Page 1 of October (New Orleans #10)

“W e shouldn’t have done this,” Finley said.

“We didn’t do anything. We just slept,” India replied.

“In the same bed. We’re not together anymore, India.”

“We’re always kind of together,” India noted, wrapping an arm over Finley’s middle. “We talked for hours, Fin. That has to mean something.”

“It means we had things to talk about because we just broke up,” Finley said, moving to get out of bed. “And I need to shower. You can go whenever.”

“I can’t shower here?”

“No, you can’t, India. We got a little drunk on that wine you brought, and I didn’t want you to drive home, but you should’ve slept on the sofa.”

“The sofa has those springs,” India said as she sat up in bed. “Where are you going?” she asked when Finley walked into the bathroom and closed the door a little.

“I told you, I’m taking a shower.”

She pulled off her T-shirt and tossed it onto the floor of the bedroom through the door.

“You can’t take off your clothes out here? I’ve seen you naked, Fin. I’ve touched every part of your body a thousand times.”

“India, come on… We’re not together anymore. That means I don’t see you naked, and you don’t see me naked.”

“Fine. I just think it’s ridiculous. It doesn’t mean we’re going to have sex. It’s just a shower.”

“You can shower at your place.”

“I left my shampoo here. Can I just shower after you?”

Not having the energy to fight about it, Finley turned on the water and replied, “Whatever. Fine. I’m leaving when I’m ready, though, so if you take an hour-long shower, lock up when you go.”

“Of course, I will. When have I ever not locked your apartment when I left?”

“You still have my key, India.” Finley pulled open the door and stood there shirtless, with only a pair of sweats on, no longer caring about the naked thing. “I have yours, too. I’ll leave it on the table before I go.”

“Just keep it,” India said before she stood and walked over to her, reaching for the hem of the T-shirt that wasn’t borrowed from Finley because India still had a lot of stuff here, despite the fact that they’d broken up again.

“Don’t,” she told her, gripping the doorknob until her knuckles went white, but she said it so softly, she wasn’t sure that India had heard it or that if she had, it would convince her to keep her clothes on.

Finley hadn’t ever been able to resist India.

The woman was sophistication on two feet, and she even looked like that when she woke up after staying up late talking about their failed relationship for the millionth time, and when she was slightly hungover, which, Finley guessed, she was right now.

If India took her clothes off, they would get into the shower together, and she knew what would happen next.

India would kiss her slowly at first. Then, she’d press Finley up against the shower wall, and seconds later, Finley would be coming at her touch.

India would push Finley’s head down, and she’d make India come with her mouth.

Then, India would declare them back together as she made Finley come a second time.

She’d leave the shower and tell Finley that she would see her at work.

It had happened before, too many times to count.

Finley had begun to wonder if this was going to be her life.

Were they the kind of couple that would always get back together?

Would they just fight and hate each other for several weeks in a row, try to get some separation, and only find their way back to one another for hot sex that would lead them back together because it never felt that way with anyone else?

They couldn’t be more different, and Finley supposed that was part of the problem.

India was an executive who had come from old money.

Finley worked in IT and had only just been promoted when her manager had left the company and she’d gotten his old job.

She’d grown up poor in Kentucky before moving to New Orleans for this job, and she and India had been doing this on-and-off dance ever since.

Finley loved sports. India was more the ballet and opera type, who could go to an upscale bar but didn’t like the ones in the Quarter frequented by tourists.

Finley felt like she didn’t fit in wherever India felt comfortable, and she knew the opposite was true as well.

“Babe, come on,” India said as she pulled off her shirt. “It’s just a shower. We’ll get cleaned up and go to work. I can drive you, if you want. I know your car is in the shop.”

“I got it back last night,” she said. “Also, don’t call me ‘babe’ anymore, India.” She closed the door between them, feeling proud of herself in that moment. “And put your damn shirt back on.”

“You took yours off first,” India argued.

“Mistake,” she said. “I’m getting in. Do not follow me.”

“Fine. I’ll just go,” India replied. “I guess I’ll see you at work.”

“Good. Yeah, okay. Bye,” she said.

“Finley, we can be mature about this,” India said without opening the door, but Finley could tell she was standing closer to it now. “I get the no-shower thing. That was a bad idea. But we don’t have to be rude to each other.”

“I’m not being rude. You showed up with wine and said you wanted to talk. I should’ve just said no. I don’t even like wine.”

“It was the merlot we had on our first date,” India replied.

“Which one?” Finley asked.

“What?”

“Which first date?” she asked through the door. “We’ve had so many do-overs; I can’t keep track of them.”

“You’re exaggerating. And it was from our very first,” India said. “I thought you liked it.”

“It’s fine, but you ordered the bottle that night. What was I supposed to do? Not drink it?” Finley turned to look at the shower. “I’m getting in now. I’ll see you at work.”

“I’ll see you there, then,” India said, and when Finley didn’t hear her say anything else, she stripped the rest of the way and got into the shower.

Why did she keep doing this to herself? Time and time again, India ended up in her bed or Finley in hers.

It always started that way. Sex first. Then, conversation about how they still loved each other.

Next, they were back together, but days, weeks, or months later, they were over again.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat. It was exhausting, but they kept letting it happen.

At least, this time, Finley hadn’t given in to the sex part of this unending cycle.

When India had shown up, she had poured them each a glass of the wine that she hadn’t wanted and let India get everything off her chest that she, apparently, felt still needed to be said.

When Finley had finished one glass, she needed something to do with her hands, so she had poured herself and India another one.

She hadn’t eaten anything for dinner, so the alcohol hit her harder than it normally would have.

When India had suggested they go to the bedroom to continue the conversation, Finley knew that meant the talking part of the evening was over and India wanted to move to the sex part of the night.

Finley had used the excuse that she was on her period and felt like shit, which wasn’t true, but it got India to back off.

Finley had been nice, letting her stay, but the truth was that she was also weak.

For years now, India had been her girlfriend more often than not.

Sometimes, they were together for a few months before it ended, but they would be back together a few weeks later.

Their first year together had been amazing, and Finley had believed she had found the one.

India had ended it that time. Finley had ended it the second time after three months together.

She wasn’t sure who had done it the third, fourth, or fifth time, or even how many official times there had been.

There had been some friends-with-benefits nights when they weren’t technically together, so she wasn’t sure if that counted or not.

When she got out of the shower and was ready to leave for work, India was, thankfully, gone.

Hoping that this time, she’d finally managed to get her key back after several previous half-hearted attempts, Finley checked her kitchen table, but there was no key on that table.

That meant that India still had her key, and she still had India’s, so it would take more than them not having sex last night for her to finally, really make this thing between them come to an end.

“Hey, Fin,” Rusty said.

“Hey. How are you?” she asked as they both walked into the server room at the office.

“Good. You?”

“Yeah, good. I’ll be out of your hair in a minute. I just have to grab my stuff.”

“No worries. Hey, I was wondering if I could have next Friday off. I know it’s within the two-week request policy, but my brother is coming to town, so I was hoping to hang with him on Friday.”

“Oh, sure,” she replied and picked up a crate. “Just put it in the system, and I’ll approve it. Can you get Levi to cover for you that day, though? We have the re-cabling to do on the first floor.”

“Yeah, I’ll let him know. Excited to no longer have to store your stuff in here and get a real desk?” Rusty asked.

“I like it in here, honestly,” she replied, looking around at all the computer equipment and blinking lights that she helped set up years ago now. “But yes, I’m looking forward to having my own desk where there are windows and it’s not freezing.”