Caught in a Chase

43 - Changes

I drove up to domestic arrivals and Chelsea hopped in, tossing her bag in the back. 

"Thanks for the ride," she smiled. 

"This one? Or the one you're getting later?" I asked, pulling back into traffic.

"Oooh," she said, sliding her hand up my thigh. "Giddy up."

I hid my smile. Feeling bad about the way I acted, I decided to step up my game. I'd rented a back room at a nice restaurant. We didn't go out much but this was a special occasion.

As I drove straight to the restaurant I was regretting the arrangements a little. Looking at her now, feeling her hand on my thigh, I wanted to take her to bed, not to dinner.

Swallowing hard and willing my dick to soften, I climbed out of the Escalade. Chelsea grabbed my hand and we walked to the back entrance. They let us in and whisked us to our table.

I held tight to her hand as we flipped through the menu, needing to stay connected to her. The server brought our sodas and took our order.

"I'm glad you're back," I said, rubbing my thumb slowly over her palm and inside of her wrist.

"Me too," she whispered.

The air around us grew warm. My mouth was suddenly dry and out of habit I licked my lips. Chelsea's eyes followed my tongue. When her eyes met mine again, I could see we were both thinking the same thing.

"Wanna skip dinner and head home?" I asked, only half joking.

"No," she said. "I want you and dinner."

I cocked my head in confusion. What did that mean?

Chelsea looked around, then smiled. "Washrooms are through that door, down the hallway. Meet me in the handicapped one."

"What?" I asked, then understanding. "No!"

"You wanna wait hours until we get home?"

"No," I admitted. "But I don't wanna bang you in a bathroom more."

Under the table, Chelsea's hand slid up my thigh. She stroked my dick through my jeans. 

Why did the damn woman always wanna fuck in public places? Twenty-something year old me would have been all for this. Forty-something year old me not so much. I could just imagine my kids' faces if a picture of me having sex wound up in the news.

I reached for my drink and took a long swallow, trying to ignore her hand and figure out what to do. This was supposed to be a special, romantic night. Fucking her here wasn't part of that! 

"You sure you don't want me now?" Chelsea asked, continuing to stroke my now hard dick.

"Of course I want you now. That's not the point," I grumbled.

On the other hand, if we got sex out of the way, I would be less distracted the rest of the evening. 

"Who was it that said we needed to have makeup sex after a fight?" she asked. "Oh yes, that was you."

She made an excellent point. 

"I've been thinking about riding your dick since our phone call. Thought I'd gotten it out of my system last night, and this morning, but nothing compares to the real thing," she said, giving my dick a gentle squeeze.

The air left my lungs. Did she just confess to masturbating about me last night and again this morning? Fuck me.

"Go," I said in a hoarse voice. 

She smiled and walked towards the back hallway, her hips swaying. The server came by with a soda refill. I hadn't even noticed I'd drained my glass.

"Everything alright sir?" he asked.

"Yes. Fine," I said. "Uh, think I'll go to the bathroom too, before the food arrives."

I rose and hurried down the hallway to the handicapped washroom.

I pushed open the door, then locked it. Chelsea's arms went around my neck as her mouth attacked mine. I pressed her against me. She felt so damn good.

Tearing my mouth away, I yanked her pants down, then my own.

"No noise," I ordered. "And this is gonna be quick."

Grinning she walked over to the baby change table folded up against the wall. I watched confused as she pulled it down. Then she bent over it and stuck her ass out towards me.

I loved taking her from behind. That ass... I lined up my dick and drove in. A low moan escaped from my throat as I fucked her. 

"No noise," she said, mimicking me. 

Sassy bitch. I dug my fingers into her hips, adjusted slightly and slammed into her harder. She gasped, then moaned as I repeatedly hit her sweet spot.

"Jerk," she whispered just before her pussy clamped down around me as she came. I continued to thrust, watching that ass shake until I came too, emptying inside her.  

We made our way back to the table and sat down. Chelsea's cheeks were flushed and I felt more relaxed than I had in days. 

Our appetizers arrived almost immediately. Hell of a way to kill time. I grabbed a fork and Chelsea placed a hand over mine.

"That's your dinner fork," she murmured. "The other one."

I put it down and picked up the other fork before stabbing at my salad. As I chewed, I smirked.

"What?" she asked.

"You're classy no doubt. But I still just railed you in the bathroom."

"Best of both worlds," Chelsea smiled. "I believe the great poet Ludacris said it best."

"We want a lady in the street but a freak in the bed," I quoted. 

"Exactly," she said. "You complaining?"

"Nope," I said. "Wondering how I got so damn lucky."

"One of life's great mysteries," she said. 

"Here's to your publishing achievement. The first of many, I'm sure," I said, raising my glass. "And ... to the coming changes."

"I will definitely drink to that!" Chelsea said, clinking her glass with mine.

We joked and chatted about the upcoming week and our plans while we had dinner and ordered dessert.

"This is amazing!" Chelsea moaned, motioning to the peanut butter mousse cake with chocolate crust.

"How's volunteering going? Made any friends?" I asked, trying to distract myself from the way her tongue was licking chocolate from the spoon.

