Sawyer Bennett: Off Chance

That’s all.

Nothing more.

But I wanted more. My shift was over, so I followed her to the door, and said, “Don’t go.”

I didn’t have time to craft a line, or feed her some bullshit, and trust me. I know how to feed lines. I know how to spin them on the spot.

But I didn’t want to lie anymore.

We went out for coffee, and we wandered around Manhattan, and there was this strange vibe in the air, like we were in Europe and had met on a backpacking trip, and only had twenty-four hours to spend, and so we spent them together.

There was a ticking clock all night long.

We went back to my apartment near school, and I hadn’t had a thing to drink, but I felt buzzed and tipsy just being near her.

We didn’t go all the way. But she let me touch her. She wanted me to touch her. She told me she’d never let anyone touch her the way I did. Hell, if that wasn’t a crazy turn-on I don’t know what is.

Nothing could even compare to it.

So when I walk into my first meeting of Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous, I grab the doorway, and hold on. This whole room is rocking, like we’re on a ship, and hit choppy waters. I must be seeing things. There’s no way she can be here.

My heart trips over on itself, then it sputters out of control and collapses.

Harley.

She’s the only girl I’ve ever been with who’s not older than me. She’s the only girl where it didn’t feel like a fix.

And, evidently, she’s a lot like me.

No wonder the clock was ticking last night. We both took one last hit before going on the wagon.

I grab an empty chair and try not to think about her during the meeting. But it’s impossible. Because the night with her is the last I’ll have like that for a long time. Even this Joanne lady running the show issues the reminder – some sort of rule we should follow. A guideline so we can stop being fucked up from sex.

“And it’s recommended that you abstain from sexual, romantic or any type of love relationships in your first year of recovery,” Joanne says, while her knitting needles click faster and faster.

At the end of the meeting, I do something I’m willing to bet is forbidden in whatever group laws have been laid down. I doubt we’re supposed to chit chat with the opposite sex, with someone who could be all our temptations, who could be a fix.

I walk up to Harley, who calls herself Layla. “What were the chances?”

She seems nervous, worried. She looks down, away, then at me and whispers, “Everything I said last night was true.”

My heart thumps faster.

“Good,” I say, and wish her words didn’t turn me on so much. I know I need to stay away from her. But I don’t want to. I want something with her. “We could be friends maybe.”

She nods and smiles. “Yes. Let’s be friends.”

At least it’s something.

USA Today Best-Selling author, Sawyer Bennett is a native North Carolinian and practicing lawyer. When not trying to save the world from injustice, she spends her time trying to get the stories she accumulates in her head down on paper. She lives in North Carolina with her husband, Shawn, and their two big dogs, Piper and Atticus.