Bait: The Wake Series, Book One(19)

First, I thought how appropriate it was. He wasted no time lining his night out the same way he did the night before. Cory followed my gaze and said, “They broke up,” as if he'd read my mind. I hated that I was so transparent. But it was certainly the cue I needed to propel myself toward the door.

I reiterated to them, “I don't care. I have a boyfriend. It was nice meeting you, Cory. Take care of our girl.”

“You, too. And I will.” He kissed her head and then walked toward their side of the white folding table.

As I walked back inside, I realized my purse was on the counter next to where Casey and his not-so-ex-girlfriend were leaning. With my head held high, I reached for it around him. “She could do better, too,” I said for only him to hear.

There take that, Mr. Know-it-all.

I walked to the door as fast as I could, hailed a cab and decided to cash out my hotel mini-bar.



I didn't even turn the TV on. I went straight to the small two-person balcony that overlooked the street and proceeded to drink mini-bottle after mini-bottle of nine-dollar booze I had at my disposal. It burned going down and warmed my stomach. I considered what I'd done and tried my damnedest to reason the why of it all.

Didn't most people who had one-night stands just do it and move on? Didn't most people who threw caution to the wind not look back? Shouldn't I be focused on pretending like it didn't happen? Instead, there I sat thinking over every second of last night.

Every touch. Every playful bite at my skin. The way his voice still rang in my ears as he moaned his release into me.

I was so careless. Thinking back on it, neither one of us even broached the topic of protection. I wasn't worried, though. I'd had my shot a few weeks before. Pregnancy wasn't a worry that came to mind. What if he really was promiscuous? He could have given me something and I was so careless that I didn't even bring up using a condom. How could I have been so stupid and reckless?

I downed another bottle, but this time I chased it with a soda. I had lied when I said that my flight was early, but I still didn't want to be hung-over while traveling.

My body would be intact.

My conscience and heart would not.

Funny how a little drink can make you rewrite history fictionally in your head. I thought back to my senior year, last year, and played dress-up with my memories. I fantasized what now would look like had I met Casey while I still lived in San Francisco. I fantasized and pretended that we’d met when Cory and Micah did. That we’d fell in love.

We were still in love and he was just out for a while. I let my imagination wander into a parallel time where the night before wasn't an exception, but the norm. Where my body was more than satisfied and my heart was legitimately branded with his name, and it was his hand I held walking down the street every day to coffee. His jacket I wore when the night air got too crisp. And it was him who was about to propose.

Why was it I didn’t dream of those things with Grant? Why was it my heart didn’t beat erratically at the thought of being touched by him, being made love to by him? And if everything that I’d done was purely physical, then why wasn’t the guilt for what I’d done to Grant louder than my fantasies of Casey?

I thought, if I could have him one more time maybe I'd be sated. I could rid myself of those thoughts.

If he were there with me, I'd pretend my fantasies were real and that we shared them. If he were here I'd prove they were real until they were.

If I could just touch those lips one more time.





Sunday, May 25, 2008


I HAD TO TOUCH those lips one more time.

I didn't care if she told me to leave. I didn't really give a f*ck if she slapped me. She was there, in my town, and I had to give it a shot. It might be the only one I ever got.

As I walked down the street toward her hotel, I stopped and looked up at the brick front of the old building. The balconies peppered its fa?ade and I saw her. Her hair blew gently in the light breeze. I watched as she poured a little bottle down her throat and then brought a can to her mouth.

She looked weary. She looked lost. She looked beautiful.

She'd go back home the next day and probably try to forget me. Probably try to forget we met at all.

Well, f*ck that. If I had anything to say about it, she wouldn't ever forget me. If I had anything to say about it, she'd think of me each time someone else touched her perfect skin for weeks. Months. Years. Forever, I prayed. If I had anything to say about it, she'd have to bite her lip from calling my name if the lucky bastard actually did make her come.