A Thin Line (13 page)

I need to think. About why I can't
stop
thinking about kissing Preston.

My feet hit the pavement in steady rhythm.  Right, left, right, left. The sounds of Linkin Park's
Bleed It Out
blast through my ear buds, the beat driving me further despite the vice grip on my thigh muscles; faster despite what feels like icepicks stabbing my lungs.

Neither the trail nor the music is on my mind. I'm trying not to think about it, but it bobs to the surface at the most inopportune times, bringing with it the swell and arc of emotion- elation, attraction, fear, anger, confusion.

The Kiss. It's now a full blown incident that deserves Capital Letters. The Kiss.

I haven't let myself analyze it, make up reasons to myself as to why it happened. It can never happen again.

Four weeks to the wedding. Rooms and airfare have been booked. Bridesmaid dresses, wedding dress and tuxes have all been fitted. Shoes have been purchased. Excursions have been planned. I've been packed for two weeks. Seven days on an island in the Caribbean requires extra preparation. Swimsuit shopping alone took me a month.

The engagement party is coming up soon, then the Bachelorette/Bachelor Parties and the Shut-In. And then the wedding. I am so, so close to shoving Preston out of my life forever.

And then I lost my mind and gave in to a kiss.  And not only did I give in, I kissed him back! What was I thinking? I don't know. I don't want to talk about it. Preston, on the other hand, would love to talk about it. He's brought up little else for the last month.

Earlier, while in the midst of prepping for two meetings, a GTalk message pops up on my screen. I recognize Preston's handle and involuntarily roll my eyes.

PReid: Embassy is booked. We can check into our rooms any time after 3. And the ballroom to decorate.

ECampbell: OK.

PReid:  Hey, no problem. Thanks for the charming conversation.

ECampbell:   Did it occur to you that I might be at work and busy?

PReid: Like I'm not busy? Get into multi-tasking.

ECampbell: Thanks for the tip. I'll put it to use right away by being done with this conversation and going back to work.

PReid: Whatever. It's your world, Angie. I just live in it.

Ten minutes later, a new message arrives:

PReid: So we're not going to talk about it?

ECampbell: Pretty much.

PReid: What if I want to talk about it?

ECampbell: Lots of therapists in Orlando. Pick one and chat it up.

PReid: I don't want therapy. I want to talk to *you* about it. 

ECampbell:  You already talked to me.

PReid: Ok so, what now?

ECampbell:  Nothing now.

PReid: Nothing now? You're sure about that?

ECampbell: Got to go, I have a meeting.

I close the window and this time sign out of GTalk, pack up my laptop, files and notes and head to the conference room for an afternoon of meetings.

After work, I am restless. I don't want to sit at home and work. I can't go to Morgan's, because her house is stuffed to the gills with wedding shit. If I think about the wedding, I will think about Preston and Preston is the last person I want to think about.

I throw on my running clothes so I can exert some energy. I'm hoping to tire myself out enough to not think about The Kiss. Or about how I remember how full and soft his lips are. Or how I used to love to feel him moan against me, the sound rumbling through his chest, my body absorbing his pleasure.

Maybe I'll exhaust myself enough to go home and go straight to sleep instead of restlessly flipping from one side to the other before pulling out my vibe. Lately his face and the sexy sounds he makes and the feel of his body, his
adult
body seeps into my fantasies and it's disturbing how fast I climax when he's on my mind.

My music is loud and I'm in a zone, ignoring the pain, blocking out my thoughts. I catch a glimpse of someone falling into step beside me.  I grunt, push the buds further into my ears and speed up, hoping to eclipse him.

No such luck. He matches my pace, footfall for footfall. I yank one bud from my ear as I slow down. No way could I keep up that pace.

"Go away please."

"I'm just out for a run."

"Over here, by my apartment, twenty minutes from where you live."

"Strange coincidence, huh?"

Preston's breathing is all off. He's heaving deep breaths in a way that might make him hyperventilate. His forehead and neck glisten with sweat and his shirt is already sporting a nice ring around the collar. I almost laugh aloud.

"I'm trying to get some time to myself. I'd appreciate it if you'd pace a few steps behind me." I replace the bud in my ear and try to speed up again. Preston pulls the bud from my ear.

"Not ‘til… you talk to me." At least I think that's what he says. He's panting so hard I can't understand him. His face is deep red and I'm seriously concerned for him, so I slow my pace and then stop. We're deep into the wooded area of the trail. There's nothing but tall trees, wild grasses and short brush around us.

"Let's take a break so you don't die. I won't have Morgan blaming me for killing Nate's Best Man."

We pace, hands on our hips, until our heartbeats return to normal and we can talk without inhaling deep breaths.

"So, what do you want?"

"To talk."

"So talk."

"No I want
us
to talk. To each other. About what happened."

"We kissed. So what?" I shrug a shoulder, nonchalant. "It was a mistake. We both had a little to drink. We were talking about old times. Someone got a little caught up in the moment."

"I wasn't the only one kissing somebody."

"When someone kisses you, do you just stand there? Or is it second nature to kiss them back? It didn't mean anything, Preston."

"Bullshit."

"What bullshit? You said yourself, you know I don't think about you like that and I don't even like you."

He shakes his head slowly, with that smile, the one I hate. The one that says he knows something. "I don't think that's the case. I think you're scared that you might still feel something for me. You don't want to talk about it because you might realize that."

I'm trying not to laugh. The thought that I'd have any feelings for him is cute.  "Where'd you get your degree in psychology, Preston? A cereal box?"

