Floor Time (17 page)

Jesus Gordon, you are really an expert at letting the good ones get away.

He shook his head. Suzanne pulled back from his embrace and stared at him, suspicion in her eyes.

"Okay Jack, who is she?"

He glared at her. "What? Don't you work here? I'm telling your boss you're fraternizing with customers." He turned back around and leaned on his elbows so she would stop staring at him.

Evan got a fresh glass, filled it to the brim and put it in front of him. Suzanne had a knack for figuring out what was wrong with someone, sometimes even before they did. Jack slammed the second beer back and she caught his eye. Evan put a glass of ice water down on the bar.

"Chaser," he muttered.

"Thanks." He looked up at the industrial ceiling. "So, I have two different women wanting me to meet them out tonight," he began. Suzanne snorted in disgust.

"And your point is what," Evan made a swipe at the bar.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" Jack asked the ceiling. "I mean she's a colleague for Christ's sake, nearly ten years younger than me." He watched his friends exchange a look.

Jack ran a hand down his face. "One more," he pushed the empty glass towards Evan. "But only if you join me."

Evan poured three beers. Jack raised his. "Here's to being nearly forty, gainfully employed, and alone."

"And rich as God, don't forget that. Oh, and with a black book any man would murder for." Evan clinked his glass against Jack's.

"And a jerk, don't forget that." Suzanne joined them and smiled as Jack rolled his eyes. "You know, you're supposed to savor this beer, boys. It's not PBR." She took Jack's face between her hands and forced him to look at her. He squinted and acknowledged he probably should slow down a little after a double bourbon and three strong beers on an empty stomach.

"I don't know what your problem is Gordon, or who this colleague is that's got you tied up in knots but don't sell yourself short because you're 'alone'." She gave him a soft kiss on the lips. "Sometimes 'alone' isn't a bad way to be. Something you ought to get better at maybe. Keep yourself out of trouble that way." She stood and took her pint glass with her. "I gotta work. You boys carry on without me but try to behave."

Jack watched her walk around to the far end of the bar. "We both missed the boat with that one." He turned to Evan. "What the fuck was your problem? I mean, I understand my own commitment phobia but you. . ." Jack trailed off and finished off his third brew.

"Oh, wait, I know, you've got that uber smoking hot beer sales chick now, don't you?" Jack pointed at Evan. "You slam dunked on that one."

"Yeah, Julie is great," Evan admitted. "But what the hell is with you man?"

"Oh, fuck, I don't know," Jack stared at the baseball game on the TV behind his friend. "This girl, she's up in my head in a way I. . ." He ran a hand down his face. "She's perfect for me. Driven, focused, not clingy, a goddamned tiger between the sheets, and independent as hell. The whole package."

"Uh, yeah, and you're here getting drunk with me on a summer night why exactly?"

Evan refilled his water glass. "Wait, is this the one you were jacking off over on our Up North trip? Holy shit, that one?" He laughed as Jack nodded. "Jesus dude, I haven't seen you this worked up since sixth grade. You aren't thinking of doing anything stupid are you?" Evan frowned at him.

"Hey, you haven't…." he looked around. "She's not…oh fuck. She is, isn't she?" Evan sucked back half his beer and stared at Jack. "Look, Jack. I don't know if you realize this but you've got that look. You know. The one you get when," He looked over Jack's shoulder again. "You do know Julie and I," Jack stared into his friend's eyes. "We, ah, joined the club again. Downtown. I mean, if you want to come back."

"No, no, it's not like that." He closed his eyes.
Never again.
"She's pretty amazing but not…I mean, I can't."

Evan raised an eyebrow. The two men had spent several years in high demand as Masters at an exclusive downtown club. Jack knew the guy had read him. It was built into their DNA. He put his head on his arms. "I won't." he muttered.

Evan slapped his shoulder. "That's cool. But you should know that I am having a kick ass time getting back into it." He kept his voice low. "And I can read you like a fucking book Gordon. It's back. You should go with it."

Jack glanced at his phone for hundredth time, noted somewhat blearily that he had another text from some woman he couldn't even remember. Apparently he'd gone down on her in such a memorable way that she wanted more, tonight, if possible. He threw the phone onto the bar's surface and made his way to the men's room. When he returned, he'd somehow become attached to a tall, exotic looking woman. Evan raised an eyebrow and Jack shrugged.

"Let me buy, um, what did you say your name was honey," Jack leaned into her neck and she giggled. Her body was the opposite of Sara's -- tall, angular, sharp.

"Okay Jack, let's have one more and call it a night." Jack pulled a chair near his and stared hard at the woman who took a seat in it.

"Hey, you know, you are hot, but.," Jack leaned away and grabbed his phone. "Damn. What the fuck is her problem anyway," he threw the device back down on the concrete surface. Evan pulled the beer away from him.

"Hey buddy, have you eaten much today?" He put the water glass in its place.

"So, Jack, what's her name?" Suzanne ignored the very drunk, very tall woman leaning on Jack's shoulder.

"Sara," he said into the woman's hair. She lifted her head and crashed right into Jack's face. "Jesus!" He clutched at his nose.

"Hey, my name's Heather, asshole," she smiled at him.

"Sara Thornton," he said to Suzanne, ignoring the woman glaring at him.

Suzanne frowned.

"Yeah, sorry sweets. Blake's sister." He had his arm back around Heather and his lips on her neck. Evan burst out laughing. Suzanne's face reddened. "Small world, eh?" She opened her mouth to speak. "Whoa baby, whoa," Jack removed Heather's hand as it settled on his zipper. She giggled and tried to kiss him but he turned away. Suzanne stomped off.

