Chapter 5

“Fuck me this time!”

“No! It’s my turn!”

“You just sucked him off.”

“Yeah, but that’s not the same as having his dick in my slutty pussy.”

“Wait, let me just get him ready... ow! Hey!”

“Get off, you horny b...”

Luke snapped awake ... sweating, tense, and impossibly hard. He was only seconds from climax, and didn’t hesitate to treat himself to a quick reprise of the previous night’s solitary sexual athletics.

Last night he’d carefully shepherded his fantasies, first imagining Wendy (several more times than she’d demanded) while he recalled the enticing artwork of her body, then turning his attention to the incomparable Kathryn and her flawless curves. Only when he was finished with them as individuals did he tentatively dip his illusory toe into the idea of having both at the same time. Though he was rather quickly overwhelmed by the possibilities and permutations, he proceeded in full awareness of the limits Wendy would be likely to set.

His dreams, however, cared nothing for boundaries, or logic, or the actual personalities of the women that populated them, and to his annoyance and growing frustration he found himself spending far more time adjudicating their endless bickering over who was going to have him next than actually enjoying either one of them. Nor did their dream versions have any interest in each other, as was far more probable in the real world. As he finished himself off one last time with what had become a comical parade of spent tissues, he realized that, unlike last night, he was exhausted from the strain their dream analogues put each other, and him, though.

I’m both worked up and worn out over things that not only didn’t happen, but never will happen. I keep finding new ways to be pathetic, don’t I?

There was no question that yesterday — the past two days, actually — were already so far beyond his most improbable erotic notions that he felt utterly, hopelessly at sea regarding the barriers between reality and fantasy. All he could do was hold on for dear life while the tempest and the temptations swirled around him.

For the first time since that momentous night in the bar, it was Wendy, rather than Kathryn, who dominated his thoughts. Not just for her complete absence of modesty, nor the appeal of her admittedly fabulous body, nor her endless teasing, nor her unexpectedly passionate kisses, nor even the insane moment when she impulsively grabbed his dick in the shower. Mostly, it was her parting shot after a litany of dire warnings — a suggestion that more was going on between him and Kathryn than he realized — that roiled his mind.

Could she possibly be right? Even if she is, what am I supposed to do about it? The more time I spend here, the guiltier I feel. When I’m with her I feel like I’m floating, but then I see Bill and it’s like pouring acetic acid on an open wound. Anything other than caution and restraint puts everyone in an impossible situation. Even though Wendy seems to think my inaction is to blame for making it worse, I have no idea what action wouldn’t risk burning everything to ash.

Though it was earlier than he’d intended to rise, it seemed pointless to try to go back to sleep. Quickly pulling his running gear over his tired muscles, he exited the apartment to begin what he hoped would be a head-clearing jog. Which is how he ended up talking to the very last person he wanted to talk to in his muddled state.

“Good morning, son. I’m running on vapors, but the office has requested my presence at this ungodly hour. If you want to avoid running through dust again, maybe try the beach? Though make sure you...”

“ ... turn right. Yeah, I’ve already made that mistake.”

“Well, no way you could’ve known. Anyway, I hope I didn’t disturb you coming in so late last night. Are you sleeping any better?”

Bill, if you knew how I was sleeping you’d flatten me with that expensive car of yours. “Much better, thanks,” he lied.

“Good. Anyway, listen: I have reason to throw a little celebration tonight, but I’m dog tired and I doubt I could stay awake through an elaborate dinner. Can you come over at about five for a glass or three of bubbly?”

“I assume the bubbly in question isn’t something you’re going to pick up at the supermarket.”

Bill smiled. “You’re right about that. Trust me, you’ll enjoy yourself.”

“Sounds great. See you then.”