"Yes! I met this woman Robyn and we've hung out a few times now. She's funny and brilliant with the worse luck imaginable in men."

As Chelsea recounted Robyn's dating disasters, I decided this was it. It'd been a fantastic night and this was the perfect moment.

"Speaking of shitty men, is little Kevin keeping his hands to himself? Or do I need to be worried?" I joked as Chelsea's spoon clattered to her plate.

"Sorry, musta slipped," she muttered. "No, Kevin has been a gentleman."

"Good. So listen, I, uh ..." I cleared my throat as I slipped a hand into my pocket. "I want to – "

Her phone rang and she pulled it from her bag to silence it, frowning when she saw the caller ID.

"Who is it?" I asked.

"I don't know... but it's a Vancouver area code. Sorry, I should get this," Chelsea said, before answering. "Hello? Yes, this is Chelsea Wade."

She listened for a moment, before reaching back in her bag for pen and paper. She nodded as she scribbled down information.

"Great! Thank you very much," she said and hung up.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"I got a surgery date!" she said.

"When?" I asked.

"In three weeks. It will be such a relief to put it all behind me," Chelsea smiled.

"So you have to go back to Vancouver?" I frowned. "For how long?"

"Roughly two months, depending on how everything goes," she said, putting the pen and pad away.

"What the fuck!" I shouted.

"A week before the surgery to meet with the anesthetist and admitting office, a week in hospital after the surgery, then five to seven weeks recovery," Chelsea explained.

This wasn't a conversation I wanted to have in public. I was already seeing red.

"Cheque please," I told the server who'd hurried over when I yelled.

The ride home was deadly quiet. Chelsea kept glancing over at me, but I ignored her and concentrated on driving.

Internally I was trying to calm myself down. I'd known Chelsea had to return to Vancouver for surgery, but never imagined she'd be away so long. 'She's leaving' was the refrain running through my head.

"Marshall what's going on?" Chelsea asked the second we were through the front door. We stood facing each other in the entrance way.

"You're talking about leaving for months!"

"To have surgery and recover," she said.

"No," I said, shaking my head. "You can come back here to recover."

"I'm pretty sure flying right after brain surgery is a big no," Chelsea laughed.

"Then have the surgery here," I said, frustrated.

"Are you serious?" Chelsea stared at me. "No."

"Why not?"

"Where do I start?" Chelsea said, waving her arms. "With my Canadian medical insurance, the surgery is free. Down here it would be over a million dollars."

"So? I can pay that."

"No!" Chelsea said. "You're not spending that kinda money on something I'm entitled to for free! Besides, this neurosurgeon is the best in Canada. I know nothing about surgeons down here. And my family and friends will be there to look after me. Down here, there's just you. You have enough on your plate, you can't worry about looking after me constantly."

"I can hire someone to help," I argued.

"That's ridiculous!" Chelsea shook her head. "Why pay a stranger to look after me when my family would love to do it?"

"Why go back there when you can have it here?"

"For all the excellent reasons I just went through – free, best surgeon, family to help." Chelsea ticked them off on her fingers.

This couldn't be happening. My worst fears were coming true. I turned back towards the door.

"Where are you going?"

"What does it matter? You're leaving!" I shouted.

"No! I'm going home for surgery," she said and I froze.

Home. She was back to calling Vancouver home. Fuck!

I needed to get out of here before I did something stupid. I started towards the door again and Chelsea stepped in front of me, her palms flat against my chest.

"Whoa. Where are you going?"

"Don't act like you care!" I yell, slapping her hands away and moving around her.

"Of course I care!" Chelsea said, blocking me again. "Tell me what's going on with you. Please."

I opened my mouth, but shut it again.

"Look, let's sit down and figure out when you can be there," Chelsea said. "Maybe Paul can move stuff – "

"I'm not going."

"What?" Chelsea looked stunned.

"Ya wanna go, go. But don't expect me to go with you."

"You'd let me go through this alone?" she whispered.

"If you stay, I'll be here every second. But not if you go," I shook my head.

Chelsea stared at me and her expression tore at my heart.

"I need some fucking air," I muttered and shoved her out of my way.

Getting back in the Escalade, I turned up the music and hit the highway. I didn't care where I went, I just needed to drive and think. Eventually the motion and music calmed me down but did nothing to ease the ache in my heart.

Chelsea almost didn't leave Vancouver for me the first time. After I'd brought her back to Detroit with me, I dreaded her returning for any reason. I'd paid to have her stuff shipped. I'd discouraged visits, saying it was too soon. I begged her to give up her apartment. I didn't want her going back because I was afraid she wouldn't return to Detroit. To me.

If she went back for two months, living with her family, surrounded by all her friends, resuming her old life ... She'd wonder why she ever left. There was no way she would come back.

But how did I stop her from going back for surgery? Having that surgery was the best thing for her. I couldn't interfere with that. I loved her too much to risk her health in any way.

I hit the steering wheel with the palm of my hand as tears stung my eyes. Fuck! I'd been so close to having it all. Shoulda known it was too good to be true, that happiness didn't last. She was leaving. And I couldn't do a damn thing to stop her.