I Slept With The Wrong Brother And I Liked It

He couldn't do this to her again. He was always running late for their dates or just cancelling last minute.

The door opened. Willow turned her head, hoping Mark was finally turning up for their date. But a couple walked through instead. They shared a kiss before the waitress led them to their table.

The waiter came back to refill her water for the second time. She avoided his eyes, knowing the look that would be waiting there. Pity.

Willow looked at the empty chair across the table. Still pushed in. It was damn embarrassing, having your date turn up late or not at all.

She checked her phone again. Still no messages. She'd tried calling him, but it kept going to voicemail. She didn't know if she should just leave. It was already twenty past seven. He should have been here twenty minutes ago. The last time Mark had turned up thirty minutes late, he'd said he was sorry and he wouldn't do it to her again. Here she was anyway. The pattern had gotten worse the longer they'd dated.

It was two years tonight. And he hadn't even bothered to turn up on time. She'd even reminded him about it at the office.

At the next table, a couple were sharing their dessert. It was romantic. The woman laughed at whatever the man had said as he used his thumb to wipe away some cream from the corner of her mouth and put her hand flat on his chest like she couldn't help but touch him.

Willow felt the tears fill her eyes as she turned back to the empty chair across from her. She reached for her bag when her phone on the table suddenly lit up.

Mark: Sorry Willow

She quickly wrote a reply.

Willow: How long will you be?

Oh, thank God. He was coming.

Mark: Something came up at work. I'm going to be here until late. I won't make it in time.

Willow read it twice. Something came up.

Willow: It's our anniversary.

Mark: I know babe, we'll do it another night.

He'd typed babe like that fixed something.

She looked up. The restaurant was filled with couples, and she was here sitting alone. The couple at the next table had finished their dessert. The restaurant was filled with couples, and she was here sitting alone. Why couldn't she have that with Mark? Instead, she was sitting here alone because something came up. Something always came up. It was like he was just feeding her enough to keep her hooked.

Willow: I'll call you in a few minutes and you better answer.

Getting up, she ignored everyone who turned to look at her. She pulled more than enough cash from her purse and dropped it on the table. Clutching her phone, she walked out of the restaurant with her head held high.

As soon as she was outside, she called Mark. It rang eight times. She didn't think he was going to answer at first.

Then he was on the line. "Willow, look, I can't really talk right now."

She could hear noises in the background, including laughter. It didn't sound like any business meeting she'd ever been in.

"Sounds like you're really working hard. Who else is there?" she said.

"Don't start. I don't want to hear your nagging." His voice dropped, all annoyance and no guilt anywhere in it. "I'm not doing this with you tonight."

"Doing what? Answering a simple question?"

"Why do you have to do this? You're so needy all the time. I said I was sorry, but work is more urgent than sitting down for a meal. For an anniversary, we aren't even married."

She felt sick at that. Nagging. Needy. She wasn't either of those things. She just wanted her boyfriend to show up for her. Once. On the one night it actually meant something. And it had been him that planned it in the beginning, saying it was their two-year anniversary and they should do something. Now it wasn't important.

"I sat alone at that restaurant for twenty minutes, Mark." She had been there longer because she was always early to everything. But he didn't need to know that. "I wouldn't even care if this were the first time you had made me wait. But it isn't the first time, and you promised you would be more considerate."

"And now you're calling me at work, making a scene, because I can't leave when I'm needed here. Because I'm not jumping to your tune." Someone laughed near him again, like they'd caught every word. "This is exactly what I mean. You can't let anything go. Ever. You always bring up the past and throw it in my face."

"I'm not the one who-"

"Look, I don't have time for this. I've gotta go." She could hear he was no longer paying attention to the phone call. Bored with all of it. "You're being dramatic again. It's no big deal. We'll arrange something next week. Call me Monday when you've calmed down."

"Calmed down?"

"Forget it, Willow. I really can't talk right now." There was a moment of silence. Willow thought for a second he had hung up. When he spoke again, his voice was almost offhand, like the words cost him absolutely nothing. "Maybe if you weren't dead wood and stiff in bed, I'd make more of an effort to be there with you tonight. Maybe think about that over the weekend before calling me Monday."

Her heart stopped. He was with other people. They could hear him saying this to her.

"What?" The word came out small and airless.

The line went dead. But not before she heard a bark of laughter.

She stood on the sidewalk with the phone still pressed to her ear, listening to nothing. The city moved around her, all of it completely indifferent to the fact that her boyfriend of two years had just called her dead wood and stiff. Out loud. In front of whoever was standing near him.

She pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at the screen. His name was still there. The call timer sat at four minutes and eleven seconds.

Dead wood and stiff in bed.

She'd never been with anyone else. Mark was the only man she'd ever slept with, which meant if that was true, she had no way to argue with it. No frame of reference. No evidence to the contrary.

The back of her throat burned with bile. She wasn't going to cry on a sidewalk over Mark Callahan. She absolutely was not.

She pulled up Paige's name and hit call.

It rang only a few times.

"I was just thinking about you," Paige said. "How's the anniversary dinner? Please tell me he actually showed up this time."

Willow opened her mouth. Closed it again.

"Willow."

"He didn't show up. I left and called him," she said. Surprised she sounded normal when her insides were doing somersaults. "And then he called me pathetic in bed. In front of someone. He told me something came up at work." Dead wood. In other words, pathetic or terrible. It meant the same thing.

Silence on the other end. Then, very carefully, Paige said, "Where are you right now?"

"Outside the restaurant."

"Don't move. I'm coming to get you, and we are going to drink something expensive and talk about what an absolute piece of garbage Mark Callahan is. Maybe this is your wake-up call."

Willow let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine. And no one would blame you for not being fine after being publicly humiliated by a man who doesn't deserve the ground you walk on." A pause. "Also, pathetic in bed? You? I don't buy that for one second."

"You've never slept with me, Paige. I think maybe I'm not very good. He could be right."

"Okay, you have me there. I'm sorry, hon, but I like men a little too much to try you out to prove Mark wrong. Just stay there. I'm on my way now."

The bar Paige had picked was three blocks from the restaurant, small and warm and exactly the kind of place that anyone could walk into with tears in their eyes or not.

Paige let her sit there until she was ready to talk. Paige was a good friend and didn't push her, knowing she would talk when she was ready. She was on her third drink before she said it out loud.

"I think it might actually be my fault."

Paige, who had been sipping her first drink because she was driving, stopped with the glass halfway to her mouth to look at Willow with shock in her eyes. "Say that again." She put the drink back on the table without taking a sip. Willow had the feeling she wanted to slam it down.

"The thing he said. About me being pathetic in bed." Willow turned her glass on the coaster. "I think there might be something to it."

Paige put down the napkin. "Willow."

"I'm serious. I have told you about my parents. Church every Sunday, no boys at the house, and a talk about the birds and the bees that was basically just a pamphlet and a very pointed look. Sex before marriage was a mortal sin against God." She picked up her drink. "I wasn't exactly set up for success in that department." In any department of life. Her father believed women should be in the home, answering to a man's beck and call. He hadn't understood her need for a career when he had her husband all picked out for her. Escaping had been her only option. She hadn't looked back after packing her bags and escaping out the window one week before her eighteenth birthday. But she'd never told anyone her history, not even Paige.

"Your parents being conservative doesn't make you bad in bed. And in my opinion, not right. Screw what your parents think. That belief went out with the dark ages. Men are like cars. You need to test drive them first to make sure you aren't getting a dud. Mark was your first lover. It's his job to make sure you know what you're doing. So if anyone is pathetic in bed, it's him."

"I'm not so sure my parents didn't influence me." She wasn't being self-pitying. She was being logical, which felt worse somehow. "I grew up thinking that wanting anything was something to be ashamed of. That good girls didn't. That the whole thing was something you endured rather than enjoyed." She paused. "I think I might still believe that a little. And Mark has picked up on it."

Paige was quiet for a moment. Then she leaned in so only Willow could hear.

"How long have you and Mark been sleeping together?" Paige asked.

Willow blushed, never having talked about this with Paige before. "Since about three months in. So nearly two years."

"And in nearly two years, has it ever been good?"

Willow considered the question. It felt good, and she enjoyed it. "It's been fine."

"Fine," Paige repeated.

"Fine. Like, it wasn't bad." She stopped. She looked around the bar, making sure no one was listening. "I don't know."

Paige picked up her drink and took a long sip. Her expression was almost murderous. She was not entirely succeeding. She looked down at the table for a moment as if calming herself.

"Has Mark ever, and I want you to think carefully before you answer this," Paige said, "made sure you were actually enjoying yourself? Like, specifically. On purpose. Does he go down on you?"

She was not answering that question. "He's not inconsiderate."

Paige clearly wasn't happy with her answer. "That is not what I asked."

Willow opened her mouth. Closed it. "He tries."

"Willow."

"It's fine, Paige. It's not like I've given him a lot to work with. I freeze up. I get in my own head, and I can't stop thinking, and I stop enjoying myself." She waved a hand.

