144

Aligned Design

Ch 27

Gleason entered her hotel room, tossed her bag on the bed and went to the bathroom. It had occurred to her that she seemed to be going to the bathroom often. She dismissed the thought, kicked off her shoes, and pulled off her socks. Both were damp as were her jeans, from hem to calf. She felt chilled. Oh, don't let me be getting a cold. Not before tomorrow morning, she thought.

She filled the in-room coffee pot with water and set it to heat. She arranged the legs of her jeans on the heater and turned the heat on high. Then she took her last pair of socks from the carpetbag and pulled them on. She climbed into bed to wait for the water to heat for a cup of tea. And promptly fell asleep.

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Bobby washed his face and ran a wet cloth around his neck, over his chest and under his arms. He dressed without bothering with his undershirt. He left the top three buttons open on his dress shirt. He changed his tube socks for his dress socks and stepped into his trousers, then into his shoes. He was looking forward to this little interlude.

Women had flirted with him before. But this, this was different. This was more than flirting. She was offering it. She was so young, pretty. Easy. He wanted to. He'd never wanted to before in a situation like this. He didn't usually think it was right, to take a woman like that. But what the fuck, he thought.

He gathered up his clothes, stuffed them into his gym bag on top of his tennis shoes, zipped it shut and then put on his suit coat. Now, let's go get us some, he thought with a smile.

Bobby slammed shut his locker and the sound shocked his ears. Are you out of your mind, he shouted to himself. What are you thinking? Jesus Christ, Goren, you can't fuck that girl out there. Gleason is coming home. You're with Gleason. It was as though he had gone to sleep and another Bobby had come alive in the gym, a nasty, horny Bobby.

He stood for a moment with a hand on the locker door. What's happening to me? I wouldn't do something like that. That's, that's Ritchie, Dad – they would do that with a woman, not me. Bobby felt a slight panic. He would tell Dr. Stephens about this. What else might he do? He was frightened.

Bobby walked through the locker room door to the lobby. The girl was watching for him. "Hey, you ready?" she asked, grabbing her purse, coming around the front of the reception counter.

Bobby ignored her and walked past.

"Hey, wait! Hey!" the girl called.

Bobby stopped at the glass door, hand on the push bar. He waited and then turned. He couldn't look at the girl, "I, I'm sorry, I can't do this. I wanted to, but I, I can't. I'm sorry." He turned and pushed open the door. The night air was cold and damp. He could breathe out here. Gleason's coming home.

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"Unh, unh, oh God, Edw-, uh, uh unnnnhhhh," Eames came again. Edward watched her orgasm on top of him. He was not quite there, but God he loved it when she came. Eames clenched him, ground down. The sounds she made . . . oh, yeah.

Ah, there, there, unh, unh, oh yeah, unh, yeah, there, like that, unnhh . . . In one move Edward grabbed her around the waist and put her on her back. She was still coming, he was still inside her. He lifted up and pushed in hard, pulled out, pushed in and pulled out. Faster, harder. He jammed into her like he never had before. Eames came again and again. Oh, God! God! Unggghhh! Edward rose up on his toes and pushed hard, he stayed up inside, all of him, and he shot it all up into her.

He fell on her. Eames gasped as she calmed. Oh God. Oh God. They both breathed hard.

Edward rolled off onto his back, beside her. I'm gonna die, he thought, right here, in her bed, I'm gonna die naked. He panted; I need to get back to the gym.

Eames slowed her breathing. Dear God, she thought. Oh, that was good. But, that's it. I'm sore. But a good sore. She turned onto her left side, reaching her right arm across his chest.

'No, no more. Hon, I can't. Please. No more," Edward pleaded. He rubbed her right arm with his left hand as it lay gently across his broad chest. "Please, Alex. You're gonna kill me. Please, no more."

Eames smiled at this. "Ok, no more. Let me tell you, mister, you do good work." Alex stretched up, turned his head toward her with her right hand and kissed him gently. "We need to go to sleep." She turned away, reached for the light and snapped it off. "Oh, Edward, throw that condom in the toilet, ok?"

"Sure, give me a tissue." Edward reached over her for the tissue and rolled back to wipe off. He felt for it, and then half sat up to find it. "Alex, Hon, turn on the light a minute."

"Hmmmm?" she asked sleepily.

"Alex, turn on the light, I can't find the condom."

