The Hook-Up (6 page)

“Yes, darling, it
’
s me.” I wondered, could she hear the relief in my
voice that came from simply speaking to her?

“Is everything okay? How did things go?” I
heard the descending volume of the television in the
background.

“Wonderfully. It all went wonderfully.” The
adverb was hardly sufficient to describe all that I
’
d experienced. “This trip has
certainly given me some new perspective.”

“Wow, I
’
m glad to hear that. Perspective on what?”

On the fact that I’m only truly happy when
I’m with you. On the fact that the world won’t stop turning if I
surrender a modicum of control. On the fact that I never understood
what I was making you feel, and now that I do, your submission is
infinitely more precious to me.

Those weren
’
t the types of things to say on the phone from an
ocean away.

“I
’
ll discuss it with you when I come home. I promise.
Right now, you need to get your sleep, and I do, too.” There were
too many hours between us. “When I get my hands on you,
we
’
re going to make up
for lost time.”

Her delighted squeal did something funny to
my insides.

“I can
’
t wait,” she purred, a bit silly, a bit serious,
entirely endearing.

An absence of noise alerted me that the
shower was off, and I looked toward the bathroom door. “I must go,
darling. Emir is still here, and I don
’
t want to be rude. I
’
ll see you tomorrow evening.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, Sophie.” In the most reckless
way possible, I loved her.

A moment after we hung up, Emir stepped out
of the bathroom, a towel tucked tight around his waist.

“God, your body is magnificent,” I said with
a dismayed chuckle.

To my surprise, he blushed at the compliment
and couldn
’
t meet my eyes.
“How long are you
in London?”

“Just until tomorrow. My flight leaves at
three.” I swung my legs beneath the duvet. I could take care of the
sex toys and incriminating wrappers in the morning. All I wanted
was to settle in for the night. “And you? What do you have planned
for this trip?”

“I will be here until Friday. My wife is
flying into Heathrow.” A wistful note to his words echoed my own
homesickness for Sophie.

“Separate holidays?” Was that too personal a
subject? Less than twenty minutes ago, his cock had been in my ass;
it didn
’
t seem as though
a slightly more personal interest would be out of place.

“She is in Belize with her girlfriend.” He
smiled sadly. “It is not an arrangement that always make me happy,
but I am glad that she has so much love in her life.”

“I
’
m not sure I would be comfortable with
Chloe
having another romantic
partner,” I admitted, though it felt a bit patriarchal and
condescending. The thought of her having sex with another person
didn
’
t bother me at all;
I had quite liked watching Emir fuck her. But the mere suggestion
of sharing her love brought with it a crippling insecurity that I
couldn
’
t bear to
contemplate.

“That is why you direct who she fucks?” Emir
nodded in understanding. “I know she did not pick me out in the
club.”

“On the contrary, she was quite attracted to
you. But you are right, I made the final decision in that
situation.” Sophie
’
s
interest in him had caught my attention, but ultimately
I
’
d been the one to
suggest it go further. “
I
don’
t know how you manage your arrangement with your wife,
but I commend you for doing it and being so happy.”

“Yes, I am happy,” he said, but after a
thoughtful pause he added, “Sometimes, I need a distraction.”

I looked up at the television over the bed.
I
’
d probably leave it on
tonight, just for the company.

“Why not stay here? We can watch mindless
telly all night?” I patted the bed. “We
’
ll still be lonely and miserable, but at least we
won
’
t be doing it
alone.”

“I would not wish to be an imposition.” But
even as he said it, he was slipping off his towel.

I scooted
over to Sophie’s side
. There was still a very strange, very
jealous part of me that wanted to be between them always. And yet,
my sympathy toward his compromise with his wife made him less of a
threat to me.

What a completely bizarre thing it is, the
intersection of personal relationships and feelings.

“I want to thank you,” I said, watching him
fluff the pillows beneath him. “This was an enlightening
experience.”

“Oh?” He turned onto his side, propped on his
elbow. “Then perhaps we should do this again.”

“Yes, I dare say we should.” I tilted my head
back and closed my eyes, letting the peace of a dozen final
decisions wash over my brain. “And I believe I
’
m going to have a lot of free time in the
future
.”

Abigail Barnette
is the alter-ego of
author, blogger, and all-around funny person, Jenny Trout. Writing
as Jennifer Armintrout, she made the USA Today Bestseller list with
Blood Ties Book One: The Turning.
Her novel
American
Vampire
was named one of the top ten horror novels of 2011 by
Booklist Online
. When she’s not writing award-winning erotic
romance, she’s either sleeping or otherwise incapacitated. She is a
proud Michigander, mother of two, and wife to the only person
capable of spending extended periods of time with her without
wanting to murder her.