Not Looking for Love: Episode 3 Read online

  "Gladly," I sigh, and rest my head against his chest again, meaning it entirely.

  He laughs again, the sound tickling my ear. "Relax. It'll still look good. I'm pretty tall and I've never been skinny."

  "What are you like 6'5?" I ask.

  "Nah, more like 6'3 and a half, maybe," he says. "But the point is, none of my clothes fit me anymore, so I have no choice but to slim down a few inches."

  "You can always buy new clothes," I protest, making him laugh again.

  "You can be very persuasive, Gail," he says and runs his hand down my back, cupping my butt, his fingers brushing my clit.

  "Ready to go again?" he asks, and I know he is, because his erection is pressing into my leg.

  He's playing with my clit, adding slivers to the heat already building inside me, washing away the soreness.

  I lift my leg and drape it over his, giving him better access. I stop him as he reaches for the condoms. He shakes his head, his eyes hard and serious for a moment, so I stop fighting and kiss his neck, waiting for him to put it on.

  I whimper as his cock slides into me. He stops, but I kiss his neck and buck my hips forward, because that's not what I want. The heat rising from his slow thrusts is sharper now, and I feel every vein pulsing in his cock as he pushes it in and out. He's hitting the most sensitive part each time.

  The explosion building inside me is slow in coming, each thrust adding just a single drop to it, and the moans escaping my lips are coming from somewhere deep in my chest. The drops are adding up though. A clear, warm waterfall erupts between my legs, hitting me relentlessly, the drops of pleasure mixing with my very blood now, making me shake. He pulls out, and a few moments later his hot seed hits my inner thigh, tickling as it dribbles down.

  I crane my neck up and kiss him, my tongue playing with his.

  The sun is no longer blinding me, and when we stop kissing it's almost noon. Scott lies back and closes his eyes, and soon his chest is moving up and down in the slow rhythm of sleep.

  I slide off the bed carefully, so it won't wobble, and walk to the kitchen in search of some coffee. But he was telling the truth, he has no milk, and I can't stand black coffee.

  I put on my jeans and shirt, and luckily find the keys to the apartment in the lock. I leave my bra and panties on the floor by the bed, along with my bag, so he won't think I just ran off, if he wakes up while I'm gone.

  The sun may be shining outside, but a nasty cold wind is blowing and I wish I wore a sweater. The seam of my jeans is rubbing against my clit with each step I take, and if I think hard I can still feel Scott's cock inside me. Color rises in my cheeks and I dig through my mind frantically, trying to think of something, anything else, because I'm about to enter the store, and then everyone will know what I did last night.

  I pile milk and some food into my basket, forgoing bread since I have every intention of stopping by the bakery on the way back. And I'll get lattes there too.

  A man is sitting in a car parked just behind mine when I return to the bakery, his beefy arm hanging through the open passenger window. He's looking up at the windows of Scott's apartment when I enter the bakery. I'm laden with two extra bags when I exit, balancing the coffees in my left hand. The man's gaze shifts to me, as I walk past the car, and I can feel his eyes boring into my back as I turn into the alleyway. I walk faster, hoping he won't follow.

  Raised voices are echoing from Scott's apartment. If I go any closer, I'll probably hear every word and maybe I shouldn't, but my feet are climbing the stairs of their own accord.

  "Who says I had anything to do with that? What are you accusing me of here?" Scott says, his voice harsh and menacing.

  "I'm just here to warn you, Scott," another man says, his voice strict. "Watch your step. Or maybe you want to go back? But I thought you'd learned your lesson."

  "Oh, yeah, I did," Scott says. "And I don't know what you're talking about."

  I freeze a few steps short of the landing as the door of his apartment opens.

  "Go back to school, and do something with your life," the man says, his voice softer now, like he cares.

  "Right, 'cause it'll be real easy for me to get a job now," Scott says, his voice colder than the wind blowing outside.

  "Nothing good will come of this. Think of your father. Hasn't he lost enough?"

  "I think you should go now," Scott says.

  "They will have enough to come talk to you soon," the man says, his steps echoing in the hallway of Scott's apartment. "Cut your losses now, before it's too late."

  The man is standing on the landing, gazing down the coffees and bags in my hands. A police badge on his belt is glinting in the sunlight streaming in through the glass roof. My heart is racing, but my body is completely rigid. I can't walk up, and I can't run away.

  The cop inclines his head toward me and mutters, "Miss" by way of a hello, then turns back to Scott, who's glaring at me now too, his eyes completely black.

  "Don't mess up again, Scott. Just think of everything you don't want to lose, let that guide you," he says, and jogs down the stairs, not waiting for an answer.

  Feeling returns to my legs slowly, and I climb up the rest of the way. Scott is still just looking at me, like he doesn't want to talk, and I'm not sure I want to ask any questions either.

