Learning to Love the Heat

Just thinking about my ex makes this normal, friendly gesture into something... just, something else.

As soon as my body goes stiff, Ben releases me and steps back. "I had an amazing time with you, Claire. And I mean it—we should stay in touch, get together soon. I'd really like to have you as a friend," he says, regret tainting the last word.

"I'd like that." At least, I'm pretty sure I would.

When his phone beeps, he checks it and says, "I got you a car. Looks like it's here."

He walks me downstairs and out to the waiting SUV. When he opens the door for me, our eyes meet for an extended moment before I say, "Goodbye, Ben."

*

The week passes. I dutifully call my mother and assure her that I'm doing just great. I go to my full-time job and stay late every single day—even after I clock out—to bask in the blessedly frigid air. I spend my evenings at the cafe with my laptop, writing about women who do things I can't even think of doing, myself. And I look at my phone at least fifty times a day to see if Ben called or texted. Nothing.

The way he talked on Sunday, I was so sure I'd have heard from him by now. Given that I was so reluctant to even give him my number, you'd think I'd be ok with this. But, damn, I am so disappointed.

Friday night, after I return home from the cafe, I'm super antsy. Today's high was 102 degrees, with ninety-five percent humidity. That's enough to drive anyone insane. Agitation zaps its way through my nerves, the pent up energy causing me to overheat. I need to relieve it, bad.

I lie down on my bed and spread my legs. Sweat's already forming on my brow, behind my knees, and at the base of my throat. I pull my second favorite toy—a seven inch vibrator—from the drawer, but no book this time. I don't think it'll be necessary. The vibrations tease my clit, exciting me and getting my juices flowing. With the wetness coating my sex, I slide the vibrator back and forth between my folds, making sure it's lubricated before pushing just the tip inside. I pull out and push back in with shallow thrusts.

My fantasy begins. I imagine the two characters I wrote about earlier tonight. A petite blonde woman who pursues a dark and mysterious older man, until he can no longer resist her. The first time he takes her, it's up against a rough brick wall in a dirty alley, where anyone passing by on the busy sidewalk can see them. They don't give a shit about being quiet, either. I press my slicked toy deeper, moaning loudly when it bottoms out inside me. Each time I pull out and press back in, the slightly curved tip glides over the sweet spot inside. The sheet beneath me is soaked through with my sweat and arousal. My core tightens as my desire climbs, almost to the point of climax.

Without permission, the young blonde's hair turns a vibrant red, her tan skin now pale and glowing in the moonlight. Her mysterious man morphs into someone taller, leaner, and fairer, his now-long hair pulled up and out of his face. Soft green eyes open and fix on my dark blue ones. My body responds to the new scene playing out in my head. Me, with Ben deep inside, kissing me passionately with warm, tender lips and holding me just like he did on Sunday.

I'm shocked when my pleasure intensifies, the need to come almost maddening. It's shocking because I can never use myself in my fantasies. That's pretty much a nonstarter. No pleasure, no relief. Nothing. This is so very much the opposite of that, though. With Ben, it's exquisite.

I'm close... so very close, when a tall silhouette appears at the end of the alley. His body is broad and muscular, his movements sensuous and sure. Fantasy me closes her eyes, focusing on the pleasure Ben is bringing her. When she opens them, Andy is standing next to her, as Ben continues his powerful, even thrusts. Ben watches, smiling, when his best friend's mouth consumes mine in a scalding kiss.

My body freezes, as does the fantasy. Next thing I know, my vibrator is sailing across the room and smacking against the wall before crashing to the floor. My eyes well up with tears, because this is so wrong... I am so wrong. Sick to my stomach, I roll onto my side and curl up in a tight ball, trying to force the forbidden image from my mind.

I'm a mess. I'm broken. Cameron broke me, and I hate him for it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"What's up with you, Ben?" my sister, Leah, asks as soon as I open the front door. We don't usually get together on Friday nights, but she said she has news that can't be delivered over the phone. It's a good thing I stopped at the state store last night to replace her Riesling.

"What do you mean?" She ignores me as we head up the stairs. Then she makes a beeline for the fridge and grabs a bottle of... water. Interesting.

"I mean, you've been in a funk all week, and I want to know why."

