A sound, distant and faint, pulls me from sleep.

My slowly focusing senses finally identify what woke me. Oh crap, the cordless phone in the kitchen. I never went to Seattle. I never called Neil.

I check the clock on the nightstand and it’s after midnight. I lift my face from Alan’s chest and ease away from him. I gaze down at him, blinking. It still feels just enough unreal that he’s here in my condo in Berkeley that I almost can’t take my eyes off of him.

After the second time we made love, Alan fell asleep quickly. I stared at him for hours afterwards before sleep finally made me stop doing it.

There’s enough light in the bedroom that I can see the perfect lines of Alan’s face. He looks so peaceful in sleep right now, younger and less intimidating than he did when he brushed past me into the condo yesterday. I want to run my fingers along his features, and memorize, with my touch, how he looks at this moment. But I don’t want to wake him.

I slip from the bed, take Alan’s shirt from the floor, and tug it in place as I quietly go from the bedroom to the kitchen.

I grab the cordless from the counter and click it on. I slide downward, my back against the counter to sit on the floor. “Hello?”

“Chrissie…” is said in a long, amused, aggravated growl. Neil. Silence. Then, “What happened?”

I scrunch my nose. “I missed my plane.”

Laughter. “Obviously. I waited at the airport for two hours before I figured that one out. What happened?”

The tension uncurls, just a smidge, from my body. He isn’t angry.

“Do you want to hear the highlights or the lowlights?”

“Oh, definitely the lowlights,” he says, amused.

“I drank too much last night and passed out on the couch. I woke up late. Can we just leave it at that?”

Neil laughs. “If you want to.”

I definitely want to, I think to myself, feeling really shitty, even though we have an understanding. An expressed understanding. When we’re not together, it means we’re not together.

Neil’s rule, not mine, delivered before I left Seattle, surprisingly tucked into an overly long non-Neil like discussion about how he doesn’t want me ruining my college years waiting on a guy who spends most of his life on the road. It was just a touch arrogant. A touch conceited. Totally Neil. Totally sweet.

My fingers tighten around the receiver.

“Why didn’t you call?” he asks. “I’ve been worried.”

“Trying to figure out how to fix everything. Then I fell asleep.”

“You’re still coming right?”

“In a few days. There are some things I should really take care of.”

“Chrissie.” Another growl. “I want you here now.”

I laugh, but I don’t feel like laughing. “I’ll be there soon.”

“Call me with your flight info.”

“OK.”

“Night, Chrissie.”

Click.

I hold the phone in my hands and just stare at it. I spring to my feet, turn the ringer off on the cordless, grab a glass of ice water, and leave the kitchen.

When I enter the bedroom, I freeze. The light is on and Alan is sitting up in bed, smoking.

“A little late for someone to call. Everything all right?”

I tense, searching his eyes, wondering if he could hear me from the kitchen. “That was Neil. He wanted to know why I never made it to Seattle today.”

“What did you tell him?”

I shrug. “That I missed my plane.”

Alan stares. “Why is he in Seattle?”

“Work. He doesn’t live with me anymore.”

I climb onto the bed and sit facing him.

His eyes soften with amusement. “What is he? A broke musician?”

There’s enough edge in the way he says it that it should piss me off, but it doesn’t.

“A brilliant, broke musician.”

Alan laughs. “I wouldn’t have expected anything less if he’s got you interested, Chrissie.” His finger lightly traces my cheek. He leans into me. “Give us a kiss, love. You were gone too long.”

I melt into him, into the play of his fingers, the feel of his lips, but he holds the space between us. His mouth leaves mine in a slow disconnect, and then he pulls back the rest of his body.

“So what’s he like?” Alan asks.

My heart stops in my chest. I can’t believe Alan just asked me that.

“Neil?” I repeat stupidly.

Alan lights another cigarette. He laughs, amused. “Yes, Neil. What’s he like?”

I shrug. “The exact opposite of you. Very low key. Outdoorsy. Likes to surf.”

He watches me, unruffled. “Did you meet him in Berkeley?”

“No. Santa Barbara.”

“Before or after me?”

I have to give it thought. “The same night I met you. We bumped into each other on campus and have been sort of hanging out together ever since.”

I put my water on the nightstand. God that sounded lame.

Alan laughs. “Why is it the girls who are everything wrong for you are the ones you cannot forget? He probably couldn’t forget you either, and bumped into you on purpose. You’re probably all wrong for him, too.”

My body grows cold and I fight to keep from my face that that jab hurt me.

“Why do you think I’m everything wrong for you?”

He takes me in his arms and moves me until I’m curled in bed beside him, my head and arm on his chest. “Because you won’t run away with me,” he whispers, and I know the voice, the silky ribbons of theatrics. “Tell me you will and we can leave Berkeley together.”

I feel his words in my center, but my calm inside suddenly vanishes and I’m messy again. This night has been so much more for me than I thought it would be, and it hurts how much I wish I could leave here with Alan.

“You look really good, Alan. Better than you did…”

I break off unable to finish.  My eyes do a fast float over him. I pause at the ink on his wrist. I don’t recognize it as part of each detail of Alan I carry in my memory.

I trace it with a finger. I’m not sure what it is and I don’t remember it. “Is this new?”

“New. I got it last year. After you.”

I run the line with my finger again. I look up at him. “What is it?”

He closes his eyes and laughs. “You don’t recognize it?”

I frown. “It looks like barbwire, but it’s too fragile and the artist forgot the spikes.”

“Infinity symbols. The artist made them the exact size of the clasp on your bracelet.”

My eyes fly wide. Into my silence he just stares; beautiful, enigmatic and sad.

He lifts a curl from my face. “Linda gave me the bracelet to return to you when we left The Farm. I kept it. It was the only thing you left behind in New York.”

He pulls his shirt from my body and his fingers start moving along my arms, then tracing and touching everywhere. My lips. My neck. My breasts. Stomach. Lower. Even my scars. Everywhere. His mouth begins a slow trek. My nipples harden in urgent anticipation as I’m bathed in the exquisite slowness of  Alan making love to me.

My mouth presses against his flesh, kissing randomly and not caring where. I run my hands up his powerfully muscled arms. I kiss his wrist. “I like the new ink.”

His face changes. “I hate it. It makes me think of you, and I don’t want to.”

His mouth closes over mine, trapping my words within me before I can answer him. I feel his flesh searching at my sex, then buried deep within me. The feeling of him inside me is overpowering this time. I arch up, meeting him, pushing him deep inside of me.

He lifts his face above me and his eyes are blazing. “It’s the only thing you left behind in New York other than me.” Then I’m held tightly beneath him, and he is pounding into me.  My heated blood moves through my body. I writhe. He isn’t gentle, but there’s no pain. There’s nothing in my body, my veins, or my senses, except Alan.

~~~

I lie on Alan’s chest, wishing away the soon to come daylight.

His arms tighten around me. “I’ve been out of my mind since you walked out on me in New York.”

I lift my face. “I didn’t walk out on you. Stop saying that. I told you that when I left New York. I had to go back to Santa Barbara. I wasn’t leaving you.”