Chapter Seven

Megan plodded to the bathroom, eyes barely open, feet following the familiar path in the near dark. She closed the door, pulled down her pajama bottoms and started to sit.

“Jesus Christ!” The toilet seat wasn’t where it was supposed to be. The backs of her thighs hit cold ceramic instead of plastic and she fought to keep her balance and avoid dunking her rear. “Fucking Sean!”

Her eyes flew open and she scrambled to her feet, still cursing, turned and put down the seat and sat. “Stupid asshole.” She rubbed the heels of her hands into her bleary eyes then stared at her nightlight, Mickey Mouse smiling and waving at her while she peed.

Living with someone, especially a male someone, after she’d lived alone for almost two years really sucked sometimes. With Sean taking over most of the household chores, she felt guilty complaining. Who wouldn’t want a guy around who was willing to clean your apartment and have a hot meal ready for you at the end of a long work day, even when you told him he could go ahead and order takeout? She kept telling him he didn’t have to do everything, but since she wouldn’t accept rent money from him, this was his way of compensating.

Still, sometimes she wanted to smack him and tell him to quit messing with her stuff. She’d forbade him to touch her desk no matter how badly the piles teetered. Of course her bedroom was still a joyously sloppy sanctuary.

The main drawback to living with another person was more intangible than toilet seats and neat versus sloppy. Megan had her own routine and her own little habits she couldn’t indulge anymore—running around in her underwear for one. She missed stupid things like singing loud and off-key along with the stereo, or sitting and clipping her toenails in the middle of the living room floor while watching the shopping channel, or belching or farting without embarrassment.

Sean was the perfect houseguest, but he was still a guest and she could never completely relax at home anymore.

“God, I’m such a selfish bitch,” she muttered, standing and flushing.

Little moments crowded her mind, snapshots of Sean around her apartment—turning from the stove to answer a question, walking bare-chested from the bathroom, looking up from his textbook with a sweet smile of welcome, snapping a dishcloth at her ass and laughing, lying on the couch channel-surfing with her remote. It was nice having another person to live with, someone to talk over her day with and to sense another human presence in the apartment even when he wasn’t in the same room. It was comforting.

Sometimes it was just hard to remember that.

As the days went on, they settled into a routine. Sean would be up before Megan on the days they needed him on site, and making breakfast by the time she emerged and hit the bathroom. Other days, he steered clear of the bathroom and kitchen altogether and either slept or studied or read on the couch, anxious not to get in her way as she rushed to work in a perpetual flurry of last-minute panics.

She finished the rewrite on her article about the Hespera Street playground and turned it in to Rossi and the following week had her byline in the paper for the first time. When she held the actual paper in her hands and read her words in print, she had to go to the ladies’ room and cry in a bathroom stall until she pulled herself together enough to come out and accept congratulations from her co-workers. Even Bob managed a smile and a “congratulations” although she could tell from his eyes how sour he really felt about it.

The evening her story ran, she came home to find Sean sacked out on the couch, one arm flung above his head, the other hand resting on his chest. He’d been putting in long hours all that week at the construction site and even with work gloves, his hands were red and sore from handling sheets of plywood, cement blocks and whatever else he was told to transport from one place to another. His eyes opened and he smiled on seeing her.

“Hey,” he said. “Guess I fell asleep. Sorry. I meant to make dinner.”

“No need. Wok Express has been suffering since you moved in here and took over cooking. Before that I must have supplied them with half their business. What do you want to eat? Fried rice, chow mein, sesame chicken, moo shu pork?”

“Anything. Just get a lot of it. I’m starving.” The fact he was no longer hesitant about asking for what he wanted was a good sign.

Sean stretched, yawned and sat up, then gave her a sharp look. “What’s up? I know you’re not this excited just because we’re ordering Chinese food.”

“The playground article. Page five.” She handed him the paper.

He scanned the photos and Megan’s byline then looked at her with another smile. “You did it. Your name in print. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“Is your boss going to run the other one?”

She felt a jolt at the mention of the street kids article. She didn’t know if he was still pissed about it, so she’d never shown him the copy to get his approval as promised. Now she had to admit it was a done deal. Rossi planned to print her revised version.

"Probably in the next couple of weeks," she said. "As part of a series on youth in the city.”

“An expose on prep schools up next, then?” Sean said, and though he still smiled, there was no humor in it.

 

 

 

If Sean’s words of praise were few, Megan’s mom more than made up for it when she called the next day after reading the paper. It amused Megan that her mom and dad had a subscription to the Weekly Reporter even though all she did was edit copy. Now, for the first time, there was actually something for them to get excited about.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this! How could you not call and tell me you’d been published? Why did I have to find out by reading it? I am so proud of you, honey.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Megan felt bad for not having called, but her mom rattled on, enthusing over every phrase, practically every word Megan had written. The ego-stroke felt good.

