Illicit acollection, p.172
Illicit: A Contemporary Romance Collection, page 172
Spent, I collapse my full weight on top of her, my dick still half hard and twitching to be released from its protective jacket. I don’t move, catching my breath, until she struggles to adjust her position beneath me.
I roll off and to the side of her, grabbing the condom and removing it before it makes too much of a mess on the mattress, that infamous wet spot, and tie it off. Reaching over her, I dump it in the trash can next to the bed. Settling back into the pillows, I let the wave of euphoria relax every muscle, but her body remains tense next to mine. She’s awkward, uncertain, doesn’t know what the fuck to do now that the fucking is over. I massage her tit, pinch the nipple. She gives a surprised gasp and relaxes a bit.
A couple of beers too many at P&G’s have made me about ready to pass out for the night. She was a good lay, for a virgin. I’m sated, content. If she’s still here when I wake, maybe I’ll cook some breakfast before showing her the door…
My cell phone rings and I scramble for it without taking my eyes from the road. “Hello?” I manage to say, still a bit out of it from the scorching memory that, to be honest, has made me more than half hard.
“Jesse James, you dog! You Upstate yet?” The voice is familiar only because we spoke a couple of days ago. The voice belongs to my old college roommate, Simon. We had some crazy, kickass times together and I’m looking forward to seeing him.
“In about ninety minutes, bro.” I laugh and switch to Bluetooth. No need to get a ticket. It also gives me a free hand to adjust my cock in my pants. “If you’re already there, have a brewski for me.”
He laughs and I can picture the young him throwing back his head with the force of his enjoyment. “Nah, man. I’m still on the road too. There’s supposed to be some lame mixer on campus tonight but wanna bet P&G’s is where all the action will be?”
“You wanna skip the mixer and go straight to P&G’s?” Damn, so many memories flood me as I say the name.
“Yeah, let’s meet up there, alright?”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll see you there.” I think of my daughter, that sweet, innocent little girl, and inwardly cringe at the boy I used to be. At the boys still out there who’ll want to do nasty things to her. “Simon, just remember, bro, I’m not looking for action. I don’t put conquest notches on my bedpost anymore.”
Simon brays with laughter. “Shit, man, neither do I. I’m happily married. See you later.”
I’m smiling as I disconnect the call but my sweaty hands on the steering wheel belie my bravado.
I was a bastard in college and spent a good number of years on a therapist’s couch to work out all my mommy issues. I can’t help but be worried about the reception I might receive by some I wronged.
And that one faceless girl? What of her… Alex? If she’s there this weekend, will I recognize her? I can’t help wondering as I cruise up the highway.
3
Alexandria
Lame.
I hold in laughter and have to work not to shake my head. What did I expect from a frumpy college mixer?
I’m wearing a red shirt that shows off my cleavage and a knee-length black knit skirt. Once upon a time, Jesse told me that red was my color so I’m using it to my advantage tonight. Smoothing the shirt down, I gaze at the sea of people already here.
I don’t recognize most of the faces in the multipurpose room of the SUB when Susan, Grace, Lisa and I enter. The large room is decorated with streamers, balloons, and a sign that reads, “Welcome Class of 2009!” A cash bar is on one side of the room and some tables and a space for dancing on the other.
Determined to make the best of it, I remind myself that I’m fully capable these days of socializing, and that’s what I’m going to do. I’ve grown into a strong, confident woman, a far cry from the mousy little thing I was in college. I was almost afraid of my own shadow and now I barely remember what that feels like. Sure, there are times when I’m still more reserved than outgoing, yet I’m almost unrecognizable from the girl I was then.
“Please don’t forget to call me Lexi,” I whisper to my friends. “I’m grown woman now and not a gangly, awkward tomboy. I’m not Alex anymore.”
“Yeah, sure, sweetie,” Grace says.
“You got it…Alex,” Susan says with a teasing smile. “And I’ll slap Lisa if she forgets.”
“Hey!” Lisa exclaims, and we all laugh.
