Simon
I don’t have any more answers that night when I flop into bed on top of my covers. My daughter is sound asleep, and I grab a pen from the nightstand, twirling it between my thumb and forefinger, back and forth.
I set it down, reach for my phone, and slide my index finger over the lock code. I draw a sharp breath, and toss it on the bed. I park my hands behind my head, trying to navigate this path with Abby, like I evaluate business deals. In this case, each step is fraught with potholes.
Risking her job.
Hurting Hayden.
Losing someone Hayden adores.
Becoming a cliché.
A darkness slides through my veins as that word echoes in my head. Cliché.
Like I called Miriam when she cheated with her coworker. Like I became by working too much. Even though I cut back on the relentless pace of deal-making, I can still negotiate and navigate with the best of them. I can turn a small wad of money into a pot of gold. I can sniff out opportunity, and I can smell trouble, too.
But here, I can’t decide which path is riskier, because every second I spend with Abby makes me want more of her. Every laugh, every comment—every thing she says or does. The more I have of Abby, the more I want.
I stretch my arm for the phone, giving in.
Maybe if I were stronger I’d sort this out with Kristy or Tyler. I’d write up a list of pros and cons, like a business deal.
But this isn’t fucking business. It’s my heart, and that damn persistent organ wants her. Other organs do, too. As I click on her name in my contacts, I rationalize that maybe I’m sorting this out with the one person I should be talking to. Because that’s what I learned tonight—this thing between us is real, and it’s combustible. It wasn’t a one-time incident. It has the potential to flare more brightly each time.
I start with a simple hello.
Simon: Hi
Abby: Hi
Simon: Tonight was . . . amazing.
Abby: I think I’m still glowing.
Simon: You are so beautiful. So sensual.
Abby: You make me feel that way. I love it when you touch me.
Well, hello there, dirty texting.
I didn’t expect to head in this direction so quickly, but then, that seems to be what we do lately. As I stare at her words, I burn up all over. I’m hard as a rock. She’s so direct, so forward, and it reels me in.
Simon: I can’t get enough of touching you. Of kissing you. Of tasting you. When I close my eyes, I swear you’re with me. I can smell you. It’s intoxicating.
Abby: You should know it’s the same for me. Those twenty minutes in your kitchen are on repeat in my head. Like I DVR’d them and keep hitting replay.
I crack up at her description.
Simon: I want access to your DVR. I’d like to binge watch that show.
Abby: What are you doing right now?
Simon: Lying in bed, in my T-shirt and boxers, texting you. You?
Abby: Lying in bed, in a tank top and panties, texting you.
I groan at the image. My dick hardens even more, and I skim my hand lightly over my erection.
Simon: If I were there, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you. But I think we’ve established I’m terrible at resisting you.
Abby: I’m terrible at making you stop. Because it feels so good when you don’t stop. I’m shuddering as I remember what you did to me.
I breathe out hard, recalling her sounds, her whimpers, and her noises.
Simon: I’m thinking of it now, too. Loved every second of everything. I want to do it all again.
Abby: I want it, too, but didn’t we say it was bad? (Well, good but bad!)
Simon: I should know, but I lose all sense of reason when I’m near you.
Abby: I felt like you were lost in me tonight when I touched you. And I loved that.
Simon: God, I was. I’m wishing you were here.
Abby: What would you do?
Simon: Kiss you again. Take you to my bed. Undress you. Is that too much?
Abby: I want that. I want all of that. It’s not too much. Right now, it feels like it’s not enough.
Simon: You feel incredible in my arms. But you have to know there’s so much more to this for me. It’s so much deeper.
Abby: I know . . . Trust me . . . I know . . . It’s the same for me.
Simon: But that’s the hardest thing . . . I feel so much for you, and when I see you, I want to take you in my arms. I don’t know how to be in the same room with you and NOT want to touch you.
Abby: That is indeed THE HARDEST THING. :)
Simon: Ha! Walked right into that one.
Abby: You sure did. But the issue remains. Should we try to stop? To prove we can or something? Like the feats of strength from George’s Festivus on Seinfeld? And if you don’t know that episode, I don’t know that we should even talk again. :)
Simon: As if I don’t know about a Festivus for the rest of us.
Abby: Good. Keep talking . . .
Simon: But how do you know Festivus? The show ended when you were…wait, don’t even tell me how young you were when it ended.
Abby: Please. I WAS EIGHT WHEN IT ENDED, WHICH MEANS YOU WERE SIXTEEN, AND THAT IS JUST FINE WITH ME! Also, I watched Seinfeld reruns in college.
Simon: Confession—I still watch Seinfeld reruns. Anyway, resisting you sounds like an insane challenge. I’ve always enjoyed a good challenge, though.
Abby: A good, hard challenge. Incidentally, thanks for being so selfish and batting my hand away from something good and hard I was enjoying.
Now, I crack up, laughing even as I’m royally fucking turned on.
Simon: Oh, Abby. If memory serves, you didn’t mind at all when I got down on my knees and made you come so fucking hard again on my lips.
Abby: *combusts from the hotness of the memory*
Simon: *wonders when I can do that to you again*
Abby: Um, by the way, how is this conversation helping us prove our devotion to Festivus?
Simon: Do you want to stop? To prove we can?
Abby: It’s not that I want to. I just think we need to know we can work together and not rip off each other’s clothes every second.
Simon: Occupational hazard and all.
Abby: But one best avoided.
Simon: Yes. If we can. By the way, you should check out the American Bald Eagle Association’s collection of pictures from the day. You’ll love them.
I grin, confident she’ll be enthralled with the shots of the two bald eagles rearranging branches in the nest to build it up and prevent the little ones from falling out. Three minutes later, she replies.
Abby: You’re right. I do love them. Madly.
I know her. I know this woman.