Evan came around from behind the bar and pulled Jack out of her clutches. "Okay, let's call it a night, eh kids?" He helped Jack to his feet. "I've called a cab for you Gordon, and one for you too dear." He flashed a smile at the woman still sitting dejectedly at the bar.

"Thanks, sorry, I…um, thanks." Jack was no lightweight. But something had happened to him tonight he could not explain. He was drunk, but misery settled around his heart. Until he had a thought.

"It's not like you haven't done the same for me you know." Evan guided Jack out to the waiting taxi, making sure Heather did not climb in next to him. He gave the cab driver Jack's address and slammed the door shut but leaned into the open window and grabbed Jack's shoulder. "Go home, sleep it off, we'll talk more tomorrow."

The distinct odor of taxi pierced Jack's beer foggy brain. He gave the cabbie an address that was not his and fell back against the seat, unsure yet utterly content at the same time.

Sara sipped her wine as her favorite playlist blasted through the condo. She tapped around on the laptop, killing time on blogs and Facebook, bragging about her latest real estate triumphs, bullshitting about how great she felt right now. She glanced at the nearly empty bottle on the coffee table.

Wow, way to be a loser and drink nearly an entire bottle by yourself.

Setting the computer aside, she took the almost empty bottle into the kitchen. Ignoring the mess she found a spot for the bottle and glass. As she reached for a water bottle a loud prolonged banging on her door caused her to knock her not-quite-empty glass to the floor, shattering it and sending dark purple liquid flying across the room.

"Shit," She stared at the mess in disbelief as the knocking continued.

Who the hell?

"Coming already, keep your pants on. Ow! Christ!" She yelped at sudden pain in her foot, hopped over to the door and glared out of the peephole. Jack leaned on the pillar outside her condo, a wide grin on his face. Her scalp prickled even and she leaned her head against the door.

Don't let him in. . .don't let him in. . .don't let him in. . .

She unlatched the door, and opened it a crack.

 "What do you want?"

He put a hand on the doorjamb. She could smell the beer on him. "Oh, I was just in the neighborhood, and thought I'd stop in."

Sara peered behind him. "What did you do, walk?" she demanded.

"Nope, taxi," he put his other hand out to cup her chin. Sara shivered at his touch. "May I come in?"

"Only if you help clean up the mess you caused." She swung the door open. He was drunk, but her foot hurt and was bleeding and she didn't feel like standing here arguing with him. Turning back to the small dining area, she hobbled over to the table, sat and inspected the glass sticking out from her arch. The place was a wreck, as usual, but fuck him if he cared. She didn't. As she prepared to yank out the shard Jack's large hand covered hers.

"Wait, babe, where's your first aid stuff," he insisted, striding into the kitchen as if he owned it. "You don't want to do that until you have a Band-Aid handy." He started to open drawers and doors. She frowned as he grabbed a paper towel and ran it under the faucet before returning to sit in front of her, bandage, paper towel and ancient tube of first aid cream in hand. "Here, let me," he brushed her hand away. Sara stared at him, then sat back and let him put her foot on his lap, ignoring the zinging sensations his touch always caused. He removed the shard, pressed the wet towel over the cut. She bit her lip against the pain. A contented feeling settled over her like a blanket at the concept of him, helping her, taking care of her. She'd always pictured herself in an equal partnership with a man someday, had never fantasized about being coddled or "taken care of." She had to remind herself to breathe over the extreme compulsions to climb up into his lap.

They sat in silence as his large masculine presence overpowered her small, chaotic space. After a minute, he removed the bloody towel, spread some of ointment on the bandage and placed it over her arch, then ran a hand across the top of her foot and up her calf. She bent her leg and let him, relishing his nearness, before she snapped to and yanked her foot off his lap. Her every nerve ending commanded her to wrap herself around him, feel him, kiss him; anything to keep him here.         

No, Sara, get a fucking grip! Go clean up the mess and get him out of here.

She turned towards the kitchen without a word, determined to get the spill and glass cleaned up and ignore him until he told her why he was here in the middle of the night.

"Um, Sara," he muttered.

"What?" It came out harsher than she wanted.

"You might want to put on some shoes or something." He indicated the glass shards twinkling on the white linoleum floor. Sara squeezed her eyes shut to keep from speaking. "You're welcome, by the way," Jack said as he followed her into the least-used room in her home.

"Thanks," she muttered as she found a pair of flip-flops, her broom and dustpan, and started sweeping up the worst of the glass. Jack walked past her, opened up the cabinet beneath her sink, and emerged with some cleaning spray. "You don't have to do that." She watched him remove the burgundy-colored Rorschach test which covered the wall.

"No, it's okay, my fault, like you said," he grinned at her and her heart skipped a beat. She bent back to her task. He gave the surface one last swipe and put the cleaner back where he found it and looked around in the obvious places for a garbage bin.

"Oh, yeah. Here," she plucked the wine stained towel out of his hand crossed the kitchen in three strides. Opening the door between it and the small garage, she deposited everything into the bin she had put outside earlier that morning, rather than to try to sort out why it had stunk so badly. Her head spun from a combination of too much wine, too little food and Jack's presence. Shoulders squared, she re-entered the kitchen only to find it empty.

"Jack," she peered into the living room and saw him, feet propped on the coffee table, her computer on his lap. Anger surged up from her throat. "Find anything you like?" She plopped on the couch next to him and retrieved the laptop wincing at the site of the images from The Suite she'd been studying again, alongside the Wiki entry she originally found when she Googled "BDSM."