"You can't win this with insults. I saw something in your eyes that night. And you kissed me back. Pretty passionately. That wasn't a mercy kiss. That wasn't an automatic reaction. You
wanted
to kiss me."

"I didn't."

"You did. And now you don't want to face it because it means you might have to swallow your pride and get rid of that hurt you've been wearing on your sleeve."

"I don't want to talk about it because it meant nothing. Absolutely nothing. It's just like you to think that you can solve the world's problems with a kiss. And your dick is the great equalizer, right?"

"Angie–"

"No, Preston. No. Let me tell you what's really going on. You expected me to swoon over your heartfelt confession, absolutely in love again because you decided to grace my mouth with your tongue after all this time. I'm supposed to pine for you and wish for you to stick your dick in me because you had some great realization about your feelings for me."

I shake my head, vigorously.  "It ain't happening. Sorry."

"That's not-"

"I'm supposed to feel lucky to come after Stripper Name Girl? I'm supposed to want you, because all women do, right? Once again, I'm should be happy to come after someone you've slept with. I should feel special, right?"

Preston glares at me, arms crossed over his chest and feet apart in an ominous stance. If I didn't know him so well, I'd be afraid he might hit me.

"Jade," he spits out. "Her name is Jade. I never slept with her."

A cynical, haughty laugh falls out of my mouth. "Right."

"She came by the house. We hung out. You dropped by, laid that whole Morgan's Dream Wedding guilt trip on me and I wasn't in the mood. I sent her home an hour after you left. I haven't seen her since. She doesn't work at Prime anymore. I heard she got another job."

"Well, lah-dee-fuckin' dah! Good for her."

Preston laughs, unfolds his arms and begins to pace the area. The grass is beaten down from many, many feet doing the same. He stops and turns toward me. "What the fuck is your problem?"

"
You
are my problem!"

"Okay, we're getting somewhere. How am I your problem? What exactly did I do, that you can find so much to be angry about? This can't be about a kiss."

"It's... it's the
what now
question. It's the incredulous reaction you have when I say there's nothing now. You expect us to get back together, pick up where we left off. Erase the years of hell I have been through with you–"

"You've been an evil bitch to me since the day we broke up."

"And you know why! So because you mumbled some nice words in the dark after some drinks, I should forgive you? You know why you kissed me? Because you were lonely, I was breathing, I have two legs and a pussy.”

Preston huffs a laugh. "That–"

“Did you even care about me? Ever? You took advantage of my feelings for you, back then. You knew I wasn’t experienced. You knew I was naïve. You wanted someone you could manipulate and I was more than willing to be that person."

He is still, now. His eyes bore into mine with such intensity I want to step back, but I won't give him the satisfaction of knowing he's made me uncomfortable. I stand my ground and glare back.

"You're totally serious right now?"                   

"As a heart attack."

He shakes his head. Closes his eyes, takes a few steps back like he doesn't trust himself. "You…you're certifiable. You're not happy unless you're angry. You've taken this whole....
stupid thing
and twisted it around in your brain so you can feel justified enough to stay mad. Now I
never
cared about you? I never loved you? I manipulated you? Please. You erased all that time, those years we spent together before I even kissed you? 

"You don't remember going against each other on Donkey Kong at the arcade? Or me giving you all my quarters so you could play longer and beat my score? Or me saving my allowance so we could go to that pizza place on Saturdays? You don't remember me making you Valentines every year? You put them up in your locker...all that's gone?"

"I remember all of that. Kid stuff. So?"

"It wasn't all kid stuff.  You know it and I know it, so don't tell me I didn't care about you. Don't tell me what I didn't feel. I know what I felt and I know I was in love with you. Whatever you tell yourself that lets you wake up every day and hate me more, that's cool.  But don't wrap me and what you think you know about me up in it."

"Fine," I shout, throwing up my hands. "I make up reasons to hate you. I must have just dreamt how you've treated me for so long, so you are totally absolved from all the hateful, ugly things you've ever said to me. That doesn't change the fact that I have crusty shit on the bottom of my shoe that is better than your client list. You think I want to be with you, knowing the lowlife assholes you represent?"

"You had everything to do with turning me into the man that I am, so if you hate me, thank yourself. I'm a motherfucker? Your fault.  Sonofabitch? Money hungry blood sucker? Congratulations, you made me that."

"Now it's my fault you couldn't get over me and you're a piss poor excuse for a human being. You know what? I cannot wait until this fucking wedding is over and I never have to talk to you again."

"Likewise," he hurls back. His lips are curled into a sneer and his eyes glow with anger. "Until then, I'm getting ready to scrub the toilets at the courthouse with your law degree. Again."

He turns on a heel and begins a run back up the hill. I lean against the trunk of a tree and listen to his footsteps grow faint in the distance.

I have a knot in my neck the size of Preston's head. I rub at it, kneading through the skin but it's not going away. I am seething, shaking in anger, but more upset at the thought of being in court with him in two weeks.
Sanchez v. Bailey,
my discrimination case, finally gets in front of a judge, and while I know I should win, Preston is too confident in his client and himself as an attorney. The onus is on our side to prove Phillip Bailey is a racist that violates housing laws. It should be easy.

But I’m afraid they have something up their sleeves and I’d rather be paranoid than naïve.

I push myself off of the tree and trot back up the trail. I am exhausted, not only from a hard run, but the fight with Preston. I lobbed an ugly accusation that he didn't deserve. It hurt him, and I could see that. I am disappointed in myself - I've never stooped that low.

When the parking lot is in sight, I slow to a walk and, out of habit, look toward the spot where I usually park. My car sits exactly where I left it. Sitting next to my car is Preston's Benz. Idling, lights on.