Unleash Me: Vol. 3

by Christina Ross

  That surprised him. “You would?”

  “Yes, but nothing fancy. Something low key would be perfect.”

  “You know that always works with me.”

  “How about that burger joint we once went to in the East Village? The one you and Alex go to all the time for lunch? I can’t remember its name, but I’d love to have one of their burgers again. Not to mention a Coke and a large side of fries.”

  “You see, there’s a reason we’re together,” he said. “Ruby’s it is, then.”

  What he didn’t say is that this would be the first time we’d been out for a dinner date since January, and the idea that we were going to do just that pleased him as much as it did me. He held out his arm to me, and I went around the bar and nestled myself in his embrace.

  “Something’s different about you today,” he said.

  “Let’s put it this way—it’s time to live again. It’s time to move forward. Look at what I have in my life. Look at how lucky I am. I have a wonderful, patient fiancé who just happens to be the love of my life. My book has been on the New York Times best-seller’s list for the past four weeks, and one day soon it will be turned into a movie. And I have great friends. The best of friends. I’m getting there, Tank. I’m almost there. And I’m going to make that happen.” I could feel my face flush with an unexpected rush of anger. “Those bastards can’t hold me back for the rest of my life.”

  “No, they can’t. But all along I knew you’d never let them do that to you anyway. It’s just taken some time. That’s all. You’re one of the bravest people I know, Lisa. You went through hell, and you’re coming out of it. I’m proud of you.” He kissed me again. “And I love you. And I want to be your husband. Soon.”

  “I’ve missed you,” I said.

  “I’ve missed you. You don’t know how much.”

  “Thank you for being so kind to me over these past several weeks. I know it hasn’t been easy.”

  “We’re a team, aren’t we?”

  When he said that, I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him so hard on the lips that a different sort of rush flooded through me. It was an aching. It was the desire I’d lost, but it now was coming back. He met my kiss with his own and our tongues probed deep before we parted. He held my face in those massive hands of his and kissed me lightly on the mouth. Then he went for my neck, just about doing me in when the stubble on his chin brushed against my ear.

  I wanted to save our lovemaking for later, so I pulled away from him and let my fingers trail down his chest and his chorded abs, stopping just above the band of his underwear, below which the fabric was bulging. He tensed under my touch and I sensed him catch his breath. How long had it been since I’d touched him this way? Since I’d kissed him like that? Allowed him to kiss me like that? It had been weeks.

  “What do we have here?” I asked, looking down at his crotch.

  “Something that’s also missed you.”

  “Maybe, after Ruby’s, I can get reacquainted with it….”

  “That might take awhile.”

  I was so ready for this, it hurt.

  “As far as I’m concerned, I can shake hands with it all night,” I said.

  * * *

  When I met Jennifer at the Met’s members-only dining room on the museum’s fourth floor, she already was seated at one of the far tables along a wall of windows that overlooked the Park. The view from the lobby was iridescent green from the new leaves springing forth from the canopy of trees that swayed in the breeze just beyond the windows. When she saw me, she stood, hurried over to me, and gave me a hug.

  “You look terrific,” she said.

  “I actually feel terrific.”

  “You do? Really?”

  “Really. I’m resolved to feel better.”

  “Oh, Lisa, that’s the best news I’ve heard in weeks.” She was about to say something else when she stopped short and narrowed her eyes. “Where did you get that shirt?” she asked. “And why does it look so familiar? Is it just me, or should it have a ‘missing’ sign attached to it?”

  “It might have once belonged to you….”

  She knew me too well. On instinct alone, she looked down at my shoes. Then, with a sigh, she looked back at me. “Seriously? You stole those shoes? My favorite shoes? I was looking for them the other week.”

  “You know how much I love them. And I’ll never stop stealing your shoes—I’ve been doing it since we were kids. And besides, I’ll take better care of them than you ever will.”

  She rolled her eyes at that, and I thought about how beautiful she looked. Her dark hair was pulled away from her face in a sleek ponytail. Save for a bold red lip, she wore just a touch of makeup. She had on dark skinny jeans that did nothing to hide an ass most envied and a gorgeous pair of Prada pumps that I immediately began to covet. A white silk top and no jewelry other than her massive engagement ring completed a look that was simple, yet flawless.

