I answer the call with a curt, “Hello?”
A long pause stretches before Nolan says my name in a startled tone that tells me he wasn’t expecting me to answer any more than I was planning to.
He clears his throat twice before saying, “Hi.”
“Why are you calling?” I’m proud of how assertive I sound.
“I, uh, I just…”
I nearly smile, listening to Nolan fumble for an excuse. We didn’t part on ambiguous terms. I was very clear our relationship was over, and the extent of our communication since has been me ignoring his attempts to talk to me. He hasn’t had to justify the pestering since.
“I’m in the middle of something,” I say impatiently. “What is it?”
“Why’d you answer if you were busy?” Nolan shoots back, finally locating his usual petulance.
“Because I’m sick of you calling and texting! We broke up, Nolan. We’re done. Over. Finished. What else do you want to talk about?”
“You don’t really mean it,” he says, sounding very much like a child who had a toy taken away. A distracted toy that never gave him the attention he wanted. Until now, when my limited attention is apparently better than none.
“I do mean it. I…” I plan to add more, but the warm pressure of Otto’s palm landing on my bare knee steals the rest of the sentence.
My eyes fly to Otto. He’s already watching me, one cheek creased with a dimple.
I feel my pulse everywhere. My fingertips. My knees. Between my thighs.
I try again. “I told you before I left campus that we were over.”
Otto’s thumb moves, rubbing tiny circles. It’s innocent. I’ve never ever thought of my knee as a sexy spot. But I’m already so wet that I can feel my underwear clinging.
Nolan’s talking again, but I’m not listening to a word. It sounds garbled, like I’m underwater and he’s above the surface.
Otto’s hand is sliding higher up my thigh. Slowly, so slow that I want to grab his hand and yank it higher. I feel dizzy, sucking in an unsteady breath.
Okay?Otto mouths, watching my expression carefully.
I nod rapidly, and he grins.
“Claire!” Nolan’s annoying voice cuts through the blissful haze.
Otto’s palm is halfway up my thigh now.
Our cab driver is oblivious to anything happening in the back seat, awash in shadows, talking in rapid French on the phone. The radio is on, playing a pop song with foreign lyrics. Horns honk around us.
I spend a lot of time recalling the past. Worrying about the future. Right now, I’m entirely consumed by the present.
His hand is under the hem of my dress, pulling it an inch higher and revealing the paler skin usually covered by my soccer shorts. I track its progress like it’s the most fascinating sight I’ve ever seen. I better understand what Otto said earlier, about not being able to stop. I don’t care about anything except him continuing to touch me.
“I don’t want to talk to you, Nolan. Keep calling, I’ll block your number.”
I hang up the phone without waiting for a response. Roll my head to look at Otto.
We stare at each other.
His hand is still. About three inches from where I really want him to touch me.
“Can we go somewhere else?” I whisper. “Somewhere we won’t have to stop?”
Otto holds my gaze. “Are you sure?”