He drove away, leaving Luke feeling even more sickened than usual.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know what to think. Not one single thing about any of this is right or just or decent. I suppose Wendy’s admission that she’d be interested in an experimental no-strings hookup is a breath of erotic fresh air, and even if we never follow through, knowing that we’re close enough to at least consider it will probably strengthen our friendship ... if I can survive her teasing, that is. But it doesn’t solve the rest of my problems, nor does it make me feel any less adoration for Kathryn, nor does it salve my guilt over the fact that I can’t stop thinking about her.

His feet started moving long before his brain reengaged, though he did remember to turn right at the shoreline.

Kathryn dragged herself into the cellar a few minutes later than she’d promised, looking even less awake than him. He stared at her for a while, recalling the previous day’s revelations and provocations, full of curiosity over how she really felt about their relationship, but seeing no reasonable or defensible way to begin that particular conversation. As his eyes followed her, however, he realized that she didn’t just look exhausted. She looked...

Oh. Damn. Well, but of course. He’s been away, and after our shenanigans on the lake she was probably as worked up as the rest of us ... except that she had a living, breathing partner to help release that tension. Whereas all I had were tissues, and I imagine Wendy drained a few batteries. Anyway, why wouldn’t they? More to the point, how pathetic is being upset if they had sex last night? They’re husband and wife, and despite her concern about his absences they clearly love each other. I have got to get a hold of myself.

Still, the dull thud in his heart and the trace of bile in his throat took a while to subside. They worked silently for a time, albeit at a pace proportional to their individual aftermaths. He’d paused to puzzle over a particularly complicated label nomenclature when she finally broke the impasse.

“So... that happened.”

First, he snorted. Then, he choked. Eventually, unable to help himself, he put the bottle down and gave into unrestrained laughter; a release of tension in which she soon joined. As it subsided, they locked eyes, entire narratives passing between them without the need for words.

“Did it? It seemed pretty uneventful to me.”

More snickering.

“You look like you could use a few more hours of sleep.”

“Busy night.” In response to a raised eyebrow, he pointed at his temple. “Up here.”

“Same.” She managed to catch a glimpse of his half-smirk, half-grimace before he wiped it from his face. “What?”

“Maybe not quite the same.”

Despite his internal conflict, he found her blush adorable. They continued working in silence as the minutes ticked by.

“Luke, can I ask a favor?”

“Of course.”

“I know I brought it up, but can we not talk about yesterday? No, wait, that’s not what I mean. Can we just put a little shroud over it for a while, and have a less confusing conversation?”

Ah, beautiful Kathryn; for me, all our conversations are confusing. “After what I suffered at your and Wendy’s tongues, hands, and everything else, I think I can agree to that.”

The reddening of her pale skin was like watching alchemy in motion. “I don’t mean forever. I might even change my mind by this afternoon. It’s just...” She sighed heavily. “I’m not necessarily embarrassed by any particular thing that I said or did yesterday, but all of it put together ... I’m having kind of a hard time with it.”

“Same.”

Bursting into delighted laughter, she swatted his arm. “I’m sure. Poor Luke. Are you sure you don’t hate me?”

“Aside from the unwelcome revelation about your lack of a fitness regime, I could never hate you. It would be impossible.”

She stared at him for a while, chewing on her lip.

“Okay, here’s a question that’s been nagging at me, but that shouldn’t circumvent the weakened bounds of propriety.”

“Yes?”

“Why do you always insist on your full name? I mean, I get ‘Kathryn Lloyd Maddox’ because three-part names are memorable and yours is especially memorable, but why always Kathryn? Don’t you ever shorten it?”

When the half-minute mark passed with no response, he stopped what he was doing and looked at her. What did I do now? She looked hesitant, even a little paranoid.

“Why do you ask?” Her tone was unexpectedly brittle, and he was very much taken aback by her sudden shift in mood.

Defuse and divert? Can I manage that? Talking quickly, he told her the story of his own name ... of how he’d clung to Lucas until it became quixotic, of how he’d gradually come to accept — but would never unreservedly adore — the shorter version, about how hard he worked to deflect the stereotypes his full name suggested, about...

“Okay okay. Sorry, I get it. I thought you were ... never mind.”