“By the way, sweetie, what about Thanksgiving? Can we expect you on Wednesday evening or Thursday?”

“Oh. I, uh, won’t be able to make it for the holiday. My friend, Sasha is having dinner at her house and I promised I’d come. This is her first big holiday meal in her own home and she doesn’t really have family to invite so… I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner.”

“Well.” There was a bit of a pause. “It’s understandable you want be with your friends. But you will make it home for Christmas, won’t you?”

“Of course. Wouldn’t miss it.”

They chatted a few minutes longer before hanging up, but only after Megan’s dad got on the line to reiterate how proud they both were.

The phone call reminded Megan she hadn’t talked to her sister or brother in a long time either, but to keep the conversation short and on her terms, she decided to e-mail Charlotte and Chris instead of calling. Even so, Charlotte immediately shot back an e-mail bitching her out for not coming home for the holiday and telling her she should start thinking about Mom and Dad a little instead of always doing things to please herself. And then, almost as an afterthought, she congratulated Megan on the article

“Thank you, Saint Charlotte,” Megan muttered.

Soon after, Chris’s message popped up. “Cool. Congrats. See you at Christmas.” Chris was in college now and didn’t keep in touch with Megan like he used to. But they’d always been close and his succinct message meant more to her than Charlotte’s page-long tirade.

As she snapped her laptop closed for the night, Megan thought she actually wouldn’t have minded a traditional Thanksgiving at home but how was she supposed to explain Sean to her family?”

 

 

 

The following week, Megan came home from work early on Wednesday, usually her longest day. She was feeling achy and feverish, her head was stuffed up and she wanted to nip whatever she was coming down with in the bud.

Sean wasn’t there, which meant it was one of his “on” days at the construction site. He still wasn’t working regularly, but he was on more often than off, so he was making pretty good money, enough that he’d insisted on giving her fifty dollars toward rent that week.

It was a relief to come home to a quiet apartment and the first real alone-time she’d had in weeks. Megan decided to take advantage of not being rushed in the bathroom. She’d have a long, hot shower, get in her PJs and crawl into bed with a bowl of chicken noodle soup and a good book.

A half-hour later, she emerged from her shower to clouds of tropical steam in her bathroom. Wiping her hand over the mirror, she peered at her reflection. Her eyebrows were a disaster. She hadn’t plucked them in ages. She dropped her towel to the floor and carefully worked a wide-toothed comb through her snarled hair as she rummaged in the vanity drawer for her tweezers.

While she was in there, she came across a bottle of her favorite nail polish, which had been missing for ages and decided to apply it. She sat naked on the toilet lid, put one foot up on the sink and began brushing polish on her toenails. The purplish color wasn’t as cool as she remembered.

She was working fastidiously on her second foot when suddenly the bathroom door opened.

Megan screeched and dropped both the bottle and brush to the floor. She jerked her foot down from the sink and folded her arms over her chest to cover her nudity. “Holy shit!” she shrieked, crossing her legs as well.

“Sorry!” Sean stood transfixed in the doorway, one hand gripping the handle as he stared at her with wide eyes.

Megan dropped an arm from her chest to her crotch. She didn’t have enough arms to cover all of herself at once. “Get out!”

He scanned her intently for another long moment. “Sorry,” he repeated, backing from the room and shutting the door. His muffled voice came through the closed door. “I didn’t know you were home. I’m…”

“Sorry. Yeah, I got that.” She seized her discarded towel from the floor and wrapped it around her body. She needed to get from the bathroom to her bedroom, but hadn’t worn a robe. “Will you move away from the door? I have to go to my room.”

“Oh, right. Yeah. Of course.” His voice faded down the hallway toward the living room. He sounded so flustered, she smiled. Megan dashed for her bedroom and clothed herself in pajamas and a robe, remembering Sean’s long hard look at her body before he retreated from the bathroom. Her skin was flushed and rosy, and not from the extended hot shower or her low-grade fever. She fantasized about how the scenario could have gone. In her daydream, she rose to stand boldly before him, no crossed arms or legs, and let his gaze wander up and down her body. He took another step into the room, let go of the door handle and reached for her.

Megan’s fever moved directly to her crotch and glowed there, and her hand slid in the same direction. She intercepted it, briskly toweled her hair dry and headed to the kitchen.

Sean was putting away groceries. He glanced up and quirked a lop-sided smile at her. “You’re home early today.”

“So are you.”

“There wasn’t anything for me to do at the site, so I put in a couple more applications, at a gas station and grocery store, then picked up some food.” He held up a package of Tuna Helper. “Tuna casserole for dinner?”

“I’m coming down with something. That’s why I’m home so early. I think I’ll just have soup.”

“I’ll make it. What kind do you want?”

