The Drowning Child

52

Joe Lucchesi was sitting at a table in a corner of the bar that they had gotten drunk in together the last time – the bar whose serene gentleman’s-club atmosphere they had happily ruined. The place hadn’t changed, the barman was the same, the customers just as conservative. And then – Joe. She had a chance to look at him, because he was lost in thought. He had gotten bigger, broader, more muscular. He was wearing a black long-sleeved T-shirt and it was bursting at the arms. He stood out. In a room filled with suits, he looked like a bodyguard, and he had the don’t-fuck-with-me frown to go with it. And then he turned to her.

He smiled and it was a warm, genuine, light-filled smile.

My heart.

I witnessed one of the most devastating moments of your life. I am the only other person alive to know your secret, your daughter’s secret. Will I ever see your face and not quickly replace it with the expression I saw that night?

She returned the smile, knew it was a reflection of his.

It is good to see you. I don’t even know how it could be, but it is.

She walked over to him, and he was standing, and he hugged her in those arms.

You smell so good. You are freshly showered, freshly shaved, and... fucking sexy.

‘So,’ said Joe, gesturing for her to sit in the booth opposite.

She sat. ‘So...’

‘Seems like a long time ago we were here.’

‘It was,’ said Ren. ‘And it hasn’t changed.’ Unlike us.

They looked at each other, and it was as if they were having the same thought.

‘How are you?’ said Ren. ‘How are Shaun and Grace?’ Let’s be normal.

‘They’re great,’ said Joe. ‘Shaun is still looking for a job, Grace is doing real well at school. You know she asked about you when I said I was coming to Denver. You have a fan there.’

‘And so does she,’ said Ren.

‘So...’ said Joe. ‘How have you been?’

Ren shrugged. ‘I’m OK...’

‘Really?’

‘No,’ said Ren. ‘Not really. I don’t know...’ It hung in the silence.

Joe waited.

‘I feel like I’m defined now by everything that happened,’ said Ren. ‘Do you? I feel like I have a flashing neon sign “victim” over my head. And I’m not a victim kind of girl. I’m tired of talking about it.’

Joe nodded. ‘It’s probably healthy to, though.’

‘Yeah – how healthy are you?’ said Ren. ‘On a scale of sashimi to Heart Attack Burger.’

He laughed, clinked his glass against hers.

Four hours later, Joe was opening the door of his hotel room. Ren was standing behind him.

The last time I went back to his room, we talked around things, we had many drinks, we slept side by side, but we didn’t—

She was barely inside the door, still in the short hallway, when Joe turned to her, looked for something in her eyes, looked for permission.

Granted.

He reached out, slid his right hand up her neck, pulled her toward him and kissed her hard as he did.

Fuck. Me. I want this man.

She pushed him back against the wall, kissed him harder, slid her hand under his T-shirt.

But I may not mean it.

With his left hand, Joe grabbed her jacket, yanking it down one arm. Ren helped him pull off the rest. He struggled with the buttons of her shirt, but kept going, kissing her hard as he did.

You are rough. Beautifully rough.

When her top was off, he slowed down, held her by the waist, ran his finger down the two studs at the center of her black bra, then looked into her eyes as his hands moved up her back, unhooked the bra, sliding it off her. He stared at her breasts.

‘You have incredible—’ said Joe.

‘Thanks.’ Jesus.

He lowered his head to her nipples, raised his hands gently up to them, worked them perfectly.

Ren pulled at his T-shirt, dragged it over his head, threw it on the floor. She slid her hands down from his chest, grabbed on to his belt buckle, pulled at it, but didn’t open it. She moved her finger along just under the waistband of his jeans.

Not yet.

‘Fuck, I want you,’ he said. He kissed her deeper, ran his hand down to her ass, squeezing hard. ‘I want you so fucking bad,’ he said. ‘I’ve wanted you since—’

Ren’s words were muffled against his mouth, his tongue.

This guy is so fucking sexy, I can’t stand it.

Ren went for his buckle again, opened it with one move, popped the top button of his jeans. The zip slid down by itself.

Rock. Hard.

She slid her hand down.

Oh.

She looked down.

Oh.

Fuck.

Fuck me.

He took her into the bedroom, and threw her on to the bed. He took off her shoes, her skirt, her stockings, everything. He knelt down in front of her, grabbed her hips and yanked her toward him. She tightened her legs around him, closed her eyes.

Fuck.

When she opened her eyes, he was looking up at her.

Gets me every time.

She grabbed his head, guided him up toward her. He slid his hand between her legs, kissed her gently at first, then firmer, deeper.

He is amazing.

I won’t last.

Stop.

‘Stop,’ said Ren. ‘Fuck me. Just... slam me up against that wall and fuck me. Hard.’

Hurt me.

Joe stopped, looked like he was going to take his jeans off.

Ren shook her head. ‘Don’t.’ In three strides she was at the wall, her hands on his back, pulling him with her, kissing him deeply. He kissed her again, let her drag his jeans and shorts down around his ankles. She kissed him harder. He grabbed her ass and pulled her up, so she could wrap her legs around his waist. He slammed her against the wall. Over and over.

Holy.

Fuck.

In the moments afterward, Ren lay in bed, curled away from him, staring at the wall. She could see the red light of the alarm clock out of the corner of her eye.

That was fucking amazing.

Tears streamed down her face.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Behind her, she heard a sharp intake of breath.

He’s... he’s crying too.

What a shitshow.

She reached her arm back, touched him, and he rolled toward her, pulling her into his arms, his chest pressed to her back.

They eventually slept, tightly wrapped together, bound less by sex and more by shared horrors.