Let’s risk it. “For someone in the witness protection program, you’ve lived an awfully high-profile life.”

Her eyes widened for a moment before she released a self-deprecating chuckle. “I suppose I deserved that. No, no. It’s my real name. I’m not a wanted fugitive. At least not for anything I remember doing.”

He opted for pregnant silence as the best of all possible courses.

“You’re right that I like using all three names. It was enormously helpful in my law career, because people always remembered it. As for Kathryn...” To his eyes she still looked to be beset by some sort of suspicion over his line of questioning, though she also seemed to be trying to force it aside. “Part of it is that I don’t care for the alternatives. I’ll freely admit that these are unfair stereotypes, but to me Katie is a little girl and Kathy is a middle-aged woman. Kate is also a memory of a time I’ll never be able to forget, despite fervently wishing I could, and if I’m reacting strangely that’s the primary reason why. Whereas Kathryn is a powerful, self-possessed name no matter how it’s spelled. Think of all the Catherines and Katherines that you know. How many of them were, or are, extraordinary women?”

He considered for a few minutes. “A lot.”

“That’s why I keep it. That’s why I insist on it.”

“Got it. Kathryn it is, from here to eternity.”

“After yesterday’s antics, do you really want to think about waves crashing over a half-naked couple while they make out on the beach?”

Why? Why must you say things like that to me? “Fair point. Break for lunch?”

“Yes, please. No wine for me, though.”

For perhaps the fifteenth time since she’d shown up for work, Kathryn yawned.

“If I may quote the estimable Kathryn Lloyd Maddox, you look like you could use a few more hours of sleep.”

Sheepishly but sleepily, she nodded. “I’m afraid I won’t make it through the afternoon without a nap.”

“No worries.” He grinned impishly. “Your employee orders you to take the rest of the afternoon off, boss.”

“No, no, I only need an hour.”

“Not a problem.”

“Actually ... I don’t mean to intrude on your space, but would you mind if I just slept here? If I go back to the house, I’m worried I’ll get distracted by something that needs doing and never actually sleep.”

The thought of Kathryn sleeping in his bed caused his much-abused shaft to perk up. “Of course you can. The bed’s even made. Mama raised me right.”

She smiled, but her eyes were half-closed. “One hour. Just one hour, then come wake me. Don’t forget.”

“No chance of that. Sleep well.”

She was still sitting at the table, yawning and picking at her food, when he headed back downstairs. Hanging around to watch her tuck herself in seemed dangerously unwise.

A few minutes after he returned to work, his phone chirped. He broke his usual rule about midday texts when he saw that it was from Wendy.

OH MY GOD!!!!! Her enthusiastic exclamation was followed by several dozen heart-eye emojis. Luke smirked; until yesterday, he would’ve bet a lot of money against Wendy ever sending him anything involving hearts.

Haven’t stopped. BUT: Kathryn sent me the photos last night. ALL the photos. A round face with a wagging tongue preceded about fifty of the rain emojis everyone used to represent ejaculations. Despite the ridiculousness on his screen, he was instantly and almost debilitatingly aroused.

And?

As if I’d tell you. She sent them to ME. I’m going to torture you with this until the end of time, and it’s all gonna go kinda like this: did you know she’s really, REALLY bendy?

Fuck. Are they as hot as she made them sound?

What part of “all my spare batteries” was unclear? So much hotter. They’re not just naughty, they’re the sexiest pornography I’ve ever seen, and I’m saying that even though it involves a dude. Though he is pretty hot, actually. For one thing, he shaves. You should try it. Especially if you ever want to get into my pants.

I’m jealous.

Where’s the dirty minx right now? Staring worshipfully into your eyes? Or a little lower down? Hand her the phone for a minute.

Can’t. She’s napping. I think she and Bill ... you know ... after he got home last night.

She’s upstairs.

There was no response, so Luke set the phone aside and went back to work. About five minutes later his phone chirped again.

