I stop myself. Stop thinking about Jackson, I command myself. There is no more Jackson. There never was a Jackson. He was just a figment of my imagination—an amazing, gorgeous and mysterious figment that evaporated once night became day.
Brent is definitely more my speed. I can totally picture him at Sunday brunch with my family, fitting right in with Mom and Dad.
Sabrina might make fun of his tucked-in T-shirts, but she’d also give him props for his quick intelligence and Mom and Dad would love him for his vast knowledge of the workings of non-profits.
He’s cute, in an every-man kind of way. He’s the kind of guy who sunburns easily and has never played a contact sport in his life—not that those are bad things. Brent’s goal in life is to make positive change to the world, not line the pockets of investors or build yet another luxury fill-in-the-blank for the superrich like someone I know. Brent is what most people, including my dad, would call a good guy.
And what’s wrong with being a good guy?
As I look at his cell phone number, I think about calling him. Should I invite him out for a drink? Or maybe something low pressure, like a coffee? As I’m considering what I should do—if anything—my phone rings.
For the briefest of a millisecond, I think it might be Jackson and the feeling of my heartbeat speeding up and the butterflies in my stomach, hurts. Especially when I see that of course it’s not him. Will never be him.
“Hi Ems,” Natalie from my School Law class says. “What are you up to?”
“Working on a paper,” I say. I push Brent’s phone number across my desk.
“On a Saturday night? Wow, you’re really living it up.”
“Try not to be jealous,” I say. “What’s up?”
“If you’re too busy working, I understand,” Natalie says. “But I’m headed to a party in Cambridge and my roommate just bailed on me. I wouldn’t mind going alone but I don’t know anyone and this guy I really like is going to be there so…”
“So I’m your second choice?” I tease her. Natalie and I are more like campus friends. We’ve only hung out a couple of times outside of school, and even that has revolved around studying or school issues. But I like her. She doesn’t take things too seriously.
“You’re my first choice wingman. What do you say? Can you break away for a couple of hours?”
I look back to Brent’s phone number. It’s not Brent I want or need, just someone. I need a full body and mind rinse from you-know-who. So I agree to go. Because I’m due for a little breakaway.
The party is fine. It’s a graduate party, so there’s more wine than beer, more political talk than Hollywood gossip. The food is better too. And there’s a guy. His name is Nick or Mick, I’m not sure.
He tells me the party was a bore until I showed up and that I’m the prettiest one there.
I feel nothing as he compliments me. He asks me to put my number in his phone, and I do…although I may have accidentally-on-purpose typed in the number wrong. Maybe that was mean but he’s so eager—maybe it’s that eagerness that turns me off. It smells of desperation. Jackson would never do that.
He slips into my mind that quickly, without warning, and without any control. I tell Natalie I want to get another hour of work done tonight, and the disappointed look she gives me fills me with guilt.
By Monday, I’m determined to truly make a change. Be bolder in my social life.
Brent calls me to stay after class later that week.
“Hey,” I say at the front of the class. “What’s up? You got my paper, right?”
“Yeah, I got it,” he says. He runs his palms down the front of his jeans like he’s drying them off. Wait, is he sweating? Does he have sweaty palms? He watches nervously as the students leave the room, waiting until the last one has gone.
“Everything okay?” I ask, worried that I accidentally emailed the wrong document and Professor Stanwick got some random…I don’t know what. But Brent’s anxiety has me nervous.
“Yeah, it’s great,” he says. Finally the door to the classroom shuts and he looks back to me. “I know you’ve been working on the CEF luncheon later this week.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ve done some mailings and phone calls. Basic stuff.”
“You know how the university has partnered with CEF for the mentoring program? Well, since I’m a T.A. I got two tickets. I guess they feel bad for paying me so little.” He laughs nervously. “How about if you go with me? You could give me the insider’s view of what CEF’s future programs look, especially in coordination with the graduate program.”
I pause, surprised. I’m not sure if he’s asking me as his date or as a colleague. I suppose it doesn’t matter. This is what I need. I need to be social, and being social in a charitable way is right up my alley. It might be fun to have a good lunch with Brent, talk about our goals and the future of education. It might also help me finally dust off the last remnants of Jackson Croft.
“Yeah, that’d be great,” I say. “I’d love to.”
“Great,” he says, beaming. “Do you want me to pick you up, or…? I don’t have a car but I can get a cab—”
“Let’s just meet in the lobby and we can walk in together. Sound good?”
“Perfect,” he says. “Awesome, I’ll see you then. Can’t wait.”
As I head home, I feel lighter. Finally, I’m getting my head on straight again.
Jackson
“So you grew up here in Boston?”
“Yes, Louisburg Square,” she says. I think her name is…Gwyneth? Genevieve? Yes, Genevieve, that’s it. She is slim, blond, well spoken and well educated. She can taste the difference between the Malbec wine and the Carménère.
She dresses with sophisticated ease and, since we’re on a date, only the most tasteful amount of cleavage is showing. In short, she’s exactly the kind of woman I need for my future. She looks the part and won’t distract me from my job.
Unfortunately, I’m bored out of my mind. It’s no fault of Genevieve’s, sweet as she is. Perhaps I shouldn’t have brought her to Prime & Tender.
“The home has been in our family for generations,” she continues. “It’ll be passed to me once my children are of school age.”
“But first you have to have those children,” I say.
“Of course,” Genevieve says, blushing. “And the husband. It all has to line up.”
“That’s something I can understand.” I’m trying so hard to make myself feel something. This woman is everything I need, and she’s practically telling me that I’m what she needs as well. An arrangement like this—both of us getting exactly what we require—is pretty common.
Love isn’t what matters, it’s the union that counts. Our two families coming together would be the biggest thing to happen in New England society since my father married Sylvia Cornwell of the Connecticut Cornwells.
But my eyes keep drifting over to the closed door that leads to the private room. I keep seeing Emily, her eyes looking into mine as she came on my mouth. I can feel her flesh beneath my hands, holding her tighter, my fingers digging into her skin as she muffled the cry she’d been desperate to release as her hips jerked. I tried to hold her down, riding out her orgasm and keeping my tongue working over her pumping clit until the very last drop. The way she said my name like a moan of desperation…