“Movverfuchaaa,” Meghan mumbled. She cracked one eyelid and light poured in, then quickly it shut again. With her eyes closed, she considered her situation: she was on a bed, but not in the bed. It was apparently morning though she didn’t remember telling the night it could be over.
Whoooosh. All at once she remembered. The kiss - no, her kiss. The one she’d given John: slamming the bathroom door, pasting him to the counter and kissing him as hard as she could. He’d responded just as frantically. Those big, strong hands slipping up her thighs… Meghan shivered. Of course James had interrupted, and Meghan had panicked. But not before she kissed John again, fingers wrapped in his shirt, before he helped her run away.
He fucking helped me. That felt worse than the sunlight stabbing into her eyes. Clearly someone - maybe Meghan herself - had dumped her body here to sleep off last night. She hoped she’d remembered to take some Advil before passing out. The last thing she recalled was looking for John.
What would I have said if I found him?
She knew, of course. The words she wanted to say were still poised for takeoff on the tip of her tongue. She forced herself to a sitting position and took stock of her body. No stomachache. A little shake of the skull - only a minor throb there. Last night’s dress looked, not surprisingly, like she’d slept in it. Getting slowly to her feet, Meghan was still wearing her sandals. Didn’t that make for a quick exit.
All the other doors in the hallway were closed. She crept down the stairs - more to keep from losing balance than any worry about noise. Pieces of party trash were strewn about: one flip flop stuck between banister slats; an empty champagne champagne bottle on the coffee table, shredded foil everywhere as if it had been opened by a dinosaur. No visible bodies, but that didn’t mean they’d all made it out alive. She found her purse where she’d hidden it: in the box with one of the hundreds of pairs of shoes Steven got from Nike. Her car was parked on the street outside. As the engine turned she killed the radio, opting for silence on the way to the drive-thru at McDonald’s. Her sausage egg McMuffin didn’t even make it to the next traffic light.
James’ house was only an eight minute drive from Steven’s place. The streets were deserted - everyone waking up as Meghan had, lost and still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Her OJ ran out just as she reached the driveway.
Black Mercedes. What the…?
Then she remembered she’d driven James to the party. Oh well, he could get a ride home when he crawled out from whichever of Steven’s bedroom had seen Becki examining Neal’s Canadian flagpole.
Meghan let herself in and set her purse on the hallway table. She thanked God that James had bought this house after signing his thirty million dollar contract - there was a thirty million dollar shower waiting upstairs. Lost in her own head, she reached the kitchen before realizing the footsteps she heard were not her own.
“Oh, hi!”
Meghan tasted bile. Her gag reflex slammed shut, choking it back down before she could throw up in her mouth. Becki, wearing one of James’ t-shirts and what Meghan hoped to hell were panties underneath, smiled in front of the open fridge. Her short blond hair had been finger-combed and her makeup was smeared. She was bare from the backside down, poking around the available food like she lived there.
“I’m Becki,” she said helpfully.
“Meghan. We met last night.”
“Ooohhh,” Becki giggled. “Right. Sorry. So you’re James’ sister?”
“Friend. Best friend. And roommate,” Meghan pointed out. “I live here.”
It was meant to scare her off but Becki just tilted her head, unfazed. “Do you guys have any milk?”
Meghan turned on a heel. She went straight to her room and stripped her clothes into a pile as if her body had simply disappeared. She brushed her teeth, pulled on clean shorts and a t-shirt from the laundry pile, grabbed her gym bag and ran back down the stairs.
Becki called goodbye from the kitchen.
Meghan dove into her car, forcing herself to get out of sight of the house immediately. At the first corner she rolled to a stop, chest heaving. “I don’t care,” she said. “I don’t care.”
James could bring home whoever he wanted, it had never bothered Meghan before. Becki was probably a nice person and if all she wanted was to bag an NHL star, well she’d certainly gotten her wish. At least she was friendly. But Meghan still tasted sourness at the back of her mouth. James expected one thing from her but did the opposite thing himself. The double standard stung like a whip.
Her car pointed itself toward the highway and exited at the most familiar spot. Forty-five minutes after leaving the house, Meghan was walking up to the gym.
And John was walking out.
_____
John went to sleep thinking about Meghan and woke up the same way. He’d been sober by the time he left Steven’s so his internal alarm woke him at the normal time. Now a long day of stretched before him, with nothing to do but remember the night before.
Was Meghan mad at James? She should be. She couldn’t think much of herself if she wasn’t, and John thought a lot of her, so he assumed she must be furious. Even if she really didn’t have feelings for Neal, that was still a shitty public stunt he’d pulled. Meghan did what James wanted then he rubbed her face in it. John wanted to rub his fist in Neal’s face in return.