“You don’t have to. I’m not that sick. I can do it.” Sometimes it really bugged her that he would willingly wait on her hand and foot. She walked to the cupboard to choose a can of Chicken with Stars.

As she brushed past Sean, her nipples peaked, reacting to the warmth of his body, his smell…the fact he’d just seen her naked. Every time she thought they’d established an easy friendship, sharing living space without driving each other crazy, lust reared its head again. Why couldn’t she control her stupid hormones?

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, sorting vegetables and fruit into the crisper.

“Flu. Cold. I don’t know. A little fever, stuffy nose, aches and pains. I probably could have taken a cold tablet and stayed at work, but what would be the fun of that? It’s much more entertaining to have you catch me running around the apartment naked.”

Sean closed the refrigerator door and leaned against it, arms folded, giving her one of his sultry looks. “We could go for round two and maybe you’d actually let me catch you this time.”

Megan’s mouth went dry as the teasing crossed the line into the realm of possibility. “Here.” She tossed the can of soup at him, “Soup me up. I’m going to go lie down.” She walked to her bedroom, wondering what had happened to the flustered youth of five minutes earlier. Just now, he’d been all man, exuding sexual confidence and aplomb, and he’d looked completely unflappable. Sometimes she really couldn’t tell where the real Sean lay.

 

 

 

After a hot bowl of soup and a long nap, Megan felt much better. She joined Sean in the living room to hang out for a while and watch a movie. Since she was sick and needed pampering, she chose the movie, bypassing Sean’s penchant for action films. When she pulled out her Sleepless in Seattle DVD, he groaned.

“You don’t have to watch. Do your schoolwork or something if the mush is too much for you.” She inserted the movie in the player and plunked down on the couch, curling in one corner and pulling an afghan up to her chin.

Sean took a seat on the other end of sofa. He pulled out his history text and flipped it open, but when Megan glanced over during the opening credits, his eyes were on the TV. By the end of the first scene, he’d moved the book from his lap to the coffee table and lounged in his corner of the couch watching the show.

When the movie ended, Megan looked over to see Sean watching her, his face blue in the flickering light from the TV.

“What?” she said. “It was so touching. So sweet!” She sniffed and wiped at the tears running down her cheeks.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I can’t help it. I’m a sucker for romance.”

“You believe in that shit?” He nodded at the television.

“Yes, of course I do. You don’t?”

He snorted. “No.”

“Not ever? You don’t believe love ever works out for anyone?”

“I suppose,” he said grudgingly. Statistically I suppose somebody somewhere in the history of the world ended up ‘happy ever after’.”

She punched him playfully in the shoulder. “But not you. Don’t you think you can find love or happiness?”

He leaned his head back on the couch, staring at the end credits of the movie. “People hook up and maybe they’re happy for a while, but eventually it goes to shit. It’s like religion. Something people make up so they can feel better about their lives, but it’s not real.”

“Oh come on. You think everyone who says they’re in love is faking it? It doesn’t always end badly. What about some old couple celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary? You think they could stand to spend all those years together without love? How can you say it doesn’t exist?”

He shrugged and didn’t answer, and she knew that was all the sharing she was going to get out of him on the subject.

Megan suddenly became aware of how close they were sitting. The heat radiated from the skin of his arm, inches from her own. She shifted uncomfortably and looked into his face to find him staring at her with a heavy lidded gaze that made her stomach drop.

“I don’t know about love, but people can hook up just to make each other feel good, you know.” Sean faced her and his arm brushed hers, sending tingles of sensation through her body. His hand moved to touch her forearm and run lightly down it.

The fine hairs of her arm prickled and stood up at the passing of his fingers. She’d never in her life felt so alive, so wired. The combination of weeks of wanting him and knowing that wanting him was not allowed was a heady aphrodisiac.

He leaned toward her. Her heart pounded and her blood rushed in her ears. For a moment, she thought she might pass out, and still he waited, poised just a breath away from kissing her.

“We could do that,” he murmured, “make each other feel good.” The puff of air behind each word brushed her lips.

Every part of her felt boneless, drugged and dreamy. She wanted to nod and answer “yes”. Yes, of course she would kiss him, would do whatever he wanted. There was no choice really. Her reason had paid the bill and checked out of Motel Megan. Instead, she closed her eyes and tilted her face up slightly to accept his kiss.

His lips touched hers as delicately as snowflakes, only warm and soft, and her lips parted of their own accord. He pressed against her more firmly, opening his mouth and closing it around her bottom lip, pulling out gently and letting go, then continued with little nibbling kisses that made her crave more.

Megan leaned into him, opening her mouth wider and bringing her tongue into play. It was all he needed to invite him to do the same. He brushed his tongue lightly across the underside of her upper lip, tickling her and making her want to sneeze. She made a sound and he opened his eyes to look at her questioningly.

