♫ Yeah, I get off when I see that you're in pain
Want that high top or the mountain
Dipping in the holy fountain ♪
(Bebe Rexha—Mine)

After her shift, Coralie drifted into her apartment, but neither Delilah nor Michael were there. Delilah's "do the thing!" note remained on the fridge, implying she hadn't returned from wherever she'd spent the night. And if Michael had wanted to come over, he'd had no one to let him in.

In reality, Coralie appreciated the solitude, the quiet. The screams in her mind were relentless all day and coming home to an empty—and non-judgmental—apartment was ideal to help her unwind and brace for her second job.

Desperate to rid her body of the toxins she was certain thoughts of Chester provoked, she showered. And though she wanted to take her time, stay under the cleansing, refreshing waters, she had to hurry. As she fumbled with a pair of underwear and a semi-comfortable bra, she found a text on her phone from Michael, stating he was out exploring and would meet with her later at the bar. "For a mocktail," he'd written, with a winky face, "and to watch you in action."

There was nothing active or even impressive about the bar work. She spent hours serving loaded drinks to potential perverts who ogled barely legal girls who shook their asses on the makeshift dance-floor. Nothing fancy or complicated, but it paid the bills.

Coralie appreciated Michael's effort to visit her despite not liking bar settings. But in truth, she hadn't thought about him much that day. Though she'd woken in his arms and drooled over his after-shower body and considered a quickie with him before she left, it was Chester who'd lodged into her mind all morning. And during her early lunch. And in her midday meeting with Nikita. Without forgetting the time when she'd almost dropped her drawers to pleasure herself after receiving a steamy text from him.

Chess: Saw you today from afar, you didn't notice me.
Were you wet thinking about that dream?
Dripping as you walked, wondering who else could see
The ways you imagine I can make you scream?

His poetry had always captivated her, but it had never been directed at her. And she'd never read anything so hot, so flagrant, and so easy to get her horny and turned on and thirsty for him.

She'd received another excerpt later, as she exited the Lyft.

Chess: God, the way you move is so damn sensual
Makes me want to follow you home
Grab you and pin you against a wall
Because I wanna hear you moan

It was creepy, borderline stalker-ish; but that was Chester, in a nutshell, and she was used to it. A sexy weirdo, a poetic but insane genius, a musical prodigy, a man gifted with words but preferring to speak with his filthy body under the sheets.

She fantasized so much over his messages and got so lost in her world imagining the next one he might send, when her phone vibrated, signaling a call. Without paying attention to the caller—it was likely Delilah, or Michael, and a tiny voice told her it could be Chester—she picked up, her tone too chipper considering how flustered she was. "Hello?"

"Babe." It was, of course, the fourth option she hadn't contemplated but should have.

Ryan. Crap.

His timbre was irritated, and the cars whooshing in the background signified he was leaving work, or on the road to a store to inspect it, as he did most late afternoons. "Why didn't you answer my text? Or any of the others I've sent you? What the hell is going on?"

She'd almost forgotten that she'd blocked his number, infuriated by his attitude. Only when she got home had she chosen to unblock it, though she'd hoped he'd received the message loud and clear—leave me alone.

"Oh..." Adjusting her black shirt, she sat up straight. She'd been lounging on her bed, wondering if she had time to slide a finger or two into her underwear and relieve the pressure caused by Chester's verses. "Sorry, it's been a long-ass day."

"Right. Sure." Ryan sighed in obvious annoyance. "But what about last night? You had plenty of chances to answer that one, yeah? So why didn't you?"

"RyRy, relax." She stood up and placed the call on speaker, setting the device on her nightstand. She needed both hands to tie her hair into a low ponytail. "I don't understand why you're getting so damn worked up."

"Because you won't keep me in the loop, like you said you would." A deafening honk came from his end, and she heard him shout something foul at the noise. He was driving, which he rarely did after his long workdays, and she wasn't clear what that meant. Where was he going? "Is he still there?"

