The air is bitterly cold as I make my way home.  I wrap my coat tight around myself, cursing the fact that I wore a dress today.  I have on knee high boots, and thigh highs, along with a heavy wool jacket and a huge scarf, but I’m shivering as I make my way down the street.  I’m looking forward to getting home.  It’s nearing eight, and I’ve been at the gallery since seven this morning.  Partially of my own volition, partially because there is so much to do there.

I duck my head down as I walk, trying not to pay too much attention to the restaurants and stores around me. It’s hard though.  Everything is red and pink and heart shaped.  Valentine’s Day.  Quite possibly the worst holiday ever.  Even when I was dating Richard, I didn’t care for it.  All the forced emotions, and pressure to make a big statement. 

Not that I should have really cared either way.  Richard never really made any sort of statement, big or little.

I round the corner to my apartment building when I hear my phone beeping in my pocket, and I feel the vibration of it against my side.  I pull it out, my hands instantly numbing in the cold air.

It’s a text message.  And I’m shocked when I see who it is.

I’m in New York.  I’ve just landed. I know it’s a long shot, but are you busy?

I haven’t talked to Tom since Christmas, when he declared he was dating whoever, and we had to pineapple the whole whatever we were doing.  And now he’s in New York.  In my city.  And he wants to know what I’m doing.  Talk about last minute.  Still, I already know what I’m going to say.  There’s really only one answer.

I nearly walk past the door to my apartment because I’m staring at my phone, making sure it’s actually a message from him. I stop outside the door to the building and quickly text him back.

I’m free.  Come to my apartment. I text, and then send him my address.  I bite my lip, feeling a gust of cold wind nearly blow me over. 

 Okay. Be there soon. Brief. To the point.

My heart is racing as I shove my phone into my coat pocket.  I rush into my building, halting at my mail box to get the bills and pointless mail that piles up there.  I idly shuffle through it as I walk up the three floors to my apartment.  I see the envelopes and junk mail, but nothing’s really registering.  My mind is elsewhere.

Tom is in New York.  Tom is coming over.  Why is he here?

My heart is still thumping as I quickly open the door to my apartment.  I look around hastily, trying to see what needs straightening before he comes.  I haven’t had anyone over in quite some time.  Santos when he was last in town. He told me I lived like a 90 year old grandma, and I might as well buy a dozen cats and call it a life.   

It’s a small place.  It’s technically a one bedroom, though just barely.  The one plus side to it is the tall ceilings.  It’s an old refurbished building, so the duct work is all exposed, giving it a loft feel. But the apartment is tiny.  It’s mostly just one room—a small but well laid out kitchen that moves right into the sitting area.  There’s a wall that’s about ten feet tall, and doesn’t meet the ceiling, but it separates the bedroom from the rest of the apartment, giving some semblance of privacy.  It is perfect for me.  The rent isn’t cheap, but it’s cheaper than most and I can afford it, if just barely. 

Things are surprisingly neat, so I just throw some dishes into the sink and gather up some of my clothes, tossing them into my tiny closet in the bedroom and shutting the door.  I rush around the apartment, scanning things and making sure I’ve left nothing out that screams ‘old lonely spinster’.  Okay, so perhaps I’m not old, but the lonely spinster thing still seems applicable.  It’s only slightly mortifying that Tom is still the last person I’ve slept with.  He’s the only person I’ve slept with in the past year.  Let’s just call it a draught, with only one or two Tom storms to drench the parched--- okay, I’ll stop there.  I’m nervous and getting carried away with my analogies.

I finally take off my coat, tossing it over one of the two chairs in the kitchen.  I stop there, taking a breath and smoothing back my hair.  I need to look calm and nonchalant when he gets here, not frazzled and psychotic.  I grab a bottle of wine sitting on the counter, and quickly pour myself a healthy glass full.  I down it, as I lean against the tiny counter, trying to calm myself. 