"How would you know if I've been in a funk? We've barely talked since the last time you were here."

"Those two texts you sent me the other day. They were so terse—not like you, at all," she says, disregarding the fact that I hate texting and never use more words than absolutely necessary. "Plus, Andy told me you're hung up on some new girl." The grin to end all grins takes over Leah's face.

"Andy needs to mind his own business." Or I'm going to kill him. "When the hell did you two talk, anyway?"

"He called me specifically to let me know that you've found my future sister-in-law, but that 'She don't wanna be touched.'" Her attempt at Andy's accent is too atrocious not to laugh. Once that passes, I'm back to wanting to kill my meddling prick of a best friend. "He didn't go into details, for which I'm grateful. We both know how colorful Andy can be."

There's no love lost between my friend and my baby sister. She's the product of my mother's second marriage and twelve years younger than me. Andy tormented the shit out of the poor girl her entire childhood. Like a typical teenager, she'd ended up with an immortal crush on him, though I'm hoping she's finally grown out of her bad boy phase. The guy she's been seeing the past few months sounds normal enough, from the little she's told me about him.

Her dark brown curls bounce around her shoulders as she plops down on the couch, maneuvering herself so she's sitting cross-legged. "So are you going to tell me about her, or what? You know you want to. I highly doubt Andy is giving you any helpful advice on this."

She's got me, there. I drop down next to her and lean my head over the back of the couch.

"She's gorgeous, Lee," I begin. because that was the beginning, after all. Her beauty drew me in like a moth to a fiery redhead. "When we first started talking, it went really well. I was gearing up to ask her out. Then it was like she realized where things were headed and closed herself off," I say, recalling the moment vividly. I'm not too proud to admit it broke my heart a little.

"She ended up spending the night here, though. She couldn't have been all that closed off," Leah points out.

"Conversationally, mentally, no. Physically, yes. It was the best first date ever—we clicked, we talked for hours, and she slept in my bed—"

"Gah! Did we not agree details are bad?" Her scrunched-up face shows exactly how she feels about them.

"Fine. But, yeah. Ideal date... only it wasn't a date. I don't think there will ever be dates with Claire."

"Claire, huh? Andy said her name was Peach. I thought maybe she was a stripper, or something," she says, laughing at her own funny.

"He only calls her that because he wants to take a bite of her." And by the way Claire was looking at him that morning, it was clear she wouldn't mind being bitten... if she could handle getting that close to a man.

"Do you think something happened to her, Ben? You have to know that's not normal behavior, right?"

"I've thought of that, and yeah. It's a strong possibility." Dogs aren't usually fearful of humans by nature. It's takes conditioning or traumatic experiences or both. I don't like imagining either of those being a part of Claire's past.

"But you're not planning on staying away from her," she says, though it's more of a question than a statement.

"I don't think I can, Lee."

"I know how much you like to right wrongs, Ben. Fix broken things. If that's what this is, please don't," my sister pleads. "You're too nice a guy for your own good, sometimes. You could end up making things worse for her."

"You really are better at this than Andy." My sister may still be young, but she's damn insightful. "But it's been so long since I felt this way about someone. If I want to fix her, it's only because I want a chance to be with her." Leah scrunches her face again. "I didn't mean it like that, twerp. Claire is... she's special. There's no way I can just let that go."

"So, have you talked to her since Sunday?"

"Ah... No. I didn't want to push her too far, too fast. She booked out of here that day, I figured she'd need some space for a while."

Leah flicks my forehead. "You're an idiot, Ben. A girl like that's gotta have some serious insecurities. She's probably thinking you moved on, since she wouldn't get all handsy with you." Then she flicks me again. "Idiot."

"Quit it, kid!" I shout and flick her back, on her button nose. "Speaking of moving on. You have something to tell me?" I ask, getting back to the point of her visit. She takes a sip of her water, slowly sets it on the coffee table, and turns to look me dead in the eyes. Something serious is about to come out of her mouth.

"I'm pregnant."

I squint at her, replaying the words in my head and attempting to make sense of them. I think she just told me she's pregnant, but that can't be right. She's twenty-three and unmarried. Not that marriage is a requirement for procreation, but still.

"Ben? Did you hear me?"

"Yeah, I guess I did. So, care to explain how this happened?" I ask, despite it being none of my business.