Paige set her glass down. "Okay. New question, and I need you to be honest with me."

"When am I not honest with you?"

"Have you ever actually had an orgasm?"

Willow sucked in a breath at that question, making her look around again to make sure they were alone before leaning in closer to answer.

"Yes," she said. Then, a beat later, "I think so."

Paige stared at her.

"I mean, I'm fairly sure I have."

"You're fairly sure."

"It's not like there's a certificate or a cookie that appears to congratulate you on your orgasm, is there? Or did I miss the memo?" Slightly upset with the questioning now.

"Oh, honey." Paige's voice was the gentlest it had been all night, which somehow made it worse. "If you're that unsure, then the answer is no. You haven't. Because trust me on this, you would know. There would be no thinking about it. There would be no fairly sure. You would know the way you know your own name."

Willow stared at her glass. Only ice sat in the bottom. Willow raised her hand to order another drink from the waitress. She had a feeling she was going to need it. When the waitress asked Paige if she wanted another, Paige shook her head. "No thanks, I'm driving." Willow gave her the money for her drink and a tip.

They waited until the server was gone, then Paige turned back to eye her.

"That's two years," Paige confirmed. "And I'm going to go ahead and say it again. It's not your conservative upbringing. That is a Mark Callahan problem."

"Or it's both." Willow sat back. "Maybe I've spent so long being taught that wanting things is wrong that I shut it down before it gets anywhere. And Mark, whatever else he is, can't be expected to fix that on his own. I'm not exactly making it easy for him. This is a problem I need help with, and he can't teach me."

Paige looked like she had something she really wanted to say about Mark but held her tongue. Just. She shook her head as if clearing the words away. "I think Mark is a jerk of the highest order, and I don't believe for one second this is your fault. But." She held up a finger. "I will grant you that if you're spending the whole time in your own head, that's not helping anyone."

"So what do I do?"

"Well." Paige picked up her drink. "You could break up with him. Find someone who's a better teacher. I mean, his brother Reid looks like a man who knows what to do with a woman's body. All night long."

"Paige."

The server came back with Willow's drink, and she took a long swallow.

"Hey, what can I say? Any woman in their right mind would love to test drive that man. I wouldn't be upset if he chose to spend a night in my bed."

"Paige, please. That's my CEO and Mark's brother." Drinking, glad she wasn't driving tonight.

"I know, I know. Not what you want to hear." She waved a hand. "Okay. Different angle. What would it take for you to actually let go? Like, not think about it, not perform it, just actually be present for it."

Willow thought about that. Really thought about it. "Control, maybe. If I was the one driving it, I think I'd be less in my head. Less waiting for something to happen and more making it happen."

"So take control."

"I can't just do that."

"Why not?"

"Because." She stopped. "I don't know. I have never made the first move."

"It's your relationship, Willow. You're allowed to have a preference." Paige leaned forward on her elbows. "Here is what I think you should do, and I say this as your best friend and the person who believes Mark Callahan does not deserve you at all but is still willing to help despite that. Go to him tonight. Don't call ahead. Let yourself in. You have a key. Take the wheel for once. Don't give yourself time to think about it. Don't overthink the approach. Just go."

Willow looked down at her now empty glass, realizing she had drunk the thing already. "I've had four drinks."

"So you've had four drinks, which means you're relaxed enough to stop overthinking and sober enough to remember it." Paige tilted her head. "Maybe think about having one more. We have time if he's at the office anyway."

Willow looked at her. "I'll be on the floor."

"No, you won't. One more won't kill you."

"I'm not sure I can do this, Paige. Play the seductress, no matter how many drinks I have."

Paige pointed at her. "Stop. Yes, you can. I know you, Willow."

Willow was quiet for a moment. "What if I get there and lose my nerve?"

"Don't turn the lights on," Paige said simply. "Darkness is very forgiving of nerves. And if he can't see your face, you can't see his, and you're not performing for anyone. You're just there."

It was not the worst advice she'd ever been given. She wasn't sure it was the best either.

"And if it still doesn't work?" she said.

Paige picked up her glass and clinked it against Willow's empty one. "Then at least you'll know you tried. And then we revisit the break-up conversation." She raised her brows. "But Willow, it's going to work. Because the problem was never you. But a few drinks should help you do your bit, and Mark needs to step up to the plate."

What did she have to lose? Because if things didn't change between her and Mark, Paige was right. The next conversation might just be about them breaking up.

"Okay," she said.

Paige grinned. It was the grin she used when she already knew how something was going to end and was choosing not to say so. "Just make sure you ride him hard."

