It's Only Temporary

Chapter 26: Keep Your Shirt On

David switched off the TV in exasperation. It wasn't working. Even the late-night financial news on Bloomberg couldn't lull him to sleep tonight. His mind still wandered restlessly no matter how he tried to distract himself. It kept going back to that chance encounter on the street - those few fleeting moments he'd had with Penny, and the card he'd placed in her pocket.

He couldn't seem to stop second-guessing himself about the card. Maybe the message hadn't been clear enough. He'd only had a few seconds, after all. He'd meant to tell her that he was here for her if she needed him - if she was in some kind of trouble. She could always call him. Always. She'd been there for him when he was at his worst, and he would always return the favor.

That's what he tried to tell himself, in any case. He was just concerned about her. A concerned friend. She was acting erratically - resigning from her job out of the blue like that. That's why he'd gone to her old place in Brooklyn, the week after she quit. Just to check that she was OK.

Right?

He should be glad, really, that she hadn't called. That meant she was fine. She didn't need anything. He should be glad.

Right.

But he wasn't glad. He could pretend during the daytime at work, but there was no pretending now, home alone in the middle of the night. Yes, he'd been worried about her - it was true - but his feelings went way beyond concern for a friend. What point was there trying to deny it? He hadn't left that card because he was worried. He'd left it because he missed her. He missed talking to her. He missed her smart-ass mouth. He missed the sound of her voice. He missed the sight of her face. He should have written that. It was obvious to him now. He should have written what he really meant:

"Penny, please call me. I miss you."

Even that wasn't the heart of it, though. He knew deep down what it was. He'd known for a while now, and nothing could change the fact. Not even if he made a million rules against it. Not even if he went on dates with every woman on the face of the Earth who wasn't her. It wouldn't change anything. He knew what he should have written on the card, if he was really being honest:

"Penny, please call me. I love you."

Now he was never getting another opportunity. He'd blown it. That was his one chance, that day on the street in the rain. Maybe that's why the moment kept haunting him, every time he tried to close his eyes - the way he'd pulled her back before she crossed the street. The cab had sped past them, inches away, and they'd stood frozen together for just a split-second. Swaying there. His arm locked around her waist. His full length pressed against her back.

He kept trying to distract himself from the memories, but maybe he should stop fighting it. Just let his mind drift in the direction it wanted to go. It was going there anyway. He might as well try to enjoy it.

With a sigh, David shifted in the bed. He rolled onto his side and imagined a warm body in front of him. Maybe she was wearing that pale yellow t-shirt she'd had on that day - a shade lighter than her hair. She'd been splashed head to toe, and the fabric of her t-shirt clung to her, transparent. She was cold. She was shivering. Maybe she would reach back and take his hand, and pull it back around her waist again - pull him close until her back was pressed against him and his face was buried in her hair. Only this time there would be no honking cars, no passersby, no puddles. This time he wouldn't let go.

His fantasy shifted then - a change in setting. It was all make believe anyway, so why limit himself? He flipped through images like a mental slideshow, scanning for the perfect destination. A beach. A private villa by the sea. Palm trees. Tahiti maybe... no, Hawaii. He'd joked to her once that he'd take her to Hawaii. Now she lay before him, stretched out on the sand, beads of water clinging. Wet, but not from the rain. Not shivering. The sun was beating down on them. Too hot for clothing. She pulled her soaking t-shirt off over her head. A bikini underneath? A string bikini, tied in the back with a neat bow. All he had to do was reach out his hand and pull on the end of that little string, and the whole thing would come unraveled-

BANG.

David sat up in the darkened bedroom with a jerk.

BANG BANG BANG.

Someone pounded loudly on his apartment door. The sound yanked him violently back to the present.

"What the hell?" he muttered, pulling on his robe as he hurried to answer. It was a quarter past four in the morning now. Who could possibly be at his door at this hour?

The pounding continued.

BANG BANG BANG BANG.

"I'm coming!" he called out, as he jogged across the living room. "I'm coming! Keep your shirt on!"

BANG BANG BANG BANG BA-

David pulled the door open at last and took a step backward in surprise at what he saw. "Penny?"

For a moment, he thought he must be sleeping after all. Penny? Here? At his door, in the middle of the night? He must have drifted off. He must be dreaming. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the lights illuminating the living room. It didn't make sense. He could've sworn he was awake just now. He gave his head a shake to brush away the confusion. What was she doing here?

"Hey!" he said, his voice a little breathless. "Hi!"

She didn't respond - just stood there in his doorway, glaring at him sullenly. She was wearing the sweatshirt he had given her. His eyes followed it downward to where it hung limply around her knees. She had one hand stuffed inside the front pocket.

He pulled the door open wider and beckoned for her to come in, but she remained where she stood on the other side of the threshold. She was angry. He could see that much. Furious. He'd never seen her look like that before - livid, almost vibrating with contempt. His heart rate quickened in anxiety as he waited for her to say something.

"What?" he asked at last. "What's wrong?"

She still didn't answer. She only pulled her hand out of her pocket and threw something at his feet. David looked down and watched it flutter through the air as it made its way to the floor in front of him. He recognized what it was, of course. He stooped to pick it up: the notecard.

He blinked at it for a moment and then met her eyes again, more confused than ever. "I don't-Penny, I don't understand."

"You asshole," she hissed back at him.

"What?"

"Here," she said, her voice starting to rise. "Take it. Take it back." She unzipped the front of the sweatshirt with a jerk and tore it off from around her shoulders. She threw it in a ball at his feet, in the same spot where the notecard had just landed. "I don't want it! Do you understand? I don't owe you anything!"

David's jaw slackened, too shocked to speak. He felt his eyes go wide. He knew he should look away. He shouldn't stare. Whatever he'd done to make her angry, staring would only make it worse. But his eyes wouldn't seem to listen. They remained fixed in place on the sight in front of him.

Penny, standing in his doorway. Wearing... that.

Jeans.

Converse sneakers.

And not a stitch of clothes above the waist, except a tropical-print string bikini.

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