He probably just wants to talk, right? He just wants to catch up and see how things are.  We’re old friends at this point.  Just a chat, and maybe some coffee.  Maybe he’ll want to get a late dinner. I could take him to the little diner around the corner, since he seems to enjoy diner food.  Or maybe I’ll take him for sushi.  He probably likes sushi. He seems adventurous. 

What if he’s not alone? What if he has whatever his flavor of the month is with him? I blink a few times, and take another gulp of wine.  I didn’t think of that.  It’s probably true.  He probably has some gorgeous model with him, with legs up to my neck and an IQ of 4. 

I look down at what I’m wearing.  My black mini dress and dark thigh highs, with my leather boots.  It’s a good outfit.  It’s chic and put together—a work outfit, but it’s not bad.  Maybe I should change.  I don’t have time to change.  He doesn’t matter, I don’t need to change.  He will be here any minute with Miss America. Maybe I should change.

I slump against the counter, pressing my face into my hands.  I’m a mess. A total wreck.  I sit up and take another sip of wine, looking for something to distract me. I sort through the mail I tossed on the counter.  Mostly bills. Some credit card offers (like I need another one of those to add to my collection). One envelope stands out.

It’s a large one, heavy and my name is printed in a fancy calligraphy on the front.  I frown as I flip the oversized envelope over, peeling open the back.  I pull out a few thick pieces of heavy, cotton cardstock.  It’s all white, some of it shimmers with a pearlized effect.  A wedding invitation.

It only takes me a few seconds to read and realize who it’s for.  Richard and Carmen.  He’s invited me to his wedding, that asshole.  I stare at the script for a few seconds, the words blurring together.  Share our Joy. All our love. Happiest day. Barf barf barfity barf.

I hold the invitation in my hand, not quite sure how I feel.  I mostly feel numb.  Perfectly, terribly numb.  He’s marrying her.  This person I thought I knew and loved for years, now a stranger.  Now having a happily ever after with someone else.  Someone who swept in, and took everything away from me so quickly, so fast, that I didn’t even know what had hit me til I was lying flat on my back, looking up at the dreary gray sky.

My stomach clenches, and for a split second I think I may throw up.  I take a few deep, measured breaths.  I need to stop letting him have such a hold on me.

I toss the invite onto the counter, and pour myself some more wine just as there’s a knock at the door.

Tom.  My emotions suddenly seem frayed and weary, like I’m swimming in a pool of them.  I toss back my wine and then try to shake Richard out of my head as I walk to the door.

I open it quickly, feeling my heart rattling in my chest as I do. I prepare myself for the worst.

Tom looks nearly the same and…he seems to be alone. His hair, ever changing, is light and sandy colored, short on the sides and longer on top. His face is the same though—sweet and open and brilliantly happy.  His ocean blue eyes smiling, and crinkled at the corners. He’s wearing dark jeans, and what looks like a black cardigan under a quilted black jacket.  It feels like a punch in the gut to see him, standing just outside my apartment door.  He has a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a gorgeous bunch of blood red roses in his other hand.

“Hi.” I manage finally, taking a step back.  God, he’s gorgeous.  I feel him in my stomach, in my arms and legs, in my chest.  He has this horrible effect on me, like I can’t breathe quite right. Like there’s just not enough oxygen in the air.

“Hello there.” He smiles, and I feel like a walking cliché with my weakened knees and my slightly sweaty palms.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” He says and lifts the flowers up and toward me.  I stare at them for a second, but I don’t take them.  I can’t remember the last time I was given flowers. Let alone what looks like two dozen gorgeous red ones.

“Come in.” I say, but neither of us move.  We sort of stare at each other for a moment.  Then Tom finally makes a move, stepping forward.  My brain gets the memo, but my body won’t move.  I stay put, standing frozen at the doorway.  He steps forward, and is suddenly right in front of me, mere inches away. 

He’s tall.  So wonderfully tall.  Ugh, I hate him. 

