Page 17 of Hard to Judge

No. Matter. What.

“I’d stop you,” he threatens.

Yeah right. You’d have to touch me to do that.

“You’d try.”

The car pulls away from the curb, muting our argument.

We ride in silence for several blocks. I study the amber liquid taunting me from the minibar. The drinks I indulged in yesterday in Arlo’s office left me with a headache the likes of which I hadn’t experienced since my senior year of college, when I had funds to afford liquor for just one night. I overindulged then because I could, not because I wanted to dull the ache in my chest.

“Why didn’t you answer my texts?” he asks, pulling my gaze up.

“Why didn’t you answer my texts the two days before?” I shoot back but don’t give him time to answer. “Because you want me to fuck your girlfriend and knew it was a bad idea.” I stretch my legs out in front of me and brace my hands on my lap. “Maybe I have someone I want you to fuck, and I know it’s a bad idea too.”

“Don’t be an asshole.”

“I am what I am.” I shrug.

“You’re not an asshole.”

Debatable. I’m not an asshole to him. To others? Sometimes. Mostly, though, I’m just me. The good. The bad. The ugly.

“Where are you bringing me?” When I ignored his incessant texts last night and calls this morning, he knew I wouldn’t ignore the buzzer in my condo. The moment I answered, he ordered me to get dressed and meet him in the car.

“We’re headed to pick up Hailey from the airport.”

“So I can fuck her?” I deadpan. “Do you want me to do it on the tarmac, or should I wait until she’s in the car?”

“Hotaru,” he warns.

I suck on my teeth and glare out the window but don’t say another word as we wind our way to the private airstrip. The closer we get, the more Arlo, a man in full control at all times, a man nothing like the young one I once knew, fidgets. He worries the edge of the car’s seat. His foot bobs. His gaze flits around the car.

“Having second thoughts?” I poke.

Arlo doesn’t bother answering. His gaze has settled onto the plane that taxis off the runway. The moment the car comes to a stop, he shoves out of the door and hurries over to the end of the stairs that await the plane’s arrival.

I watch the reunion of two lovers in all its smoochy-faced glory. The show of affection overrides my animosity over what Arlo asked of me. For a minute, I’m allowed to appreciate the connection they’ve made. They connect on a level I thought was lost to my friend forever.

Eye to eye. Heart to heart. Skin to skin.

Then he grabs her hand and hurries her toward the limo. She beams up at him as her shorter legs hurry to match his strides. The wide legs of her red trousers billow in the wind. She pulls her black coat closed over a soft pink silk blouse that peaks the crest of her full breasts and the face of her dragon.

Something resigned and ugly settles in my belly. It’s how I felt when eating out of grocery store dumpsters the first winter at school. It’s how I felt sleeping on the roof of the library close to the vent return so I didn’t freeze to death.

Cheap and dirty.

In all my escapades, I’ve never felt cheap, and I’ve never felt dirty. Because I was in control of those. I had some power, even with Arlo calling the shots.

My sexual prowess was a weapon I wielded to get him off, along with myself. The other people between us were window dressing, an illusion. Now, it’s real.

Hailey is real.

She can get close to me in a way those others couldn’t. She can use me for her pleasure in a way the others weren’t allowed. And when she’s had her fill, she’ll leave. They’ll use me for their own needs and then be done with me.

Hailey has the potential to carve out another shape in my body.

If the little redhead with luscious curves and art for skin weasels her way inside me, leaving another gaping wound, there’ll be nothing left.

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