Suitably fired up, John’s only option was the gym. He worked out until his body took control and his mind emptied of anything but function and form. Sweat wiped his slate clean. By the time he finished a run - seven minute miles, thanks very much - he was underneath the anger and down to the pain.
Meghan gave him up for that. She gave him up without a fight. John was no ladies man but he was worth a lot more trouble than Meghan had been willing to endure. If there was a way to have her with no trouble - well, the world was not a wish granting factory. James was in his way and John wondered if Neal had just presented an opening.
John wasn’t giving up on Meghan. She had to see how right he was now.
He showered and changed, his plan the same as before: keep flirting, trying, keep popping up everywhere. Every day for the next two months if he had to. John was no longer afraid of running out of time. He slung his gym bag onto his shoulder and vowed to finally let himself relax.
Two steps outside the door, he saw her.
“Meghan.”
Fuck my life, they both thought. Meghan had to look away - John was so fit and healthy that he glowed in the sunlight. A plain white v-neck, maybe even the one he’d worn on their date, was completely full of his wide upper body and a pair of brown plaid shorts were lucky to be riding his thighs. He smelled like soap.
John slowed. Meghan wore an old black t-shirt with a Blue Jays logo and a pair of blue and white running shorts. Her ponytail was lopsided, her face bare of makeup and the socks peeking above her sneakers didn’t match each other. A high color brightened her cheeks, flushing deeper red when she saw him. John thought she’d never looked more beautiful.
She grabbed his wrist and pulled him aside. Anyone in the lot could see them but at least they were not visible from inside the gym. Meghan knew Roberts never took a day off - and he never missed anything that happened here. She backed against the wall, John standing just a few inches in front of her.
His dark eyes narrowed, that strong brow furrowed in the middle. Meghan’s heart sank - he was worried about her, even now.
“John, I’m sorry.”
He tugged his wrist free and let her hand slide into his. “Are you okay?”
“I, I’m fine. But I’m so sorry about last night. About… kissing you.” The words were coming so quickly she didn’t hear them till they were out of her mouth. “It was so unfair. I said we had to stop and then went and did it anyway. I just saw you and I was drunk and upset and….” She dared eye contact to find his gaze searing into her. Meghan blinked once, her lashes damp with tears. “I missed you. I’m sorry,” she shook her head. “I know I don’t get to do that.”
There were a lot of things wrong with what Meghan was saying. She only kissed him because she was drunk? Was she been upset with Neal? If Meghan wanted payback against James, was John willing be her weapon of choice? He didn’t really care about the reason, not when Meghan had clung to him so desperately, kissing like it was do or die. Not now that she was still here, beautiful and vibrant and raging.
He wrapped his free hand around the back of Meghan’s neck and when her face tipped up, John kissed her for all he was worth. Meghan stiffened but he kissed right through it, like kicking down a door, until she relaxed and then he kissed her harder, deeper. Her fingernails bit into the skin of his biceps. Meghan’s knees buckled. Her toes curled. She sagged in John’s arms and let him, and his kiss, hold her up. His mouth was hot, his body so close that his heart raced right against her own. It was a legendary, Princess Bride, top ten in history kind of kiss.
After a full minute, John used a handful of her hair to gently pry them apart. He was panting. Meghan’s big green eyes were wide but clear. He pressed his lips together - tasting her again, never wanting to taste anything else.
“I missed you too,” he said.
His voice nearly cracked. John covered it by touching his lips to her forehead before letting go. His car was two spots over - John got in, hands shaking as he drove away.
____
Meghan stayed there for a long time, staring at the footprints John had left in the grass. She didn’t move until she had a plan and then she went inside to shower.
It only took ten minutes to blow dry her hair and another ten to cover last night’s reminders with a layer of cosmetic conspiracy. Meghan slipped into a familiar outfit she’d taken from the house: a pair of army green cargo capris with a flowy, cream colored v-neck tank and a pair of faintly golden, sparkly ballet flats. Looking in the mirror, she felt better than she had in days. Not bad for half an hour.
She drove to John’s house.
____
“That’s my boy!” Sam reached across the table and John gave him a fist bump.
John was pretty proud of himself for kissing Meghan like that, not to mention that the kiss was still percolating somewhere south of his stomach like bubbles in a boiling kettle. Everything about her had been so raw. He wanted to be a salve on that burn, to smooth it away and keep anyone from making her so upset again. But Meghan had to let him in. Now maybe she knew she needed him.
Sam had listened to the entire story, his expression changing just twice: when John told him about the kiss in the bathroom and the kiss outside the gym. So, the highlights.
