by R. S. Lively
Finally, it is time to head out and make final preparations for my day with Alice. She still doesn't know completely who I am. I haven't gone into any detail with her about my work or my money, and she hasn't asked. I try to tell myself it isn't really being deceptive if she hasn't shown any interest in knowing. If she happens to ask me if I own a multibillion-dollar bucket list concierge business with my brothers, of course I would be honest with her. Up until now, that question just hasn't come about.
Even without the declaration, I'm starting to toss a little more money into my plans. Maybe eventually Alice will notice our dates have gone from spreading out in the snow for a picnic lunch to flying to Italy for dinner because she says she's in the mood for spaghetti. If I do it gradually enough, I never have to have that conversation with her.
I sigh. Sometimes I sound asinine, even in my own head.
A few hours later, plans in place, I head to Alice's apartment. I ring the doorbell, but she doesn't answer. I wait and then ring again. When she still doesn't answer, I reach for the doorknob and find it unlocked. A shock of worry goes through my chest and I rush inside. Alice bursts out of her bedroom, looking startled and not exactly pleased with my entrance.
“Dean? What are you doing?”
“I rang the doorbell and you didn't answer. I was worried about you. “
“So, you just let yourself in?”
The realization of how ridiculous that was sinks in, and I take a step toward her.
“I'm sorry. I should have just waited. I still can, if you want me to.”
Alice shakes her head, looking regretful for the way she lashed out. It's obvious something is bothering her.
“No. It's fine. I should have been ready. My brain is just in a million places right now.”
I walk up to her and take her hands in mine. Leaning down, I kiss her forehead and then the tip of her nose. Her body releases slightly when my lips find hers, as if my kiss is offering her some type of relief.
"What's wrong? Is there anything I can do?"
She shakes her head.
"I just have a lot on my mind. I never even made it out of the apartment today, I've been on the phone and emailing since the second I got up."
It's obvious she's making a deliberate effort not to talk about what she's going through, and I'm not going to push her. If she doesn't want to tell me, it's not going to make things easier for her to try to draw it out. All I can do is try to make her feel better.
"You're sure there's nothing I can do to help you?"
"I feel like I just need something to distract me, something to get me out of this apartment and thinking about something else."
As soon as she says it, all the plans I've made for the day go out the window. None of them matter. The only thing that's important is bringing back her smile.
“Why don't you go get dressed, and we'll get out of here. I'm going to make a couple of phone calls.”
“What should I wear?”
“Whatever you want to. Something comfortable.”
She nods and disappears back into her bedroom as I pull out my phone to cancel the arrangements I'd made. I already know where I'm going to bring Alice, and it won't require any reservations. She comes out of her room a few minutes later in jeans and a blue sweater that accents her eyes so much I can see their color from across the room. Her hair is in a messy bun, reminding me of the first time I saw her. She looks self-conscious, but I think she's adorable. Standing from where I've been waiting on the couch, I rest my hands on her hips and draw her toward me for a gentle kiss.
"Ready?"
"Yes."
"Good. Let's go."
She stares through the windshield like she's not seeing anything as I drive through the city. It's not until we get out and have been walking a few minutes that she realizes where we are.
"Central Park again?" she asks, sounding disappointed. "Are we going for another round of clichés?"
"Don't worry. We're not doing the same thing again. Same park, different place." We continue on until finally I walk her out across a field toward a pavilion. "Now, I want you to imagine it's spring. All the snow is gone. It's warm and the trees have bloomed. This is where I've come every year to celebrate spring with the first live Shakespeare performance of the season. In May it will be Much Ado About Nothing."
Alice steps up close and loops her arms around my neck, giving a slight, playful groan.
"Mmmmm. Talk Bard-y to me."
I consider rattling off a few lines, but I much prefer not wasting the time and just filling those seconds with a long kiss. The tension in her body starts to relax against me, and I hope my plan is working. When the kiss ends, I look into her eyes and see some of the anxiety and anger that was there when I got to her apartment has faded.
"This is just the start of our adventure today."
"Where's the rest of it going to bring us?"
"Before I tell you that, there's something you should know about me."
Her eyebrows furrow.
"What?"
"Don't look at me like that," I laugh. "The big reveal is not that I'm a serial killer who brought you here to bury you. In the time we've spent together, there's something fairly basic you haven't asked me."
"If you are a serial killer who brings people to Central Park to bury them?"
"What I do."
"What do you do, Dean?"
"That's the spirit." I give her a quick kiss. "I am in the business of making things happen. And being in that business has let me learn a few things about the city. Now, we recreated a movie moment for you, right? Now we’re going to do more. I am going to whisk you away into the world of theater and show you where musicals came alive... That wasn't supposed to sound nearly as flamboyant as it did."
Alice grins.
"I'm okay with that."
"I think this would have changed things a little."
Alice looks around the gentrified neighborhood, and I can almost see the gears churning in her head, trying to reconcile what she is seeing with the memories she has of the show.
"Probably. I don't think the Sharks and Jets would have had nearly as dramatic a time if this is what the neighborhood looked like then."