"What?" she sat up and snapped the light back on. "What do you mean you can't find it? Where is it?" She pulled his right thigh away from his left and searched between his legs. He moved his goods around, looking. It was nowhere to be found.

Edward stopped and looked at her. "Alex, if it's not out here, it must be inside you. It must have come off."

Alex looked at him in disbelief. "Can that happen? Can it come off inside?"

"Well, sweetheart, you were doing some major grabbing in there and I was pumping pretty good. I guess it could under those ideal circumstances. Lie down and spread 'em," he said with a wicked grin.

"Oh my God, Edward, what are you going to do?" She could not believe this.

"Well, unless you want to go fishing, I am. Now lie back, open up, and enjoy this. But, I'm warning you, I cannot go another time. So don't get crazy with my handiwork."

"Jesus Christ, Edward. What do you think I am? This is serious. We have to get that out. Now do this right. Be serious," she said, stretching out, legs wide.

Edward got close beside her and slid the middle finger of his left hand up inside her. He felt around. She was soaking wet inside. And hot. He looked up at her. Alex's eyes were closed. He smiled slightly. He pulled his finger out and slid in two. He heard her draw a quick breath. He felt around again. He curved his fingers slightly and pulled them along her inner walls. Slowly, he pulled his fingers out feeling for anything. He slid them back in slowly. He pulled, felt, slid in.

Methodically, he did this. Slowly Eames responded, a slight shift of her leg. An imperceptible move to meet his hand. Then, a change in her breathing. "Edward. . ." she breathed.

"Does it feel good?" he asked deeply. He watched her. God, she is incredible. I love that I can do this to her, make her feel this way. Jesus, I love her.

Alex arched her back a little. "Edward, stop, that's . . . that's good. Ungh, Edward stop."

He watched her, moving his hand faster, just a bit. "Edward . . . oh, god, Edward. Good."

"Do you want me to stop?" his voice was deep, sensuous.

"No, no don't . . . uh, unh, unh, oh god."

Edward put his mouth on her left breast and flicked the nipple with his tongue. He tugged it with his teeth. He sucked. Her breathing was rushed. He wanted to fuck her again, but he knew he couldn't. He slid up against her, lifting his left leg over her left, she moved her left leg between his. He pushed against her hip in a quick rhythm, rubbing his parts against her. He moaned into her nipple.

"Oh, god, Edw-, ungh, ungh, ungh." Her sounds were coming faster; she rose to meet his hand. "I'm gonna come, oh god, Edward, oh god . . . . ungh, Ungh, UNNGGHH!" Alex slammed against his hand and convulsed beside him.

Edward ground against her hip, he didn't come exactly, but it was good, whatever it was. He watched her slow, saw her pulse in her neck. She was covered in sweat. He withdrew his fingers and rubbed her stomach. "Are you done?" he asked her with a smile.

Alex stretched and rolled back against him on her right side. "Oh god, Edward. The things you do. Jesus." She snuggled against him. Suddenly, she tensed, "Wait, what about the condom? Did you get it?" She turned and looked at him over her left shoulder. "Did you?"

"No, I didn't. But don't worry. It will come out by itself. I'm sure this is not the first condom to come off and get lost up there. Let's go to sleep. Come on. Lie down. He stretched over her and turned off the light. He reached to the foot of the bed and pulled up the sheet and blanket that had gotten kicked away. He covered her and held her close. I love this woman, he said to himself. They slept.

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Bobby sat in his vehicle, hands on the wheel, thinking. I can't believe I considered sleeping with that girl. I wouldn't have done it. I'd have stopped myself. I did stop. I did. I didn't act on it.

But he remembered the feeling, though. He had imagined what he was going to do with her. Oh, she'd be in his lap, all right, head first, then otherwise.

He closed his eyes and couldn't believe he was thinking that. Bobby put his elbows on the wheel and placed his fingers against his lips. What is happening to me?

Bobby forced himself to think of Gleason. He saw her in his mind's eye. Her beauty, that hair. He heard her voice, deep, throaty. God he loved her. He would do anything to keep her. Keep her happy. Keep her with him.

He turned the key in the ignition and headed for an all night grocery.

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She couldn't find him! She stopped and listened again. Oh, he's crying, where is he? She stepped into the cornrows on the left side of the road. She wanted to call to him, but she didn't know his name. She walked in a few steps, pushing apart the stalks.

She stopped to listen again. There, behind her, across the road. She turned, stepped from the corn, and stood in the middle of the road. Where is he? Her panic was growing. His crying became louder, more desperate.

