Disclaimer: Not mine, blah blah blah, no infringement intended.
Found
It was a Tuesday evening, Carver said something weary, Bobby looked troubled, and Alex shifted on her feet just a little bit when Carver moved past her.
Just a little roll of her centre of balance, a glance down as Carver exited, and when she looked up again, Bobby was watching.
And he knew. God fuck him, he knew.
*
It was hot. The kind of sex you were supposed to reserve for strangers, but they'd somehow mistaken each other for viable substitutes.
They screwed on her kitchen table without taking off their clothes. It happened and she couldn't stop it and she wasn't really sure she needed to. It felt good, damn good.
But she couldn't bring herself to call him Ron.
*
Bobby looked at the closing door, and looked at her. Alex wanted to crawl under the carpet and die with that look. Understanding inched across his face in slow waves as he added up all those details only he could pick up.
Circles under her eyes. A tiny stiffness to her gait. The trace of tension in Carver's voice.
The way everything was so completely normal, it was going to make her brain bleed.
A finger pointed. 'You…'
He looked at the door again.
And the fucking bastard looked hurt.
*
It was replacement sex. Replacement for someone she didn't want to want, and replacement for the wife who hadn't wanted him.
He told her about his ex over a shot of tequila by her kitchen counter. She laughed dry and sharp when he made a joke that wasn't funny, and they lapsed into silence for a good eleven minutes.
"We could be making a very big mistake," he said quietly.
"Could be worse," she said with a shrug, "At least we're not both cops."
At least we're not partners.
*
Bobby went quiet, enough to make her nervous. His arms folded over his chest, one fist formed in front of his mouth. Defensive child meets the thinker pose.
"Bobby…" Alex warned.
His hand dropped out and away from his mouth, like an empty offering. The fingers went rigid, the movements jerky.
"Carver?" he said incredulously, "New York isn't big enough to… to find…"
*
She found him in the rain on a street corner with panic in his eyes, and he kissed her long and hard with desperation, and the next day he told her they should pretend it never happened.
For the sake of their partnership.
*
His flat palm slammed against the wall.
"Bobby…" she said.
*
Somehow it became comfortable, in a strained sort of way. Every few nights he would drop round and they would screw like monkeys. They would have shots of tequila. It drowned the taste of rain she imagined in his kisses.
Once or twice, only ever on a weekend, he stayed the night. They would whisper their most impersonal secrets in the dark. She never offered him breakfast, and he never stayed for coffee.
He was never alone with her at the office, and she never let Bobby answer her phone.
*
"I hope you know what you're doing," Bobby said softly, his face turned to the wall, his hand sliding down from the site of his anger.
"I know," she said.
She'd known it was just a matter of time before he figured it out, and maybe that's why she'd done it.
"Yeah. I guess you do," he said.
Feeling brittle and cold, Alex walked away.
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