And oh, God. All I keep seeing in my head is the look on Nate’s face. Panic bubbles up in my throat, and I start to cry. I’m not just crying, either, I’m emoting loud harsh sobs and hyperventilating into a plastic potted plant in the lobby.
Somewhere behind me the doors to the party room open and the noise of music and laughter spill out. I need to get out of here before anyone catches me out here. I need about twenty years away from the people in my office to forget this night, and I doubt that would even be a long enough time.
I run out into the courtyard and through the garden to where the parking attendants stand waiting. There are three men standing there, two are in valet outfits, but I wave them away since I didn’t drive here. The third man is dressed head to toe in deep red, with horns at the top of his head that curl up to the ink-black sky.
The topaz flash of Dex’s eyes catch mine, and my heart thunders wildly. Both of us stand rigid, still, full of humiliation and thick smothering embarrassment. I have never felt so ashamed.
I’m utterly mortified and I can’t see any way this will ever turn out okay. I can almost smell his panic and horror from here.
I lower my eyes, unable to look at him, and then I run. I bolt across the parking lot and out into the street in a mad dash to put as much distance as I can between us.
He doesn’t chase after me. I mean, I get it, why would he? He thought I was Julia. That’s who he wanted. He must feel awful finding out it was just me.
Dex wants Julia. Nate wants Julia. I bet Heath wants her too.
Nobody seems to want Plain Jane.
I walk the twenty-eight blocks it takes to get to my apartment. I’m still wearing this stupid outrageous outfit, but I’ve peeled and clawed the mask off. I don’t even get any strange looks. It’s like they expect someone like me to be dressed the way I am walking down the streets of New York City.
Once inside, I rip off my dress and wash theDexoff me. The shower can’t get hot enough, and I basically use every ounce of soap in my arsenal. I emerge from my shower a raisin.
A sated raisin.
I thump my forehead against the mirror that hangs on the bathroom door. That arrogant dickhead, motherfucker gave metwoof the most intense orgasms of my life, and I’m never going to be able to say that out loud. Ever.
I wrap myself in a towel and run another one over my hair. Soon I’m going to have to face reality; I suspect there are a ton of calls on my cell phone about the whole Devil Dicking Debacle. They’re probably mostly from Julia, worried sick over me.
I’m worried about me. While I was under the spray in the shower, I fantasized about moving to Alaska, or Canada even. Somewhere cold, where no one knows who I am or what a screw-up I seem to be.
I dump out my purse to find my phone, but when I do, I just stare blankly at it. There aren’t any messages. No texts. No notifications. Nothing. I’m stunned.
A sudden, loud slam echoes through my apartment.
I wrap the towel tighter around my body and leap quickly into the kitchen. Cold drips fall from my damp hair running shivers down my spine. The noise could be from anywhere. There are ten apartments on this floor and the same amount on the floors above and below, but this slam sounded like it was inside mine. I grab the biggest knife I can. It’s a regular steak knife, but at least it’s something.
Quietly, I pad through all my rooms, looking around every corner, but I’m still alone. I tear back through each room, thinking something fell or something, and then I hear it. An,“Oh, God, yes.”
Then another loud thump.
“Oh God, yes. Yes!”
And a harder thump, thump, thump.
I stand in the middle of my living room and star at the wall. The knife slips from my fingers. So does my phone.
“Yeah, baby. Harder, fuck me harder.”
The framed prints of vintage magazine covers that hang on my wall vibrate with the sounds and thumps of Nate and Julia who must be screwing on her couch no more than ten feet away from me.
I stare at the wall some more.
Thump. Thump. Thump-thump-thump-thump.
“Just like that, yeah. Yeah.”In between, there’s some inaudible mumbles.“This way. Here. Yeah, like that. Oh, God-oh-god-oh-god-oh-god.”
Underneath Julia’s porn soundtrack, Nate’s low rumbling moans gut me. They send fire across my chest and make my stomach flip over each time they rumble through the room.
I kneel on my couch and touch one palm flat on the wall and then the other. The pounding reverberates through my hand and up my arms as he slams into Julia on the other side of the wall.
