's trying to break into the house.' His head flopped back down. 'Prob'ly Sean.' 'Sean has a key.'
‘Prob'ly drunk,’ he said, and closed his eyes again. 'Knew he wouldn't stay away all night.'
To a panicked woman, who was only half-awake, this conclusion represented too big a leap to reassure. I grabbed the fireplace poker I kept for just such an emergency.
Joe struggled up on his elbow. 'Don't bash him. He's the best friend I've got.'
I should have bought a dog, I thought, clumping down two flights of stairs with the poker held before me like a sword. A big, scary dog with sharp teeth and a loud bark. Something crashed in the vicinity of the kitchen. I froze. Then I heard a curse that was, indeed, familiar. It was Sean.
I flicked on the light and found him trying to pick the pieces of a broken glass off the linoleum. He blinked owlishly in the sudden glare. I noticed that my yellow trousers, and Joe's jeans, lay in a tangle by the refrigerator. Sean must have tripped over them.
'Kate,’ he said, his eyes bloodshot, his sensual mouth slack. 'You're up.'
This is what I got for starting an affair with a twenty-three-year-old. No, with two twenty-three-year-olds. Sean swayed on his haunches.
'Couldn't stay,’ he said. Too many illegal substances. I don't party like that any more.'
This declaration would have gone down better if he weren't totally sloshed.
'Come away from that glass.' I pulled him up by the arm. One of his palms was bleeding, a long thin cut, like boys used to swear by in the old days. He stumbled against me as I guided him to the sink. I opened the tap and held his hand under it.
'Ow,’ he said, but I didn't see any glass. 'Can't drink like I used to. Only had three beers - okay, maybe four. And look at me. I'm a mess.'
'That you are.'
'Hate a sloppy drunk.' Unable to keep his footing, his elbow thunked on to the counter. 'He won't love me any more.'
Trying not to laugh at his theatricals, I wrapped a paper towel around his palm and applied pressure. 'I'm sure Joe has seen you drunk before.'
'No, not because of that. Because I stole your cherry - your arse cherry,' he enunciated, in case it wasn't clear. ‘I knew he wanted it, but I stole it anyway. In fact, I stole it because he wanted it.' His face settled into mournful lines like the tragedy mask at a drama club. 'Kate, sometimes I'm so bad I don't know what to do with myself.'
When I smiled at him, tears stung my eyes. I remembered being his age, and remembered a few of the lousy, selfish things I'd done since then. 'Everyone is bad sometimes, Sean. That doesn't make it right, but it doesn't make you a monster either.'
Nodding, he sniffed hard and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. His muscles bulged with the motion. Some tough guy - and that black T-shirt had seen better days.
'Whew.' I waved my hand in front of my nose. 'You smell like a brewery.'
'Some stupid first-year shook up a beer can and sprayed me with it.' He pushed carefully off the counter and tested his balance. 'Better take a shower.'
'Better let me help you,’ I said, easing his arm around my shoulders.
In fits and starts, we shuffled up the stairs to the second floor, to the bathroom he and Joe shared. The air smelled of shaving cream and cologne - Joe's Aramis, Sean's trendy Calvin Klein. I propped him on the toilet and turned on the spray. Once it was going, I knelt down to remove his shoes. 'You gonna wash my back, too?' I didn't answer, but that didn't seem to matter to him. The three, or maybe four, beers had loosened his tongue. 'Nobody ever washed my back, not even my mom.'
That tugged my heartstrings, too. What a softie I was. 'You could have asked Joe.'