As always, thank you to GaiusPetronius for his helpful editing, which always improves the quality of my stories.
*****
The problem with running was that it gave me too much time to think and too little to distract my thoughts, which inevitably turned back to the night before. Everything was all mixed up. I didn't regret it, but I did. I enjoyed it, but I was sickened by it. I felt relieved and stressed. Then I started chiding myself for obsessing over it. I was embarrassed that I was letting it get to me.
So I had sex with Tristan. So what? We both wanted it, we both enjoyed it, and... I felt like I had compromised something. Shit.
There were clouds on the horizon, but in the breaks between them I could see the sun cresting over an empty parking lot on my street. I jogged back up to my apartment, downed a bottle of water and flopped back onto my bed. Draping a sweaty arm over my eyes, I sighed deeply and tried to plan out my day. It felt so good to lie down...
The sound of my phone ringing woke me up. It was late morning. I could hear rain beating against my window. I rolled over and picked up my phone, pausing when I didn't recognize the number.
"Hello?"
"Hey, this is Russell," said a deep, gentle voice.
"Russell?"
"The bass player... Is this... Mona?"
"Oh, shit, yeah... Sorry, I just woke up. Hey."
"Yeah, hey. Well, some of us are getting together to jam today, if you're interested," he said with restrained excitement. "We've got me on bass, plus a girl on keyboard and a guy on drums."
"Yeah, I'm in. Just give me an hour to collect myself and pack up."
"Great! No problem. I'll, uh... I'll text you the details."
"Sounds good. See you soon," I said, already making my way to the shower.
"Yeah. Looking forward to it."
I tossed my phone back on the bed and pulled my sports bra off. I shivered at the cold air on my nipples, and smiled as I recalled the physical sensations of the night before. Yes, I had my regrets about it, but I could still enjoy the memory of strong hands pulling me close, taking and giving pleasure. I stepped into the shower with a lighter heart than I had felt in a while.
*******
That was the day I met Russell. Russell Delavera, the bass player who was my age, who had his own landscaping business, and who was a very well-put-together Latino man. Though I came to the group only expecting to play some music and relax, I found my gaze turning his way again and again. I watched his thick fingers move lightly along the strings of the bass, and my eyes traveled up his arms and towards his broad chest. I loved the way he closed his eyes and sang along to some of the songs. He seemed lost in the music, happy to be carried away by the moment. I studied his face and committed his expressions to memory.
But it wasn't just lust. I had taken care of my out-of-control hormones the night before. I was well-composed again. This was just... interesting. My only concern was that he seemed to have some connection to Claire, the piano player who hosted our quartet that day. I wasn't sure what the deal was, and I didn't see any rings. But they just seemed... connected.
The jam session itself was a great time, and it was nice to simply meet some new people. Other than music, we didn't have much in common, but music was enough for us that afternoon. There were a few times I wanted to throw the drummer off the balcony - he was just a weird guy - but as long as he kept his mouth shut, we got along great. Claire was sweet, Russell was friendly and attractive, and we all agreed to get together again sometime. I genuinely looked forward to it.
*******
Weeks went by. Thanks to my tryst with Tristan, I felt better able to focus on work and life in general. Macy was having a hard time being on her feet for full shifts, so Steve and I upped our hours. We were helped by the hiring of a part-time cook, a retired, older Asian man named Alvin, who picked up on our recipes quicker than I expected. It was only because of him that Tristan was able to surprise me with some genuine progress.
"So... how about another try at a date?" I jumped at the sudden voice behind me.
Putting both hands flat on the counter, I closed my eyes and said with a controlled voice, "Tristan,
don't
just start talking behind a person with a knife."
"Sorry," he said, unconvincingly, as I turned around to face him. "I mean, I know we haven't really talked since... whatever... but I have an idea, and I'd like to see what you think."
"A real date?"
"Well, real for
us
, I mean. For our little arrangement. The usual rules apply, I assume. Even after..."
"Yeah, yeah, I get it," I said quickly, glancing around. I hadn't said anything to anyone about sleeping with Tristan, and judging by the fact that no one had mentioned it or had been giving me strange looks, I was guessing he had kept his mouth shut, too. Then in a lower voice, I said, "I'm game. I'm off Friday."
"Saturday," he said. "It has to be Saturday. See if Alvin can work with Macy that night - Steve's off."
"It has to be Saturday?"
Tristan shrugged and nodded.
"I'll let you know," I told him.
That evening, I talked to Macy, and she said Alvin seemed ready to cover a Saturday night with just her around. That left me no excuse. Not that I was looking for one. I was genuinely curious what Tristan had planned.
As Tristan walked past me near the end of his shift that night, I said casually, "Saturday's good."