She scoffed and pinched her finger in her hair-tie. "Ouch. Of course he's still here. Did you think I'd dump him, and he'd take a quick red-eye back to San Francisco? That's not how this works, Ryan." She blew on her finger, then glared at her screen. "Didn't we talk about this? Didn't you apologize for this? I'm sick of you being such a jerk towards me. I asked for my space—"

"—what about my space? My heart? My life, huh? I moved here for you, Cora. And now you're stringing me along while you figure out what to do with this guy you've known for two seconds."

Heat flared from her jawline to her temples. "First off, I've known him for years. Maybe not as long as you, but long enough." She began to pace back and forth as the warmth on her face spread down her neck. "And wow, that's a lot of pressure to put on me, considering you never even asked me if I wanted you to uproot your life to come here! That's not fair, Ryan. I never rushed you or demanded that you leave your wife, because I wouldn't have dared to request that of you. And yeah," she huffed, "it's not the same, because Michael and I have only been dating for a few months, but feelings are feelings, regardless. I care about him, and he was a good friend before we started this. You're being inconsiderate and pushy, and it makes me rethink everything."

Ryan went silent, but soon he groaned as the background noise changed to soft, elevator-like music. Coralie recognized it—it was the melody that played in the lobby of his high-rise apartment building. "Cora... okay, sure, I'm a bit pushy, I'll concede that."

"A lot pushy." She reviewed his rude, choppy texts in her mind; the ways he tried to control her, to force her, and to draw her back in so he could sway her with his body. "You conceded that, too, and you even apologized. So what changed? Did you forget you agreed to give me time to do this? Or do you not care anymore?"

"I care." His voice shifted; the animosity and the accusatory tone melted. "Of course I care, Cora. But don't you? Don't you love me?" A faint ding echoed on the line, and she heard elevator doors whooshing open. "We waited twelve years for this, and we can't even fully enjoy it. I want to show you off without having to hide. I want to post pictures of us, to be with you entirely. Wasn't that the plan?"

Though her heart screeched at her, and her brain filled with images of Michael, with pictures of Chester... she nodded. "Yes," she said, aware he wasn't in front of her, and wouldn't visualize her acknowledgement. "Yes, I love you, and yes, it was the plan. I mean, we never defined it, never confirmed it, but... I do want to be with you. But... I also don't want to destroy Michael's life. He's a good guy, Ryan. He doesn't deserve to be treated how I'm treating him, and definitely not to have his heart smashed the way I'm about to. Please, trust me. Give me time, okay?"

Ryan eventually agreed—though his heart wasn't in it and the dejection in his demeanor was palpable—and Coralie hurried to her scheduled Lyft ride that would take her to the bar.

During the rapid ride, as she sat in the backseat, she held in tears. Tears of fear of losing Ryan, fear of hurting Michael, fear of succumbing to Chester's wiles. And fear of her own lies. She had no idea how to leave Michael, how to commit to what she'd semi-promised Ryan. And no idea how to escape the whole ordeal unscathed, with no damage in her wake.

Like Delilah had once said, no one was safe in this predicament, and someone, if not everyone, would be harmed in the process.

***

Later that evening—Coralie saw nine p.m. on the bar's neon green apple clock—Michael popped in and settled on a stool in front of her with a giant grin.

"Hi," he said, cheeks adorably red, his light leather jacket collar ruffled up. He plunged his hands in his hair and shoved a few strands aside, pouting his lips in a seductive—but actually goofy—manner. "A Shirley Temple please, Miss. With a juicy cherry on top." Coralie couldn't help but giggle at his failed attempt to speak in a southern accent.

As she concocted his drink, and gave him two cherries, for being so special to her, he detailed his day for her. He'd visited a museum, strolled around a part of Central Park, met up with some local friends for lunch, and another group for afternoon coffee. He'd taken dozens and dozens of awesome pictures and showed them to her, pointing out areas where he'd stopped to breathe in the atmosphere, or places where he wished he could have been with her.

"But since you were working," he rolled his eyes, "I figured we'd go there together some other time."