There’s a good chance that some of Grace’s friends, at least, will remember me even if I barely spoke two words to them at the time. When I introduce myself, I’ll blow them away. They’ll be shocked and impressed by who I’ve become.
My mental pep talk empowers me—keeps me from reverting to the shy wallflower I was around these people—and I stride to the bar and order a glass of chardonnay. My friends follow and also order drinks.
As the bartender hands Grace her drink, her mouth drops open and then curls up into a smile. “Darren! Is that you? Wow, how are you?”
Darren. Yeah, I remember the name and a picture of an awkward, pimply faced, glasses-wearing teen comes to mind. Grace and he dated for a hot minute during freshman year.
Darren does a double take then reaches out to hug Grace across the makeshift table doing duty as a bar. “Gracie, how the hell are you? Damn good to see you.”
Grace lightly pats him on the back before straightening up and away from him. I know her moves. She’s not interested and doesn’t want to give him any possible mixed signals.
“I’m doing great, sweetie. How’d they rope you into working here tonight?” She picks up the drink that he’d set down on the table and takes a sip.
He laughs, and with the middle finger of his right hand, pushes his glasses back up his nose. “I volunteered. I’m on the reunion committee. So, what’s up with you? Married?”
“To my job,” Grace says with a chuckle. “But I am dating a congressman. You?”
“Oh, that’s wonderful to hear. I’m looking forward to seeing everyone this weekend.” He looks at me then Susan and Lisa, his eyes narrowing in concentration. “You look familiar. I must know you too?”
“Oh, where are my manners.” Grace points to each of us in turn. “This is Lisa and Susan. They were my suitemates in Crispell. And this is…” Grace hesitates like she’s forgotten my name. “Lexi. You might remember her as Alex, my roommate.”
Darren greets the others and when he turns to me, his eyes grow wide as recognition dawns. “Alex? I wouldn’t have recognized you. Damn, you look amazing. I errr… I mean…”
I wave off his faux pas and offer him a bright smile. “Aren’t you sweet, Darren. Thank you. I’m happy to hear that you’re doing well.” And, I mean it. I’m also pleased with his reaction to me. If only I could go back in time and tell twenty-year-old me about this night. Twenty-year-old me would be so impressed. She could never have spoken to Darren with such confidence.
“Drinks are on the house, ladies.” He leans in conspiratorially. “Just don’t tell anyone.”
We thank him, Grace giving him a peck on the cheek, and we move further into the large room.
I never imagined mingling with my ten-years-removed classmates could or would be fun. But it is. When I introduce myself as Lexi, each one stares blankly at me. When I add that they might know me better as Grace’s roommate, Alex, they can’t believe their eyes and I receive the astonished smile as we chat and share memories. College reunions are meant for just what I and most others are doing, to brag about what and who we are today.
Ten years ago, I wanted to be friends with many of these people. I desperately wanted to fit in, to belong. Now that I’m a confident young woman, I can, if I still want to. What a rush it is when I exchange phone numbers with a few of the women I knew from afar who live on Long Island too, with plans to get together for lunch.
The best moment is when a couple of the young men—now mature—that we shared the floor with in Crispell thread through the tables to where the four of us are standing. When they find out who I am, the one with the goofy grin on his face, Albert, cocks his head as his eyes roam downward to my toes and back up again, pausing at my chest.
“Damn, girl. Look how little Alex grew up,” he exclaims.
I laugh as I step forward to greet him with a hug. “Yeah, guess I’m not a little mouse anymore.”
“Nuh-uh. You were always cute but now… you are fiiiine.” I can tell he’s had a few beers but there’s sincerity in his voice. Enough to make spots of heat rise into my cheeks.
“Thank you. You don’t know how good that is to hear.” Not that I have anything to prove, I tell myself as I place a little kiss on his cheek. It’s nice to be acknowledged, when before I was mostly invisible.
Despite all the compliments and enjoyable reminiscing, after an hour or so I become bored. I never really knew most of these people and there’s only so much head-swelling a body can take. The shine has worn off and all I’m doing now is looking toward the door. I haven’t seen Jesse, which is a disappointment, and I’d rather leave than continue watching for him to appear.