  "Who was that?" I ask anyway, because a voice in the back of my head is screaming that I have to know about this.

  "Just an old friend of the family," Scott says and takes the bags from my hands.

  "And what did he want?" I ask. He's already walking into the apartment and pretends not to hear.

  "So?" I ask, slamming the coffees down on the table too hard, hardly managing to catch them before they topple over.

  "Well, you heard," Scott says, and takes one of the ham and cheese rolls from the paper bag, eating about half of it in one bite.

  "But I don't know what he was talking about," I insist, pressure rising in my head now because my heart is beating furiously in my chest.

  "It was nothing," Scott says and finishes off the roll, washing it down with some coffee.

  "It didn't sound like nothing." My voice is shrill now, and all I can think of are the thick envelopes filled with cash. "What are you involved with?"

  "It doesn't matter," Scott says, his eyes light blue now, and soft like the clearest spring sky. Everything on his face says I should stop asking, sit down and eat my own breakfast, drink my own coffee and pretend I heard nothing. But the abyss is closing in fast and dark around me, black waters raging against the cliffs below, pulling me toward the edge that I've fought so hard to stay away from since my mom died. I knew love was trouble, and it's hitting me with all it's sharp, jagged, broken edges now, taking my air, making hot tears well in my eyes.

  Scott's eyes change color, and I see my mom's open grave in them now, the black raging waters that took my daughter.

  But then he stands up and presses me to his chest so tightly, I can't tell where he ends and I begin. And the abyss recedes, the edge of the cliff drawing farther and farther away, growing fuzzy in the distance. "It's nothing you need to concern yourself with, Gail."

  And I believe him, because to do anything else would push me right over the edge.

  "I have to go meet my dad for dinner soon," I mutter into his chest. "But after, we're going to Phillipa's party, right?"

  "Sure, whatever," he says into my hair, not letting me go. He's still holding me so tight it's hard to breathe.

  After, I sit on his lap and drink my cold coffee, leaning against his chest, my eyes unfocused. I let all thoughts run right past my conscious awareness, because something had shifted between us, and I'm not sure if it's for the better or worse, but I don't really want to know.

  The sky outside is dark grey when I finally find something to say. "I should get ready."

  He releases me and I get up.

  "You should too," I urge.

  He gets up and grabs his jacket off the back of the chair. "I need to go out f
or awhile first."

  "But you'll be back by nine, right?" I ask. "We can't leave any later than that."

  "Sure," he says, not meeting my eyes. Fear rises hot and sticky in my throat. But there isn't anything I know to ask. It feels like he's already left the room, and I don't know how to call him back.

  The cold whooshes against me after the lock clicks shut after him, and I rush to the bathroom. The water is so hot my skin turns red in moments, but I don't lower the temperature, because the scalding pain works to keep all my cold worries away.

  I have a missed call and a voice mail from Scott when I finally emerge from the shower. A smile is plastered over my face as I hold the phone to my ear to listen to the message, so sure I am that it's good news.

  But there's a rustling in the background, and he's not talking to me when he says, "Jerry came to see me. He thinks I should watch my step. Do you know anything about that?"

  "Relax, they have nothing," Mike answers, his tone wiping all the warmth from my skin.

  "That's not what he said," Scott says. "I'm through."

  A crash pierces my ear, sounding like someone slammed a chair against the floor.

  "There's no such thing as through for you. I thought you understood that, but clearly you're too dumb," Mike yells.

  "Whatever, I'm still through," Scott says, his voice pure ice.

  "After what Derek gave up to save you, you don't even get to think about walking away," Mike says. "Gotta finish what he can't now."

  "That's something I'll have to live with for the rest of my life. Me, not you, Mike," Scott says, but his voice is softer now, no longer threatening. An urgent need to tell him everything will be alright pierces my heart, all the more painful because I can't.

  "We all have to live with it, you dumb fuck!" Mike screams. "You're staying right where you are."

  "I'm—"

  His sentence is cut off by the beep of the voice mail, signaling the allotted space is full.

  I call him back, but his phone goes straight to voice mail each time I try.

  It's seven o'clock, and I'm late for dinner with Dad so I leave, but I call Scott at least twenty more times on the way, finally leaving a message for him to call me back right away.

  Dad's waiting for me at the bar, a half empty glass of whiskey in front of his. He smells like it's not the first one either. His hair is tousled like he just got out of bed, and the collar of his undershirt is peeking out from under his button down. I straighten his shirt and close the top buttons for him, then kiss his cheek.

  My entire chest is filled with the longing to comfort both Scott and my dad, and if either of them gives me one more reason to do so, I will probably just melt right through the floor and never come back again.