You didn’t listen to a damned thing I said, did you? Cretin. Imbecile. Jackass.

This time, despite another lengthy interregnum, he kept the phone in his hand. Finally:

Whatever. I was right. It’s already too late.

Too late for what?

Never mind. I wash my hands of it. Go back to whatever it is you think you’re doing. Don’t worry, we’re still friends even though you’re a moron. Call me later this week so I can tease you some more about the photos. If you call before I have to leave for work I’ll let you listen to me masturbate while I describe them to you, one by one.

He was still trying to wrap his head around how to deal with what he could only conclude was an Invasion of the Body Snatchers-style pod-Wendy when she sent a smooching emoji. At least she’s not mad at me anymore, Luke sighed, relieved. But I still have no idea what’s she’s trying to get me to do.

God, she’s beautiful. I could just reach out and...

For the first time since he was a teenager, Luke was considering actions he knew were absolutely, unquestionably wrong. Kathryn’s body was bent in sensuous angles and curves atop the comforter, and he desperately longed to reach out and touch her in any number of inappropriate ways. Instead he admired the luxuriant fan of her hair, the soft promise of her lips, her...

Stop it.

Steeling his nerves, he knelt by the bed and whispered her name.

Nothing.

“Kathryn?” he repeated, ever so slightly louder.

Still nothing.

As neutrally as possible, he put his hand on her shoulder, shaking it just a bit.

“Kathryn, it’s been an hour. Time to wake up.”

Sighing and slowly rolling to her back — he couldn’t help but view every motion in its most sensual interpretation — she crossed an arm over her body and grasped his hand, her fingers entwining with his. Her eyes remained closed as she slowly inhaled consciousness back into her body. Her prominent breasts stretched the fabric of her shirt, and his brain went numb.

“Mmmm,” she purred, “thank you for letting me sleep here. I still love this bed.”

Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about it. “No problem at all. Do you want me to hit the snooze button?”

“No, I’m getting up.” She opened her eyes and looked at him, still holding his hand. For the first time in their relatively brief acquaintance, she looked both entirely at peace and completely vulnerable. His heart — and several other organs — seized at the sight. “But I don’t suppose you’d be interested in making me some coffee?”

Kathryn was nursing a third cup, quietly handing Luke bottles but otherwise saying little save for random comments or questions about certain wines. But even these died out as she gradually became fidgety and restless, frequently looking away while he typed, growing less and less efficient about pulling bottles at the ideal time.

At first he assumed it was the coffee, but as it went on he started paying more attention to her. Every few minutes, her eyes glanced at him and then darted quickly away. By the tenth time he noticed her doing it, he couldn’t restrain his curiosity anymore.

“Do I have food on my chin?”

The hand that was holding her coffee shook, nearly spilling its contents. “No,” she murmured.

“Then what?”

Staring into her coffee as if it might answer for her, she sighed. “I ... it’s ... never mind.”

“Kathryn, you just handed me the same bottle twice. It’s your first and only mistake, and I was honestly beginning to suspect that you’d never make one. Look, you don’t have to stay if you’re still tired.”

“That’s not it.”

“Then what’s up?”

She looked away, her cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry for being so grossly inappropriate, especially after yesterday, but doesn’t... that ... get painful after a while?”

“Doesn’t what get painful?” She didn’t respond, save for an even more furious blush.

Oh, shit.

In the absence of sufficient conversational distraction, he’d been savoring the image of her in his bed; a vision which had long since given way to a series of increasingly unlikely alternatives to what happened when he woke her. As a result, he’d been more or less continuously erect since then, and she’d obviously noticed.

“Uh, sorry,” he mumbled. Now his ears and cheeks were aflame with embarrassment.

“Apologies are unnecessary, unless they’re coming from me for bringing it up in the first place. But ... well, isn’t there anything you can do about it?”

Setting his teeth against the urge to flee the property and never come back, he forced out an answer. “Not really.”

He felt, rather than saw, her mischievously elevated eyebrow. “While I’ve never been a boy, I have reason to believe that’s not precisely true.”

