Page 2 of Reckless Desire

Two men, sitting at the table beside us, turn. Not with shock. With interest. One of them openly checks me out as if I was a piece of meat on display in his favorite steakhouse. What the hell? Heat rises in my cheeks, and I try to hide my reaction behind my drink, emptying it in one gulp.

“Sex is not a universal solution to all the world’s problems.” I put my glass down with a clunk.

“But we’re not solving the world’s problems, we’re solving yours, Syd. And while you don’t allow me to help with the financial disaster your dearly beloved late husband caused, I’m not giving up on other areas of your life. You’ve been stuck somewhere in the land of solitude. Not moving forward is the worst way to live your life. You have to start trusting people.”

“You’re one to talk.” I frown at her.

“I’m living my life fully. Perhaps not to other people’s expectations. Yes, I’m frustrated about the world’s injustices, but I try to help where I can and I’ve been reasonably content for years now. And I’m not planning to change anything. Your trust issues sprouted three years ago and you need to move on.”

She’s right. I hate her for that. Well, not really, but I’m perfectly comfortable suspended between no longer having a husband and my next chapter. The next stage scares me, so I’m in no hurry to reach it.

I had my future planned. And it didn’t involve anything that is a part of my life right now. So I’m not looking forward anymore. What for? Just to have my plans crushed?

“I don’t have trust issues.” I lean back and glare at my sister.

“You’re right. You don’t have trust issues.” She nods, her tone mocking. “And there are no protective walls. None at all. That’s why you’re a substitute teacherby choice. You’re scared to get attached to a school, a class, those kids. You’ve arranged your life in a way that prevents any lasting relationships. You don’t need to remember the names of your colleagues or the kids you teach because everywhere you go is temporary.”

“And you’re different? You don’t even know your doorman’s name and you see him daily.” I’m defensive, which only proves how right she is. What nerve. She’s preaching against the very life she lives.

Lo runs a charity and a palliative care center and is constantly pissed at the world for all the loss and pain that confronts her daily. To survive, she doesn’t get attached. Ever.

“I’m not as miserable as you are,” she quips.

“I go to some schools more often. I know the names of other teachers.” One or two. “I’m happy with my job. It’s never boring, always changing.” I wish I could raise my voice, but this place is so deadened.

“Oh, that’s the reason you haven’t taken any of the permanent positions they’ve offered you? Because youwantconstant change instead of a better salary and a stable position in a job you love?” She is baiting me, but I refuse to bite. “And when was the last time you hung out with any of our siblings?”

“I’m hanging out with you, and you know how busy they all are.” I spoke to Paris last… Has it been over two months now? Shit.

“Yes, but let’s face it, I’m the only lasting relationship in your life, and that’s only because I force myself on you.”

I’m not going to admit she is right. But London stuck around even after I refused to see anyone else. When I was sure I was going to die from grief and disappointment. In the darkest moments of my life, when I closed the door on her, she simply returned through the window.

“And having sex would help me regain trust in humanity, especially the male portion of it?” Why am I indulging her?

“Definitely not, but it’s a start. It would snap you out of that ugly cocoon you wove around yourself as protection.” She raises her glass. “Let’s toast to burning down those fucking protective walls and enjoying life fully again.”

I lift my glass by the stem and dip it toward hers. The crushed ice settles and I fake a smile. As luck would have it, I don’t have any drink left to toast to fully enjoying my life. Because the universe is too aware I don’t know how.

London rolls her eyes and waves at the server.

The bar is half-empty. All the other guests look like business-people, in the full swing of their working week, probably having meetings. Come to think of it, there are mostly men here. Oh God, is this London’s ploy to pick up men? Or, more specifically, hook me up with someone?

“I’m starving. Are you going to feed me anything but alcohol? Let’s go have dinner.” I try to get us out of there. “This birthday sucks, by the way.”

The man at the next table is visibly watching me now. He didn’t even notice me before London shouted the comment about my lady parts needing servicing. And they do. Oh God help me, they do. But this douche is not my type.

Not that I have a specific type, but a man with a wedding ring is definitely not it.

“Don’t be so impatient. Let’s have a cocktail or two, so you’re in a better mood before you get your present.” She smiles and her eyes sparkle with mischief. I get an uncomfortable feeling she’s planned something I won’t like.

“You didn’t need to worry about a present. You paying for an extravagant dinner here is more than enough.”

She waves at the server and orders another pitcher of margaritas.

I can’t stop her plans, so I better drink up to get into a more festive and receptive mood.

“I’m sorry I unloaded on you, Syd. I worry about you.” She reaches over and squeezes my hand and then turns to the two men next to us. “And you, stop drooling. It’s not happening.”

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