♫ And now you have only made me miss you
Come get me
Come love me, baby come love me ♪
(BANKS—Lovesick)

Except Coralie did tell someone about her extra-curricular affairs. She informed the one person who often judged though she shouldn't, and yet who always provided advice and support—Delilah.

But Delilah was in no mood to advise or support that day, despite being curious and beseeching Coralie for all the details.

"So you're cheating on Michael with Ryan." Coralie shrugged, and Delilah blinked. "And now you're cheating on Ryan with Chester? Phew, girl, I can't keep up with this."

"Not cheating." Coralie groaned. "Cheating implies it's an ongoing thing and it'll happen again, which it won't. I cheated. It was one kiss in the elevator... and I might have masturbated a few times thinking of him, too." She recalled the occasion in her office, then the quick session in her shower an hour prior, and envisioned the long, drawn-out spell she'd surely have in the middle of the night. "But that's it. It won't happen again. I can't let it."

"Uh huh. You keep telling yourself that." Delilah scoffed and returned to the stove, where she'd been stirring a pot of homemade spaghetti sauce. The smell—herbs and tomatoes and spices—flurried into Coralie's nostrils, and almost replaced her lustful hunger with a real hunger for food.

But though she was famished, nothing seemed to drown out her desire for Chester. Not the pasta boiling in another pot, not the wine she'd chugged after her shower, and not the text message she'd received from Michael telling her they needed to talk ASAP. She'd responded to the latter with an "okay, I'll be available," and shoved her phone into her jeans pocket.

"Am I hallucinating?" She took another swig of wine, and felt her phone buzzing, but ignored it. "Did he actually do it? Pin me up against an elevator wall not once but twice, and on the second time make-out with me as if we were drunk in the back of some shitty bar? And then ditch me without a word?"

Delilah grunted. "Yeah, he did, and worst of all? You let him."

"I wanted to shove him off," said Coralie, sniffing in the delicious aroma emanating from the pots. "But... I mean... I'd been picturing it all morning. For days, even." She unleashed a breath so heavy, so deep, that she felt herself deflating like a balloon popping and releasing air. "But I have no clue what it meant, nor what he wants, nor what I should want. Or what I should do. And yet... I had to get it out of my system, right? Yeah, I should have stopped him, but..."

"But you're a filthy, thirsty, greedy little bitch and you can't help yourself." Coming from anyone else, such a sentence would have stung; but Coralie knew Delilah's chiding came from the heart. And in any case, Delilah's demeanor shifted as she giggled; any trace of her earlier disgust—or was it jealousy? Coralie hadn't been able to tell—had dissipated. She strained the pasta and tossed it into a large, bright green bowl. "Look, you do you, babe, I've told you this. I won't judge, not too harshly, at least. But sooner or later, you will have to face the facts and bite the bullet and all the other dumb clichés. Because you'll have to end things with one... ugh, now two of them before you all get hurt."

"I'm already hurt," said Coralie, interrupted by her phone's vibrating once more. She pulled the device out. "By Ryan and his—" She froze at the name appearing on the screen. "What the fuck? Is he psychic?" Pressing the green button, she allowed the call, and shooed Delilah off as she tried to uncover who the caller was. "Ryan?"

A pronounced sigh came from the other end. "Cora, hey. Didn't think you'd answer. I'm... sorry, I'm sorry, I am. For bugging you. For... breaching your space, or whatever."

She deflated against the counter as Delilah tutted and rolled her eyes, muttering, "you attract trouble, girl."

"It's fine." Coralie held in a snort—no, it wasn't fine, but she could never resist Ryan's apologetic timbre. "What's up?" She jammed an elbow into Delilah's side as she wiggled her eyebrows at her.

"Please... come over tonight. I feel like... there's too much distance between us. I've been an arsehole—asshole, I mean. Sorry, I'm still not American. But the only way I can make it up to you is... by making love to you."