He paused, half-smiled, and said, "I'll give you details on Friday, then," and headed out the door.
*******
Saturday found me waiting for my "date" outside a little shop with an identity crisis. Part coffee shop, part cocktail lounge, part bakery, it defied easy categorization, as evidenced by the contrast between the early eveing crowd on its way out and the later evening crowd heading in. I saw a sign outside advertising an open mic night and cringed inwardly at the thought of hacks and wannabes assaulting my ears while I tried to have a simple conversation. I didn't realize how uncomfortable and tense I was getting until the squeal of brakes from a passing bus made me crouch down and pull the hood of my light jacket up over my head. I had my hands on my ears and could feel my heart thumping in my throat.
It only took a few seconds, I think, for me to calm down and slowly stand up again. Just as I did, Tristan walked up and gave me a curious look.
"Something wrong?" he asked.
"Just startled," I said awkwardly, angry at myself for feeling exposed and weak.
Tristan half-smiled and opened his mouth to speak. I braced for a snide comment, but then his expression changed, softening. He closed his mouth, shrugged, then opened the door for me. I followed him in, trying to relax, and maneuvered past chaotically arranged chairs and tables until we got to a booth along the wall. The room was half-full, and the waitress (server? barista?) snatched up a handwritten "Reserved" sign from our table before slipping away.
"What's the game here?" I asked Tristan as we settled in our seats, the leather cushions making awkward noises as we adjusted.
Sitting across from me and glancing at a half-page drink menu, Tristan said softly without making eye contact, "You'll seeee..." Then he looked up at me and smiled. "I'm not going to tell you what to get, but I hear this one is something special," he said, pointing to a description of a mixed drink with a cutesy name.
"I'm not getting drunk tonight," I warned him, trying to hide suspicion from my voice.
"Me neither," he agreed, rolling his eyes in genuine regret over the circumstances of our last encounter. "Not that... I mean... I just..."
"Never mind," I interrupted him. "I'll just... try to take that in the best possible light."
"Thanks," he said, embarrassed but smiling appreciatively. Just then, the server came back and took our orders. I took Tristan's suggestion, and as the server swayed out of sight, I felt the slightest twinge of jealousy at the way Tristan's eyes followed her ass. Then he shook his head, as if waking himself up, and turned his attention towards the stage, where a very slight young girl was plugging in a guitar.
"You brought me here for the open mic night?" I asked skeptically.
Tristan bobbed his head from shoulder to shoulder. "Eh, kinda. You'll see." Then he turned to face me. Asking about my week and a few other safe topics, he actually drew me into conversation. Still, it was Tristan, and he couldn't resist turning some topics into chances to boast about himself, but he seemed more aware of it now, or else my expressions cued him in to how lame he sounded.
During one lull in the conversation, I got brave - or stupid (I was on my second hard drink, after all). "Tell me about your freshman year of college," I said, casually.
"Freshman year?" he replied nervously. Staring me down for a few seconds, he knew it wasn't a simple question. "Oh... you kn-n-n-now about that," he concluded, letting slip the stutter that I had heard once or twice before.
"I've heard rumors," I lied, not wanting him to know how much I might already have heard.
Tristan looked away thoughtfully for a moment, then cringed as a cowboy with a guitar butchered a perfectly good love song.
Why
did he bring me to an open mic night in this dingy place? It was a perfectly nice spring evening: we could have been outside enjoying the fresh air...
"So... like I told you before, by the time I got to college, I suddenly had the body of a stud but the personality of a... uh... I was pretty inexperienced." He looked at me for a response. I put some popcorn in my mouth and watched him silently.
"I did OK academically, but I was struggling in physics. The professor had made a big deal out of being there to help us and how we should take advantage of her office hours..." I tried not to smirk when he said "take advantage." It felt childish, but I was loosening up.
"So I went by her office one afternoon. She was really helpful, so I came back a week later. My scores started improving. A few days before midterms, I stopped by to ask her a quick question about an assignment, but she was packing up her briefcase to leave for the weekend. She said I should walk with her to her car and we could talk on the way. By the time we got to her car, she had answered my question and we were just chatting about college life. She offered me a ride back to my dorm. When we got there, she asked about my plans for that weekend. It was Friday night, and I told her my roommate had gone home for the weekend, so I was going to try to get all studied up for midterms. She was real quiet for a minute, then just leaned over and started kissing me. I was freaked out at first. I mean, girls were still kinda new to me, though not totally. But here was this older woman - my professor - and she was married..."
Tristan's face was confused, almost a little frightened as he relived the encounter. It occurred to me that if the genders had been reversed, we would have been calling this a sexual assault. Tristan's expression slowly changed, though, and a hint of a smile accompanied the next part of his story.
