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  Pop lumbered into my room. I held my breath, wondering if my father would suspect what had just gone down between Ryan and me. I hoped his eyes wouldn’t travel down my companion’s torso. Oh shit! Then, on my next heartbeat, I was saved.

  Huffing, Pop wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. Sheesh! Going up a flight of stairs undid him. He so needed to lose weight and get into shape.

  “They ate me out of house and home,” he panted, undoing his long, soiled apron.

  I digested his words. That meant the grand break-fast was over, and my father had closed up. I glanced at my alarm clock—nine o’clock. Usually, he stayed open till midnight, but Yom Kippur was one of the few exceptions.

  “How’s she doing, Ryan?” he asked.

  I inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. He obviously had no clue about what had transpired because my father, like my mother, was brutally honest, not one to hold back.

  “Um, uh, I’d say she’s completely recovered.” Ryan stuttered, my father unconvinced.

  “She looks flushed. Pumpkin, let me check your temperature.”

  “Really, Pop, I’m perfectly fine.” I leaped out of bed and hugged him. My overprotective father.

  “Did you at least eat something?” There was genuine concern in his voice as he shot Ryan a troubled look. “Sometimes my little girl doesn’t eat enough.”

  “Don’t worry. I did,” I countered, realizing I had broken this year’s fast with a delicious taste of Ryan Madewell. I turned my head to face him.

  With suddenness, all of Ryan’s color drained from his face. He fidgeted with the gold band around his ring finger and then bolted out of my room without saying goodnight.

  SIX

  Ryan

  Holy Jesus! What had I just done? I kissed Willow Rosenthal. And couldn’t get enough of her. I’d forgotten what it’s like to kiss a woman you find insanely attractive in every which way. It was rough and raw, hot and addictive, and it totally turned me on.

  My delicate deli girl tasted delicious. I completely lost myself in the kiss. But my ecstasy was short-lived. An ambush of guilt and remorse snuck up on me. In a panic, I fled, without thanking her or her father, leaving them both in a sea of confusion.

  My cock throbbing and my emotions in turmoil, I jogged home. I felt sick to my stomach. As if someone had given me a punch to my gut.

  As I slogged out the elevator that opened to my loft, a massive dose of guilt surged inside me. Fuck. There was Allee. Curled up on the couch as usual, this time wearing only one of my crisp cotton dress shirts. The top buttons were opened, exposing her eye-worthy cleavage. Once upon a time, I had placed my cock in that sexy chasm and let her rub her breasts against my shaft till I came all over them.

  “I’m sorry,” I muttered, hanging my head in shame.

  “About what, Golden Boy?”

  I slowly raised my head and met her gaze. After the awful discovery of her sordid “other” life and later the cancer, we’d vowed not to keep secrets from each other. Even if I tried to keep a secret, she would eventually pry it out of me. Sooner than later.

  “I kind of had a date with a girl.” Every word was a struggle.

  Her reaction shocked me. A big smile spread across her luminous face. “It’s about time, Madewell. You know you can’t mourn me forever.”

  Allee’s farewell letter flashed into my head. She had told me that she wanted me to meet someone new after she was gone. I didn’t really believe her words when I first read them, but maybe she really meant them.

  “So, what’s her name?”

  “Willow.”

  “Pretty. And two L’s… a good sign.” Allee had a thing for double “L’s.” She believed that Superman, her childhood superhero crush, had a thing for girls with double L’s in their names. Like Lois Lane and Lana Lang. She had once called me her Superman though sadly I could not save her in the end.

  “So, tell me, what does she look like?”

  I described Willow in detail.

  “So, a lanky redhead. That’s a surprise. What’s she like?”

  I went on to tell her that she was the daughter of the deli guy we always ordered take out from. And then I explained how we met and told her about my Yom Kippur outing, not going beyond the synagogue part.

  “So, she’s Jewish?”

  “Yeah, from the Lower Eastside.”

  “Oooh… your parents are really going to like her.” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm…so very Allee.