“Are you going to let me in?” He asks, his voice low.  It goes straight to my gut and then lower. 

“You’re alone? No Miss America?” I ask softly, speaking before I can think.  He frowns slightly, but looks amused.

“Miss America?”

“Are you seeing anyone?” I ask, and then look up into his eyes.  I see something pass through them, like a cloud through a perfect blue sky.  He gives me a barely perceptible shake of his head.

“No. Not seeing anyone.  Just you at the moment.” He licks his lips.  Okay then.

Maybe it’s the not seeing him in 9 months.  Maybe it’s the getting a wedding invitation to my ex’s wedding.  Maybe it’s the Valentine’s Day that is inevitably swirling through the air.  I don’t know what it is, but I suddenly push him back against the wall in the tiny hallway, slam the door close behind him and then I pretty much smash my mouth against his.  No decorum, no whispy, lustful coy glances. I just shove him back against the wall, which his head hits with a dull thud, and then I launch myself onto his mouth.

Thankfully, and to his credit, he responds instantly.  We stumble backward until he’s flattened against the wall.  I hear his bag hit the floor with a thump and the flowers follow suit.  He pushes his hands through my hair, holding my head to him.  His mouth is warm, though his skin is still a little cold from the weather outside.  I grab handfuls of his jacket, yanking him to me hungrily.  I don’t care if I seem crazy, or desperate.  I feel a little desperate.  As if I will die if I don’t have him.  Perhaps I can’t feel much at the moment, but I can feel this, and I can feel the way he’s sliding his tongue against mine.

I push my hips into his needily, and I can already feel him hard against my stomach and hips.  Tom groans and then reaches down, grabbing onto my hips as he holds me to him.  There is something satisfying and fulfilling about feeling him respond to me like this.  So easily, so effortlessly.

He reaches down farther, running his hands down my back and then over my ass. He pushes my skirt up, his hands against my thighs and butt.  He grabs two handfuls, grunting into my mouth as he lifts me up.  I wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist, and he lifts and starts carrying me.  I don’t know where we are going.  He can’t know where we are going, but he starts walking as he keeps devouring my mouth and then my neck.  He bites me gently, scraping his teeth against my skin and then sucking as he moves down the column of my throat.  I shiver against him, and start kissing his face, his hair, whatever I can reach. 

We are both wearing far too many clothes.  He hasn’t even taken off his jacket.

He walks toward the kitchen and sets me down onto the counter, running his hands up and down my thighs as he does.  He pushes my dress up high on my thighs and then nearly up and around my waist.  Tom looks down, seeing my lace top thigh highs, contrasting with the lightness of my thighs.

“Holy god, you’re fucking sexy.” He breathes, looking at me hungrily. 

I grab him pulling me toward me as I push his jacket off his shoulders.  He is wearing a cardigan and a tshirt underneath, and I push his cardigan off as well.  His arms are strong, more muscular than I remember.  I run my hands over his chest, and down his arms, then push them under his tshirt.  Tom grabs my hips, pulling me to the edge of the counter and surging against me. Oh god.  Talk about a big statement. Maybe I love Valentine’s Day.

“I need…” I’m lucky if my IQ is over 4 at this point.  I reach down and grab him by the waist of his jeans, then start fumbling with the button and fly.  My fingers are clumsy and refuse to work like they’re supposed to.  Why can’t we all just wear Velcro pants? Much less sexy, but so much easier to open. If I don’t have him soon, I feel I will just break into pieces.

“Let me…take you to your bedroom.” He groans as I push my hands into his jeans, and take hold of him.  His arms come down on the counter on either side of me, and he seems to brace himself for a moment.  I bite my lip, hard, as I feel him hot and heavy in my hand.  His skin is so soft, and yet I feel the power and strength of him as I run my hands up and down the length of him.

