Remember Me?

The universe is sick and twisted.

It's the only explanation, really. How else do you explain it?

I mean, she broke my heart. Like, in a million pieces. I didn't think I was the heartbreaking type, really, it sort of snuck up on me I guess. One day we were just hanging out on the weekends, texting each other at 11PM like "hey, are you busy" and falling into bed together, sharing a bowl, whatever. Making breakfast. And the next I'm thinking about her a lot. I start to not really want to call other girls, the hot chick in my Econ lecture isn't turning my head anymore when she wears those sprayed-on leggings. And all of a sudden I'm doing weird things, like ordering from that Chinese place she likes before she comes over. And putting her birthday in my phone so I don't forget.

Not like I'd never been in a relationship before, there was Laura in high school. She was my first, whatever, everything. But she wasn't anything like Emily. I mean, what I felt for her didn't even come close to the way Emily just moved into my heart and lived there, even though I never asked her to.

It's not the sex that still gets me, even though I definitely miss it like crazy. It was hot, it was always hot. But what still makes me feel sort of wrecked and numb all at once is remembering things like . . . like how she used to lean against me at parties. How she used to sigh when I hugged her, or wake me up in the middle of the night because she just needed to be closer to me. When I think about that, when I remember that, my whole chest aches.

It was a week before college graduation. Well, my college graduation. She still had another year, but I was gonna stay in town, keep hanging around with her after summer was over. And then she just showed up one day and started saying stuff like "I can't handle this," and "Everything's moving so fast," but also, "I need more." I mean, we'd basically been exclusive since September, what more could there be?

I asked her.

I asked her, "Do you want to move in together or something?" And then she looked around the house I shared with my three roommates, at all the empty beer bottles we'd lined up on the shelves where most people keep, I don't know, pasta, and she just shook her head.

"You want to get married, what?" I asked. And I remember thinking, like, maybe I would. Not get married right away, but maybe like engaged or something. I don't know, that sounds crazy. Looking back it feels nuts. But at the time it felt like . . . I'd do anything to keep her around.

But she said, "No," in this really low voice. And she wouldn't look at me. And then she said, "I think I'm just done."

And what could I do? She was done. So I said, "Okay," and walked her out.

You know something? After she left, I actually cried. Like, real tears. I didn't know guys cried over women when they were sober. I'd never cried over Laura, that was for sure.

Then I moved out here, to this tiny North Carolina beach town and got my real estate license, because what else was I gonna do? Stick around and watch her start falling in love with some other guy? No thanks.

I've thought about that a lot. I've thought about how maybe I should have said something else then, or stuck around and tried to make it right with her. Maybe she was just freaked out because she was feeling things, and she wasn't sure if I was too.

But it also seemed like maybe it was just the universe's way of reminding me that most people don't meet their soulmate when they're twenty-two. If most people get engaged to someone in college, they're probably also headed for divorce.

And then, five years later, the universe showed up to remind me that as much as I think I know, I'm just like everybody else. An idiot.

The first thing I noticed when she walked into the office was that her hair was brown. And longer. When I knew her before, it was always a different color, pink, blue, purple, just barely touching her shoulders. Now it was halfway down her back in these thick, brown waves. And her face had gotten a little more angular, a little harder. Her little chin jutted out just the same, that determined look I'd seen on her face a hundred times.

I couldn't help but look at her body. It looked exactly the same to me, somehow. Maybe a little softer here or there, but damn, she looked good. I felt something between my legs stir a little at the memory of how her skin used to feel under my hands, and swallowed. For a minute, I wished I could see what was hidden behind the front desk. Whether my favorite part of her, that perky, impossibly round ass, was still the same, too.

"I'm looking for an investment property," she told the receptionist, Liz, without any "Hey, how are ya?" No introduction. No chance to see if maybe her name changed. (I don't do all that Facebook stuff-though maybe I'd looked once or twice, and it looked like she didn't either, so I had no idea. She could have been married for all I knew. Part of me hoped she wasn't, part of me prayed she was.)

"Sure," Liz said, "Just have a seat. I'll see who's available to help you out. Can I grab you a water or anything, sugar?"

"No thanks." She sat down and pulled out an honest-to-god book. In 2019. With a bookmark and everything.