  After we order our food, Dad peers at me over his glasses. "You look well, Gail, I'm glad."

  I place my napkin across my lap so I don't have to look into his bloodshot eyes. I wish I could tell him the same, but he'd know I was lying.

  "How's school going?" he asks, leaning back and taking a long swallow of his whiskey.

  "Good," I mutter.

  "Have you given any thought toward grad school?"

  School's the last thing I want to think about right now, but it's a nice, benign subject and I'm glad he picked it. "Still the same, I guess. I'm not in the right state of mind to really think about the future just yet."

  I gasp after I say it, but it's too late to take the words back now. I've broached the subject of Mom being gone, and now it's like she's sitting beside us, her unseeing eyes staring right past me.

  "I've started sorting some of her things," Dad says, his voice low and hoarse. "Maybe you want to go through them too, see if you want to keep something?"

  His eyes are pleading with me to do so, but the thought ever again entering my mom's room, going through her things, smelling her favorite perfume on her clothes, sends me right back to the edge of the abyss, the terrible darkness sending my heart racing.

  "It's too soon," I mutter. "I can't."

  He takes my hand, his palm clammy. "I understand. I'll pack it up into boxes and you can look through them when you're ready."

  I look into his eyes for the first time since I got here. "You don't have to do it either, yet."

  He smiles but it doesn't reach his watery eyes, which are swimming with such sadness it's all I can do not to leap over the table and hug him. "It's time."

  Our food arrives, but the chicken tastes like paper in my mouth and the potatoes are sticking in my throat. Scott still hasn't called me back.

  The wind is blowing in cold, angry gusts, as I say goodbye to my dad on the curb. All I want to do is climb under the covers of Scott's bed, and go to sleep for awhile, resting my head against his chest.

  I pull out my phone to tell Phillipa we'll be a little late and find a text from Scott.

  My hand is shaking as I open it, because he was supposed to call, not text.

  I'm sorry but it's just not working out for me. Don't call me again.

  The street is spinning around me, bile rising in my throat. My heart is racing like it will beat its way free of my chest at any moment. What is he saying? Why? It makes no sense. None at all. It has to be a joke.

  I dial his number, my hand shaking over the phone pressed to my ear. It rings forever, before the voice mail finally comes on.

  Then I'm just staring at the screen, unable to move, unable to think.

  I call again, but the same thing happens.

  People are staring at me as they walk past. I will my legs to move and climb into my car, clutching the phone so hard that my fingers are turning white. It makes no sense, none at all.

  You will not break up with me with a text. I finally write and press send, because I have to do something. The world is frozen still, and I'm entirely sure I am too.

  I'm staring at the screen, every atom in my body willing Scott to write something back, anything.

  I shudder when the phone rings, Scott's name flashing across the screen.

  I pick up, pressing the phone tightly against my ear.

  "Fair enough, Gail, over the phone then," he says. His voice sounds distant and hollow like he's not even in the same world as me. "It won't work between us. And it's better to end it now, before it starts, because otherwise…" His voice breaks off and it's like he's hung up, only I can still hear his raspy breathing on the other end.

  "You won't break up with me over the phone either," I say into the silence, my voice laced with longing and pain, but strong nonetheless.

  "We can't see each other anymore," he says tonelessly. "Good bye, Gail."

  The line goes dead, and I'm listening to the nothingness, tears streaming down my face, blinding me.

  I start the engine and drive back to his apartment, running a few red lights to get there faster. The windows are dark and my packed bag is sitting by the closed and locked door.

  I sit on the landing and call him until my battery is flashing red, but his phone is off. Cold is snaking up the stairs through the broken front door, and the windows above me are rattling in the wind.

  The prideful Gail is telling me to get up and drive home, forget all about Scott and never think of him again. But even her voice is brittle and unconvincing, because the abyss waits for me beyond the broken door downstairs, and as soon as it shuts behind me, I'll topple right over the edge and the raging black waves will swallow me forever.

  Scott has to come back here eventually, and I can wait until he does.

  I will wait.

  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  Thanks for reading! This story unfolds over a series of episodes in the form of short novels. The next episode of Not Looking For Love will be out in two weeks. Please sign up for my mailing list at http://eepurl.com/5-Prj to find out as soon as the next part becomes available. In the meantime, if you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review to help other readers find it. You can do so on Amazon.com and Goodreads.com. It only takes a minute, but it mak
es a world of difference!

  About the Author:

  Lena Bourne is a young writer, but she has seen her fair share of the world, of love and loss, and all that happens in between. Now she's here telling the stories you might otherwise have missed, which all are made up, of course, but could very well be real and true. Not Looking For Love is her first serial, a steamy New Adult romance, which will be released in five installments over the next few months.

  www.lenabourne.com