"Don't make it weird."

"Too late." Paige signaled the bartender. "We're doing one more round, and then I'm putting you in a cab. And Willow." She waited until she had her full attention. "Stop apologizing for wanting things. You're allowed."

She paid the cab driver and stood on the sidewalk outside Mark's building, her clutch under her arm and Paige's voice still running on a loop in the back of her head.

"She's right. I can do this. I'm allowed to want him." Then, realizing how loud that sounded in the night, she shushed herself and giggled.

She headed inside and got into the elevator, pressed the button, and rode it up to the fourth floor. It was late, around midnight. She was sure Mark would be sound asleep by now.

The hallway was quiet. She found her keys, looking for Mark's key, the little silver one that Mark had cut for her eight months ago. It took her three attempts to get the key in the lock.

A giggle bubbled up out of nowhere, and she pressed her free hand over her mouth to smother it. She had no idea what was funny. Possibly everything. Possibly nothing. Possibly just the image of herself failing to unlock a simple door, slightly drunk, about to seduce her own boyfriend.

She got herself together and pushed the door open.

The apartment was dark. No lights on anywhere, just the faint glow of the city coming through the big windows at the far end of the living room. Enough to make out shapes. The couch. The kitchen counter. The outline of things.

Good. It wasn't pitch black at least. She really didn't want to wake him up. Not yet at least.

She eased the door shut behind her. Held the handle as she turned it so it didn't click loudly but closed softly.

She reached down and unstrapped her right heel. Held onto the wall with her fingertips while she got her balance, which took slightly longer than it should have. She swapped hands and did the left one. Leaving the heels where they landed, dropping her purse on top, and straightened up. She wouldn't be needing them, not until morning.

The floor was cool under her feet.

She moved through the dark, reaching out now and again just to confirm where things were. The edge of the kitchen counter. The back of the couch. She knew the way to his bedroom.

She still walked into the side table by the hallway.

She caught it before it went over, one hand slapping down on the surface hard enough that the little ceramic bowl Mark kept his spare change in rattled and shifted, and she froze, both hands flat on the table, eyes wide in the dark, waiting.

Nothing.

She let out a breath through her nose.

Down the hall then. The bedroom door was pulled almost closed, a thin strip of dark at the gap. She nudged it open with her fingertips and stepped through.

She could make out the shape of him in the bed. On his side, facing away from her, the duvet pulled up. He must have come home and crashed early. The room was quiet and still and very dark, and her heart was going considerably faster than it had any right to.

Another giggle tried to surface, and she pressed her lips together hard. She was not going to laugh her way through this. She was a grown-assed woman. She was capable of doing this without dissolving into nervous laughter like a teenager or freezing. She was going to get her orgasm. If Mark needed a little excitement, then she was going to give it to him.

She unzipped her dress.

The zip was at the side, and it was small and fiddly, and she caught it on the fabric twice before it gave. By the time the dress slipped off her shoulders, she had thought about turning around and leaving twice. But she needed this. They needed this to work. She was not pathetic, and she was going to show him. She let the dress fall and stepped out of it and stood there in the dark in just her underwear. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark room, but it was still too dark to see anything.

Should she take her underwear off, or would it be better to leave it on?

"Don't overthink the approach. Just go," she whispered in the dark.

She crossed to the bed and lifted the duvet and slid in behind him, moving slowly, trying not to disturb the mattress any more than she had to. The warmth coming off him was solid and real, radiating through the dark like he'd been there a while. One of the things she loved was the heat and smell of a man. So different from a woman's.

She lay still for a moment, just breathing him in. But everything was muted a little because of the alcohol still pumping through her veins. It was the reason she was here, because there was no way she would have slipped into his bed to seduce him without it.

Her heart was going so fast she was mildly concerned he could feel it. She was close enough that she could. She pressed her lips together and stared at the back of his shoulder and thought, you can do this. You have come this far. If he says no, walk out and leave. But what man turns down sex?

With that in mind, she moved closer.

She pressed herself against his back, her chest to his shoulder blades, and slid her arm around his waist.

He stirred. A small shift, a change in his breathing. Not quite awake but getting there.

Her nerve almost went. The panic was right there, sharp and sudden, the familiar voice that said too much, too forward, what are you doing. But she pushed it down hard and pressed her mouth to the back of his neck instead and kept her arm where it was. She ran her fingers down his front, around his navel and down to his sex, wrapping her fingers around his length.

He went still in a different way. Not asleep still. Aware still.

His breathing changed, and the sex in her hand went from soft to hard in an instant.

"Hello, lover."