Free Sugar & Salt by Pavarti K. Tyler Page B

center with his hands balled up against his face, vibrating with barely contained rage. He storms back out into the main room, but she’s already gone. The room gapes empty before him.
    What the fuck is wrong with that woman?
    “Damn it!” He slams his hand against the wall of his living room. The plaster of the strong, old building cracks, but most of the damage is to his hand.
    “Fuck!” Pain radiates up through his arm and he shakes out his wrist, jumping back as if the wall were actually capable of fighting back. He hasn’t been this knotted up since he was a teenager, fighting with his dad and punching doors. So mature—he’s graduated from doors to walls.
    He bends each finger, confirming nothing is broken, but the pain in his hand remains intense. A Ziploc full of ice and a dishtowel suffice for an icepack. He retreats to the bathroom and grabs five Advil out of the medicine cabinet, swallowing them dry. One scrapes against his throat on the way down, leaving the phantom sensation of something caught in his gullet.
    He makes eye contact with the man in the mirror before him and grimaces.
Pussy. Limp shit fucker.
He shakes his head, unable to even pretend to be tough when he’s alone. No wonder Janice saw right through him.
    Years of the dating scene hardened him against letting his emotions get ahead of his intellect. New York was full of opportunities and wonder when he first arrived, but it didn’t take long for him to figure out that everyone here is out for themselves.
    After college he thought he found love—that the woman in his arms was something special. He showered her with gifts, trips, and the best life he could offer. But she always wanted more—always needed something. It wasn’t until his sister called to check on him after seeing he’d pulled over twenty thousand dollars out of his trust in one month that he realized he was in a downward spiral. When he put a stop to it, Elizabeth left him.
    Now he keeps people at arm’s length, allowing them close enough to enjoy their company and skin, but never enough to risk losing himself. It just isn’t worth it. Better to be alone than go through that again.
    But Janice confuses him, and did so from the first moment he met her. Confident and strong, she doesn’t throw herself at his feet or bat her eyelashes like the whores he usually picks up at speed-dating. She holds her own, battling him with words and intellect. It confuses him and excites him. He knows his fascination with her makes him weak, and susceptible to the kind of taking Elizabeth trained him to be wary of.
    That’s why he left without saying anything the first time he met her. The spinning in his mind had nothing to do with the quantity of alcohol running through his veins and everything to do with the fact he wanted to tell her everything—about his mother, about that fucking dog he had as a kid who bit all his friends, about sunset in the Alps. But he held back and played the same game with her that he plays with everyone else—one in which it’s safe to indulge in the pleasure of another’s flesh, while remaining untouchable.
    Last night, he couldn’t just use her to get off. The barriers he’d erected around his heart crumbled as soon as her face lit up to see him at the bar.
    It has to be him. It’s the only reason he can think of that she would leave, but it makes no sense to his ego. From where he stands, nothing went wrong. They had fun, fucked like animals, and laughed. Shit, he hadn’t laughed so hard with a woman in years. A smile sneaks to his lips as his thoughts wander to Janice’s vulgar mouth.
    He replays the events of the morning in his mind. What did she freak out about? It was bad enough she was trying to sneak out. Seriously, who does that at their age? Even if the night is shit, you smile, say thank you, and make a pleasant getaway. Worst case, you’re stuck for a morning bagel, which is hardly a high price to pay for good manners.
    He stares at his