I could see that asshole, Alan, already getting up out of his chair out of the corner of my eye. I was really, sorely tempted to let him take over and just get out of there. Take a personal day, make up some excuse. But I knew that as bad as I'd feel if I went up to her and found out she's looking for a place for her husband and a minivan full of kids, or that she didn't want anything to do with me, I'd feel even worse if she started going out with Alan.

So I muttered, "She's a friend," and he rolled his eyes and sat back down.

"Sure," he said, "like you've got any friends."

I let it slide, because I'm not the type to rise to bait. But I filed it away in my mental "Alan the Asshole" catalogue. I don't know how I'll use it, yet, but I just know that one day it'll come in handy.

Before I knew it, I was standing next to Liz, leaning on her desk. She gave me a look like, "Well?" and I didn't know what to say so I just cleared my throat. Emily didn't move,

totally absorbed in some book called "The Goldfinch." Liz looked at me again and raised her eyebrows.

"Hey, Emily," I managed in a low voice.

That's when her head snapped up. Like she'd been hit by an arrow or something, I mean, her eyes were wide open.

To her credit, she recovered really quickly. She put her book on the chair next to her, stood up, and said, "Hey, Noah," right as she leaned over the desk to give me an awkward hug.

I could smell her soap, just like when we were in college. Something like flowers and vanilla. I could feel the soft, cottony texture of her dress. I couldn't help but close my eyes. My brain flipped through all the lazy, casual sex we'd had when we were young and stupid, and I was thankful for the desk between us, because God help me if I wasn't already halfway hard. Luckily Liz remained completely oblivious, already absorbed in her phone.

We pulled back from each other and I asked her what she was looking for, careful to keep things professional. And she started telling me about her budget, what she wanted to use the place for. Not how she'd come into the money or where she lived or whether she was entangled somehow. When I managed to glance at her hand I just about died of relief when I didn't see a ring.

And I was preparing just to write it all up and file it away, maybe offer to take her to lunch sometime next week to talk possibilities (so that I could figure out my feelings alone on the beach with a six pack of beer before I saw her again), when Liz decided to look up from her phone and ruin my life.

"Sounds like the Hargraves' place would be perfect," she said. "You could even show her now."

The Hargraves were an old couple with a sweet granddaughter who were listing their vacation home so that they could buy a condo in Florida, where the weather was better for their "old bones." Really, I thought, to be closer to the granddaughter in Atlanta.

But whatever. It was true, the house was exactly what Emily was looking for-three bedrooms, on the beach, maybe a little outdated but easy to renovate, even expand.

I told her so, and watched her face light up.

"I'd love to see it," she said. I noticed she didn't say anything about catching up or grabbing lunch.

"Sure," I replied, trying my best not to glare at Liz. "Your car or mine?"

It wasn't that I didn't want to see her-well, to be honest, I didn't. Who wants to see someone who walked out of your life and never looked back, even five years later?

But honestly, I reasoned to myself as we got in the car and started down the road, I just wasn't ready. Seeing her without any warning, without any time to prepare, just took the wind right out of me. And her new gauzy, boho look was doing things to my imagination-this newer, more mature, more confident Emily, touching me, putting her mouth on me-

Okay, cool it, Noah. Focus on driving. Don't crash the company lease.

"So," she said, almost casually, "what brought you down here?"

"Umm," I said, like an idiot, "I live here."

"Obviously," she laughed. "But why?"

"It's really beautiful." I fought the urge to look at her. "It's really far away from . . . everything."

"Yeah, it's nice to get away," she sighed.

"Where are you living?" I asked cautiously. I didn't want to push her too much.

Apparently, my anxiety was unfounded. She was all too happy to talk about her life, her apartment in Brooklyn and her roommate, Sofia, the actress/bartender/dogwalker from Toronto. As if we were just old friends, as if we hadn't slept in the same bed almost every night for nine months. As if she didn't used to whisper my name into the dark while I buried my face between her legs, her hips tilting against my mouth-

"And what do you do these days?" I asked, fixing my eyes back on the road.

"I joined this tech startup at the ground floor." She was looking out the window, gazing at the houses flying by. "The money's good, but I don't really want to leave Sofia. I like the company and I don't need a bigger place. But I've always wanted a beach house. I had a friend in middle school who would always come here during the summer . . . I always wanted to know what it was like."

