"And you’re going to share it with me?"
"You do realize, one day soon, a lot of what I have will belong to you, too," I murmur.
"I don’t want it." He glowers back at me.
I open my mouth, then shut it. "Maybe that was the wrong thing to say. It’s just whiskey, son." I raise my glass. "If you don’t want it, there’s more for me." I raise a shoulder.
He continues to stare at me, then finally relaxes his shoulders. "I suppose I could have a glass."
"Go on then." I clink my glass with his, then take a sip. The complex notes of sherry oak and cinnamon laced with citrus and wood smoke tease my tastebuds. I roll the whiskey around my mouth and swallow.
"Go on." I gesture to his untouched glass. "Taste it."
He narrows his gaze on me, then raises his glass to his mouth. He takes a cautious sip, then blinks. His gaze widens. He holds the liquid in his mouth, then swallows. "Wow," he breathes. "This is—"
"Fucking good." I take another sip, let the layers of the whiskey coat my tongue.
He does the same.
We sip our whiskeys in silence for a few seconds. Then I point to the sandwich, "Don’t you want that?"
He places his whiskey down on the counter, snatches up the sandwich and demolishes it in three large bites. It’s my turn to blink. The appetite of youth. Was I ever that hungry for food? Did I ever eat it with such relish? Is this what it means to grow older? To take things for granted, and lose your zest for things in life. Is that why I’m so attracted to her? A mistaken attempt at holding onto what’s left of my life? Not that I’m that old, but I’m not getting any younger, either. Am I about to become a caricature of an older man who can’t stop lusting after a woman much younger than him? My head spins. Isaac raises his glass and tosses back his drink, then splutters.
I wince. "That’s not how you’re supposed to drink Macallan."
With tears running down his cheeks, he scoffs, "Says who?"
"Says me, but you know what?" I glance at the glass, then at him. "Maybe it’s time I broke some of my own rules."
I raise my own glass and toss it back. The alcohol burns its way down my gullet. It hits my stomach and sets off a fireball of heat. My skin flushes, sweat beads my brow. "Fuck," I growl.
"Indeed," he laughs.
I grab the bottle of whiskey and top up both our glasses, then nod to his glass. "Follow me."
19
Lena
I come awake with a start. The scent of sherry oak and cinnamon laced with sweaty man, the rasp of a whiskered jaw against my cheek, the thick rough fingers inside me fucking me until I’d come. I glance down to find my fingers are inside my panties. Again. Shit. I pull my hand out, hold it up to my nose, and the scent of sex teases my nostrils. I was masturbating again. OMG, I was fucking myself with my own fingers. I was sure Isaac had come to bed and fucked me. It had felt so real… So much better than real, actually.
The last few times Isaac and I made love, he’d seemed to be in a hurry. As usual, once I pretended to come, he finished quickly, then pulled out, and was gone without any post-coital cuddles. He used to hold me close after sex, in the early days of our relationship. He doesn’t bother with that anymore. There have been times when he’s thrusted inside, not bothering to find out if I was even wet. It was a relief when he finished, then pulled out and left. I must have been imagining that it was him, but it had felt so real.
I shake my head. I must be losing my mind. I haven’t seen Isaac over the last few days, and come to think of it, I haven’t seen JJ, either. He moved me out of his office to a cubicle, and that had been a relief.
He also started to communicate through his personal assistant, which is good because that means I don’t have to speak with him. On the other hand, Karen—yeah, her name really is Karen—speaks to me like she's doing me a favor. In a word, she is insufferable.
I’ve been spending long hours at work and using the tube to commute. At least I don’t have to spend time in close proximity tohimin his car. Not that I’m a fan of the tube, but the commute gives me time to steel myself before I get to work, just in case I end up seeing him. Similarly, on the return journey home, I have the chance to strengthen my resolve not to be affected by being under his roof. And it hasn’t actually been necessary because I haven’t run into him at all. All in all, things have been so much more peaceful. Maybe even... lonely. I grab my phone, pull up my group chat and check the messages.
Seema: News? What news?
Josh: Lenaaaaaa
Mira: Bitch, what’s the goss? Did you finally hook up with someone hot?
Seema: She has a boyfriend.
Mira: Who, Isaac? Is he even a real boyfriend? He’s barely around for her.