  “They’re getting better.” Seriously, they were. With the help of Dr. Goodman, I was slowly making amends with my father. Last year’s major stroke—it happened while he was screwing one of his mistresses—had changed him. Partially paralyzed, he was now wheelchair bound, slightly more open-minded, and he was keeping his pants on. My mother, who should have left him, nursed him back to health, the good trophy wife she was. He was beholden to her though he’d never admit it and now disabled, he needed her more than ever. His dependency on her gave her power. Though the marriage was still strained by most standards, his forced newfound faithfulness had saved it. And my mother was drinking less. Okay. A little less.

  Allee rolled her eyes while I dwelled on her snarky comment. What made her so sure I was going to introduce Willow to my parents? What kind of mind game was she playing with me? Before I could challenge her, she asked me another question.

  “So, what exactly did you do with Willow on your date?”

  “Not much.”

  “You’re bullshitting me, Madewell.”

  My stomach twisted; I couldn’t fool Allee. I blurted out the truth.

  “Allee, I kissed her.” Suddenly, I was feeling miserable again, consumed by a horrific sense of betrayal. How could I have done that? I hardly knew her, and besides my heart belonged to another. When I thought about it more, it was my fault. I should have never touched my lips down on hers, but I couldn’t help myself. To make things worse, she gave me a hard-on. Confession: I almost asked her to give me a blowjob. Guilt mixed with remorse.

  “It’s about time.” To my shock, Allee gave me a thumbs-up. Her dark eyes sparkled as she smiled brightly. “Congratulations, Madewell!”

  Actually, I was more than shocked. Her reaction hurt me. I mean, here was the woman I had loved—and still loved—with my body, heart, and soul. My wife, my lover, my light…the person for whom I would have given up my life…and she wasn’t even jealous. In fact, she looked like she might do a happy dance. Christ. Allee was feisty. A fighter. And she wasn’t fighting for me. Not one bit.

  Miffed, I muttered, “I’m going upstairs. Are you ready?” On most nights, I mentally swept her off her feet and carried her up to my bedroom.

  “Not tonight, Madewell.”

  “Fine.”

  Hey, Madewell, you gotta remember…” Her voice grew softer, the expression on her face more wistful. “I can’t do those kinda things with you any more.” She paused. “Give Willow a chance.”

  She had a point. It was no different from what Dr. Goodman or Duffy had told me. I was having difficulty letting go.

  By the time I hit the sack, the throbbing between my legs had died down. I was exhausted but restless. I rubbed my eyes, tossed and turned, and kicked off the covers several times. Each time I managed to doze off, I would awaken, searching frantically for Allee by my side, her lovely limbs draped over mine. True to her vow, she never came upstairs.

  Finally, God knows when, I drifted off. A dream claimed me.

  I was in Paris wandering aimlessly through the Musée D’Orsay. Behind me, I heard footsteps. Those of a woman wearing heels.

  “Can I help you?”

  I recognized the husky, New York-accented voice immediately. Allee!

  Spinning around, I gasped. “Allee, what are you doing here?”

  She looked as stunning as ever. In fact, more stunning, wearing the little black dress I’d bought her.

  “I work here now.”

  “No, you can’t! You belong in New York with me.”


  “No, Madewell, I don’t. I belong here now.” She smiled. “I want to show you a wonderful new painting.”

  Reluctant and confused, I followed her to an adjacent wing. The paintings were more contemporary. Like they could have been painted only yesterday.

  “Look at this masterpiece,” she said, leading me to an exquisite, large erotic canvas of a man and woman making love.

  My heart leaped into my throat. I recognized the setting. My bedroom. But the bed was different as was the woman who had her legs wrapped around me. Only her backside exposed, her long red hair cascaded down to her waist.

  “Observe the impassioned expression on his face,” said my analytic Allee. “The energy in his body.”

  I stared at the painting, my cock hardening as I did.

  “Now, step into the painting. Experience it. Feel what the subject is feeling.”

  “What?” I murmured, mesmerized by the painting and the erotic high it was giving me.