He sounded so sincere, so apologetic, so sexy, that Coralie momentarily forgot about her woes with Chester and melted into Ryan's voice. She shouldn't have let him persuade her with nothing but a phrase, and yet the temptation grew in her gut.

"Fuck. Hang on. I need to debate this." She muted the call and glared at Delilah. "He wants me to come over, so he can gain my forgiveness by," she used air quotes, "making love to me. But I... don't know. Should I? Though I made out with someone else today?"

Delilah grumbled before managing to create a reply. "Like you care about my opinion." Coralie smacked her arm. "Ouch, okay... well, if you stay here, you're going to think about all the stuff you could be doing with Chester, right? And you'll be loud all night as you moan while you're taking care of yourself? That'll be annoying." Coralie hit her again. "Ow! Jeez, woman!" She slithered to the other end of the kitchen and out of reach. "Fine! If you go to Ryan's, at least you'll be distracted. Yeah, he's a jerk and needs to fix his attitude if he wants you to break up with Michael, but... crazy sex with him might help, no?"

As she leaned into a drawer, its handle indenting into her lower spine, Coralie considered the option. The last time she'd tried to use Ryan as a diversion from her troubled thoughts about Chester, it hadn't worked. But as those troubled thoughts had bridged into lustful territory, perhaps Ryan could satisfy her urge. If only temporarily.

"I suppose." She peered at her phone's screen. "Fuck, I guess that's my best solution." As she hovered her thumb over the unmute button, preparing to announce her decision to Ryan, another call came in—and it rooted Coralie to the spot. "Dammit, now Michael is calling? Why am I so popular tonight?" She accepted the call—hating to make him wait or have to call back, since he was long-distance—and did her best to erase the confusion and resignation from her voice. "Babe, hi! What's up?"

"Baby," he said, winded, as if he'd been running. "You need to go downstairs, in front of your building. There's a surprise for you."

"A surprise? You mean a package? Did you send me something?" Coralie stood upright and glanced towards the living room wall where the window was. "What is it?"

"Uh..." Michael chuckled. "I mean it is a package, in a sense, but... not quite. Okay, so... it's me. Ha! The surprise is me! I'm here, at the entrance to your building!"

"Oh... wait... what?" Her eyes widened, and she tugged her free hand through her curls with a cringe. "You're here? You traveled here? Without notice? To... surprise me?"

Delilah's jaw dropped, and she mouthed "what the fuck?" before hurrying to the window to figure out if Michael was telling the truth.

Coralie followed her, her pace slower because her legs were like jelly. "But you... you hate airplanes."

"Seriously, that's all you have to say?" Michael's tone was a smidgen disappointed, but he was attempting to hide it behind his excitement. "I'm here, for you. And after weeks and weeks of not being able to actually hold you, I finally can! So get down here! Well," he went silent for a few instants, "if you're home, that is. Shit, I didn't think about that part."

"I'm home." She joined Delilah, and gazed down the four floors separating her from her official boyfriend. The man she'd agreed to date, that she'd found handsome and interesting and fun and down-to-earth and kind. And that she'd been actively cheating on with someone who was waiting on the other line. From high up, and despite the lampposts illuminating the sidewalk below, she couldn't see him and hesitated to believe he was indeed there. "Give me a few minutes to, uh... gussy up."

She didn't wait for Michael's confirmation before flipping to Ryan's call, and turning from the window with a wince. As if Michael would see her talking to another man; as if he'd sniff out her betrayal and realize he voyaged across the country to get his heart broken.

"Sorry, Ryan." She swallowed and lidded her eyes as she marched through the living room. "I can't come over."

"Why not? I mean, if this is about the whole needing space thing—"

"It isn't." She massaged her temples with her other hand and crept into her bathroom. No use lying to Ryan; sneaky as he was, he'd find out about Michael's surprise visit and hold it against her in the future. "Michael is here."

