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rendezvous. Nothing could convince me to risk it. That window was closed and locked, but not painted shut. Just left abandoned and forgotten, dusty and covered in grime.
    I thought of him and blinked up at the ceiling, startled that the train of thought would summon his face.  
    My pattern with relationships was predictable: dates, hookups, nothing past the surface. It wasn’t always easy to manage, so often ending messy, and I found contentment with Erin. Our relationship was simple and easy, requiring no work, no maintenance. It just existed, and that was the maximum that I could contribute.
    I closed my eyes and was back on the roof with his lips against mine. I wet my lips, felt my face soften.
    What are you running from?
    My answer: Everything.
    I’d been thinking about him all day, replaying it all again and again, and I let myself, trying to convince my rational self that I was just shelving it with the spank bank material in a futile attempt to not let it get to me. As if permission to think about him would somehow lessen his power. I wanted to know his name, but then that was part of the draw, too. It was the mystery that kept me wondering. It had to be.
    I sighed and curled my fingers where they rested against the soft skin between my panties and tank top, imagining his breath against my neck. Goosebumps prickled when I traced my fingertips in small circles, toying with the hem of my panties with his lips on my mind, slipping my hand inside as the image of him filled my thoughts, on his knees in the dark with his hands on his cock.
    I touched my clit, pressing softly as I ran circles with the pad of my finger, and my back arched just a bit when my hips rolled. I slipped my finger down my pussy, then back up, slow. I was hot and slick, and I pressed my palm against my tender clit.
    I thought about his hand on my jacket, remembering the feeling of his fingers against the small of my back when he tightened his grip and pulled me onto his cock. I dipped a finger inside, then another, finding a rhythm between my hand and hips. My free hand trailed up my body to my nipples, and I pinched and rolled, yanked down the low neck of my tank to touch myself. My thighs clenched, drawing my fingers in deeper. They were my hands, his hands that brought me closer, and I arched my neck, remembering what it was like to be so full, stretched and taken. I curled my finger, rubbing the sensitive spot inside in a steady tempo until I couldn’t breathe, and my pussy contracted around my fingers, squeezing fast at first, then slower, finally leaving me with lingering shudders as I stroked my body.
    In that moment of satisfaction, I knew only one thing. I could tell myself all day that I didn’t want more of him, that what happened didn’t affect me. But it was a lie.  

MY STOMACH DROPPED OUT of my ass when a car door opened in front of me, and I swerved on my bike to miss getting taken out. A cabbie laid on his horn when he slammed his brakes to avoid nailing me, and I flipped him off over my shoulder, turning the corner just as double bass drum and a guitar rip wailed out of the portable speaker hooked on my messenger strap.
    The day had been long and busy, which wasn’t typical. The need for messengers had been on the decline over the last few years. There were fewer legal papers and letters to deliver, leaving mostly actual goods: shoes for a fashion show, blueprints for a meeting, things that were late or needed to get somewhere in a hurry.
    My radio went off from its pocket in my strap, and Sam’s voice came through the tinny speaker. “Got another run for you when you’re finished with the drop you’re on. Check the app for the details.”  
    I hit the button and sped up. “Roger, boss.”
    Erin’s voice came through the speaker. “Aye, aye, aye! Ride, bitch!”
    A laugh ripped out of me, and I hit the button to answer. “Haul your sweet ass. See you at home in a few hours.”
    “Rrrrrrodger dodger!”
    Sam barked