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particular room would be empty.
Clearly it was
his
room—a fuck pad outfitted
with everything he’d need to have a good time
with the women who served that purpose in his
life.
As I pushed to my feet and walked over to the
closet, I heard the glass shower door open in the
bathroom, then close. I caught the two knobs of
the louvered walnut closet doors and pushed them
apart. There was a small selection of men’s
clothes hanging on the metal rod, some business
shirts and slacks, as well as khakis and jeans. My
temperature dropped and a sick misery spread
through my orgasmic high.
The right side dresser drawers held neatly
folded T-shirts, boxer briefs, and socks. The top
one on the left side held sex toys still in their
packages. I didn’t look at the drawers below that
one. I’d seen enough.
I pulled on my pants and stole one of Gideon’s
shirts. As I dressed, my mind went through the
steps I’d learned in therapy:
Talk it out. Explain
what triggered the negative feelings to your
partner. Face the trigger and work through it.
Maybe if I’d been less shaken by the depth of
my feelings for Gideon, I could have done all that.
Maybe if we hadn’t just had mind-blowing sex, I
would have felt less raw and vulnerable. I’d never
know. What I felt was slightly dirty, a little bit used,
and a whole lot hurt. This particular revelation had
hit me with excruciating force, and like a child, I
wanted to hurt him back.
I scooped up the condoms, lube, and toys, and
tossed them on the bed. Then, just as he called
out my name in an amused and teasing voice, I
picked up my bag and left him.
I
kept my head down as I made the walk of shame
past the registration desk and exited the hotel
through a side door. I was red-faced with
embarrassment remembering the manager who’d
greeted Gideon as we got on the elevator. I could
only imagine what he’d thought of me. He had to
know what Gideon reserved that room for. I
couldn’t stand the thought of being the next in a
line of many and yet that’s exactly what I’d been
from the moment we entered the hotel.
How hard would it have been to stop by the front
desk and secure a room that was ours alone?
I started walking with no direction or destination
in mind. It was dark out now, the city taking on a
whole new life and energy from what it had during
the business day. Steaming food carts dotted the
sidewalks, along with a vendor selling framed
artwork, another hawking novelty T-shirts, and yet
another who had two folding tables covered in
movie and television episode scripts.
With every step I took, the adrenaline from my
flight burned away. The maliciously gleeful
thoughts of Gideon coming out of the bathroom to
find an empty room and paraphernalia-strewn bed
ran their course. I began to calm down…and
seriously think about what had just happened.
Was it a coincidence that Gideon invited me to
a gym that just so happened to be conveniently
close to his fuck pad?
I remembered the conversation we’d had in his
office over lunch and the way he’d struggled to
express himself to keep me. He was as confused
and torn about what was happening between us
as I was, and I knew how easy it was to fall into
established patterns. After all, hadn’t I just fallen
into one of my own by bailing? I’d spent enough
years in therapy to know better than to wound and
run when I was hurting.
Heartsick, I stepped into an Italian bistro and
took a table. I ordered a glass of shiraz and a
pizza margherita, hoping wine and food would
calm the vibrating anxiety inside me so that I could
think properly.
When the waiter returned with my wine, I gulped
down half the glass without really tasting it. I
missed Gideon already, missed the playful happy
mood he’d been in when I left. His scent was all
over me—the smell of his skin and hot, grinding
sex. My eyes stung and I let a few tears slide
down my face, despite being in a very public, very
busy restaurant. My food came and I picked at it. It
tasted like cardboard, although I doubted that had
anything to do with the chef or the venue.
Pulling over the chair where I’d set my bag, I
dug out my new smartphone with the intention of
leaving a message with Dr. Travis’s answering
service. He’d suggested we have video chat
appointments until I found a new therapist in New
York and I decided to take him up on that offer.
That’s when I noticed the twenty-one missed calls
from Gideon and a text;
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