It’s extraordinary.

And I never want to wear a condom again because this is motherfucking heaven. Her heat envelopes me. Her walls clench around my hard-on. Her breath catches, the most desperate sound I’ve ever heard her make.

Then I fuck her.

In my head, I say that word over and over.

This is fucking. This is fucking. This is fucking.

This isn’t making love.

This is just the final screw before I go. I can’t care about the way she threads her hands in my hair. I can’t linger on the murmurs she makes. And I can’t give a second thought ever again to how she clutches me and cries my name when she comes, as if I’m the answer to her every wish.

I won’t let myself think about how she sounds just as lost as I am.

Because seconds later, I’m coming, too, and the pleasure blots out the empty ache.

A little later I’m dried off and dressed. I zip up my backpack, which contains a few changes of clothes. Footsteps sound behind me, then a question.

“What are you doing?”

I turn around, take a breath, and rip off the Band-Aid like I promised I’d do. “I’m going to stay with Max.”

Her jaw drops. “What?”

I nod. “Just for a little while.”

“Why?” Her brow furrows as her voice wobbles. She stands in my doorway, dressed in jeans and a cute green blouse. Her hair is blown dry, and the ends are bright pink now.

I step closer. “I think the cake is baked now, baby,” I say softly, remembering I have to do this. “It’ll be easier this way.”

“You’re just leaving?”

“I’ll be back. I promise.” Though, right now I don’t know how to be near her when I want her this badly. “We always knew we had to stop. I can’t stop when I’m living in the same six hundred square feet as you. It feels like we’re playing house.”

She bites her lip as if she’s holding in all her sadness. “You think we’re just playing house?”

I glance around and wave at the walls, frustration building inside me, mixed with hurt. “We can’t just go on like this,” I say. Then I can’t help it. I’m done. I just can’t hold it in anymore. I unleash my heart. “I wake up next to you, and I want to touch you. I watch TV with you, and I can’t stop kissing you. Hell, I dye your hair and we wind up naked in the shower. I can’t just cut this off like it’s a growth and go back to watching Bored to Death without wanting to make love to you,” I say, then wince because I’ve made my great mistake.

I swallow nervously, but stand my ground.

Her eyes pin me, and she says nothing for a moment that lasts too long. When she speaks, her tone is soft and tender. “Was that what it was for you?”

I won’t go first. “You tell me.” My voice is gravelly. Broken.

She crosses her arms. She doesn’t answer me. Instead, she purses her lips then speaks softly. “I don’t want you to leave.”

I reach for her elbow, desperation spiraling in me. But I’m not even sure what I’m fighting for—for her to see what we could become, or for her to let me go. “You want to stay friends, don’t you?”

She nods. “You know I do.”

I grip her arm tighter. “And you said this had to end. Josie, it’s too hard for me to be here right now. You’ve got to understand.”

A tear slides down her cheek. Then one trickles over the other. More fall, like a summer rain shower. She swipes at her cheeks, but she’s fighting an uphill battle.

I’m torn between wanting to pull her in my arms and comfort her and needing to protect myself. But there’s something else at play, too. Morbid curiosity. That wins. “Josie,” I say, and she draws a sharp inhale and looks up. “Was it that way for you?”

She parts her lips, but no answer comes because a loud rap of knuckles reverberates through the apartment.

“Did you order lunch or something?” I ask.

She shakes her head and turns on her heel, heading for the door. “The doorman called a few minutes ago. He had to take care of something on our floor so he offered to bring up the package.”

The knocking continues. “Ah, your rolling pin.”

“Probably.” Her voice is empty.

She peers through the peephole then nods at me. She unlocks and opens the door. A short, stout man in a green blazer stands at the threshold. The day doorman.

“Ms. Hammer, this is for you,” he says, then hands her a white envelope. The legal size.

She regards it curiously. “What is this?”

“I signed for it yesterday. It’s a certified letter.”

He turns to go, and she lets the door fall closed. She looks at me then at the envelope. I shrug and gesture to the item in her hand. Open it. She takes out a sheet of paper and reads.

After a minute, she blinks and meets my eyes. “It’s from the landlord.” Her voice is a barren whisper.

“What did he say?”

“Mr. Barnes needs the apartment for his niece,” she says heavily, then shakes her head like she can’t believe the hand she was just dealt. “We have to be out in a month. We’re losing our home.”

Looks like our days of playing house truly are over.

32

From the pages of Josie’s Recipe Book

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Josie’s Misery Salad

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Ingredients

Lettuce

Tomatoes