I motion for my friends to come closer so I don’t have to shout over the music. “You guys wanna head out to P&G’s?”
“Maybe later,” Grace says, while I have a hard time stifling a yawn. “What? You’re tired of this already?”
“Eh, yeah, a little. I’m going to take off. Can we meet up somewhere later? Or at the hotel?”
“Is everything alright?” Grace asks, concern in her voice.
Susan and Lisa wait for my answer, their foreheads creased with the same concern.
“Yes, yes, this has been fun, really. I’m just a little bored with it now.”
“Where are you going?” Lisa asks.
I shrug. “Not sure. Take a drive maybe. It’s not too late yet.” I glance up at the big, round wall clock and laugh. “Back in college we’d just be putting the finishing touches on our makeup.”
Their eyes all flit up to the clock, which reads ten after ten, and we share a good laugh.
“Okay, sweetie. We’ll see you later. The hotel is easy peasy walking distance from here.” Grace hugs me. “Be careful.”
“I will.” I hug her back and then Lisa and Susan, and depart the mixer.
I step out into a beautiful, crisp September night. Looking up, the sky is a glorious panorama of brilliant stars unblemished by city pollution. I take a deep breath and cough, the clean air almost hurting my lungs. A wry smile on my lips, I get in my car and start the engine.
Even if I’m not admitting it to myself, I know where I’m going.
The bar, P&G’s, where Jesse and I… I force myself not to complete that thought. Old anger brims just below the surface. I was such a fool back then. Young Alex thought she was special, different from Jesse’s other lays, and that he was smitten. Assumed he wanted more than one night.
What should a girl who thought smitten was a cool word to use have expected?
I don’t have to think, turning my car automatically toward the town of New Paltz. The route is etched into my memory like a scar that won’t heal. As I head down Plattekill Avenue, students line the sidewalks on both sides, walking in the same direction.
To town.
New Paltz is near enough to Woodstock to be perpetually stuck in the 70s. Where tie-dyed tee-shirts still reign. I drive through the main strip, where a dozen or more restaurants and bars are crowded together on either side of the street. Most of the business owners make their living from the students.
No one studies on Friday night.
I’m almost at the end of the street, which bisects Main Street, and P&G’s looms large and alive on the corner. The requisite bouncer is at the door checking IDs and a small group stands off to the side smoking cigarettes that aren’t allowed in the bar. My brain spins with rapid-fire fragments of the many nights I spent there with my friends, and my stomach roils. So many memories, both good and bad, bombard me that I don’t realize I’ve rolled to a stop until a car behind me honks its horn.
Pulling into the lot across the street, I park and get out. Taking a few steps to the sidewalk, I gaze across the street at the landmark bar that’s stood on this lot in one form or another since 1900. To me, it looks the same as ever. The green and red sign, the awning, the stone foundation that meets the wood of the main floor… I’m mesmerized, caught in a wicked time loop, my heartbeat swelling until the blood is pounding in my ears.
Crossing the street, I flash my ID to the bouncer and wrap my hand around the too-familiar metal of the door handle, and enter, accosted at once by loud music pumping from the speakers and even louder laughing and shouting voices. I pause, searching for a path through the crowd. My gaze lands on an all too familiar figure sitting at the bar. Broad shoulders, slim waist, sun-kissed wavy brown hair.
My eyes grow wide, heart thudding in my chest and I gasp—loud enough for those nearby to turn toward me.
I don’t care. I’m riveted to the wooden floor.
Jesse James Kaufman.
The room closes in on me then bows out like in a cartoon. My hand rises to my throat—an I’m-having-the-vapors gesture, circa 1920s.
I can’t believe my eyes. I convinced myself that he wouldn’t be here, but as he lifts his bottle of Budweiser and takes a drink, I know I have to adjust to the new data pouring in.
He is here, and I’m staring.
Just like before. As if no time has gone by at all.
Well, we can’t have that, can we?