“No. Now. I need you now.” I murmur into his ear, and then take his earlobe into my mouth, nibbling gently.  Tom groans and then everything is at super speed.  He pulls my hands out of his pants, and then grabs me, pulling me to the very edge of the counter so that I’m teetering on the brink.  We’re both fully clothed still, though he’s standing before me completely exposed.  It’s a sight that, in that moment, is quite possibly the sexiest thing I have ever seen. 

Tom reaches down between my legs and pushes my panties to the side.  He takes my hips as he steps up to me, then leans down and kisses me hungrily as he pushes into me in one smooth, deep movement.

We both gasp and still, and I feel his whole body tense around me as he enters me.  His shoulders and chest and arms are rock hard as he freezes.  I grab onto him, pressing my chest against his. 

Neither of us move for a moment, as we both revel in the feeling.  Hot skin against hot skin.  He’s so hard and seems huge inside of me, and I have never felt anything so intense.  I whimper into his shoulder and then bite him, as it’s all I can even think to do.  It’s instinctual.  He gathers me in his arms and then we start moving, slowly, painfully slow.  I fight the urge to move against him, make him take me hard and fast.  He seems to enjoy the torture, and I can’t say I mind it. 

I wrap my legs around his hips, slip my hands under his shirt, feeling his tight stomach and soft skin.  I rake my nails over his sides and back.  He groans and keeps moving, slowly, grinding against me.  I feel pleasure build, and it is so good the thought passes through my head that I wish we could stay like this all night. 

I can’t help myself as I move my hips with his, urging him to pick up the pace.  I feel hungry for him—like I need more.  I need it all.  He murmurs something into my shoulder and then kisses me, pulling back ever so slightly.

“Gracie, fuck, you need to give me a minute.” He chuckles softly, and something about his statement turns me on even more.  That I can make him feel that way.  I ignore him, giving him a little smile, and I move faster, grabbing his ass, making him take me harder and faster. 

Tom seems to get the idea, and then he seems to sort of lose his mind.  He drives into me, taking me all the way.  I can feel the muscles in his arms bunch as he pushes into me, bracing himself on the counter.  I let my head loll back, feeling nothing but him.

 I go right along with him, and the next few minutes are nothing short of delicious oblivion. It leaves us both out of breath, hearts racing, a bit sweaty and completely buzzing with pleasure.

We stay, slumped against each other at the counter for quite some time.  I don’t want him to leave.  He places little kisses against my neck and then up onto my face and forehead.  I wonder if he will stay the night.  I don’t know if it’s a good idea or not.

A few minutes pass in comfortable silence, before he moves, pulling away from me and I gasp softly as he does.  He tucks himself back into his pants avoiding my eyes as he gets things in order. I stay on the counter, feeling still a bit in shock and wondering if my legs will work when I get down.  I close my legs as he moves away, and I can feel the absence of him.  It makes me feel dizzy and strange.

Tom finally looks at me, his eyes clear and almost frighteningly blue. 

I know I’ve made a mistake, but I’m powerless at this point to fight it.

“How long are you in town?” I ask, trying my best at normalcy, though I can feel the evidence of what just happened against my inner thighs.  Tom clears his throat, and I notice he has a tiny lovebite on his neck.  Whoops. I don’t remember doing that.

“Just tonight and tomorrow.  I have a meeting in the afternoon and then I fly back out in the evening.” He leans against the counter next to me, crossing his arms over his chest.  We’re both quiet and I feel reality quietly sneak up behind me. 

“It’s good to see you.” I manage, and I look at him.  Sex is easy.  With him it is so easy.  It’s effortless.  It’s everything else that is hard. 

“You too.” He smiles at me.  I make a move to hop down off the counter, and when I land softly on the ground, my knees and thighs give out slightly and I stumble.  Tom lunges forward, steadying me and we both laugh softly.

“Thanks.” I say as I gain my footing.  My thighs feel wobbly and a bit like jello.

