Tough Enough

A tiny frown flickers between Rogan’s dark, glistening eyes. He turns his face and presses his lips to the center of my palm. As always, his kiss kindles a flame, one that, if left unchecked, burns its way into a raging inferno that only he can extinguish. It never dies, though. Not really. It always seems to be waiting there. Glowing embers, just beneath the surface, waiting for him to come along and bring them back to blazing life. Like he brought me to life.

I’m glad that he takes the time to make love to me once more before he goes, but I feel guilty when I see him scurrying about, rushing to get home to his responsibilities. I’m a selfish, selfish woman. Kurt will give him a terrible time if he’s late, I’m sure. But I can’t fully regret him staying with me a little longer. I could never regret a moment spent with him, no matter how awful the consequences.

Hours later, Rogan is there when I push through the doors at work. His smile shows no evidence of a bad morning with his brother. His smile never shows anything other than his easygoing, “take life by the balls” attitude. I’ll miss it. I’ll miss him.

After our normal odd conversation with Mona and her word of the day, I take my time putting makeup on Rogan. I relish the feel of his eyes on me, of his skin beneath my fingertips, of his closeness. And when he’s walking out my door with the tech, I fight back tears.

It’s as I’m cleaning up, preparing for the next person to fill my chair that I get a visit from Victoria. My stomach twists into a resentful knot when I see her. I hope my smile is as coolly polite as always, though.

“So, you enjoying your last day?” she asks.

I frown. “Pardon?”

“Your. Last. Day,” she repeats, barbs in her tone as she enunciates each syllable like English is my second language.

“My last day of what?”

“Being Rogan’s pretend girlfriend.”

“I’m not—” I stop myself. I’m not going to discuss Rogan with this pit-viper of a woman.

“Awww, you’re going to deny it? How nice of you to think that I care, but you can save it. Because I don’t. People like you don’t even register as a blip on my radar.” Her top lip draws back from her teeth, a sneer of disgust that clearly belies the sugar of her words. “I think it’s sweet that he took pity on someone like you, but I don’t want you to think it’ll last. He’ll be back with me before next weekend.” My heart is a sluggish thump behind my ribs as her face suddenly breaks into a blinding smile. “Okay, well, see you Monday.”

She slinks back through my door, turning her nose up to the man she passes. He plays a mafia don on the show and he’s next on my list for the day. He’s older and not very attractive, far beneath her notice, but he’s a nice guy. Too nice to keep company with the likes of her, anyway, even if she wanted to. But I still hate to see her treat him like his importance ranks somewhere just beneath that of gum on the bottom of her shoe.

I smile my same polite, professional, distant smile as he takes the chair and I go about my job. It takes all my concentration to hold my mask in place, a mask that says the dark cloud over my head didn’t just get a little bit darker.

? ? ?

“Did you bring your umbrella?” Rogan asks when the stewardess leaves to fetch our drinks at just after six Thursday evening.

“Yes. I packed it, but are you going to tell me why I’m bringing a polka-dot umbrella to New York when the forecast isn’t even calling for rain?”

Rogan’s lips curve into that lopsided, sexy smile that I love. “Oh, it’ll rain. You’ll see.”

The stewardess returns with two flutes of champagne. “What are we celebrating?” I ask as I inhale the sweet perfume of the bubbly liquid.

Rogan’s smile wanes as he watches me until he glances down at his glass. His expression takes on a hint of sadness. “More time.”

My heart! Oh God, my heart!

I can’t find a smile to give him, so I’m glad that he isn’t looking at me for one. “To more time.”

When he looks up to clink his glass against mine, his temporary melancholy seems to have lifted. He winks and takes a long sip of the delicious fizz.

“Where the hell is Patrice?” Kurt blares from behind us.

“Maybe she, ohhh I don’t know, has a day off now and then. Ya think?” Rogan calls back in sarcastic response.

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