"They would have just battled over seats in Lincoln Center."
"Have you ever seen West Side Story live?"
Alice nods as we stroll slowly down the sidewalk past updated concrete playgrounds and tightly-built homes that have been cleaned up and packed with young families and professionals in stark contrast to the rough atmosphere of the show.
"Yeah. It was one of my father's favorites."
"Your father?"
"He's the one who started my love of theater. We used to go to shows and old movies together." She glances up at me with an expression that says she wants to clarify her statement. "Not Broadway. Never actually on Broadway. We went to the little theaters tucked in the boroughs and watched community troupes."
"Sometimes those are better."
There is a soft distance in her eyes now, like she's across the city in one of those small theaters, still sitting by her father, watching a haphazard collection of fiercely devoted actors put on a classic musical.
"The first time I saw a show on Broadway I remember being so completely blown away by the sets and costumes and special effects. Everything was so polished and perfected," she says. "But then as I sat there watching, I realized I was missing what makes those community productions so amazing. The dazzle of the huge productions is spectacular, don't get me wrong. But sometimes I just want to be one of a couple hundred people, huddled in an old building, knowing we are witnessing something incredible. Nothing between us in the audience and the story being played out on the stage but the actors giving their bodies and voices to make that story live for a few more moments in time."
Before I even realize what I'm doing, one arm sweeps around Alice's waist and yanks her up against me. I pull her into the nearby alley and press her against the wall, my m
outh crushing down on hers and my body aching. She gasps at first, then gives into the kiss, her fingers burying themselves in my hair and one knee bending slightly to let my hips nestle closer to hers. The hunger her words brought to my chest and belly pours out into the kiss as my hand trails down her ribcage and onto her hip. My fingertips press through the thick denim of her jeans, craving the smooth warmth of her skin. Finally, I force myself to step back. We're both breathless and her eyes flutter, long, thick lashes hanging down over her eyes as she gets ahold of herself again.
"I guess we should keep going," I say. "There's a few more places to see."
Meaning, we should keep going so I don't try to tear off your clothes in a cold alley on the Upper West Side.
Her hand slips into mine as we walk back to where my car is waiting.
Chapter Eleven
Alice
Nothing takes the lingering sizzle out of an unexpected, searing kiss like standing in the mostly-empty parking lot of a very pedestrian bank a block from Union Square.
"You're not going to try to tell me this is the bank from Mary Poppins, are you?"
Dean laughs.
"Not quite. This one is a little more of a stretch, but I have to include it because it's my sister-in-law's favorite show, and she might somehow know I didn't mention it. In Hello Dolly, Dolly Levi goes to the Harmonia Gardens restaurant for dinner. There is no actual Harmonia Gardens, but the concept came from a restaurant called Luchow's that opened in the 1800's. That restaurant was in operation until the 80s, then burned down in the 90s. The site was paved over and…"
"A bank built there."
"Taa-daa."
Dean grins and holds his arms out to present the bank. It's hard to image the lush, dramatic restaurant where galloping waiters serenaded Dolly sitting here, when a woman in a pair of Christmas pajamas and blue fuzzy monster slippers shuffles out, staring at a deposit slip like it's written in code.
"I have to admit, that's pretty cool."
"Do people say 'cool' anymore?"
"I apparently do."
His hand closes around mine again and he guides me back to his car. I have no idea where he's bringing me next. I stopped trying to guess what he was thinking a few stops ago. That doesn't mean I'm not surprised when we park and take a twisting walk up to a large building with glass doors and cheerful murals that I know I haven't seen in any production: Broadway, Off-Broadway, or even movie versions.
"Here we are," he says, reaching for the handle and gesturing for me to step inside first.
The warm air in the lobby brings with it the smell of clean laundry, disinfectant, and fur.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"The animal shelter? What musical is this supposed to be for?"
He gives a brief wave to an older woman reading a magazine behind the information desk as he crosses the open space to a large glass-walled room and points inside at the dozing residents.
"Cats."
The laugh that tumbles out of my mouth is full and real, coming from deeper inside me than a laugh has in a long time. It's the type of laugh that reminds you of how much you've been going through recently, but makes it not matter as much. The type of laugh that brushes the dust and cobwebs away from parts of yourself you boxed up and pushed away because you had to focus on everything else. It's a laugh that makes me realize there is something much more to this than deep blue eyes and a love of the theater that rivals my own. I'm still unsure. Focusing only on the business and saving my theater has taken up all my time and energy, and that's what I wanted. Now I'm wondering if I can really keep that up much longer.
Dean's head tilts to the side as he brushes his thumb across my cheek.
"I love to hear you laugh."
Oh, Shakespeare, help me.
The sound of Dean unlocking my front door is already familiar and comforting, but the feeling in my belly when he turns to me after is new. Every other time he has walked me to my door, the growing desire has been enough to keep my thoughts to should I invite him in? Tonight, the excited, nervous fluttering has shifted that thought to I'm going to invite him in.