“What now?” Sam asked. They were eating lunch in a nearby health food cafe.
John shrugged. “What else can I do?”
The finished their meals and parted ways. John had a plan to relax: find a shady spot in his yard and read every men’s and sports magazine piled on his coffee table. He’d bring a gallon of water and not move till they were done.
He pulled into his driveway and that plan fell apart.
Meghan stood up from her spot on the steps. She was the opposite of herself from earlier that day - showered, dressed and groomed, she looked ready for a date. John’s stomach lurched. He allowed himself one moment to pull it together, clenching the wheel so hard he nearly ripped it from the steering column. When he got out, he forced a casual note into his voice.
“If you keep sitting on my porch, FedEx is going to pick you up.”
She smiled weakly.
“You could have called.”
Meghan tried to be confident, but something about John’s lame humor disarmed her. “I wanted to see you.”
“Because you missed me again?” he asked.
“Because I’m awful and a coward and I can’t make everyone happy.”
John was closer now, two feet away and two steps down. He thought Meghan looked more more regal from this angle. She thought he looked older than his years.
He shook his head. “You’re not any of those things.”
“You haven’t heard why I’m here.”
He tilted his sight line to look right in her eyes. With a deep breath she started saying the words she’d worked out in the car.
“Is there any chance you’d want to go out with me again?”
John could not keep his face from lighting up.
“If,” Meghan held up a hand between them, “we didn’t tell James?”
He took a step back, feet reaching the flagstone walkway that lead to his front door. Date Meghan. Don’t tell James.
“Why?” John asked.
Meghan shrugged. “Same reason as before. I don’t know why the idea of me and someone else makes him so mad, but it does. And in turn he makes everyone else’s life miserable.”
John asked what had been on his mind since Neal’s problem reared its ugly head. It was the common sense solution and frustration showed in his tone. “Can’t he just get over it?”
“You tell me,” she challenged. “He’s killing himself at the gym, going after you, and you saw last night at the party. Obviously he’s not getting over anything.”
“He never will if he doesn’t have to.”
This was the biggest hole in Meghan’s argument. James was a grown man, why was she coddling him? Why the special treatment? It was tough to explain but she tried.
“He’s my friend, John, and I know this hurts him. That’s why he’s being this way. James was never good at reacting. But if there’s a chance that he really has feelings for me, after ten years, I want to be good about it. Even if he’s being a jerk.”
Indecision gnawed at John’s guy, needing to ask the biggest, baddest question. “Do you have feelings for him?
Meghan felt confident answering - that in turning down James’ advances, like his kiss, she had already given her answer. “Not this kind of feeling. That’s why I have to be careful, because I’m telling him no. His best friend, probably the only girl he actually respects or trusts, is turning him down. It needs to be separate from me and you. I’m not saying no to James just because I’m into you.”
“You’re into me,” John repeated.
The corner of her mouth twitched – the first sign of a smile since he arrived. “I am.”
John wanted to pick her up and carry her inside, lock the door and never come out. Then they didn’t have to tell anyone. He’d never have to think about the parts of this that really bothered him. Still, he said, “I don’t like it.”
“I know.” Meghan admitted.
“But I like it better than not having you at all, which I hated,” John went on. “Does it mean we can’t go out and be seen?” A guilty corner of John’s mind, where he stashed his porn and fantasies, was expectedly fine with this idea.
“No. We do anything else we want.”
He arched one eyebrow and asked playfully, “Anything?”
Sensing victory, Meghan moved down one more step. Her mouth was nearly level with John’s as she unleashed her best weapon. “It could be fun,” she said coyly, tugging two fingers at the hem of his t-shirt. “Our own private little game.”
The porn and fantasy department groaned.
“And it’ll help keep things between us… light. We know what this is and when it ends. I don’t want anyone to gets hurt.”
There it was again: the idea of two months. It really had Meghan freaked out. John knew this wasn’t the time to discuss her fear – or that he planned to ignore it and aim for long term. He would show her. Fuck reality, they could figure it out later.
“You know I’m going to do whatever you say,” he admitted.
Meghan slipped her fingers beneath his shirt and rubbed them against the flat of his stomach, just above the waistband of his shorts. It was the most intimately she’d ever touched him.
“Then I promise,” she said quietly, “to make it worth your while.”
Their conversation had lasted eight minutes. It was a personal record hold out for John - and then he caved. They spent a careful moment looking at each other, wondering if they’d said enough and who would be the first to slip up, break a rule in this delicate arrangement.
