Something Tangible

My Place or Yours?

Katarina said she was going to spend a few hours sending out a stack of resumes she'd been neglecting — spurred on no doubt by my little remark, Steven thought glumly. He skulked off to the living room, agreeing to give her some space, while Katarina stewed in self-imposed exile next door.

They were only 10 feet apart, but the divide between them grew wider. Steven picked at his cereal, sullen and morose — unaccustomed to being in a doghouse. He tried to clear out some emails, but all he could do was picture Katarina's panged expression when he told her she had no life.

Christ, I managed to make her feel like a whore and a loser in one fell swoop. That takes skill. I must've broken some kind of record for being a piss-poor boyfriend. She's probably in there right now trying to come up with ways to break it off. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

He raked his hands through his hair and slammed his laptop in disgust. Usually, whenever a woman gave him the silent treatment, he secretly welcomed the peace and quiet, but this was the worst kind of punishment Katarina could mete out. Steven could handle her yelling and sarcasm; her crying and silence he could not.

Katarina wasn't scheming to punish Steven, or even hold a grudge. But his words stung, tapping into the insecurities she had been trying to gloss over for months.

He's right. I'm about to get a divorce. I can't find a job. I can't balance a checkbook even though it adds up to a whopping $18. What kind of life do I have? He's by far the best thing in it, and once he realizes how much better he is than me...

She shook her head, mentally beating herself up for beating herself up. Stop it! He's obviously head over heels for you Katarina. The man wants to move you up to New York so that he can be closer to you after only knowing you for a few weeks. It's sweet, in a deranged, snotty, stalker kind of way.

She glanced at the clock and gasped when she saw how late it was, sprinting to her closet to change.

Katarina was zipping up her dress when the soft footfall of steps startled her. She spun around to see Steven in her doorway, debonair in a black suit, shuffling his feet and rubbing the back of his neck. He looks more like a nerdy kid asking a girl to the prom than a hard-nosed businessman who executes million-dollar deals.

"Katarina," he said timidly. "Can I talk to you?"

"Of course," she replied, walking up to dust off the lapels of his jacket as a peace offering. He smiled, resting his hands on her hips.

"I'm really sorry about today. I never meant to offend you with my idea, which was pointless anyway because I want you with me whenever you're in New York. It was a moronic move on my part."

"No, it was sweet, and I misinterpreted it. I leapt to some crazy assumptions and missed the bigger picture — that you're just trying to make us work, and that's what I want as well."

His face lit up. "You do?"

She gave him a toothy grin and he lunged for her, inching her against the wall so he could flatten his body against hers.

"Katarina," he whispered on a prayer before slanting his lips over hers. She opened her mouth to him and he took full advantage, his kiss becoming more forceful as he hiked up her skirt to knead the soft skin of her inner thigh.

"Oh no Mr. Andrews. I may not know you that well but I've become well acquainted with your 'friend' and I know exactly what he's gunning for," she laughed, ducking under his arms to finish getting ready in the bathroom. "We're not even fashionably late. We're just fucking late. Give me 10 minutes and we're out the door."