“I’m just going to go…clean up and change. I’ll be right back.” I say awkwardly, gesturing quickly toward the bathroom.  Tom just nods, watching me.  “Um, make yourself at home.  Have some wine.” I point toward the half empty bottle on the counter that I had been drinking earlier.  He nods and then I turn and quickly make my escape to the bathroom.

I shut the door behind me, and then slump down onto the side of the tub.

For someone who swears she doesn’t have any emotions, I am suddenly feeling a bit overwhelmed.  I don’t want to be a stereotypical girl.  I know sex doesn’t equal love.  I know sex can be just sex. I know that’s what we’re doing.

But why do I feel this way? Simultaneously wonderful and sated and completely alive and buzzing, and then at the same time…totally hollow inside?

I take a few minutes to pull myself together, and then I clean up.  I change into yoga pants and a light weight hoodie, figuring it doesn’t really matter what I look like at this point.  I wash my face, which seems blotchy and overheated and then I make my way back out to face whatever it is I left drinking wine in my kitchen.

Tom’s sitting on my couch, with a glass of wine in his hand.  He’s taken his shoes off, and put his cardigan back on.  He looks comfortable and at ease, and…like he belongs there, sitting on the couch in my tiny apartment.  He looks up as I come in, and he smiles, then holds out a glass of wine to me.

“Come sit.” He pats the spot next to him.  I obey, tucking my feet under me as I sit next to him and take the glass.  He turns, angling his body toward me.  He looks tired, and relaxed.

“I like your place.  It’s very you.” He smiles.  I nod and shrug.

“Thanks.”

“Everything okay?” He asks gently.  I nod and take a sip of wine. 

“Yes.”

“Want to talk about it?” He chews hesitantly at his bottom lip and then throws his arm across the back of the couch.  I blink, not sure what he’s referring to.

“Talk about what?”

“It’s not just a coincidence that you jumped my bones the moment I walked in, and your ex-fiance is getting married, is it?” He asks, gesturing to the wedding invite that is now sitting on my coffee table.  He must have seen it on my kitchen counter. I feel my heart sort of skitter to a stop.  He’s not really being accusatory and he says it gently, with humor in his voice, but I know what he’s saying.  He thinks I used him.  I don’t know if he’s totally wrong.

“I’m sorry if…it seemed like…” I don’t know what to say.  Tom takes a long drink from his glass, and then reaches over, takes my hand in his and kisses the back of it gently.

“It’s okay.” He says easily, but when I look in his eyes, I see something else.  Something I can’t quite pin down.

“I don’t know what to say.” I narrow my eyes, feeling terrible.  Talking about my feelings is pretty low on my list of things I enjoy doing.  We’re quiet for a few awkward moments.

“Maybe I should go.” He says softly, his eyes searching my face.

“No, please. Please, don’t.” I say instantly, leaning toward him.  Tom hesitates and takes a deep breath, waiting.  Waiting for me. 

“I just got the invite.  Right before you got here.  It’s just a little…confusing.” I manage.  Tom nods, and keeps waiting.  He’s not going to let me off easy.  I sigh and press my hands to my face.

“You are like this little safe.  All locked up.” He tilts his head, watching me still.  He’s not accusatory.  He never is.  He just doesn’t mind speaking what we’re all thinking.  I look at him, feeling a tug in my chest as if it’s pulling me to him.

“I was in love with a man who I thought I was going to marry.  Now he’s marrying someone else.  And who knows how long he told me he loved me, while he was picturing someone else in his head.  These kind of things can really fuck with you.” I say in a quick, rushed sentence.  Tom’s face softens slightly and his arm that’s on the back of the couch comes down around my shoulders.

“You didn’t deserve that, you know.  Richard is an idiot.” He offers.  I shake my head.

“I’m not looking for pity or anything.  I know I didn’t deserve it.  I was a good girlfriend.  I was a damn great girlfriend.  He fucked up, not me.  But all that doesn’t really matter, because…it still hurts.  And I don’t really know how to deal with it—the betrayal, the ache.  At the end of the day, he’s found his person and I’m…having sex with my vacation fling in my kitchen.” I scoff slightly, and then crack a smile.