God, the pain. “No, that’s not it. It’s...” He couldn’t continue.

“It’s what?”

“It wouldn’t make a difference.” It was a mere whisper, as if he hoped she somehow wouldn’t hear. She did.

“Why not?”

Nervously, he managed to look her in the eyes for the briefest of moments before giving his full attention to the floor.

“Oh.”

Another interminable silence. This is the most uncomfortable conversation I’ve had since ... well, since yesterday, but still.

“Do you need to take a quick break?”

Shocked and wide-eyed at her offer, he stammered, “You ... you mean right now?”

Her cheeks turned an even deeper red. “Look, yesterday was manic and I still feel bad about it, but there was no stopping Wendy whether or not I joined in. For better or worse, I know it changed things between us. Meanwhile, we still have to work together, and while it’s admittedly somewhat distracting for me, it has to be rather more so for you. I don’t mind. Really.”

Shaking his head in dismay, he contributed a sarcastic, “Thanks for thinking about me.”

In a soft and surprisingly sensual tone, she responded, “Thanks for thinking about me.”

He winced. That’s definitely not helping. At all. Suddenly, a crazy weave of logic wrapped itself around his addled brain. I do want to, actually. Rather desperately, in fact. I can’t think straight, I need to get away from this conversation, and unless she’s about to offer to help I want to be anywhere but here right now. She’s not going to stop noticing, either, and as long as I know that she’s looking it’s not going to go down. Why not just get it over with? It’s not like this could be any more humiliating. In disbelief that he was even considering it, he stood.

“Fine.”

Ten minutes later, he returned wearing a freshly acquired furious blush and sat down without a word. Neither of them could think of a way to break the terribly uncomfortable silence, so they resumed working. Until...

“I’m sorry.” For a moment, he gripped the bottle he held so tightly he was worried it might shatter in his hand.

“For what?”

“I guess you were right.” To this there was no possible answer. “Do you want me to leave instead?”

Staring at the ceiling, silently cursing whatever trickster god had put him in a situation where this was a conversation he was forced to have, he answered, “Absolutely not. Not just because I don’t want you to, but because ... well, it still wouldn’t help. It’s not because you’re here, it’s because you’re...” He trailed off, unwilling to complete the sentence yet painfully aware that there was no need.

Once again he could feel her expression at it assaulted his exposed neck like a flamethrower. “Is there anything I can do?”

He dropped his head into his hands and groaned in frustration. To his dismay, she laughed. “Okay, that was an unfortunately worded question, given the circumstances. But I ... look, is there any way I can help make it ... less bad? Baggy sweatpants? Detailed stories about my terribly exciting legal career, including citations and references to caselaw?”

Despite his desperation he couldn’t help but chuckle. “The latter might work, but as for the former ... after the last two days, it’s far too late. No, there’s nothing, really. Just accept my apologies, now and in the future.”

Another silence lengthened until, her voice nearly sub-audible, she whispered, “Thank you.”

“This is tremendous. I wish I’d bought more of it.” Bill was slumped in a chair, obviously tremendously fatigued but gamely engaging with both the wine and at least some of the conversation. “By the way, this very wine is a major part of the reason you’re here. The first time I tasted it, I realized there was so much I was missing simply because I didn’t know it existed.”

“It’s pretty rare and not a lot comes into this country, so I’m not sure how much you could’ve put your hands on. But if it was the catalyst for my presence, I have to say I’m pleased, because it’s a very good reason to get excited.”

“What is it? I can read the label, of course, but it’s ... different. There’s something unusual about it.” Kathryn was puzzling over a series of tiny sips, nosing the glass in concentration, confusion, and patently obvious delight.

