How Do You Know When You're In Love?

Carter and I had s#x this morning in the engine room downstairs. It's at the bottom of the building, off the garage. I'd gone looking for him, cracked open the door and found him there, the room dark and cool, his shirt off, the giant mechanics of our building behind him. It was rough, big metal framing his tan, muscular skin and I couldn't stop myself from stepping inside, my hand pulling the door shut behind me, my heels loud on the floor. I'd put on a red sundress this morning. I think that ended up on the floor. I know I ended up against the wall, the concrete cool and hard against my back, his hands holding me up, under my ass, the grunt of his thrusts hot in my ear. When I came, I screamed and the yell got lost in the loud rumblings of the machine. When he came, it was sudden, his grip on my skin tightening, and I felt the shudder of him right before he pulled out.

I think I'm falling in love with him. It seems like an odd thing to think. It seems like something you should know, without doubt. But for me, it feels very similar to how I felt with Vic. And was that really love? If it wasn't love, it has sure stuck around for a long time, caused me a lot of unnecessary grief. And if that is love, then that means that I loved Vic. And now I love Carter. Is love that frequent? That unspecific? Because those two men, they couldn't be less alike. Or maybe that's why I am falling for Carter — because they are different and I'm learning from my mistakes.

Last night, I told Carter about my attempt to call Vic and the disaster that it had become. He'd listened, quietly, his eyes darkening when I didn't sugarcoat the ending and told him exactly what Vic had said. How he called him insecure. How he wanted to meet at night. Carter had looked away, a pulse in his jaw ticking, then back at me.

"I don't want to force you to meet him. That wasn't what it was about."

"I know." We'd been on his couch, my feet in his lap, his thumb rubbing gentle pressure into my soles. I had rested my head on the arm of the couch and looked at the ceiling. "And I think I should talk to him. Just to clear the air. Just so that there is no doubt, in his mind, that we are over. I want everything he's doing to just stop."

And that was the absolute truth. There have been times where it was nice, to have Vic still chasing after me. His pursuit was a boost to my confidence, proof that — even though his cheated on me — he still loved me, I was still someone to be valued and desired. But those times had passed and now, especially with my new boyfriend in the picture, Vic's efforts were only screwing up my life and messing with my mind in the process. It needed to stop. I needed it to stop.

"So then meet him. Why does it matter if its morning or night?" Carter's thumb resumed its massage and I shrugged, my lie coming out perfectly.

"It's a control thing, really. I guess I don't like him dictating the place."

"It's the last time you'll speak for a very long time." Carter ran his hand up the entire length of my leg and I frowned.

"Forever." I corrected.

He shrugged. "Plus, you're breaking the poor guy's heart. Give him one olive branch, and let him pick the setting."

I slid deeper into the couch and pushed my foot into his crouch suggestively. "I'll think about it." I grinned and felt when he moved, when he slid down the couch and on top of me.

"You do that, Ms. Madison."

Then his hands were on the clasps of my shorts.

Then his fingers were on my thong.

Then his head was between my legs.

And our conversation was officially over.