“Tickles,” she whispered with a smile.

He grinned and pulled her hard against him, laying a serious, deep, mouth-exploring kiss on her.

She pressed one hand against his chest, feeling his thumping heart under her palm, and wrapped the other around the back of his neck. Little tendrils of his hair tickled her hand. Every place where their bodies touched, she felt a heightened sensation. It was like nerve endings she never knew she possessed were suddenly waking up.

His left hand roamed up and down her back, dipping below her waist to cup the swell of her ass. His right held her jaw steady, one thumb stroking idly at her throat. He kissed her even more deeply, taking possession of her mouth and leaving her breathless.

His hand skimmed over her shoulder, slipping the strap of her tank top off then stroking down her chest.

When his palm cupped her breast, Megan abruptly realized how rapidly things were escalating. She pulled away from his urgent kiss.

“No. We can’t.” She pushed against his chest.

His eyes were dark and hungry as he stared at her. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s really not.”

He sat back, letting go of her body, but capturing one of her hands in his to maintain contact. “We don’t have to have sex if you don’t want to. We could just make out for a while.”

Megan considered the possibility of several hours of sexual frustration without a resolution and knew if they started something here, it would end up with them in bed together. Besides, even the kissing was wrong, wrong, wrong. He was a juvenile in her care and no matter how much he acted like an adult and felt like a grown man in her arms, he wasn’t.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “This isn’t going to happen.” She took her hand from his and stood.

“You think I’m too young.” He gazed at her with cool appraising eyes, the unfocused look vanished. “But I know what I’m doing and what I want and I haven’t been a kid for a long time. It’s all right for us to fuck—or just kiss. Whichever. We can do as much or as little as you want, it’s up to you.”

That clinched it. When he baldly admitted that all choices were hers, she understood that while he might desire her, he was also subjugating himself to her needs. Once again, on some level, he was offering payment for all she’d done for him.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to. It’s obvious we’re attracted to each other, but I don’t see any good coming of this. It’ll be better if we keep our friendship platonic.”

Megan couldn’t believe she was able to find the right words without stumbling and stuttering. Her calm, rational tone sounded just like her mother.

Sean sat another moment, searching her face. She couldn’t tell if he was pissed off, sexually frustrated or maybe even somewhat relieved. He stood and faced her, eyes leveled on hers. “Okay. Whatever. Your house, your rules.” he added with a shrug, then turned and walked toward the bathroom.

Megan realized she’d been shaking with tension only as it began to drain out of her, leaving her feeling weak and exhausted, like she’d successfully navigated a minefield. She sank back onto the couch, unwilling to trust her legs.

When Sean returned from the bathroom, his face was set in a neutral expression. He sat in one of the chairs, deliberately avoiding the couch, in a gesture which was pure adolescent resentment, but for which she was thankful, because it meant she was physically removed from him enough to be able to think clearly.

“Sean, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let this happen. I’m the adult here and…”

He turned his face toward her, still looking blank. “It’s okay. I understand. You don’t need to make up excuses.”

Megan frowned. “What do you mean? I’m telling you the truth. You’re too young, you’re supposed to be in my care, and it’s just—wrong.”

“And I’m a cheap street punk. A hustler. You don’t want to fuck a whore. I get it.” He turned away, and she wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. He would twist her words deliberately sometimes.

“No, you’re completely wrong. This has nothing to do with that. It’s about responsibility and you being a kid and me…”

“I told you, I’m not a fucking kid!” he spat out, staring at the television screen in front of him. “I’ve lived through shit you can barely imagine. If you were out on the street, I’d be the one looking after you. Give me a break, Megan.” His eyes pierced her like icy blue lasers. “You find me sexy, but you can’t face fucking me because of what I am.”

Megan balled her fists in frustration. She was already close to the snapping point, her nerves shot and her whole body tense with the denied anticipation of sex. She couldn’t quite tell whether Sean did it on purpose to annoy her, or whether he actually believed it. Maybe a bit of both.

“Stop it! You know it’s not that. I know what you did. I don’t care about that. But I don’t want to abuse my position. Maybe if we were on the streets, you’d look after me, but here, I’m the one in charge, and I don’t want you to think you can pay me back by having sex with me.”

Sean got up from his seat in one fluid movement and stepped toward her. He leaned over her, his hand on the arm of the couch, and stared straight into her eyes.

Megan’s pulse sped as she took in his proximity, the faint smell of soap and sweat, the warmth of his breath on her face and his hot, angry eyes.

“This isn’t about payback,” he said softly.

For a second, she thought he might kiss her again, and knew she wouldn’t have the strength to turn him away this time.

Megan stood and brushed past him to go to her room. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. It wasn’t until she reached her bedroom and shut the door behind her that she realized she’d been practically running.