"I'm sure you know all about how babies are made, Ben," she says, and I wince. "Shit. I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking."

"It's ok. Really," I assure her.

Babies... It's a sore subject for me. They were the root cause of the downfall of my last relationship. I wanted them—lots of them—but she didn't. Constant arguments and years of resentment killed what we had. And given my success rate with relationships, I wonder if children will ever be in the cards for me.

But one is definitely in the cards for my sister.

"Are you ok? Is this something you want? You know I'll support you, no matter what."

She nods emphatically, like I just asked five-year-old Leah if she wants a pony. "Yeah, it really is. I was in shock, at first, of course. But ever since I started really thinking about having this baby, I haven't felt anything but excited." Her smile really shows it, too. "Henry's on board with it. You should've seen how happy he was when I told him. He's going to be an awesome father."

"So do I finally get to meet this 'awesome' boyfriend of yours, now?"

"Um. Husband," she corrects me, flashing an understated diamond ring on her left hand. I like this Henry guy a little better, now, but I'm irked she didn't include me in the wedding. But that's nothing compared to...

"Can I be there when you tell mom?"

~

My run this morning did nothing to clear my head. There's just too much fighting for space in there. My sister is having a kid. I'm going to be an uncle, and fuck if I'm not thrilled about that. Thrilled for her. Jealous of her, too, but I'll never let her see that. I need to keep reminding myself that I'm only thirty-five, and there's still plenty of time for me to have the family I want.

Ten reps on the bar hooked over my bedroom door wipes that from my mind.

Then there's my best friend. We've known each other almost half our lives. In all those years, I've never heard him talk about a girl as much as he's talked about Claire this past week. In a non-superficial way, that is. Hell, he talks about her more than I do. Part of that, I think—I hope—is that he's trying to do for me now what he did in the park last week. I can tell he really does want me to pursue her, but maybe it's safer for our friendship if I don't.

Another set of ten.

Claire. Was my sister right? Could Claire be under the impression that I've written her off because she wouldn't touch me? If that's true, I need to set her straight. But what if she's ok with being written off? She really was in a rush to leave. Does she regret spending all that time with me? Has she thought about me half as much as I've thought about her? If there's even a remote possibility—

"Yo, Benny!" Andy's booming voice startles me, and I slip off the bar mid-pull up. I stick a decent enough landing, but the asshole still doubles over with laughter. "Oh man, that was fuckin' priceless!"

"You up here for a reason? Or just to laugh at my expense?" I ask, grabbing a towel and mopping up the sweat that's running down my face and chest.

"Both, now. But originally it was just to light a fire under your ass," he half-explains and holds my phone out to me. "Do it, man. Just fuckin' do it, already."

"Why do you keep pushing me on this? Is it just that you want to see your friend happy, or is it something else?" It's time for him to come out with it. I need to hear the truth, even if I might not want to.

"I like her," he says, hitting me with a candidness I wasn't expecting.

"You like her..."

"What? She's feisty and hot. What's not to like?" I scoff at the typical Andy answer. "But she's damaged, Benny. You and I both saw that. Of the two of us, who do you think stands the most chance of helpin' her? We both know it's not me."

I take the time to really look at him, then. I know this man like a brother. Over seventeen years of friendship, I've learned all his expressions, all his tells. This, right here, is sincerity. Because I love him, I want to fight him on the last point he made. That, on the other hand, would not be sincere, and we'd both know it. Instead, I take what he's offering.

"Ok, man," I say and hold out my hand for the phone. Andy's smile is one of relief. People can surprise you, sometimes. And if you're lucky, the surprises are good.

My finger hovers over Claire's name, ready to give her a call. She can easily ignore a call, though. Calls are too much pressure. Instead, I shoot her a text.

What are you doing today, friend?

"That's it, though," I tell Andy as soon as I press send. "If she doesn't reply, we're just going to forget about her, right?"

"Right," he agrees. And then my phone beeps.

Claire: what's in it for me?

Not exactly an answer, but it's something I can work with.

Me: I'll bet it's getting hot over there.

Fuck. That sounded way too much like a come on. Fantastic work, Ben. She doesn't respond, because what could she say that wouldn't sound like she's flirting back? After a couple minutes of nothing, I try to salvage the situation.