They met halfway, with lips soft and almost sorry for the deal they were sealing wasn’t the one either really wanted to make. But it was something. Meghan slid her hands down the hard plane of John’s back and right over his ass, then pulled him in with a little oomph. The right hand wandered halfway around his thigh until one palm came to rest on the bulge of his keys in a pocket.
“When we used to date, you invited me inside.”
John laughed, his mouth still touching Meghan’s. He batted her hand away and opened the door. She budged past in a hurry. Every buzzer in his body trilled - does she already want to… no. Meghan went straight for the living room and flopped into the giant chair-and-a-half. It was centered in a pool of golden light from the picture window, pouring over the perfect vision of Meghan lounged out. She pulled John in alongside and swung her legs over his lap.
Meghan was happy to finally be in this chair, and alone with John, and have a clear agreement on where they stood. Two months. No craziness. On your marks, get set….
It started with another soft, slow kiss, the kind shared by people who have nowhere to go all summer. John had one arm around Meghan’s shoulders, holding her close. He let the other hand rest at her waist. Meghan was not so shy - her fingers explored the line of his jaw, the curve of his hairline around his ear. All the while his tongue moved gently over hers, lips catching and tugging, starting a new kiss before the last one ended. His body was impossibly solid, churning out a lustful heat that did not match his hesitant touch.
John didn’t even think about his hands. He was overwhelmed by the curve of Meghan’s backside against his thigh, the length of her legs tossed across his. She smelled so good that he had to follow the scent, taking his lips across her cheek to the soft space below her ear, buying his nose in her hair and his mouth in her neck.
Meghan rose to meet the kiss. Her back arched, fingers knitting into John’s short hair. She may have whimpered. After a minute, her heart rate rising like mercury in a thermometer, she tugged him free.
“John,” she said softly, chiding.
He smiled: a big, proud smile. Meghan giggled in his arms. Her fingers came to rest on his lips, unoccupied as they were for the moment. Suddenly her eyes narrowed, focusing on his. Searching.
“Your eyes are not brown.”
He leaned in closer. “I know.”
“I thought they were,” Meghan turned his chin to one side, examining his irises in the natural light. “‘Cause they’re so dark. But they’re….” Her voice trailed off.
John mouth twitched into a smile. He’d barely passed a second with Meghan that didn’t feel like rushing. Whether competing with James and Steven for her attention or knowing everyone in a restaurant was checking her out, John had shared every moment he’d ever spent with Meghan. Even the few captured behind closed doors, like that kiss in the bathroom at the party, had been hurried by desperation and fear. Everyone was scared of summer racing by and all the tension only made it go faster.
This, though - this felt amazing. Meghan’s hand was on his face, burring over stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave because he didn’t expect to see her today. Her big green eyes were glued to him, looking at him but not into him, and John took the opportunity to look examiner her in return, up close and perfect.
“Green, like mine,” she finally said with surprise. It wasn’t that long ago John had noticed the same brown-green error in his own assessment of her eyes.
“Green-ish,” John said modestly. “Not like yours.” Meghan’s eyes were green like grass, like leaves in summer. They were the color of something beautiful and alive, still growing, always just out of reach. John knew his were more muted, mixed with other hues. Like camouflage.
“I should have seen that before,” Meghan admitted.
“Nah. Plus, pupils dilate when a person finds someone attractive. So how would you know what color my irses are?” he asked. Meghan made a face and John snickered. He was hitting on her - albeit awkwardly - even while she was already sitting in his lap.
“I can see them now. Are you not attracted to me now?” She shifted her weight so it rolled suggestively across his lower body.
John knew his eyes were dilating wider than ever. He closed them and kissed her again, slipping lower into the chair. They made out for an hour - until John stopped being afraid that Meghan would disappear and he’d wake up alone, holding a pillow, twisted in sheets. They kissed and kissed until Meghan could not believe John’s hand never left her waist. This guy had serious will power. She was going to have to work on that.
On ruining that, she meant.
When they finally stopped they didn’t move. Talking in low voices, whispers almost, they talked about anything and everything except James or the end of summer. Books they’d read, movies they liked - unfinished conversations from past dates. John confessed to losing at golf against Sam because he was thinking of her.
“So Sam likes you,” he added.
“We should all go out. I want you to meet my best friend Lucy.”
“Is she like you?”
“Wimpy and impetuous?”
John clicked his tongue, brushing back a piece of Meghan’s hair that had fallen forward during making out. “Beautiful, funny, smart….”
“You’re just saying that ‘cause I’m sitting in your lap,” she tapped a finger to his nose.
“You’re just here for the chair. I saw you eying it last time.”
She laughed and John squeezed her, which turned into more kissing. This time he tightened his hand around the narrowest part of her waist, to keep it from running away.
___
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