“I’m not built that way,” I tell him.
“I fucking love that about you.”
A hand reaches around to cover the back of my neck, and I have no choice but to kiss this man as I’m pulled forward. It makes sense that kissing Maddox is something I am yanked into doing. He’s a force. Those full, soft lips cover mine. Rough hands, hands that create, rub over my neck and I’m kissing a contradiction. When he breaks the kiss to bite my lip, I drop my shoes and bring my arms up so my hands are in his hair. His tongue dances with mine and now I taste the sweet cinnamon. My body feels like it’s been shocked to life, like Maddox is a livewire and the connection between our lips has me jolted into his beautiful world.
I’m grabbing onto his hand and he’s holding onto mine and we’re connected. We’ve find our time and I have no plan of ever letting go.
“Best night ever?” I ask him when he finishes pressing his lips to mine in little butterfly kisses.
“Best night ever,” he confirms.
“The song is about you,” I whisper, and he smiles before he shakes his head.
“No. It’s about you.” He runs his hand over my hair, stopping at the bottom of my braid. “Let’s get off this roof. I’m afraid of heights and its cold as hell.”
Chapter 11
The party is in full swing but before we can even make it inside, Maddox is grabbing me and pulling me into a dark corner just outside of the elevator.
“I have to kiss you again,” he tells me before he turns us so I’m against the wall.
I’m so pliant, all I can do is watch as he bends to kiss me. I’m still shorter than him in my heels, and he’s covering all of me in a way that makes me feel like I was always meant to be held by him. Like maybe we were one piece at some point and then somehow we were separated and cast into the world like a pair of dice.
When he kisses down my neck, I realize how crazy I’m being and just because we kiss a few times, that doesn’t mean anything.
“You’re tensing up,” he says, his lips still on my neck.
“I saw the condom in your trashcan last night,” I say instead of anything else that could possibly help the situation. He steps back and runs his hand over his jaw. “I’m sorry.”
He chuckles but it sounds humorless, and I’m still worried that I said the wrong thing. But I guess I want to know if a kiss is just a kiss or if this is something we’re actually doing. I’m young but I’m not stupid. Stolen kisses won’t get me anything but a broken heart.
“I guess I haven’t taken out my bathroom trash in a while.”
I can’t help the way my eyes roll, and I smile a little even though the conversation isn’t funny.
“You don’t have to lie to me. It’s not like we were anything.”
“You calling me a liar, Emerson?” He leans down closer and lifts my chin with his index finger. “Because you’re right. If I did sleep with anyone up until the very moment I followed you up to the roof and kissed you the way a man kisses a woman he’s wanted for weeks, it wouldn’t be a problem.”
I turn my head and blink a few times. I don’t want to cry or be upset, but he’s right and it hurts. I’m both embarrassed by the truth and by my reaction toward it. He’s in my face saying these things that I don’t want to hear.
He kisses my temple and whispers in my ear, “But that isn’t the case.” I feel his hand come up and press to my cheek and I close my eyes and lean into it.
…a woman he’s wanted for weeks…
“Want to go somewhere?” I ask him, finally facing him. I don’t want to be around these people when all I can think of is the way I felt the first moment I saw Maddox and how this feeling is like that but bigger.
“Lead the way,” he says, stepping aside and letting me walk in front of him, his hand on the small of my back.
If anyone saw us, I can only imagine what we look like. Lovers slipping away in the dark. Tiptoeing out, lust and anticipation covering their faces and luring them away from the crowd. As Maddox grabs our coats, I touch my lips.
Do I feel different now that we’ve kissed?
Yes and no.
I’m still Emerson; heir to the Kingsley throne.
But I’m not watching stories anymore, I’m living one. As Maddox helps me put on my coat and I pull my braid out to lay on my left shoulder, I think that although I’ve known about this man for months, I’m only now getting to know him.
