“Why aren’t you with him?” Darla said, her face suddenly serious. Those big green eyes went all innocent and sad, reminding Josie of how Darla had looked that day. How she had questioned Mrs. Humboldt about being dragged home to pack a bag, how her face had been so cherubic, and sweet, and needy.
“Because he thinks I did something unethical, and was a jerk before I had the chance to explain.”
“Ooooooh. Ouch.”
“Yeah, ouch.” Tears filled Josie’s eyes as the reality of what she said really sank in.
“You really love him, don’t you?” Darla said softly. The empathy in her tone made Josie’s tears spill over her lower lids and pour down her cheeks.
“I don’t know what I feel for him.”
“I do. It’s called love. You never cry over guys.”
“I cried over Davey Rockland.”
“That’s because he drove over your foot when he was learning how to drive his go-kart.”
They laughed, Josie wiping the tears away. “Alex did the equivalent with my heart. His grandfather is one of the Alzheimer’s patients in the trial I work on. Worked on.” She faltered. Tendering her resignation hadn’t been easy. Gian had taken it gracefully.
“And?”
“And I tried to tell him I thought his grandfather might not be receiving the drug that was helping other patients, and to get a second opinion, and he freaked on me. Went on about professional ethics and putting the research trial in jeopardy.”
“Is he that kind of guy?”
“What kind?”
“The freak-out kind?”
The question stumped her. “No, actually. He’s not.”
“So maybe there’s more going on with him than you know about.”
“He made fun of me for not being a doctor.”
“Ouch.” Darla drank her tea. “But is that enough to give up?”
“It appears to be for him. He hasn’t contacted me at all. It’s been weeks.”
A long sigh from Darla made the tears spring back. It was the sound of resignation, of defeat, and it echoed inside Josie’s heart.
“If it’s over, you need to move on.”
“I know.”
“If not…then you need to try one more time.”
“I don’t think my heart can handle being crushed again.”
“You handled being run over twice by Davey.” Darla’s chest shook with giggles.
“That was my foot. My heart isn’t quite as resilient.”
“And Alex isn’t Davey.”
“Dear God, no. What an ass he was. How any grown woman would consider dating him...” Josie shivered. Darla’s face went a strange shade of green.
Both yawned simultaneously.
Josie said, “I’m taking a nap.” Sleep would give her a break from her never-ending questioning.
Her only break.
She straddled a cello, her fingers wrapped around the bow, her arm playing expertly as her nude body bent into the instrument, legs wrapped around the edges of the veneered wood, her skin melding into the stringed wonder as if she were making love to it. Hair wild and untamed, her br**sts pressed into the back of the cello, she felt the music well up from her fingers, her elbow, her arm, her mind as if emanating from her core. Wet and ready for something greater than herself, her ni**les slid with a friction of cl**ax against the grain of the wood, body heated by a thick wall of muscle behind her, peppered with a sprinkling of ticklish hair. Thick thighs cupped her h*ps and ass, a hard, throbbing erection urgent against her cleft, his heart beat the metronome by which she timed her skillful playing.
Hands stroked her waist, sliding up her ribcage, fingers pinching her ni**les as she struggled to maintain composure, her body working from muscle memory to play the song, her core clenching and flushing in aroused agony as his hot breath tickled her shoulder, his mouth ravaged her earlobe, his c**k nudged her ass.
Play she did, in fury and unabashed glory, his hands settling in the valley of her heat, wetness slicking fingers that began to stroke her in time to the macrobeat, sweet love coming through each caress until the final crescendo ended the song, the cello flung across the room by rippling forearms that splintered it as it slammed into the wall, her body next, his enormity filling her, piercing her, impaling her with a sliding immediacy, hands filled with her flesh as her legs gripped his hips, mouths finding each other, the hot pink nub of her cl*t now thrusting against his pelvis as he hammered his own beat into her.
Alex alex alex she hummed in three-four time, his c**k the bow that played her strings, his h*ps the wood grain veneer, his neck the instrument's neck, his mouth her score. He was the conductor, the composer, the creator and her god...
And then she woke up, pelvis thrusting up into empty air, her pu**y walls twitching against flesh that wasn't there, palms aching for a hot man who was only in her dream, the sinister mistress of memory spinning with her slumber to conjure a man she had no right to touch now.
Tortured and gasping, her limbs arched and then curved inward, Josie panted into the twilight, throat tight and fingers wet with her scent. Whatever she said in broad daylight did not matter; her body betrayed her, seeking what she really needed.
Alex.
The tears came then, slamming into her as hard as her unsought orgasm, choking and loud, as much a release as her dreamed cl**ax, yet not so sweet.
The cat was the first clue. Josie had joined him in a ray of sunshine that poured in between the front window’s curtains, and as she sat there, eyes closed, face tipped up to the sun, she took a sip of coffee and nearly choked on it. Pulling up with its front paw pads, the cat practically scaled the window until it was stretched out, lean and graceful, its nose pressed against the glass. What is he looking at, she wondered, and then saw the runner rounding the park across the street. The cat’s eyes tracked it, and Josie joined in. The runner’s long legs, strong and muscled, wearing shorts and a tank in the cool early morning. She knew before she even set eyes on his face that it was Alex, and when he glanced over at her window, that confirmed it. She looked away quickly so their eyes wouldn’t meet, not wanting him to know she was watching him, and certainly not wanting him to realize that she knew he was watching her.
An uncomfortable ball of regret, and chaos, and anger, and disappointment tumbled inside her stomach like a rough piece of granite being polished into something unrecognizable from its raw material. It wouldn’t settle no matter how much acidic coffee she added to it, drinking it furiously, and wanting, for an inexplicable reason, to kick the cat. She never would, of course. And as if paying penance for the thought, she reached over and pulled the animal into her lap, stroking its fur, both of them tilting their heads to the right as Alex raced by. She craned her neck around, and at that point the cat sauntered away, its need for petting sated. Oh, how jealous Josie was. If only her needs were that simple.