Chapter 34: Chapter Thirty-Four

RAE

Steven follows my stare. Meaning, he watches Logan and some gorgeous strawberry blonde leave Barney’s together. She’s giggling at something he’s whispering into her ear.

As they’re walking through the door, she pecks him on the cheek.

Then, they’re gone.

We had four days left.

Zoe hands me a vodka cran. “He’s such a fucking asshole, Rae. I’m so sorry.”

Steven furrows his brows. “What’s wrong?”

I shake my head. Zoe answers for me. “Her fucking ex. Do you want to leave, Rae? I’m fine if you do.”

“No,” I say softly. “I should…” I can’t stand the idea of crying in my apartment while Logan spends the night with a woman. “Who’d you come here with, Steven?”

Translation: Are any of your friends hot? I need to hook up with one of them to forget that the love of my life is about to sleep with a woman ten times prettier than me.

I arrived at ladies’ night six baby shots deep, which meant I was socially adept enough to wave at Steven from Colton Pharmaceutical, whose friends also dragged him to Barney’s.

“My cousin’s visiting from out of town and wanted to go to ladies’ night.” He rolls his eyes. “We came with my friend Mitch. He’s, like, the king of one-night stands though, so he probably won’t stick around too long.”

Zoe coughs out my name. I go red. I’m not contracted to Colton Pharma anymore, but Steven is still a coworker in a way.

I’m not about to talk about hookups with him. I’m simultaneously too drunk and not drunk enough for this.

Steven bursts out laughing. “I’ll introduce you. Come on.”

“I’m getting more drinks first,” Zoe sings.

“Can I ask a kind of awkward question?” Steven whispers, watching Zoe speak animatedly with the bartender.

“Sure.” My voice is low, in deadpan territory. I sound like a rude asshole, but I’m too tipsy and heartbroken to care. ~Sorry, Steven~.

“Is your friend single?”

It’s the last question I ever expected, but now that he asks, I can see why. Steven is sweet and funny and awkward. Zoe is brash and also funny, and she loves me, the embodiment of awkwardness.

“She is,” I say. “You should definitely—”

Zoe interrupts with drinks. I notice her eyes linger on Steven as she hands him a beer. Not just any beer. A ~bottled~ beer. Zoe never splurges on drinks that don’t contain copious amounts of alcohol.

In her world, she basically just proposed with a ten-karat ring.

“I’ll introduce you to Mitch,” Steven says quickly. We wander over to his friends. Zoe doesn’t even look in my direction.

She’s beaming at Steven the way I gaze at blueberry waffles. Yeah. True love, for sure.

“Mitch, Zane, this is Zoe and Rae. Zoe and Rae, this is Mitch and Zane.”

We exchange handshakes before Steven turns to Zoe and whispers something that makes her giggle.

I struggle to keep my mouth from popping open. Zoe giggling? Hell definitely just froze over. Pigs around the world are sprouting wings.

“So, what do you do, Rae?” Mitch asks.

Mitch is hot.

He has a mop of sandy hair (the color, not remnants from a beach day), sexy blue eyes (can eyes be sexy? Forgive me; I’m drunk), and an air of confidence that I’m somehow, quite uncharacteristically, finding attractive right now.

“I’m a photographer,” I say, smiling at him. ~Sorry, Zane~. I’m full of silent apologies today. “What do you guys do?”

“I’m a student at Stanford,” Zane replies, puffing out his chest a bit.

~Not going to impress me, buddy~. Okay, I mean, I am impressed, but not enough to sleep with a college kid. I’m too old for that shit.

“I teach history,” Mitch grins. “Damn. Photography’s a tough industry to get into. You must be pretty good.”

I blush and shrug. “I’m decent.” Blessing alcohol for granting me the ability to make basic conversation, I add, “What grades do you teach?”

Mitch entertains Zane and me with stories about his high school classes, all while shooting flirty glances in my direction. After a few more vodka crans, I’m ready to jump his bones. Mitch’s.

Not Zane’s. I’m entirely down for a rebound hookup. Logan is probably fucking that woman—or worse, cuddling with her—at this very second.

“Let’s dance!” Zoe squeals.

She pulls Steven by the collar onto the makeshift dancefloor, also known as a patch of sticky hardwood surrounded by tables and chairs that Barney’s employees hastily shoved to the sides.

Mitch reaches out his hand. I don’t hesitate. A fast song blasts over the speakers, and I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing my body against his and attempting to move with the music.

I peek to my side and see Zoe and Steven laughing, foreheads pressed together in their own little world. My heart pangs for Logan.

~No. You’re done with him. He’s obviously done with you~.

I return my gaze to Mitch. He has a spattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. “Like what you see?” he teases.

I attempt to smile coyly. “Maybe.”

“I have a pretty nice view too,” he says softly, and then he presses his lips to mine. They’re soft and warm and talented.

I melt into him and run my fingers through his hair while he trails a hand down to my lower back. His fingers are light as a feather. Wow.

He’s sexy as fuck. I moan quietly—well, hopefully quietly; I’m drunk—into his mouth when he cups my face with his other hand.

“Damn, Rae,” he murmurs. “That was hot.”

I giggle. “You’re hotter.”

Before I can lean in again, Zoe’s grabbing me. “Now that you’re up for air, I can let you know Steven and I are going to watch a movie at his place. Zane’s coming too.”

She huffs a little at the last part. ~Poor Zane~.