  “Keep the shoes,” she said. “They’re yours. So is the shirt. It probably has stains under the armpits anyway.”

  “It has what?”

  “Just kidding. Now come. I was able to snag one of the better tables. The views are beyond beyond. Let’s have a glass of wine and catch up.”

  Over the next two hours, we enjoyed a bottle of white wine and a light Caesar salad topped with chicken, and we talked like we hadn’t talked in what seemed, to me, like ages. At one point, she lifted her glass of wine to me. “Here’s to you and your book, which I hear is selling like wildfire. And by the way—that review in the Times? We haven’t spoken about it, but oh my God! Blackwell called me the morning it came out and read the whole thing to me—even though I’d already read it myself. But why spoil her fun? She was like a proud mother who was over the moon about it.”

  “Who knew that Michiko Kakutani actually had a heart? I can’t believe she liked a book about zombies.”

  “As she pointed out, your book is about much more than that.”

  I touched my glass to hers and we sipped. “Hey, I’m not complaining. I just can’t believe she was enthusiastic about it. She rarely likes pop fiction.”

  “Like I said, your book is more than just pop fiction.”

  “Anyway,” I said, uncomfortable with the flattery. “It was pretty cool.”

  “The last time we spoke, you weren’t writing. Has that changed?”

  “Not yet. At least for now, that’s apparently out of the question. I’ve sat at my computer and tried to write, but nothing comes.”

  “I’m sorry about that.”

  “It’s fine. It’ll come again. You know that writing has always been my salvation, particularly when you and I moved to Manhattan and we were so broke, we couldn’t even afford an air conditioner, let alone the energy it would cost to run one.”

  “Those were the days….”

  “But I’ll get back to it. Again, I’m resolved. Writing always has pulled me through the rough spots, and it will do so again. My shrink agrees. I asked her how long it would take to get back to it, but she didn’t know. Still, she said, ‘You will write again, Lisa. You won’t forget what happened to you, but you’ll be able to manage what happened to you. One day, your abduction no longer will control your life—instead, it will inform it.’ When I asked her what the difference was, she said, ‘You’ll see.’ But what in the hell am I supposed to see?”

  “I guess we’ll see.”

  I laughed at that, and it felt good to laugh.

  After talking about my morning with Tank—and my pending evening with him, which caused Jennifer to down the rest of her wine and top off our glasses with a hearty ‘Cheers!’—we talked about her work, and about Blackwell and Alex. Then, we finally got down to the subject neither of us wanted to discuss, but couldn’t avoid any longer.

  “I’m practically living with Tank now,” I said. “It’s been six weeks. And even before that, ever since we spent Christmas in Maine, I’ve been spending more time with him than I have been with you.
”

  “I wasn’t exactly sitting at home alone. While you were with Tank, I was with Alex. With few exceptions, I’m practically living with him right now.”

  “And meanwhile, your apartment, for the most part, sits empty.”

  It was a moment before she spoke, and when she did, I could hear a hint of loss in her voice. “So it does,” she said quietly.

  We were about to do this. She knew it, and I knew it. Our eyes met, and a life’s worth of friendship passed between us. Her eyes became bright, and she turned to the window. “We haven’t even been in Manhattan a full year,” she said. “And look at how much our lives have changed.”

  “For the better.”

  “Yes, for the better. But did it happen too fast? I don’t know.”

  “It is what it is. Both of us got lucky—at least when it comes to love.”

  “We did stumble upon two very good men, didn’t we?”

  “We did.” I took another sip of my wine and decided to just get this over with, regardless of how difficult it was. Neither of us wanted to grow apart, but we were on the cusp of it, at least physically. It was a big step for both of us. Since we were children, we’d rarely been apart. But that could no longer be the case. “Look, this is no secret, Jennifer, but Tank has asked me several times to move in with him. At some point, I need to give him an answer.”

  When I said that, she was still facing the window. She ran a finger beneath her eyes, and then turned to face me. “How do you feel about that?”