"Where are you?" She called out. She looked into the meadow on her right. Wildflowers and weeds grew low in the field. She crossed to the split rail fence and stepped over where it had fallen down, walking toward the middle of the field.

She had never left the road before and here she was, getting into the corn, stepping over fences and traipsing through a field. But she had never had to find her little boy before. I have a little boy? she wondered. Where is he? He's crying. Why is he crying?

She started walking down the slope of the meadow. The stonewall was below, at the far end. The crying got louder. "I'm coming. Where are you?" she called.

There he is! There he is! She began to run toward him. She slowed as she saw a man, what is that man doing? She watched him pick up her little boy. The child wrapped himself around the man, hugging tightly. That's . . . Bobby. She waved to him and started to run again. She stopped and watched Bobby walk away with her son. Their son. "Wait! Wait for me! Bobby, wait." He didn't stop.

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Bobby ran back down the steps and jogged down the block to his car. He lifted the last three bags out of the rear of the SUV and slammed the lid shut, clicking it locked. He returned to his flat and began to unload the bags of groceries. But first, he ran the water hot in the sink and took the white vase from under the sink. It had held the arrangement Eames had sent when his dad died. He was glad he had kept it.

He removed the wrapping from the flowers and filled the vase with the hot water. Bobby took his knife from his pocket and cut each stem on a long angle setting each one in the hot water. He arranged the different flowers and was pleased with how it looked. He swept the cut ends off the cutting board and into the bin under the sink.

Next, he made room in the fridge for his purchases. He placed inside two tomatoes, three peaches, a small carton of light cream, the mozzarella, and the bottle of Silver Birch, which he was surprised to find at the all night mega grocery, it had turned out to be worth the drive. He wasn't able to find that Provel cheese, though. Must be a St. Louis-only cheese, he figured. He put the loaf of Italian bread in the bread tin and put the empty plastic bags in the bag holder in the hall closet.

Then he removed the maroon and tan tablecloth from its package. He hoped it was the right size. He cleaned off the table, wiped it and then shook out the tablecloth, spreading it over the edges. It was perfect. Creased, but perfect. I should iron that, he thought. Maybe those creases will fall out. I'll check it in the morning. He opened the package of four napkins as well. He set the flowers in the middle of the table. He had to smile, it looked nice.

Bobby removed the two scented candles from the last bag and sniffed them. The label said "Spring Rain Garden." Smells nice, he thought. He looked around the living room. He decided to set it on the end table. He took the other one to the bedroom. He wanted her to be happy. He wanted her to stay. I love her so much, he thought.

Gleason woke herself calling out in her sleep. Oh, what a dream, she thought. Bobby was in it. He wouldn't wait for me. And someone was crying. A little boy. Bobby was holding the little boy. And walking away. Oh, what a terrible dream. She felt sluggish. And, she had to pee.

Coming from the bathroom, Gleason saw that it was eight-twenty, nine-twenty in New York. Oh, it's too late to eat anything, she told herself. But she was starving. She checked her jeans to see if they were dry enough to wear. They would do for a quick dinner run. She slipped into them and had to put her feet into her damp shoes. Ugh, she hated the feel of wet leather. She grabbed her wrap and bag and headed to the lobby.

"Dr. Dear, where are you going at this hour?" Antonio asked with a smile.

"I'm going to run down to Wolfgang Puck's for a nice salad. I don't want to eat this late but I am just starved. Can I bring you back anything?"

"No, thank you. I shall go get it for you. You stay here. It is dark out."

"No, you won't," she said, walking toward the door. "I shall be quick about it." And she stepped into the cool, dark air.

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Later that night, after Gleason had set out her clothes for the morning, organized her materials for the interview, and had packed, she thought about calling Bobby. She held the phone. She wanted to tell him about her interview. She wanted him to wish her luck. She wanted him to be happy for her. But then she heard his voice, his words. She set the phone on the desk and plugged it in. She would not call him. Ever.

Later that night, after Bobby finished eating a bowl of cereal, looking at the mail, and reading the paper, he thought about calling Gleason. He held the phone. He wanted to call her and tell her he knew about the interview. That he had figured it out. That he wished her luck if this was what she wanted. That he loved her and always would. That he wanted her to come home and live here with him. That he was sorry for what he said. That he was going to get better. That he would pick her up at the airport. That he loved her. Forever. That he couldn't live without her. That he loved her. But he didn't call her.