Page 30 of Grift

Jessica

I cannot believe I did that last night.

I have a long drive back to Boston to think about the night before. I drove a separate car from Cambridge to Vermont and despite Patrick’s offer to return to the city together, I say that I’d like to make the drive home on my own.

The rolling hills of Vermont with their white steepled churches, endless pine forests, and blue skies usually make me feel calm. Remind me of simpler days.

It’s a route that I can drive almost by memory now.

That’s a good thing as thoughts of the night before leave me distracted from the second I open my eyes. Patrick slowly removing his shirt. The way his broad shoulders and muscular arms contour below elaborate, colorful tattoos. The large and obvious erection that he’d had the entire time that he commanded me to do things to my body. How I’d felt his desire pressed against my back all night long.

He’d held me against him, but done nothing more than wrap one arm around me and put the other possessively on my naked thigh. When I finally wake from the sleep that claims my exhausted body in the early hours, he is gone.

My eyes have only been open for a few minutes when he comes back into the room. I’m still naked under the blankets. He leaves a tray with breakfast to one side, and gives me a long appreciative look without touching me.

“Enjoy breakfast and meet me downstairs whenever you’re ready.”

Some disappointment strikes as he leaves. I have to remind myself we’re not really married, not like that. There’s no honeymoon, no lingering in bed, no luxuriating in each other’s company. The sooner I recognize that, the better it will be for both of us. With that thought in mind, I eat some of the scrambled eggs and toast, take a fast shower, and get ready to go back to Boston.

But when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I imagine walking downstairs and seeing Patrick. I look tired from the long day yesterday and the mostly sleepless night. And despite telling myself it’s wasted effort, I take a little more time with fixing my hair, putting on makeup, and changing again into a more flattering shirt that hugs my curves.

He’s talking to his sister Siobhan when I come downstairs, saying something in low intense tones. But when he sees me, he leaves off and smiles. I join them for a few minutes, but they don’t finish their conversation.

Interesting.

It’s a few hours drive back to Boston. He’s going into the casino to handle a few things as soon as he gets back. Movers are bringing my belongings from my Cambridge apartment to his place today. I’m being left to supervise that, and he’ll meet me tonight at home.

Home? My heart starts to thunder at the word.

He hands me a set of keys. “Make yourself totally at home. You can move anything you want or use any room. The only space I ask that you leave for me is the study.”

As I’m about to get into my rental car to drive home, I hear him speaking in low tones to Callan. I wait to one side, like I’m patiently seeking his attention. But their words seer into my mind.

“I moved them,” Callan speaks fast and quiet, glancing around. “The hard drive went from the main safe to the one in your office. I had to wait until after he left, and replace it with a similar looking piece of tech, but he won’t know the difference. Reset the passcode when you get back. Right now it’s your birthday.

“Will do,” Patrick responds, clapping his brother on the arm.

Patrick catches sight of me and heads my way. My parents are loading their things into my father’s Mercedes, and Patrick booms his greeting to me.

“There’s my beautiful bride. Good morning,” and punctuates it with a quick but thorough kiss for good measure. I know it’s to piss them off, and for some reason, I don’t care.

Later, as the silent car winds its way through the Green Mountains with the road stretching out before me, that I can’t stop thinking about his lips on mine. The way his arms felt wrapped around me. It’s like a door opened to some partial future that I can just glimpse and it taunts me with the possibilities. But in this reality, the one where I’m driving a rented Honda Civic back to my mafia husband’s apartment, things seem much starker.

God. What had I done last night? I’d acted so out of character. On some level, I know there’s nothing wrong with masturbating. It’s a totally normal urge. It’s something I’ve had a reasonable amount of practice with.

But doing it so shamelessly in front of another person? Someone just watching for the pleasure?

Your husband, a conflicting voice echoes. Not really, though. Why is this so damned complicated?

I’ve wanted – no, if I’m honest I’ve needed – a better outlet for my sexual frustration. And being so careful, being so afraid of getting caught up in any kind of scandal, had left me with few options that felt safe to pursue. One thing that occurs to me in this whole experience is that it might give me the opportunity to explore that side of my life a little more. Patrick’s obviously open and adventurous, and he told me point blank that he’d be faithful while we are married. Is it so farfetched to think that we might be able to find some common ground?

Getting naked and pleasuring myself in front of someone. It’s just new territory. Part of me is interested in what other new territory that Patrick might show me. Another knows what an absolutely terrible idea this is. The more I open up, the more I’m putting myself at risk. The more likely it is that my feelings are going to get caught up in this whole thing.

On and on my thoughts spiral, until I pull up in front of the building where Patrick lives. It’s nice – much nicer than my cramped walkup in Cambridge. I’m letting a friend stay there as a sublet for a few weeks while we sort out whatever comes next.

I let myself into the apartment. It’s absolutely impeccable, and smells of cleaning chemicals in a way that tell me it was professionally deep cleaned while we were in Vermont. Something about that makes me smile.

Everything is spotless. It’s not that I think Patrick isn’t neat. He just strikes me as a man that would have a dish in the sink or a discarded shirt on the floor. His space would feel lived in. This feels like a space that’s been meticulously prepared to make space for another person. Maybe even to impress them. A very thoughtful gesture, and one that strikes me as uniquely Patrick – especially in the midst of all this.

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