  Allee folded her arms across her chest. Her bossy stance. “Do it, Madewell. Do it for me. I’ll be watching.”

  Mentally, as if in a trance, I did as she asked. Jesus. This lithe redheaded girl, sitting on my lap, felt incredible, her lightness of being contrasting with the strength of her thighs straddling mine. My cock fit perfectly into her sweet, tight pussy, and as I pumped her, she took me to the hilt, bucking me in perfect harmony, meeting every thrust. I clenched her slender hips while she gripped my shoulders and rode me with a skillful blend of grace and precision. Arching her back, the rosebud nipples of her pert tits brushed against my chest while the tips of her flaming hair skimmed my thighs. Ecstasy washed over her exquisite face as little moans, like musical notes, spilled from her lips. As I picked up my pace, the moans crescendoed as we came apart.

  “Ryan, say my name!” she begged, her muscles shuddering around my cock.

  “Willow!” I cried out, so ready to come. Then, like a gunshot, I exploded. My release met hers as Allee looked on, a contented smile spread across her face.

  Suddenly, with Willow’s name still on my lips, an alarm rung in my ears. I recognized it. My cell phone. My eyes snapped open, and in a cold sweat, I bolted upright to a sitting position. Grabbing the phone off my nightstand, I speed-dialed Dr. Goodman’s emergency number. The one that was reserved for suicides, overdoses, and murder attempts. In my book, this was an emergency. I couldn’t breathe, think, or function. Or get rid of my morning wood.

  SEVEN

  Ryan

  I was fucking lucky Dr. Goodman had a last minute cancellation at 11:00 a.m. on Monday. I usually met with him on Thursday, but I couldn’t wait that long. Stretched out on his couch, I felt like I was suffering from some kind of flu. My head was pounding and my stomach churning. Earlier, I’d even thrown up. That’s how fucked up I was.

  “So, Ryan, tell me what’s going on,” began Dr. Goodman.

  “That girl I told you about…”

  “Yes…”

  I hesitated and then the words tumbled out. “I kissed her.” I fidgeted with my ring. “And I more than enjoyed it.”

  “This is certainly no emergency. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Everything. I belong to Allee.”

  Dr. Goodman stroked his salt and pepper beard. “Allee is gone, Ryan. It’s been almost five years.”

  “Only four and a half,” I corrected. “I fantasize about her every night.”

  “That’s not uncommon. What do you fantasize about?”

  “That she’s still in my life. That things are like they used to be. She’s always waiting for me when I come home.” I paused. “Last night, after the kiss, I came home and I saw her. I told her about the other girl. What I did. I swear, she was happy for me. I don’t get it.”

  Dr. Goodman adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses. “Ryan, Allee only exists in your subconscious. Last night, your subconscious was telling you that it wants you to let go of Allee. That it’s okay.”

  I went on and told him about my dream.

  “That’s a very interesting dream, Ryan. What do you think it means?”

  “That I’m fucked up.”

  Dr. Goodman chortled. “You’re not as fucked up as you think, Ryan. What this tells me is that two women can co-exist in your life. That you’re ready for a new relationship.”

  I processed what the Doc just said. Was I really ready to move on?

  Dr. Goodman cut my mental ramblings short. “Ryan, you like this new woman, right?”

  I nodded. I had to admit that there were many things I liked about Willow even though I didn’t know much about her. She seemed smart, funny, and I found her attractive… make that sexy as sin.

  “This is excellent. You have feelings toward her.”

  Okay, so he forced me to admit I had some feelings about her…something I’d not had toward a woman—or just about anything—in a long while.

  “So, Doc, what should I do?”

  “Get to know her better.”

  “O…kay.” That I could do. “Then what?”

  “Sleep with her.”

  Sleep. With. Her. The three words spun around in my head, colliding into each other like bumper cars. We may have fucked in my dream, but the reality of having her in my bed—the bed I’d shared with Allee—stabbed me in the heart. It was unfathomable.