I remembered her parents were pretty poor growing up, but I didn't say anything. I figured she probably didn't want to talk about it. And anyway, we were pulling up to the house. Everything in this town was a ten minute drive away.

I showed her the house and tried to keep myself under control. "Here's the kitchen, needs some updates, but usable as-is." "The master, new carpeting, you could paint in here if you don't like the blue." The other bedrooms, the bathrooms. Finally, we made our way onto the deck, with its walkway straight to the beach. I couldn't help watching her hair blow in the wind, her yellow cotton dress floating up just past her knees, this look of utter bliss on her face. She caught me staring and laughed.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

I flushed. Busted. "Like what?"

"Like . . . I don't know." Suddenly she seemed to lose her nerve, like she didn't want to point out the obvious in case she was wrong.

"Like you're the one who got away?" I grinned.

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right."

"You were."

"Yeah, right!" She started walking back into the house, shaking her head. I followed right on her heels.

"What do you mean 'yeah, right,' like you just left and I didn't even notice?"

"You didn't notice!" she laughed, pushing aside the screen door. "And if I recall, you didn't exactly try to stop me."

"My biggest regret," I said, still grinning. Maybe if we could both still pretend we were joking, we could say what we wanted without having to risk anything.

But she just muttered, "Are you kidding right now? I can't even tell if you're kidding right now," and broke the illusion.

"Shit, Emily," I said, rubbing my neck, my frustration hitting me out of nowhere. "How could you think I was joking?"

"Okay," she said, obviously just as frustrated, "cool it."

"'Yeah right,' like I didn't move halfway down the coast to get away from you, like you didn't show up one morning and just tell me it was over."

"It WAS over," she said, her voice rising. She grabbed her bag from the counter. "Whatever, I didn't mean to do this. Let's just go."

"What do you mean it was over?" I exploded, slamming both hands on the counter. "I was in love with you!"

Now, I have to say, I'm not usually the exploding type. I'm usually the mild-mannered, talk-it-out type. And so I don't normally see women staring at me, stunned, with tears in their eyes. And seeing Emily like that, holding her bag and obviously in shock, really made my anger lose some steam.

"Look," I said, my voice breaking, "I'm sorry, okay? I just . . . you broke my heart. You know that. What am I supposed to say?"

For a second, she seemed totally at a loss for words. Then she swallowed, hard.

"Noah, I didn't," she said. "I didn't know that. I thought you didn't care about me at all."

Well, what the fuck, universe.

"What do you mean?" I asked. She sat down on one of the bar chairs, laid her head in her hands. "What do you mean, Emily? How could you think that?"

"This whole time," she laughed, shaking her head and still not looking at me, "this whole time I thought I had fallen in love with you and you were just . . . just interested in sex."

"No," was all I could think to say. "I mean, I was. But also, I wanted you. I mean, all of you. I mean, I never got over you, is what I'm trying to say." Shit, this was a disaster.

"I'm sure you did," she said, hiccuping a little. God, she was crying, when did that happen? "I'm sure you met some gorgeous girl and fell in love with her, but you're only remembering me because I showed up in your office without so much as a-"

"Emily." I put as much force into her name as I could. "I never got over you." I took a deep breath, and felt like whatever came next had to be the truth. "I mean, I hooked up with a few people, yeah. But never . . . I didn't fall in love with anyone, definitely."

"I thought I did," she said into her hands. "I mean, I really wanted to believe I did. I even cried after he broke up with me, I really thought . . . But now that I'm here . . ." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "What I feel for you is so much more. Like we never left each other."

I swallowed. I knew the feeling all too well.

"Emily," I said, moving beside her. "Emily, look at me." I grabbed the chair and twisted it towards me, wincing as it scraped the floor. She looked up with those big, green eyes, her nose just a little pink, her cheeks wet with tears, and I just had to touch her. I had to slide my palm down her arm, feel that she was here, and alive, and warm in front of me.

"What?" she whispered.

"Just-"

I made a frustrated sound and leaned in and kissed her. I felt her react right away, felt her legs tighten around my waist and her tongue slide along my bottom lip. When she leaned into my chest I felt my dick grow heavy between my legs, wanting her. It felt like every part of me wanted her. And kissing her felt like coming home, like sinking into your very own bed at the end of a long day.