His head dips down for a kiss and I let it linger longer. He pulls back from it slightly, but I tilt my mouth up for more. Taking hold of my hips, Dean draws me up against him and kisses me again. It doesn't have the explosive intensity of the kiss in the alley, but a simmer that starts low in my stomach and is spreading through my body like slow, glowing lava. Our lips part just enough for him to speak.
"Can I come in?"
The huskily whispered question makes my knees feel weak. I nod, and he reaches behind me to open the door, still holding me close with the other arm so he can lead me inside. A sweep of his foot closes the door behind him and the sound of the lock clicking into place makes my breath catch in my throat.
Keys jangle to the floor and both of Dean's hands cup my face. His kiss loosens my fingers around the strap of my purse. I nearly trip on it as he guides me slowly backward toward the bedroom. The skin of my neck burns as his lips touch just beneath the curve of my jaw and move gradually down until they meet my coat collar.
Layers of clothing have always seemed like an obstacle. But as Dean's strong hands push my coat back over my shoulders and let it slide down my body, they are an enhancement. I want to feel his skin against mine, but his slow, careful attention to removing my clothes is too delicious to want to rush. I step out of my shoes and push them out of the way with my foot but leave the rest to him. He kisses me for a few more seconds, his hands coming to rest on either thigh. Gradually, they slide up until they move the hem of my sweater out of the way and I finally feel his fingertips touch my skin.
My stomach trembles as he glides his hands up, feeling the curves of my body as he peels my sweater up and off. Our mouths part for the sweater to move over my head, and his eyes lower to take in the parts of me he has exposed. Rather than moving from the button of my jeans, Dean ducks his head and brushes his lips across the swells of my breasts over the lace edge of my bra cups. His breath streams across my skin and just that simple touch hardens my nipples, so they press against the soft pale blue fabric. His hands move up my stomach and cup beneath my breasts, lifting them slightly as the soft brush becomes kisses that travel down into the valley and back up the other side. Soon, his mouth finds the lace edge, and he takes hold of it with his teeth, gently moving it down to reveal more untouched skin.
My head drops back, and everything else falls away. My mind goes blank, and I feel nothing but Dean's mouth on my skin, and his hands now easing my pants down my hips and along my legs. He steps back, drinking in the sight of me in only my lacy lingerie. His shoulders lower with a slow exhale.
"You are so beautiful."
My body shivers, and he closes the space between us to run his hands down my arms.
"Are you cold?"
I shake my head.
"No."
His mouth catches mine again and suddenly the floor beneath my feet is gone as Dean's powerful hands grab the backs of my thighs and lift me up, so he cradles me against his body. My arms wrap around his neck, my hands entangle in his hair, I let go of every worry and question and just let myself be in the moment with Dean.
The bedspread is soft and cool beneath my back as he lowers me onto it, but he doesn't come down with me. Instead, he stands at the foot of the bed and I watch as he takes off his shirt, revealing a sculpted body with muscles even more incredible than I had been imagining. Without moving his eyes from mine, he releases his belt, undoes his button, and glides his zipper down. His pants drop to the floor, and his abs shift as he removes his shoes and kicks them all of out the way.
There's only one thing left. My fingertips tingle, and heat rolls down my body, settling between my thighs where my panties have gotten hot and wet. Dean's thumbs hook at the waistband of his trunks and he takes his time moving them down. A deep V of muscle over his hips guides my attention, focusing my eyes so I enjoy the luscious reveal o
f his already hardened cock. My mouth waters and I sit up, needing to be closer to him.
Dean crawls onto the end of the bed and wraps one arm around me as he dips the tip of his tongue between my partially opened mouth, gliding it into the inside of my upper lip. His fingers make quick work of the hook on my bra and the lace falls away. The pressure of his mouth leaving mine, moving down to close over one of my exposed breasts, leads me to lie back down onto the bed. The sensation of his tongue tracing around my nipple washes over me. My body stretches as if to make more space to allow the feeling to grow.
When he has finished lavishing both breasts with attention, Dean begins a trail of kisses down the center of my body. He reaches my navel and pauses. A long, slow lick back up my body and along the front of my throat makes my back arch and a gasp spill from my lips. Dean doesn't relent. His head lowers back down to my stomach and he blows a stream of breath along my dampened skin, cooling it and sending a shiver along my spine.
My hips rock against the bed involuntarily and Dean shifts just enough so his erection brushes the front of my panties. He kisses down to the lowest part of my stomach, first tracing one hip bone with his tongue, then gliding it over to the other. His mouth moves along the waistband to pause at the tiny blue bow at the front. Here, he pauses. His long, deep breaths are like he's drawing me in, and all I can think of is the feeling of his breath between my thighs.
Finally, his mouth settles over the front of my panties and even through the fabric the sensation nearly pushes me over the brink. Shaking with anticipation, I lift my hips to let Dean remove the last scrap of cloth that separates our bodies. My legs come back together instinctively as he moves off the end of the bed and grabs his pants. His hand slips into one pocket and comes out with a foil packet.
My heart gives a single hard pound against my ribs. Dean climbs onto the bed beside me and nuzzles the tip of my nose with his.
"I want you to know I don't just always have these in my pocket," he smiles softly.