“Sorry.” I glance at him and he gives me a little half smile.

“You don’t know what he has, Gracie.  Don’t do that.” Tom leans over, kisses the side of my head at my temple.  “We just know what he lost.  And that’s a lot.  Just know that not everyone is like that.  Not everyone lies.” He says into my hair.  I nod, hoping he’s right.

“Would you? Would you lie?” I ask softly, praying my voice doesn’t waver. He brushes his lips against the side of my head, against my hair.

“No. Not to you.” He whispers.  I swallow hard and lean against him slightly.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

“Gracie.” He cuts me off.  “We made an agreement. Months ago.  Are we still on the same page?” He asks, looking at me.  I search his eyes, not sure exactly what he’s asking.

“Yes. Of course.” I blink.  Friends with benefits.  Just that. Nothing else.  I wonder if he’s ever going to talk to me again.  He must think I’m some emotionally unstable, needy, clingy girl. 

But I don’t see disgust in his eyes. He just sort of looks at me, his expression inquisitive, maybe a little confused.

“Grace—“ He starts, but then pauses.  I hold my breath, watching him.  It’s strange to feel like you know someone well, and at the same time feel as if they are a total stranger.  It’s quiet, and we both seem at a bit of a loss for words.

I hear what sounds like Tom’s stomach grumble, and we both chuckle softly.

“Are you hungry?” I ask, smiling, glad for the distraction.  He smiles.

“I’ve been traveling all day.  I didn’t really eat much.” He sighs, patting his stomach.  His big hands are distracting as he rubs them over his tshirt clad stomach and chest.

“Let me make you something.  Or we can go out.” I say, springing up off the couch, needing to move.  Tom smiles and shakes his head.

“You don’t need to make me anything.” He grins.  I shrug and turn to go into the kitchen, which is really only a few feet away.

“Shush. Sandwich? I have turkey and provolone.  Or I can make you a grilled cheese. You look the sort that would like grilled cheese.” I smile, and start rustling around in the kitchen.  Tom turns on the couch, watching me over the back of the sofa.

“Do I? Do I look like I’m five?” He laughs, and the air is suddenly much lighter.

“No, you don’t.” Flashback to fifteen minutes ago, and he definitely did not look like a child.

“Do you want soup too? I feel like it’s customary to have tomato soup with grilled cheese.” I make myself busy in the kitchen, making way too many sandwiches and opening cans of Campbell’s.  I can see out the kitchen window, and feel a slight draft coming in through the old window panes.  It’s freezing out, and I can see a light dusting of flurries swirling around.

Tom watches me for a few minutes, and we chat idly about things. Work, his travelling, the holidays that just passed. He gets up off the couch as I start flipping the sandwiches, and the soup starts bubbling on the stove.  He walks up behind me, and slips his arms around my waist, pulling me back against his chest.  I feel him nuzzle his face into my neck and I let myself relax in his arms, closing my eyes for a moment.  This is dangerous.  It feels far too domestic, too real.  Standing in my kitchen, making sandwiches, with him.

“Can I stay tonight? I can get a hotel, but I’d rather stay with you.” He spans his big hands over my stomach and hips, and I feel my insides clench and react.  It’s not a good idea. I know it’s not.

“Yes.  Stay here.” I whisper.  He sways with me for a second and then leans forward, catching my mouth with his.  The kiss is sweet and slow, and I only break it when we can both smell the sandwiches burning a little. 

I plate the sandwiches, and ladle soup into bowls, and then we eat standing up in my kitchen, dipping our sandwiches in the bright orangey red soup.  Tom’s all smiles and witty banter, and my apartment suddenly seems warm, and full and welcoming.

Dear god, I hope we are on the same page still.  Some part of me feels like somewhere, at some point, I’ve flipped onto the next.