“You really do have an amazing palate, you know that?” She blushed at Luke’s compliment, but she didn’t tear her attention away from the wine. “It’s Cedric Bouchard’s 2008 Roses de Jeanne Blanc de Blancs La Bolorée. Champagne, yes, but it’s one-hundred percent pinot blanc. No chardonnay, no pinot noir, no pinot meunier. Not entirely unheard of in the region, but certainly uncommon. Pinot blanc’s a really transparent grape, so it’s great for showing off everything that’s actually interesting about Champagne. It’s a style that’s coming back as more and more growers go it alone rather than selling their grapes to the big houses. Fleury makes a really good one as well, and...”

“Son, while you know I enjoy hearing you talk about wine, my brain is mush and I’d really like to be able to pay attention. Can we save the oratory for another time?”

“Sorry, Bill. I do get carried away.”

Kathryn patted his arm. It felt, for a moment, like she wanted to hold onto it — no, that’s just my imagination getting carried away again — but instead she pulled the bottle from the bucket to refill everyone’s glasses. “You can tell me the rest so I can lord my superior knowledge over him.”

“As if that’s anything new,” Bill retorted with a proud smile.

They all chuckled until Luke asked, “So, what is it that we’re celebrating?”

“One fire doused. No more last-minute trips to Los Angeles. Or, at least, I hope the hell not.”

“That’s great, Bill. Well worthy of a toast.” As they tipped their glasses, Luke noted that Kathryn seemed less than overjoyed by this news. A moment later, he learned why.

“Sadly, it’s the smallest of the fires. The infernos still rage, and I appear to be the only man with the right hose.” He stood, unsteady on his feet ... less from drinking than from exhaustion. “Jesus, that was a terrible metaphor. My apologies.”

“Not your best, no. Should I ask about the others?”

“No f ... well, pardon my language. But no. Kathryn can fill you in if you really want to know. Look, Luke ... I know that, technically, I hired you, but I’m not going to be here all that much for the next ... I don’t know how long. A few days here and there, but I’m going to be on planes to Dubai, Hong Kong, and maybe a few other places. Worse, I’m going to be staying for a while each time. Depending on how fast you work it’s possible I won’t even be here when you finish. I’m not happy about it, but ... oh hell, I’m not happy about any of it. But these are monkeys I have to get off my back, once and for all.”

“I thought they were infernos. Are you trying to tell me that the monkeys are on fire?”

Kathryn’s only partially suppressed spit take was the first truly undignified thing he’d ever seen her do, and she coughed while Bill mustered what was left of his energy to laugh at Luke’s joke. “Very funny. I wish they were. I wish I could set the whole damned lot of them on ... well, no, I can’t say that out loud. My name’s on the office door, after all.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine, Bill. I’ll miss you, though.” Liar.

“If you’re done before I get back, we’ll have dinner in the city.”

“I’ll look forward to hearing all your stories.”

“Eh, I’m an old lawyer. All my stories are brilliant but incomprehensible to civilians,” he said with a self-deprecating grin. “Anyway, I trust you and Kathryn will keep each other company. Don’t work her too hard. She’s been unemployed for a long time, and I don’t know about her putting in an honest day’s work anymore.”

Shrieking in fake protest, Kathryn punched him in the arm. It was good-natured and adorable, and Luke’s heart sank deeper into his intestines. What he means and what I hear are two entirely different things. God, I’m such a shitheel. I guess Wendy’s right about me.

“Okay, I’m done. You two finish off the bottle and open the other if you want; no sense in wasting good wine just because I’m running on fumes. I’ll be asleep in five minutes. No loud parties or any of that devil’s rock’n’roll music, you two.” After an almost fatherly mussing of Luke’s hair, and a brief but tender kiss for Kathryn, he was upstairs in a weary version of a flash.

Handing him her glass, Kathryn grabbed the Champagne bucket in one hand and his arm in the other. “Lake. Now.”

This a terrible, terrible idea. “Are you sure? The mosquitoes...”

“It’s windy enough. Nothing to worry about. Luke, please? I intend to drink this delicious wine while watching the moon reflecting off the water, and doing it alone would be a lot less pleasant. In other words, I’m going no matter what. Please come with me? Please?”