Kingsley is situated a few blocks from Central Park in Midtown. During the spring and summer, I brave the New York streets and walk there because walking amongst the people combats the loneliness I’m trying to remedy. But toward the end of fall and during winter, I take a cab.
“Central Park, please,” I tell the taxi driver after we get in. I glance at Maddox and he smiles. I want to be like him. Unbothered by the idea of following someone else’s course.
“You love it there,” he tells me, grabbing my cold fingers and kissing the tips of them. “Why?”
“You’ll see,” I whisper. I want to kiss him, but I look at the driver and it’s all so new. Instead, I watch him pull my hand into his lap and toy with my fingers.
“You have long fingers. Perfect for playing piano.”
I look at my free hand and turn it over so my maroon manicure shines under the city lights.
“I haven’t played for anyone in a while.”
“Yeah, because your generation likes to use MIDI pad controllers and not real instruments. Instruments don’t need anything other than to be handled by someone who knows what they’re doing.” He runs his fingers from my wrist to the center of my palm and down to the tip of my middle finger. “Kind of like a woman.”
I turn away so he doesn’t see my pink cheeks. Maddox seems like a man who knows what to do with a woman, same way he knows what to do with a musical instrument. He told me he took time getting to know any instrument he came across. I wonder if he approaches sex with that same vigor. With that passionate need for intimate knowledge.
The driver pulls up in front of the park’s entrance and Maddox pays him. When we get out, we stand there a moment.
“After you,” Maddox says, and I walk toward my bench where I’m about to tell him why I looked so familiar to him.
“Do you come here often?” I ask him. Of course I already know the answer, and maybe he knows I know the answer because he grins.
“I do.” It’s his turn to duck his head and he’s hiding a sheepish smile.
“I know,” I say, and I wait for his grin to transform into something I don’t want to see.
Holly and I had something in common. Even I don’t know if I’m protecting myself or if I genuinely want to be alone.
“What do you mean?” There’s confusion on his face but that’s all.
“I remember the first time I ever saw you.” I sit on the bench and he lowers himself beside me.
“That day. In the cab,” he offers, and I shake my head.
While the city is still noisy around us, the park isn’t as populated. It feels like it belongs to us.
“No,” I tell him, and I press my fingers to his lips when he tries to talk. I pull away quickly and take a deep breath. “The first time I saw you was this summer. You were wearing a grey T-shirt and there was something about your smile. I wanted to know you.”
I think back to that day. The first day the world ever slowed for me, and I inhale as if the same flowers that were in bloom then are occupying the space around us now. The sun was shining, and it was one of the first days I’d decided to sit at the park. I was pretending to read a book when I heard a laugh. I had to look up and see what was so funny. When I did, there he was, his hand in someone else’s. That grey T-shirt stretched over his arms and chest in a way that made my eyes follow him. The woman he was with tugged him along the path, her dress catching in the breeze and though she was beautiful, I saw what I wanted to see. The way he let her hand go after a while. The way he’d shove his hands in his pocket, as if to avoid the task of
touching her. As they walked past me, his eyes briefly caught mine.
Ironically enough, he was the one to look away. Since that day, I’d been dreaming of the day it was my turn to be with him. I’d seen him with these women and always there was something missing. It was never perfect, though sometimes they came close. Those days made me itch to march right up to him and claim him as my own.
As I focus on here and now, I notice Maddox is edging toward that look. The one where he’s telling me I’m weird and runs away. But I keep going.
“I felt a little lost sometimes. So I’d come here and watch people. After a while, I knew I was coming here because I wanted to see you.” I can’t even look at him while I tell him these things.
“You had these women around you and I wanted to be one of them. I built you up so high in my head. What you’d say to me. How our conversations would go. And then I met you and…everything I thought would happen didn’t.”
I brave a glance his way and he’s looking down at his hands.
“I figured my disappointment at the real you being nothing like what I imagined would be enough for me to put you out of my head. But then I kept bumping into you. And then….”
