Wildflower by Michele Kimbrough

here. I didn’t.”
    “I saw your eyes, Iris… the way you looked at him.”
    She didn’t respond. She just stood there with her arms folded across her chest. Seething.
    “I’ve made a fool of myself and I’ve certainly overstayed my welcome.  You told me you had a man, but I didn’t listen. I should have. I’ll get out of your way.”
    “Wait, Preston.”
    He kept walking until he opened the door.
    “I’m sorry,” Preston said solemnly.
    “But… Wait.”
    He walked out and closed the door.

19

Two days had gone by and Iris hadn’t heard from Preston.  Fine.  In a steaming hot bathroom, Iris stepped out of the shower — which lasted about forty-five minutes.  The burning hot water felt torturous and that’s exactly what she needed.  She wanted something to dull the emotional pain she felt over losing Preston.
    What the hell? She hardly knew him. Here she was pining over a man who, at best, was great in bed. He was a great kisser, too. And funny. He had a great smile and listened to her.  So what? He was supportive — whoop-de-do.
    She said she didn’t know where he stood in her life but who was she kidding? She did know.  She fully understood what place he held in her life. She loved him.
    She loved him?
    She dried off with the plush towel Preston had left behind from his last sleepover.  She placed it against her face, breathing in its scent that reminded her of him.
    She hadn’t eaten anything since he left. Her appetite was gone.  Her nerves were shot. She thought about calling him. But she wasn’t the one who had walked out.  She wasn’t the one who had done anything wrong.
    “Damn you, Peter!” she shouted, as if blaming Peter would ease some of the burden she felt. It didn’t.
    She missed Preston’s touch, the way he comforted her when she felt low. Whenever she thought about her mother, he had been right there with an attentive ear and consoling embrace.
    She missed his laugh, too. It was a throaty laugh, one that didn’t come from the diaphragm but rushed through his throat like compressed air.  She loved that laugh.
    She had earned the right to wallow in self-pity right now.  Her ex-husband had just ruined her relationship with her new man — his brother.
    Damn. Brothers. Talk about poetic justice. She smirked at the thought of it. Peter snagged her best friend, impregnated her, then moved her into the dream house. Now Iris was with his brother — his estranged brother whom he apparently despised. Ah, the sweet justice.
    Idris had brought her a Healthy Choice meal that he’d tossed into the microwave.  He complained that she hadn’t cooked for them, but she ignored him. She ate the microwaved meal, standing up, while staring out the window. But she couldn’t finish it.
    She rubbed her eyes, blinking hard, shaking her head a little, trying to get him out of her mind. She could still feel his hands caressing her, his lips kissing her, his thickness filling her.  She missed him and feared he might not come back to her.
    Her phone vibrated and she ran to it hoping it might be Preston.  But it wasn’t. It was a text message from Jess.
    Jess:  I need to stop by. What time works?
    Iris thumbed out a response:  Never.
    Jess:  Stop moping. I’m coming over.
    Iris: Fine.
    ***
    Jess arrived at the building.  Iris saw her on the closed circuit TV and buzzed her in.  When she arrived at the door, Iris was actually glad to see her.  Jess was dressed seductively and Iris suspected her wardrobe selection was in hopes of snagging Idris.
    It worked.
    When Iris introduced Jess to Idris, he had lockjaw.  Iris had never seen him clam up like that around a woman.  After their introduction, Jess gave Iris the rundown of why she was there.
    “You look awful, girl.  You need to stop wallowing in pity and get your butt out of this apartment.”
    “Thanks, Dr. Phil, but I don’t need your pep talk.”
    “Fine. I’ve got to be out of town. You have to fill in for me,” Jess said.