“Have fun!” I call, shooting her a wink because that’s what I do when I’m drunk.

Mitch and I are now stuck in that our-friends-left-do-we-hook-up-or-part-ways purgatory. I bite my lip. He licks his, which I think means he made his decision.

I take a leap of faith. “Now I kind of want to watch a movie,” I laugh.

Mitch grins. ~Good job, Rae. Making the right choices~. “I have movies.”

I lace my fingers through his and let him lead us outside.

Luckily, Mitch lives a block away from Barney’s, so we only have to make we’re-about-to-fuck small talk for a few minutes before he’s pushing open his door, smiling sheepishly. “So, I lied. I don’t have movies.”

I gasp.

“But,” he continues, “I do have Netflix.”

“That counts,” I reassure him.

“That’s a relief,” he murmurs against my lips.

I giggle as he pulls me closer and runs kisses down my neck.

A moan slips out between laughs, and then I’m leaning against the wall, and Mitch is leaning into me, and he’s pressing his lips against my collarbone and neck and jawline and, finally, lips.

I’m not feeling crazy fireworks, but I want Mitch. Badly.

When did I turn into a crazy sex fiend? Doesn’t matter. Too horny to care.

I fumble with the buttons on his shirt while he grapples with the clasp on my bra. We topple onto the couch, laughing and shaking out of our clothes.

“Want to go into the bedroom?” he asks in a husky, I’m-about-to-fuck-you voice.

“Yes,” I breathe.

We clumsily collapse onto his bed, which is very comfortable. The perfect combination of softness and back support. I make a mental note to ask him the brand of his mattress before I leave.

Approximately two seconds later, I forget my mental note and pretty much everything else I’ve ever known because Mitch is slipping a finger into my panties, then two.

“God, Rae,” he growls. “You’re soaked.”

“Fuck me,” I beg. Yeah. I’m a dirty talker now. Never happened with Jake. Sex was normal moans and groans for us.

Then, I told Michael to fuck me until I forgot Jake, and a switch flicked (is that a sex pun?) inside me. Now, I deeply enjoy telling men to fuck me.

Oh man, that sounds slutty, but you know what I mean (hopefully). Also, this is 2018. Slutty isn’t a bad thing anymore.

Mitch groans, and I hear the familiar, welcome crinkling sound of a condom wrapper being torn open.

I gasp as Mitch presses into me. He feels good, all sorts of good. Based on his sharp exhale, I’m guessing I feel alright too. His body rocks against mine, hitting that perfect spot in my center.

Immediately, pressure starts building inside me. ~Okay, this is why I’m a sex fiend~.

I claw at his back as the intensity grows. “Keep going,” I moan. “Keep— ~oh~!”

The intensity turns into a wave of pleasure that rolls through my body. Mitch thrusts into me as I come, prolonging my orgasm when he slows his hips and presses deeper.

“Ride me,” he growls.

I slide onto him slowly, trying to do the teasing thing Michael liked. Mitch likes it too, apparently. He groans as I lower my body centimeter by centimeter, torturing him with need.

I circle my hips until he’s fully inside me. Then, he takes over. Jackhammer city. Not ideal, but it’s fine. I already came. His turn.

Mitch pulls out and explodes into the condom. I suppose he’s one of those safety-first guys. No complaints here.

Well, one complaint. I really wish he were Logan. Because of that, I decline his invitation to stay over, opting to give him my number for “next time” before taking an Uber home.

The tears come in the car, much to the surprise of both myself and the driver. “I’m so sorry,” I blubber.

Ed, who’s going to receive a huge tip, looks at me with wide eyes. “Did someone hurt you?”

My heart is shattered into a million pieces, but that’s not what Ed means. “No,” I say quickly. “Just sad. Bad day.”

Ed nods and moves his eyes back to the road. “Have a nice…” He trails off when we arrive in front of Elmwood Square.

“Thanks,” I mumble as I slide out of the backseat.

I definitely need to put something in my stomach after all of those drinks, but I’m too sad to eat. I fall onto the couch, sobbing.

Who was that girl on Logan’s arm? She was beautiful and laughing and everything I want to be. My mind wanders to Zoe and Steven. They were wrapped up in one another, the way Logan and I were.

~Were~, I remind myself. Past tense.

Why did he change his mind?

My fingers twitch for my phone. ~No, Rae. Don’t~, I tell myself. Logan doesn’t need me chasing after him. He doesn’t ~want~ me chasing after him. He’s moving on. I just fucked someone else.

We were a quick fling, and that’s it. Quick flings don’t text after they sleep with other people. They don’t cry because they miss each other. Logan’s following those rules, and I need to as well.

But then my heart leaps when my phone buzzes because I’m desperately hoping that Logan wants to talk to me, to say that he misses me, or to apologize, even though he has nothing to apologize for.

The text is from Zoe. She’s staying over at Steven’s.

An intense wave of jealousy takes hold, and I hate myself for it.

Zoe’s never been in a good relationship. The boy she went out with in high school treated her horribly.

He destroyed her self-worth, and after they broke up, she never went after men who respected her. Her few relationships and flings in college were marked by tears and loud fights.

Zoe leaving the bar with Steven, who’s polite and kind and really freaking smart, is huge. I should be happy for her, and part of me is, but I’m also so jealous that my chest aches.

I want the potential she and Steven have. It’s the potential Logan and I never did, even though I deluded myself into thinking that we could have a relationship that lasted longer than a week.

I fall asleep hating myself.