"What?" The line fizzled, though Coralie thought for a moment it might have been Ryan hissing into the receiver. "Here, as in... in New York? Why? What the hell?"

She snickered at her reflection; at the disgusting, blurry blue-eyed creature staring back at her, her face coated in shame, and monstrous fangs dripping with lust lurking beneath her regular-sized lips. "I don't know, because it wasn't planned. But he's downstairs and waiting for me, so I need to go, Ryan. I'm sorry—"

"—you're going to break up with him, right?" Exasperation peppered his tone. "You didn't want to do it over the phone, but if he's in town... no excuse. You will, yeah?"

A few weeks ago, she'd been torn between the two men, and truly considered ending things with Michael, if anything to spare him more pain than what she'd already put him through. But Ryan's recent insistence, his urgency, his annoying demands without ever respecting her needs and her wants, prompted her rebellious side to awaken. And with Chester resurfacing into her life, a newer, stronger, bolder flame had ignited inside of her. One that told her to stop heeding to Ryan's every desire, and start using him the same way he'd used her. They hadn't defined their relationship, had they? No, and that meant he had no say in anything she did or felt.

She'd break up with Michael when—and if—she damn well wanted to.

"Not sure. I'll get a feel of the situation, and keep you posted." She scrunched her nose—no, she wouldn't keep Ryan posted, because he didn't need to be in the loop.

Enough is enough. If he keeps pushing, then my choice will be easy—not him.

"Stop pressuring me, or you'll lose me. Again. Goodnight, Ryan." She hung up before he had a shot to protest, and erased the call from her phone log—just in case.

Delilah praised her handling of the situation—though her expression showed more concern than pride—and once Coralie ensured she looked halfway decent, she scurried downstairs.

With a big duffle bag at his feet, a light jacket around his usually svelte but muscular middle, and gazing left and right in utter bewilderment, Michael waited by the curb. He wore a goofy grin, and his hair had grown out a bit—how hadn't she noticed in their last video-chat?—and he looked buffer, bulgier than before. His hazel eyes were awash with astonishment, loaded with intrigue and fear and anticipation all at once. Lost in this massive town, daring to fly across the country for the woman he cared about—and who had been sleeping with someone else under his nose—Michael was no illusion. He was there, and Coralie's heart skipped a few beats as she took in his appearance. She reveled in the sensations he provoked in her; the calmness his presence brought to her, the soothing of his kind, never down-turned lips, and the quiet sexiness of his tight, but not too tight, pants.

"Michael," she said, too hushed for him to hear with all the traffic in the background.

But he saw her, and his features lit up, and his once drooping shoulders raised as he lunged over to her. "Babe!" He yanked her into a strong hug and planted kisses along her temples, and squeezed her. "Oh, man, I thought I got the wrong place. Not easy to find. These streets are insane! And the cab driver—fucking nuts. The whole stereotype about them is true, damn. And the sounds, the smells, shit, it's all like I pictured—"

"—hey!" She grabbed his chin and steadied him, silencing him, drawing him to drown into her gaze. "Hi."

Overwhelmed by his presence, and suddenly aware of how much she'd missed him, and his woodsy cologne, and his normalcy, she crammed her lips against his.

He returned her kiss, holding her closer as she wrapped one leg around his calf, opening up, inviting him. His lips were chilled from the slight breeze outside, and his hands were frosty as he slid them under her shirt, his fingers inches from sneaking below her legging waistband to grab her ass.

No matter her earlier issues with Ryan, and her ridiculous obsession with Chester, Michael now occupied every confine of her brain. As they made out in the middle of the sidewalk, with busy New Yorkers swaying around them and cars zooming behind them, no one and nothing else mattered to her except for him. For a few minutes, maybe a few hours, she could pretend like she wasn't a raging cheater, a conflicted adulterer, and bask in the adoration that Michael always offered her. He didn't chastise her like Ryan, and didn't make her dazed and dizzy like Chester. He helped her breathe, and that was all she needed for now.

♥♥♥