The subtle resentment in his mood didn't sit well with Coralie. After her argument with Ryan, she had no patience for men frustrating her and reminding her of the tight spot she was in.

"Hey." She snapped at him for his attention. "Don't be like that."

He shrugged, slurping up his drink like a whiny child. "I'm trying not to, and I know it's selfish of me to expect you to drop everything for me when I travel across the country, but... I can't help it."

"This is my career," she said, struggling to contain her harsh sentiments on the inside. "I mean, not this," she gestured around her, "but the other job. It's my passion, my dream, what I moved across the country for. I'm so, so happy to see you, and wish I could spend more time with you, but you have to understand. Singing, working at the label, gaining acknowledgment and recognition, performing my songs... those are the end goal. And I thought you supported that." She sensed herself getting riled up but didn't want to raise her voice in front of other patrons.

Michael felt her tension, too, because he leaned over the counter and motioned for her to approach him. "Baby." He eyed her cheek and pouted his lips. "Come here." She obeyed, and he plastered a tiny but wet kiss on her skin. "I do support it. I'm sorry for being a tantrum-throwing teenager, but I... well, I missed you, and I missed this, and I got a little over-excited. Then the mature side of me kicked in and I realize now... it's unfair to you. I'm being unfair to you. I'm sorry."

Coralie spun away from him so he wouldn't witness her wince. He was being unfair? No... he was acting like a guy who cared about his girlfriend and hoped for some alone time with her before he hopped on a plane and went home. He'd come all this way despite hating airplanes, so it was understandable for him to complain. Oh, he had every right to... and no need to explain himself or to apologize.

I should be apologizing... but if I do, that'll open a conversation I'm not prepared for.

"You... you're fine, babe. I'm sorry. For the stress, the weirdness..." she deflated, leaning against the back counter, "and for putting you through it. I should be more excited to hang out with you, and I promise, I am, but..."

He waved at her, beckoning her nearer once more. "But it's your dream job and you have to focus on it. I understand. Just... don't set me too far aside, okay?"

She gave him her hand, and he squeezed it as he finished his drink. They stayed that way for a few moments—minutes, hours, days, who knew—before he let her go and angled over to kiss her cheek again.

"Leaving so soon?" She glimpsed the clock—it was ten.

"I'm beat, sweetheart." He flashed her a tired but charming smile. "And I made quite a few plans tomorrow, to keep myself occupied while you become famous and stuff." He winked and proceeded towards the door.

An eerie sadness overcame her at the vision of him departing. Would she see him again during his trip? Would she have the time? She wanted to; and being with him would divert her from Chester, and make Ryan suffer, which he deserved to.

"Wait." She ran out from behind the counter and slammed into his arms. "Stay with me, tonight? I'm not sure what time I'll be home, but... I enjoyed waking next to you this morning."

He beamed from ear to ear and kissed her. "Definitely. Is Delilah there?"

"No clue." She fished her keys from her back pocket and crammed them into his hand. "Take these, let yourself in, make yourself comfortable. Leave them under the mat." She froze, thinking for a second. Had she left anything obscure lying around that she didn't want him to find?

No... most of my incriminating things are on my phone.

He thanked her, and walked out backwards, tipping his invisible hat to her.

She was about to scurry behind the bar again and get back to work when someone else passed the threshold, seconds after Michael had traversed it. Someone she'd been dying to see but was afraid of bumping into. Someone she'd had so many wet fantasies about that she'd considered no longer wearing underwear so she wouldn't have to deal with the mess he caused.

Her jaw plummeted, and she immobilized as Chester took two strides towards her, stopped, and smirked. Was he surprised to see her? Or... did he know she worked there?

"Fancy finding you here," he said, eliminating the gap between them, only halting once his shoes collided with hers. Up close, his emerald eyes were awash with too many emotions to decipher. But one of them, for certain, was desire, and it dripped from him like melting pistachio ice cream on a sweltering summer day.

She backed away, set her fists on her hips, and scowled. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

♥♥♥