"Finally," she breathed. "I've wanted you to do that since the moment I saw you standing there in that sexy button-down." She slid her hand under my shirt, against my bare stomach, and I groaned.

I kissed her again, and my hands slid up her thighs, dipping under the hem of her cotton dress. Kissing her was exactly the way I remembered it, but even fuller somehow, brighter. I leaned my forehead against hers, closing my eyes for a moment, trying to cool off.

"Let's grab dinner tonight," I said. "Just you and me and a bottle of white wine."

I didn't say the rest. That I was being sorely tempted to defile my client's home, and that if I did and anyone ever found out it would probably spell the end of my career.

"Okay," she said back, biting her lip in a way that made my insides quiver. "But just kiss me a little more, before we go."

I was more than happy to oblige. I slid my tongue against hers, tasting her minty sweetness and feeling her arch against me. And she nodded when one of my hands began creeping up her inner thigh, so I proceeded.

And found, not the soft (hopefully damp?) fabric of cotton panties, but plush curls, naked between her legs. I instantly grew rock hard.

"Emily," I moaned into her mouth. "Emily you didn't. Say you weren't walking around this whole time without any panties on."

She only breathed hard while I parted the tangled curls and slipped my finger inside her, already so wet and hot I couldn't stop imagining how she would feel around my dick.

"Noah," she gasped. "Oh my god, Noah."

Fuck it. Fuck the Hargraves, fuck the neighbors, fuck my job. Fuck it all.

I slid my hands under her ass and wrenched her forward, sliding her against me. She giggled darkly, feeling how turned on I was through my slacks. I was done playing coy, I was done being shy. I hauled her off to the master like the man on a mission that I was.

I kissed her deeply and lowered her onto the edge of the bed, tugging at the drawstring on the top of her dress until it pulled free and dipping my hand under the flimsy bra she was wearing. One of her breasts fell out and I pushed her back into the comforter, stroking her breast and rubbing myself between her legs, I couldn't help it. I could feel the heat of her through the fabric of my pants.

Not pulling away, I fumbled with my belt buckle, thinking only about what it would feel like to be inside her again. The clasp sprang free and I practically ripped the belt off. Her hands flew to help me with the zipper but I grabbed both of them, pinning her wrists above her head with my left hand while my right returned to my fly. She moaned and tightened her thighs around me, urging me on.

"So this is okay?" I managed to mutter, even with all the evidence at hand.

"Shut up and fuck me," she murmured back, smiling.

I got my zipper down and yanked my lucky condom out of my wallet, tearing it open, not caring where the wrapper landed. Thank God I had the foresight to arrange her dress underneath her ass before I spread her knees, one hand on each thigh, and pushed inside of her.

She arched up on the bed, biting her lip. I kept driving into her, feeling her surrounding me, watching her writhe and moan with her dress half undone like some kind of boho sex goddess. Even though my hands refused to move from where they were firmly pressing into her thighs, watching her naked breast tremble and bounce with every thrust was making my cock twitch inside of her. Her perfect, pink nipple, so hard it could probably cut glass, was begging me to touch it with something, any part of my body. I leaned over and fixed my mouth on it, looking up at her as she looked down at me, her mouth slightly open, her brows furrowed.

She moaned, and her hips bucked against me.

God, she was wet as hell. I could feel her squeeze around my dick like she couldn't help herself. She leaned her head back, her eyes closing against the sun that streamed in through the windows.

"Come on," she whined, seemingly at no one in particular. "Come on, touch me."

"You want me to touch you?" I growled. I remembered exactly what she wanted, exactly what she liked.

"Yes," she said back, her breath coming short.

I shook my head, pushing deeper into her, so she squirmed. My breath was coming short, too. I could feel an orgasm building at the base of my spine, but I prayed to God to hold off for a minute. "Ask nicely, Emily."

"Please," she gasped. "Please, Noah, touch me." Her hands were buried in the thick comforter, her hair splayed out around her head. I lifted one hand from her thigh and brushed her clit with my thumb. She cried out, spasmed around me, and I bore her deeper into the bed, almost involuntarily. I started to slowly circle her clit, feeling her tighten each time, watching her totally lose it.