said we could be friends—” Laughter barks out of him. He gives his head an incredulous shake. “Friends? Like we’re in the tenth grade?”
“If you love her, you should already have been friends.” I sound sanctimonious.
Naveen gives me a look. “I’m not sure I know how to be just friends with a woman I want to fuck, Betts.”
His words are a slap that rocks my head back, just a little. I’m off the desk again, several steps away, before I realize I’ve moved. My arms cross over my stomach for a second until I realize I’m looking defensive, and I refuse to give him that.
Naveen and I have been just friends for a long, long time.
“Shit,” he says. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“So what are you doing?” I ask.
He has the grace to look a little sheepish. “I’m being an asshole to her.”
Flashback. A memory of my hand, rapping on his dorm room door. I’ve brought a pizza and some movies to watch in his VCR, and my heart’s pounding, pounding, because it’s been a week since we last talked and that conversation hadn’t ended well. The food and films are an excuse; I’ve really come to fuck.
The door opens, and he’s there of course, chest and feet bare. And behind him, the girl. I don’t know her name, but does it matter?
“Hey,” Naveen says, as though he was expecting me. He probably was. “I’m sort of busy now. Can you come back later?”
But I didn’t, and it took months for us to talk again. I know very well just what kind of asshole Naveen can be. “Of course you are.”
He frowns, but doesn’t look angry. Only resigned. He shrugs. “I love her. She rejected me. It’s what I do, Betts.”
“I know what you do.” My voice is clipped and sharp and diamond-edged. “Maybe you shouldn’t fuck around with married women then. Maybe you shouldn’t fuck around at all, you think?”
He looks at first surprised, then wary. For all the years I’ve shared his secrets, I’ve never once judged him for any. I can’t even look him in the eyes now, though, because for once I have my own secret.
“Will,” Naveen says, looking past me, and I think that he knows.
But it’s actually Will, standing awkwardly in the doorway, not looking at either of us. One shoulder presses the door frame, one hand cups the back of his neck as he studies the floor. When he does look up, his gaze skims my face before settling on Naveen’s.
“Hey,” he says.
Naveen pulls away from me. Straightens. His warning look annoys me—as if I’d say anything more, now that we have an audience? My pride might be stung, but it’s an old wound. I stand and straighten, too, putting distance between me and Naveen that’s meant to look casual but probably doesn’t.
When I look at Will, the world stops for the time it takes him to blink and move forward to shake Naveen’s hand. They clap each other on the back. Will catches my gaze over Naveen’s shoulder, but I can’t read it. Then they’re out of my office and into the hall outside, talking about some photographs Will’s going to be showing next month.
And I’m alone.
Somehow, I find the concentration to finish paying bills and filing invoices, following up on emails and phone calls and chasing down bank statements to prove to artists that, yes, someone really did cash our checks and if it wasn’t them, they’d better take it up with whoever had learned to forge their signatures. An hour passes, then another. There’s other work to be done, but it’s on the desktop in my Philadelphia office, and while I usually bring my laptop and flash drives with everything I need, this morning I was so distracted I forgot. So now I sit and stare out the window at the city and pretend I’m not straining my ears for any sound of Will’s voice.
I fucked him.
There is no way around this, no way to make it pretty or anything other than what it is. I went to his apartment, and I let him put his hands and mouth on me, his prick inside me, and it was
“If you love her, you should already have been friends.” I sound sanctimonious.
Naveen gives me a look. “I’m not sure I know how to be just friends with a woman I want to fuck, Betts.”
His words are a slap that rocks my head back, just a little. I’m off the desk again, several steps away, before I realize I’ve moved. My arms cross over my stomach for a second until I realize I’m looking defensive, and I refuse to give him that.
Naveen and I have been just friends for a long, long time.
“Shit,” he says. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“So what are you doing?” I ask.
He has the grace to look a little sheepish. “I’m being an asshole to her.”
Flashback. A memory of my hand, rapping on his dorm room door. I’ve brought a pizza and some movies to watch in his VCR, and my heart’s pounding, pounding, because it’s been a week since we last talked and that conversation hadn’t ended well. The food and films are an excuse; I’ve really come to fuck.
The door opens, and he’s there of course, chest and feet bare. And behind him, the girl. I don’t know her name, but does it matter?
“Hey,” Naveen says, as though he was expecting me. He probably was. “I’m sort of busy now. Can you come back later?”
But I didn’t, and it took months for us to talk again. I know very well just what kind of asshole Naveen can be. “Of course you are.”
He frowns, but doesn’t look angry. Only resigned. He shrugs. “I love her. She rejected me. It’s what I do, Betts.”
“I know what you do.” My voice is clipped and sharp and diamond-edged. “Maybe you shouldn’t fuck around with married women then. Maybe you shouldn’t fuck around at all, you think?”
He looks at first surprised, then wary. For all the years I’ve shared his secrets, I’ve never once judged him for any. I can’t even look him in the eyes now, though, because for once I have my own secret.
“Will,” Naveen says, looking past me, and I think that he knows.
But it’s actually Will, standing awkwardly in the doorway, not looking at either of us. One shoulder presses the door frame, one hand cups the back of his neck as he studies the floor. When he does look up, his gaze skims my face before settling on Naveen’s.
“Hey,” he says.
Naveen pulls away from me. Straightens. His warning look annoys me—as if I’d say anything more, now that we have an audience? My pride might be stung, but it’s an old wound. I stand and straighten, too, putting distance between me and Naveen that’s meant to look casual but probably doesn’t.
When I look at Will, the world stops for the time it takes him to blink and move forward to shake Naveen’s hand. They clap each other on the back. Will catches my gaze over Naveen’s shoulder, but I can’t read it. Then they’re out of my office and into the hall outside, talking about some photographs Will’s going to be showing next month.
And I’m alone.
Somehow, I find the concentration to finish paying bills and filing invoices, following up on emails and phone calls and chasing down bank statements to prove to artists that, yes, someone really did cash our checks and if it wasn’t them, they’d better take it up with whoever had learned to forge their signatures. An hour passes, then another. There’s other work to be done, but it’s on the desktop in my Philadelphia office, and while I usually bring my laptop and flash drives with everything I need, this morning I was so distracted I forgot. So now I sit and stare out the window at the city and pretend I’m not straining my ears for any sound of Will’s voice.
I fucked him.
There is no way around this, no way to make it pretty or anything other than what it is. I went to his apartment, and I let him put his hands and mouth on me, his prick inside me, and it was
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