Me: How about some AC?

Claire: what've you got in mind?

Ok, good. It's not a lost cause. But now I have to think of something for us to do. "Hey, Andy—name some cold places."

"Um... Alaska? Iceland?" Yeah, I probably should have been more specific.

"No. What are some cold places I could take Claire?"

"Oh, I gotcha. How 'bout the movies, restaurants, museums—"

"Yes! A museum. It sounds less like a date than the other two."

Me: Ever been to the Mütter Museum?

Claire: once for a class trip in 6th grade. thinking back, that was a messed up place to take a bunch of 11 yr olds.

Me: No kidding. Want to go today?

Another long pause. She's thinking about it, and that's better than an immediate no.

Claire: ok.

~

Standing a few feet behind her, I watch Claire as she explores the photos in the display case along the balcony. Her long hair hangs in waves down her back and spills over her shoulder each time she leans forward. The white shorts that completely cover her ass when she's standing straight, expose the bottoms of her cheeks when she's bent over. Like she is now. And she keeps slipping her right foot in and out of its sandal, drawing my attention to the way her thigh muscles dance under her milky white skin.

Enough leering. I join her at the case and see pictures of conjoined twins, sideshow "freaks," a naked man with elephantiasis of the testicles—

"You came here on a class trip? How exactly did your teacher get approval for that?"

"It was a special class for... precocious kids. 'Ravenous young minds must be fed at all times,' was our teacher's motto." She looks over at me, a wicked smirk on her pretty face.

"I have a feeling you were more precocious than any of them."

"Me? No. I was just a little too clever for my own good, I guess."

"Logomachist."

"I'm sorry—what?"

"Someone who argues over words. Like you." Smiling at her offended reaction, I move on to the wall of skulls. Claire follows. The museum was the perfect choice for today—definitely nothing romantic or date-like about this place. "It's your two-bit word for the day."

"Considering it came in the form of an insult, I hope you aren't planning to charge me."

"Nah. You're eligible for the Friends and Family discount now, which makes it one hundred percent off."

We continue making our way around the upper level, pausing to comment on every disturbing exhibit in a museum full of medical oddities. She tells me about her family, her job, where she went to college. I learn a lot about her, but nothing personal—just facts, like she's carefully guarding everything about who she really is.

When we get to the Mega Colon, she shares a story about the first medical office she worked in, and the doctor who collected emergency room X-rays. He was a gastroenterologist, so the films were all of random objects stuck inside people's asses.

"My favorite was the toothbrush"—she pauses for dramatic effect—"bristle side up."

I wince and beg her, "Please! No more rectums!"

She lets out one of her full, unabashed laughs. She can describe every X-ray to me in excruciating detail, if it means I get to hear more of that. Her laughter dies out, though, and she looks unsure all of a sudden. I risk touching her to nudge her with my elbow.

"What are you thinking?" I ask.

"Nothing, really. Just... How long have you and Andy been friends?" Ah. I understand her hesitance, now. She's curious about him but doesn't want to admit it.

"Since freshman year of college. We shared a table in first semester Design."

"It's not like I know you very well, and I've only talked to Andy once, but... I don't know. You guys just seem so unlikely." She leans back against the railing, and I do the same beside her.

"Are you kidding? I hated him, at first. He was loud and obnoxious and a show off—"

"Was?" she teases.

"Oh, he's still all those things," I agree with a laugh. "We bonded that semester, though. I was a kid from the 'burbs, and he became my guide to the city. He pushed me out of my comfort zone, and I think I served as an anchor for him. He was raised by an uncle who abandoned Andy as soon as he turned eighteen. My mom and step-dad pretty much adopted him. He's family, more than anything else.

"When it came to design, we approached it from two very different perspectives. Mine was more technical, practical, while his was more artistic. He taught me a lot. I know for a fact I wouldn't be where I am today if it weren't for him."

"So, he's an architect, too?"

"Andy? No. He never did get a handle on the technical stuff, so he switched to art. He actually teaches there now. And he's part of the city mural project." I find myself bragging about my best friend like a proud papa.

"Huh. I guess it just goes to show you..." she trails off, and I give her a questioning look. "Oh, you know—books and covers and all that."