“No. I’m not.” His thumb played over the top of my hand, and tingles shot through me despite my reluctance. “My industry is so fake; people say what they want to get who they want. It can get so lonely. I’ve never connected with anyone the way I did with you.”
I could tell him about loneliness. Long, dark nights wishing I could talk to him, but the few times we tried, it was awkward with my parents around, and…well, it wasn’t easy to talk about how we felt, so we agreed to write. And for a while we did, but then the letters dwindled to nothing. Endless years where finances, school, and work prevented me from traveling to California to surprise and eventually confront Ezra.If he’d wanted me, he’d have made the effort, my pride argued with my heart. He had the means to pick up and go wherever he desired. There had been other men for me, of course, but the affairs had led nowhere.
The phone rang, but I let it go to voice mail. All the broken pieces of the past floating around in my head paralyzed me.
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. I’d turned into a solid block of ice and could barely breathe. Maybe it was a delayed reaction to the slight hangover from last night’s two beers. The intensity of Ezra’s eyes captured me, drawing me in like I was his prey. I felt devoured whole. I shivered, goose bumps rising on my arms as if his lips had touched my sensitive skin.
“Roe,” he whispered and tugged my hand.
With my brain on hold, I swayed toward him and fell into his mouth, my body lighting up the moment Ezra’s lips found mine. He grabbed my face, and I dug my hands into the thick of that glorious head of hair and pulled him close. I drank him down as if parched, as if I’d been traveling through a desert for years. His kiss flowed through me, watering my dried-up soul.
“Roe, Roe,” Ezra moaned, and we tumbled into each other’s arms, sucking and licking, our tongues tangling, sliding, rubbing. I couldn’t breathe and pressed my forehead against his. The room spun. He reached for me again.
“Monroe?” A voice pierced through the fog of my lust, and I blinked to awareness. At the door stood my fellow professor and occasional bed partner, Colin Dennis. If ever a portrait would be painted and titledShocked into Silence, Colin could be that model. His mouth hung open, big eyes wide.
I jumped, my chair tipping backward precariously. My arms flailed, pinwheeling until I sat upright, breathing heavily. Ezra grabbed hold of my arm to steady me.
“Let go of me,” I snapped, shaking him off. My heart lurched painfully as Colin turned away. “Colin, wait.” I jumped out of the chair, but he’d already shut the door behind him.
“Shit.” I leaned against the wall. While Colin and I were only casual lovers, and it had been weeks since we were together, I had no desire to hurt someone who’d never been anything but sweet and kind and a good friend.
Ezra pressed against me, his hard body molding to mine. “Forget about him. Where were we?” He kissed down my neck, weakening my resolve, but his words chilled me like a bucket of ice dumped over my head.
Cursing myself over my damn weakness, I shoved him off and hoped the scowl on my face expressed how angry I was. “That’s what you do best, isn’t it? Use people, then forget about them.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Ezra’s shocked expression would have been comical if I wasn’t so disgusted, not only with him, but with myself as well.
“Get out. Colin deserves better than that. I have nothing to say to you. Leave, please.” Amazed how in control and calm I sounded while my insides twisted with desire and my lips still burned, I opened the door and watched his handsome face flush an angry red. Those honey-colored eyes, only moments ago simmering with heat, turned to ice.
“I wasn’t kissing myself, Roe. And get it straight.Iwaited for you. You’re the one who gave up on me.” He grabbed his coat and stormed out, and I quietly closed the door behind him. Silence roared in my ears as fuzzy shadows of people walked past the frosted glass of my door.
What the hell was he talking about? I didn’t give up on him. He was the one who moved away and disappeared. He was the one who stopped answering my letters.
I thumped down heavily in my chair, the towering stacks of files threatening to tip over. I had a quiz to grade, but still I sat, going over the kiss in excruciating detail, my humiliation rising with each passing moment. I touched my slightly swollen lips. Damn Ezra for thinking he could come in here and I’d give it up to him so easily.
But you did. And you’d do it again. You know you would.
“Shut up,” I muttered to myself and rubbed my hands over my face as if I could wipe off the embarrassment.
Why did it bother me after all these years? High school was finished, and so were my feelings for Ezra. I had little time to dwell on a crush over a man I no longer knew.
And yet, it didn’t keep me from sitting behind my desk for a good part of the afternoon, staring out the window, remembering the kisses of a boy I’d once loved.
Chapter Three
I sat in the third row of the conference room at the 92nd St. Y, waiting for Dr. Joanna Lawrence to make her entrance. The room swelled with people, and I considered myself lucky she’d signed with me for the movie rights. I’d read her book,The Fear of Being Irrelevant, and had gotten that itchy feeling that it would be a major hit. I was right. It soared to number one on theNew York Timesbestseller list its first week and had held steady in the top ten for a month. I was now negotiating with three different movie studios to bring it to production.
A young man with curly blond hair took the podium. “Good evening, everyone. We’d planned to have Dr. Lawrence introduced by one of her former professors, but unfortunately Dr. Skylar missed her flight, so we were lucky another contemporary of hers agreed to step up to the plate and moderate the discussion. Please welcome Dr. Monroe Friedman, adjunct professor of psychology at the City University of New York. Dr. Monroe teaches college-level courses in psychology, has published numerous articles on anxiety and depression, and specializes in grief counseling.”
A polite smattering of applause greeted Roe as he took the stage, and I drank in the sight of him. It had been two weeks since that unpleasant encounter in his office. Two weeks that found me acting out my anger by hitting the party scene hard. I’d fucked guys whose names I couldn’t be bothered to find out, thinking it would help me forget, but all it did was draw a bright comparison between kissing someone I’d never remember and the man I couldn’t forget.
In a charcoal-gray suit with a bright blue-and-green striped tie, Monroe could easily be one of my top-model clients gracing the cover of a men’s fashion magazine. He gave a smile of greeting, and I watched his lips move, wanting them pressed against mine again.
Damn.
I rubbed my face and struggled to pay attention to what he said.
“Good evening, and welcome. Thank you to the Ninety-second Street Y for that wonderful introduction. I’m here to celebrate the success of Dr. Lawrence and her marvelous book.”