  “That’s not possible.”

  “Why not?”

  I fumbled for an excuse. “She lives with her father. I don’t think it would be too cool to bang her while he’s sleeping in the bedroom next door.”

  “I agree. That’s not a good idea. But you have your own place and a bed.”

  My blood heated as I bolted upright. “There’s no way I can fuck her in my bed! That bed’s sacred. It was my wedding present to Allee.”

  “Then sell it and buy a new one.”

  His matter-of-fact words ripped into me. My fists clenched on my thighs. I was reeling.

  He cast his eyes downward. “And it’s time for you, young man, to stop wearing your wedding band.”

  My blood bubbled at his words. Fuck him!

  Before I could utter a word—or punch him out which is what I really wanted to do—Dr. Goodman glanced down at his watch and announced that our session was over. Not thanking him for seeing me, I charged out of his office feeling worse than I had when I’d arrived. Therapy was supposed to help you—make you feel better—but a lot of the time it made you feel like crap.

  Still simmering, I waited impatiently for the elevator. I needed to get the hell out of here. Blow off some steam. Maybe go for a run or take my bike for a ride. I tapped my foot as I anxiously rubbed the gold band on my ring finger with the pad of my thumb. What was taking so long? Finally, the elevator arrived, and when door slid open, my eyes almost popped out of their sockets. I was face to face with the person I least likely expected to see. Willow Rosenthal.

  EIGHT

  Willow

  My heart raced as I lay down on Dr. Goodman’s chaise. Why had I just encountered Ryan Madewell? He told me had an appointment, but not with whom. Yes, there were other medical personnel and professionals in this building—doctors, lawyers, dentists—but I positively knew he had just visited Dr. Goodman. How? Simple. I could smell the scent of his woodsy cologne.

  A million questions whirled around my head as I waited for my psychiatrist to return from the bathroom. Had Ryan told him about me? What did he say? Should I tell Dr. Goodman about our relationship? And that’s assuming there was one.

  What happened last night had sent my emotions into a tailspin. Ryan Madewell had given me the most intoxicating kiss I ever had. It had sent me orbiting and everything indicated that he got off on it as much as I did. Then, shortly after my father showed up, he paled and took off like the wind with not as much as a goodbye. In a heartbeat, I’d gone from an incredible high to a terrible low.

  Stinging with confusion and hurt, I called it a night, but no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t fall asleep. Clinging to Baboo, I couldn’t stop thi
nking about Ryan, the memory of him kissing me making it harder. Plus, the scent of him lingered. Sadly, as dawn approached, I came to the conclusion that I was just some kind of fling. Nothing more.

  “So, Willow, let’s pick up where we left off,” said Dr. Goodman, snapping me out of my disturbing thoughts as he entered the room. Sitting down on an armchair close to me, he glanced down at a pad of notes.

  “Why do you think you let Gustave control you?”

  Gustave. Right now, he was the last person on my mind. I didn’t want to think about him. Or talk about him. Someone else was all over my mind.

  “I don’t want to talk about Gustave today if that’s okay.”

  “And why is that, Willow?”

  “I met someone.”

  “A man?”

  I nodded.

  Knitting his brows, Dr. Goodman jotted something down on his notepad. “Do you want to tell me about him?”

  “I think you can tell me more about him than I can.”

  “What do you mean, Willow?” His perplexed voice matched his expression.

  “His name is Ryan Madewell.”

  For the first time ever, Dr. Goodman was speechless. His pen fell out of his hand. He quickly picked it up and persevered.

  “So, you had some form of intimacy with him.” It was a statement, not a question. Clearly, Ryan had told him.

  My mother’s personality shot through me. Not one to mince words. “I kissed him.” Oh, that kiss! That unforgettable kiss!

  “And…”

  “He ran off. He didn’t even say goodnight.”

  “How did that make you feel?”

  “Like shit.”

  “As it should.”

  “Did he tell you what he thought about me?”

  “My dear, you know I can’t divulge that. Doctor-patient privilege.”