I was on edge and exasperated, but it wasn’t just because of the traffic. I sunk back into my seat a little and tried to examine the “But.” But I didn’t think she’d do it again. I had no idea why I thought that, but I did. I would’ve nearly bet my life that she wouldn’t do it again. Would I have made that same bet seven months ago? I was so sure of my answer, it sent a thrill through my body. No, I wouldn’t have. Because deep down, I knew something was shady. Not wanting it to be true, I ignored my instincts and trusted Lily when I shouldn’t have. But I wasn’t going in blind this time. I had a better grasp on what I wanted out of our relationship now. I wouldn't settle for less than all of her.
However, this brought on a whole list of other concerns, the biggest being that I wasn’t fully sure I wanted all of her. When I was with her, I was consumed by her: enamored by her beauty, captivated by her personality, and desirous of her body. But when we weren’t together, I wasn’t sure that we actually fit all that well together. I could see a life with Lily, but I couldn’t see her in my life. Or maybe it was more that I was afraid that I'd let her back in just to have it all go to hell again. It was all this baffling bullshit that had kept me from really pressing our relationship beyond friends-who-make-out status.
There had been quite a few occasions where it had been impossible to keep from wrapping my arms around her as I stood behind her nuzzling her neck, or grabbing her hand and pulling her to me so that I could feel her chest swell against mine as I grazed her lips softly. But I hadn’t taken it further, and it was killing me. I had jerked off more in the past two weeks than I had in the previous two months. But I didn’t want to be a prick and bang her only to realize that I didn’t want to pursue anything with her. Even though part of me felt like that would serve her right, I didn’t want to sink to that level. I wasn’t an asshole. And I sure as shit wasn’t going to be a casual fuck to her like that cocksucker Max Samson had been. God, I fucking hate that douche.
I pulled into the parking garage across the street from The Pitchfork forty minutes later. Why did we need to have our reunion in Philly when we went to school almost thirty minutes outside of it? Deciding that the organizers were clearly morons, I parked my car and headed toward the bar. As I walked in, I tried to remember why I had even agreed to go to my reunion.
“Yo, asshole, where ya been?”
Oh, yeah. That was why. “What’s up, Frank? How long have you been here?”
“About twenty minutes. I got here right at eight. I got a drink with some guys from work closer to the office and then caught a cab over here.”
“Huh,” I replied as I scanned the room. The reunion was for graduates only, so there were no husbands, wives, or significant others around unless they had also graduated with us. “How did Claire take the news that you'd be coming alone?” I asked with a smirk. Claire didn’t trust Frank in the least, mostly because he acted like a pig. But that was all it was: an act. To my knowledge, he had never fucked around on Claire. Probably because she had threatened to reenact the movie Burning Bed if she ever found him with another woman.
“She got over it.”
I let out a brief laugh, knowing damn well it had probably taken an act of God and a ton of sexual favors for her to get over it. As we stood there surveying the room, a redhead I didn’t recognize slinked past us as she eyed me suggestively. I held her gaze and licked my lips. Man, do I wish I could remember her.
I heard Frank grumble beside me. “Come on, ladies’ man. Let’s mingle.” Then he wrapped an arm around my shoulder and led me away from the hot redhead. Though I couldn’t resist one last look over my shoulder. And damn if she wasn’t still staring at me.
***
Two hours later and I was having the time of my life. Being around people from high school had successfully catapulted my maturity level back to that of a teenager as we told lame jokes and laughed hysterically at the petty crimes we had committed fifteen years ago. It was great.
I had just finished regaling the crowd with my tale of the time a few other buddies and I had put the principal’s tiny two-door car in the stairwell when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I noticed Frank’s brows raise as I turned slowly. Jesus Christ. It was the redhead.
She watched me curiously for a moment before saying, “You don’t remember me, do you?”
Shit. I really hated conversations that started that way. I quickly racked my brain for any hints as to who this woman could be. Coming up empty, I shrugged and stammered. “Uh, no, I, umm . . . sorry, I . . .”
She eventually took pity on me and reached her hand toward me. “Carly Stanton.”
I had hoped that a name would ring some kind of bell for me, but it didn’t. “Uh, hi, Carly. I’m Adam—”
“Adam Carter,” she finished for me. “Yeah, I know.”
This was going from bad to worse. “I’m so sorry, Carly, but I’m drawing a complete blank here.”