Chapter 12: Thursday

Thursday at lunch, he called. I was wearing the plug again because he wanted me to.

I drove to a small park with one loop of asphalt and enough visibility that I could see any car the moment it turned in. I parked facing the entrance like a getaway driver with student loans and answered.

His face filled the screen. Office behind him. That crooked smile that used to make me want to throw a drink.

“Hi,” I said. “This is unhinged. I want that on the record.”

“Noted,” Tyler said. “Pants down. I want to see you.”

I did it with one eye on him and one on the lot. The angle was unflattering. I told him so. He told me he did not care. I touched myself while he watched and talked, low and filthy and fond in the same breath, and the combination made my thighs shake against the seat. A minivan rolled past on the street. I froze.

“Do not stop,” he said. “You are so sexy when you are scared.”

“I am going to bill you for therapy.”

“I will pay. Faster.”

The heat climbed. My eyes found his on the screen automatically, hunting the doorway I had started to need.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Waiting for me like a good girl. Ok, you can come.”

I came with the phone braced on the steering wheel and my teeth in my lip. He looked hungry. Pleased. Like I had done something valuable. The guilt arrived before I got my pants up. Another lunch hour Mike would never get.

Mid-afternoon, the text came I had been wanting since Sunday.

“I cannot wait to see you any longer. I want you to come by after work.”

I stared at it until the words settled.

Turned on. Immediately. He wanted me now and could not wait, and under that, a feeling of cheap, transactional sex with me reduced to a coupon he could redeem. Humiliation slid hot through my stomach and, God help me, the humiliation excited me too.

“After work?”

“Just come straight to my place. You don’t need to eat first. I will take care of you.”

“That sentence can be read two ways, and both of them are your fault.”

As soon as I was off, I got to his place in fifteen minutes, and he opened the door, apparently on a work call.

Phone at his ear. That focused, slightly pissed professional voice I had only ever heard from across rooms at parties. He mouthed “five minutes” and kissed my cheek like I was a delivery. I should have been offended. I was, a little. I also wanted his attention enough to be stupid about it.

I touched his chest. Kissed the corner of his mouth while he listened to someone talk about numbers. When I reached for his belt, he gave me a fake scowl and a gentle swat of his hand, the kind that said: “not now.”

I pretended to pout.

He covered the mouthpiece with his palm.

“Go to my bedroom,” he said, quiet and even. “Take off your clothes and wait on your knees while I am finishing this call.”

I stared at him, trying to read the joke. There had to be a joke because I was not a dog he could point down a hallway. Heel. Stay. The thought upset me in a clean, bright way. I opened my mouth to tell him so.

I turned around and walked to his bedroom.

I told myself he had only sounded that serious because he was on the phone. I told myself if he wanted to play games, I could play games too. I smiled at the empty room as I had already won as I took off my clothes and folded them onto a chair with irritating neatness. When I hooked my panties down, I saw how wet I was, a shiny, humiliating fact that made my face heat. Anticipation. Excitement. The part of me that had walked anyway.