Mentally shaking myself as ten-year-old memories of long-forgotten hurt and vengeance surface, I fluff my hair and smooth my skirt. Maybe he’s here for a reason. Maybe it’s time for him to feel my wrath. This thought rises unbidden and I try it on for size. Yes, maybe I should give my younger self this closure. Step by painstaking step, I approach him. Take a seat at the backless stool beside him. Motion to a bartender I don’t recognize and say in a confident voice, “I’ll have what he’s having.”
The bartender nods, pulls a Bud from the cooler, and sets it down in front of me on a cocktail napkin. I smile my thanks but don’t touch the bottle for fear my hands might shake.
Slowly, Jesse turns toward me. I keep my eyes forward by sheer will but can feel him sizing me up. He clears his throat. I’m about to hear his voice again and already my clit is throbbing.
“Do I know you?” he asks, and I almost orgasm. His voice is the same—strong, deep, sexy—but how is it possible he still has such an effect on me?
I swallow and turn to gaze upon him. Oh dear god, he’s more stunningly beautiful now. Tanned, rugged, healthy… all man. “I’m here for the reunion. You are too.” I purposely throw it out as a statement instead of a question, subtly telling him that I know him. Now it’ll be up to him to realize whether he knows me. I can’t breathe.
“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “I was surprised by how many showed up for this shindig. There are about as many alum here as students.” He picks up his beer and tilts it toward me like he wants to toast. Giving my hands a silent, stern talking to about not shaking, I pick up my bottle and we clink them together.
“What are we toasting?” I ask, quietly pleased at my steady hands.
“Memories.” In his eyes, I see the familiar old mischievous glint and my insides melt to form a puddle in my panties. I have to remind myself that I’m not the one who’s supposed to get hooked. I’m the one who’s supposed to do the hooking. Seek revenge like a missile sent to destroy the enemy’s base.
Licking my red-painted lips, I’m rewarded when he stares at my mouth before raising his gaze back to my eyes, and I nod. “I’ll drink to that.” I bring the bottle up to my mouth and take a long sip, letting the cool liquid sooth my scorching insides, as he does the same. I don’t break eye contact but I’m getting used to it. I can tell he’s impressed, which helps me relax, my heart not quite comically beating out of my chest anymore.
Setting my beer down on the bar top, I smile at him. A flirtatious little grin, inviting him to pick up the conversation.
“What dorm did you live in?” He’s flustered, trying to feel me out. Pull more information from me so he can get his bearings.
“Crispell. One of the suite dorms directly across from Hasbrouck Dining Hall. That often helped on Sunday mornings when food was desperately needed.” I laugh and toss my hair and… there it is. He smiles, the wattage not any less than I remember. My flesh sizzles, goose bumps rising, nipples pebbling beneath delicate red material. Keep it together, remember the goal. “Not that the food was anything to write home about. What about you?”
He’s still smiling, listening to me in rapt attention, his hands playing with a loose edge of the label on his beer. “I started in LeFevre and then moved off campus to—”
“Colonial Arms.” Taking another sip, I peer at him over the lip, smiling inwardly as I keep him off-balance.
He turns to me fully, resting an arm on the bar. His white shirtsleeves are rolled up and the forearm revealed is strong and tanned. I want to touch it and just barely win the battle not to.
“What’s your name?” he asks in an insistent tone, his brow wrinkled.
I offer a broad smile and hold out my right hand. “Lexi. Pleased to meet you at the old stomping grounds, Jesse.”
He takes my hand automatically. His palm feels different, rough and calloused. Not smooth, as in youth. I can’t help imagining his hands grazing my body, teasing my nipples… Stop it! Get a grip!
Jesse tilts his head, his eyes darkening, that familiar cocky grin in place. I steady my smile, not quite released from the handshake, our fingers still touching, capturing the moment in my brain like a snapshot.
The moment is broken when he lets out a good-natured laugh. “I guess my old reputation precedes me.” He looks down at our hands and slowly breaks contact to run his through his hair. “I was a bit of an asshole back in college.”