“Last night,” he whispers and I nod.
“It changed everything. I was already looking for reasons to avoid you. I was still disappointed but when we’re in the same room, all I see is you. Then it became less and less about who I thought you were and I started to like the things you are.”
“Like what?” he asks, and I realize he’s sitting closer to me.
“You’re kind. Determined. Funny. Soulful. Talented. And…though my mind has talked me out of it, my heart is determined to experience you. At the expense of me.”
“Emerson…” he starts and I can’t look at him. I can’t know what he’s thinking. “You saw me with all of those women. No wonder you freaked about the condom.”
Not what I was expecting at all. I was bracing myself for a freaked out response, one that claimed I was a stalker or a little less than completely sane.
“Well, yeah,” I say, and he laughs.
“You think I’m a whore?”
The question makes me laugh.
“I mean…I gu—I don’t know!” I catch myself because the last thing I want to do is insult him when he’s taking this so well.
“Before you met me, what did you think of me?”
Casanova. I think the word before I can help it, and I try to think of a better way to say it.
“You were a man who had sexual relationships with many women.”
He barks out a laugh and I love the way his Adam’s apple protrudes, bobbing with his laughter.
“And now?”
“You’re a man who had sexual relationships with many women. And then you got to know me.”
He stops laughing and it leaves a sweet smile on his face, a whisper of humor in his eyes. He reaches up to cup my cheek with his cold hand, but he still feels warm somehow.
“Good answer.”
I shiver and he frowns.
“Cold?”
“A little.”
“I’ll take you home.” Before I know it, he’s holding my hand and we’re getting into another cab and I’m nearly on top of him, my lips stuck to his. But if I had it my way, Maddox and I would’ve been like this the very first time I shared a cab with him.
We exchange numbers before I get out and when the cab pulls off with him inside, I’m wondering where this will end up and if I’ll still feel the way I do right now.
I walk to the elevator when my phone rings.
“Hello?” I answer as I get in.
“Is it cheesy that I’m calling you right now?”
“A little,” I tell him. “But I don’t mind. It’s better than you never calling.”
He laughs.
“Have a good night, Emerson.”
“You too, Maddox.”
Sundays are typically reserved for Holly and Hulu. Or Netflix. But when Maddox invites me to dinner, I tell Holly I’m heading into the office.
“You sure look fancy to be heading into an empty office,” he says after glancing at me. He shoves popcorn in his mouth, and I check myself out in the large and ornate mirror in the living room.
“I have more clothes than I have places to go,” I tell him as I make sure I look all right. “Wasting one outfit is okay.”
“You can say that again,” he mumbles, and I pick up one of the pillows on the couch and throw it at him.
“Don’t have too much fun without me,” I say before I leave and lock the door.
It’s hard for me not to tell Hollis about Maddox, but as I lay in my bed the night before, I thought about the way people thought of me at the office. They had no respect for me and I know Holly doesn’t fall in the same category as they do, but I can’t tell him without telling my father and I know I’m not ready to tell him.
I’m making excuses, but I just don’t want to bring anyone else into it. As far as I can tell, Maddox and I are in the beginning stages of whatever this is. No need to add outside pressure to this thing. I can always wait and see how this pans out before I start telling people.
I walk outside, and as I do every time I hit the city pavement, I feel like I have somewhere to be. Only this time I actually do. The restaurant isn’t too far from me so I walk the few blocks, listening to the cars and the people and the way my pumps click against the ground over and over. I check my watch as I walk inside and I’m about fifteen minutes early.
I give the hostess Maddox’s name and she leads me to a table in front of the windows. As I sit, I look out and wonder how many people will look at the pair of us and wonder about us. I think about the way I envied the women before me. Will anyone envy me?
I’m surveying the people seated to see if anyone I know is here.
