Angel Dust

He had heard her scream so many times when Dave was alive. Randy could remember sitting in the living room, pretending to go over interview notes, while his mentor fucked his wife in the kitchen or down the hall. He could remember shifting in his seat, wishing to hell that he wasn't so turned on every time she reached a frenzied pitch with her screams. The way the curse words would flow over her otherwise-reserved lips made him crazy, and often he had gone home to masturbate to thoughts of this woman.

And now he was the one making her come. He was the one giving it to her hard, making her beg for more. It wasn't a fantasy anymore. Courtney Lane was his. And he would be damned if he was going to let anyone else sample his goods. If he had to fuck the thought of Nitro out of her mind, he would do it. And he wouldn't complain.

"Damn," Courtney sighed as Randy laid beside her in the afterglow of their latest fuck session.

"Yeah," he agreed, rolling his head to smile at her. "You are amazing."

She blushed and nodded, kissing his cheek before rolling out of the bed. "I need a shower."

By the time Courtney got out of the shower, Randy was sound asleep. Covered with a thin sheet, his face peaceful and his arms stretched above his head, she had to admit that he was pretty damn perfect. So why wasn't she smiling?

He had sent her flowers at work, taken her to a five-star restaurant, treated her to a matinee performance of Wicked, and personally cleaned the bathrooms and kitchen in the house as a surprise to her. Though he had been the near-perfect boyfriend before he left for Afghanistan, he seemed to be working toward extra credit since returning.

And the sex. Damn.

She dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, feeling a sudden, overwhelming urge to get some air. Randy had doted her with more attention that she knew what to do with since his return. But the one thing he hadn't given her was a second alone.

Too much had happened. Too much of a connection had been established with Nitro. Even if she tried to pretend she was just using him as a replacement for Randy, she couldn't deny that she missed him now that she wasn't spending every night at his apartment. They had become something more than friends, and she wasn't sure how she was supposed to just turn that attraction off and get back to her life now.

She stepped into the street, closing her eyes to revel in the feeling of the midnight breeze on her face. Her thighs were soar, her body exhausted. But her mind was racing and she knew sleep would not come until she had resolved some of the issues racing through her head.

Nearly a half hour later, she found herself in front of Ronzio. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

Nitro looked up from his seat on the sidewalk, an uncertain expression on his innocent face. "I'm not sure." Standing with a grunt, he wiped the back of his pants and stuffed both hands in his pockets. "You ever get that feeling like you have to be somewhere. And even though you don't know why, you just have to go?"

She nodded and unlocked the front door, waiting for him to enter the shop before she shut the door and locked it behind them.

Moonlight bathed the room in a soft glow as Courtney hoisted herself onto the counter, making no attempt to turn any of the overhead lights on. She twisted her hands in front of her as Nitro lowered himself to a stool and pulled his wallet out of his pocket.

"Look, Nitro," Courtney started, "I don't know what Randy said to you the other day, but I don't want us to stop being friends just because he's back."

Withdrawing a photo from the wallet, he laid it beside Courtney and tapped it with a finger. "Melina," was all he said.

Courtney lifted the picture and took in the image. Nitro stood with his arms around a petite Latino woman, both smiling brightly, their dark eyes twinkling. She wasn't sure she had ever seen Nitro look so happy. "She's beautiful," Courtney responded for lack of anything more intelligent to say.

"We met in college. This instant attraction that I still can't expain. It was like we just knew." He stopped and shook his head. "My first love. Took me all of three months to propose."

She wanted to ask a million questions, but none of them seemed appropriate at the moment. Instead, she continued studying the happy-looking couple in the photo. It reminded her of a photo her mother had taken in the Hamptons. It was one of her favorites, the one where Dave looked like something out of a Hilfiger ad, happily embracing Courtney on the deck of her father's boat.

"Two months before the wedding, she bailed." Nitro brought Courtney's thoughts back to him. "Met another dude. A doctor. From Puerto Rico," he chuckled slightly, blinking an unexpected tear. "Said she wasn't sure how it had happened, just that she knew it was right. He made her happy." His eyes focused on a stack of Styrofoam cups behind the counter.

Courtney silently slid the photo back to him and placed a hand over his on the counter. "I'm sorry, Johnny," she whispered, squeezing his hand slightly. It was the first time he had shared anything painful about his life with her, though she had unburdened her soul to him several times.

But he pulled his hand back and shook his head. "Can you just imagine how happy her family was? Their baby girl marrying a doctor from the mother country? Instead of this white trash artist from the Village?" He shook his head and met Courtney's eye for the first time. "I'm not doing it again."

The sincerity of his gaze sent a chill up her spine. "What are you talking about?"

With a chuckle, he stood from his seat and pushed his wallet back into his pocket. "I know your family wants you with Randy. Hell, I'm sure Dave would probably want you with Randy, too," he acknowledged, crossing his arms over his chest. "But I'll be honest with you, Courtney. I don't fucking care what they want." Turning, he started for the door. With a hand on the knob, he looked back over his shoulder. "Until you feel the same way, I can't do this anymore."

She watched him leave, a lump in her throat as she pulled her knees to her chest. Even as she tried to rationalize, she had to admit that everything he had said was true. No matter how much she denied it, her parents' opinions of her life was important to her. More important than her own happiness.

Locking the door behind herself, Courtney started for home again. For as long as she could remember, she had allowed her parents, her husband, her colleagues, and society to dictate what she was supposed to need, want, and be. Her need to please them, to make them proud, had driven her every decision for more than twenty years.

As she let herself back into the apartment, she made a horrifying realization. She had no idea what she really wanted for herself.