Ten minutes later, Maddox is approaching as I’m looking at the rest of the patrons here. It’s so normal, the way he leans down to kiss my cheek. The shock of his cold lips do nothing to deter the experience of it. I briefly place my hand on his cheek and whisper, “Your lips are cold.”
“They feel fine now,” he says and takes his seat. “Sorry. Got caught up with a few of my friends.”
The waitress comes over and I’m too busy watching Maddox sitting across from me to pay her any attention. Friends. I wonder how many he has. If the way I’ve seen people react to him is any indication, always laughing and smiling, he has many.
“I’ll have the same,” I say when I realize they’re both waiting for my order.
“You’re beautiful,” he tells me in a low voice when she walks away. He says it and I feel it. The music is this lovely alternative that reminds me of Imogen Heap, and I can’t help but listen to his inhale and exhale and the song and the low hum of intimate conversations. Is this what infatuation sounds like?
Like a song; the melody, his breath…the lyrics, these hushed words that are meant for lovers to hear. Or maybe the sound of my wild heart which is still trying to be free of me.
“You’re beautiful.” I smile at my response and he leans in closer.
“You’re too young to look so wise.”
I run my fingers over my heart-shaped stud. He looks at my earring and his smile stretches wider. My earrings weren’t chosen with care. They damn near jumped on my ears as I got ready.
“How old are you?” I ask.
“Is it cliché to tell you I’m old enough to know better?”
“Better than what?”
“Better than to answer that question,” he says before running his fingertips over my knuckles. “Thirty-two.”
Nine years my senior.
“Does my age bother you?” I ask.
“Does mine bother you?” He grips my hand. “Technically, you’re my superior at work. Does that bother you? Does any of this make you want to get up from this table and go to work every day from now on pretending that none of this happened?”
“No,” I say and it’s true. Thos
e two letters, in that sequence form the most honest thing I’ve said in a long time. “I don’t want to pretend that none of this happened. But…I’m not ready to tell everyone about us yet.”
Our food comes and I grin at the large bowls of spaghetti in front of us. He smiles before focusing on our conversation again.
“You want to wait to tell everyone?”
I nod.
“I’m guessing this includes your father?”
I nod again.
“If that’s what you want.” He scoops up the spaghetti and shovels it into his mouth while I’m using a fork and spoon like I was taught with the fancy education my father bought me. I love that Maddox is so normal.
“I hope that doesn’t bother you,” I tell him, my voice a little lower than I’d like. I’m nervous that I’ve offended him.
He wipes his mouth with a napkin and stews for a moment.
“It does a little. I mean, I can understand your reasoning if it’s because you’re trying to earn your place at Kingsley. But you should also know that the people you’re trying to win over are a bunch of fucking idiots. They wouldn’t know what you’ve got if it slapped them on the ass.”
I can’t help but laugh loudly, and when I notice people glancing our way, I cover my mouth.
“You’re so refreshing,” I tell him as I set down my fork and spoon to sip the wine he ordered us.
“Maybe I’m just what you need.” And then he’s back to eating spaghetti, and I’m wondering when he’ll stop surprising me.
The night is wonderful but all along, my skin is humming. I find myself vibrating under his irises, loving the way they take me in. I feel flush as we walk out, and I feel wanted and so very wanting.
“I’m not too far from here,” I tell him as I button my coat. He shoots me a grin and I can’t look away from him. Something about him begs to be seen.
“Want to come over?” he asks as he pulls me against him, away from the people who are too determined to make it to their destination to pay us any mind. He’s too close and I’m too wrapped in his arms to care.
“I can’t,” I whisper, though I want to.
He presses his lips to mine, and I want to eat my words and follow him to his place. To throw away my inhibitions and watch them fly away in the winter wind. His talented hands are cool against my neck and I shiver. Maybe it’s because of the way his cold hands make me feel warm. Or maybe it’s because I’m imagining what those cold hands could do to me.
The Sound of Serendipity Page 10