  “I think I’d like to move in with him.”

  “Alex keeps asking me the same. But you know I won’t move in with him until we’re married. I know it sounds old fashioned, but it’s still how I feel, even if I am sharing a bed with him practically every night. Having a place of my own means that a move hasn’t happened yet. Most of what I own is still at the apartment. How long it stays there is the question.”

  “You’re thinking of moving?”

  “Yes, but only after we marry.”

  “But that happens in July. On the Fourth. We need to start planning for it.”

  She lifted her chin at me. “What if we didn’t marry on the Fourth?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What is we married sooner?”

  “Sooner?”

  “You know, so we could live together. Neither of us wants to wait any longer, and Alex knows where I stand on the marriage thing. To simplify things, we’d have a simple civil ceremony with only our closest friends. Blackwell is a notary public and can marry us—not that she knows we want her to yet. And not that it’s going to go over well when we ask her. But we’ll deal with that one when it comes. If you and I agree that I should sell the apartment so you can move in with Tank and I can move in with Alex after our relationship becomes official, then it will happen.”

  I felt crestfallen. “But what about a wedding?”

  “Who says there won’t be a wedding? We’re just expediting the legal part so we can move in together.”

  “So, there will be a wedding? Where? When?”

  “Alex and I have shot around a few ideas, and we’ve settled upon one. We’re not sure yet, but we’re close. Once we make a decision, we’ll tell everyone. But for now, we’re keeping it a secret. We want it to be a surprise.”

  “How long do I have to wait?”

  “Not long.”

  “I know we’ll talk every day and see each other often, but I’m going to miss you.”

  “You think you’re alone in that? It’s going to be hell at first. But it seems as if we’re on the same page. It seems that at least part of our friendship is about to change. The living together part. But beyond that, nothing else will change.”

  The lie she just told hung between us like a veil, but both of us overlooked it and accepted it. Of course our friendship would change. Our time together would diminish. We wouldn’t see each other first thing each morning, or at dinner, or when we went off to bed. The martinis we shared each night would go away—as would all of the conversations those martinis sparked. We wouldn’t do the grocery shopping together, or the cleaning, or the laundry—or everything else that came with being roommates. But there was no question that each of us had come to this table having already accepted that. And so I just reached out for her hand and squeezed it in my own.

  “Get married,” I said. “Sell the apartment. Life is too short, and this is the next page, sweetie. It’s time to move on with our lives with the men we love.”

  “You think?”

  “I think.”

  “You’re ready?”

  “I’m ready.”

  “Best friends forever?”

  “Best friends forever.” I winked at her. “Especially if you give me a key to your apartment so I can keep stealing your shoes.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Later that evening, after Jennifer and I had spent almost an entire day at The Met enjoying ourselves, agreeing upon the confirmed directions we were going to take with our lives, and viewing a host of new and old exhibits, I went back to Tank’s apartment on Fifth to get ready for our own night on the town.

  And all that would follow.

  When I stepped into the apartment, I called out that I was home only to have Tank round the corner that led into the kitchen, greeting me with a large bouquet of red roses. With a smile, he took me into his arms, held me firmly against his body, and gave me a lingering kiss that tasted of mint. I savored it, fell into it, and practically drowned in it.

  This is the life that I want, I thought. This is what I’ve been missing.

  “These are beautiful,” I said when he gave me the roses. I buried my nose in them and breathed in their scent. “They’re my favorite—thank you!”

  “My pleasure.”

  I looked at him, realizing that what he was wearing was chosen with me in mind—he knew exactly how I liked to see him dressed. Few could turn out a business suit like Tank could—but when he went casual like this, he did me in.

  He was wearing faded 501s, a pair of beautiful brown leather driving loafers that I’d bought for him at Barneys, and, because the weather was so warm, a white polo shirt that fit snuggly, leaving little to the imagination about the powerful body that was hidden beneath. The way his nipples strained against the woven fabric made me want to ditch dinner and get to the real main course.

  “Look at you,” I said.

  “I seem to remember that you like this shirt on me.”

  “Not to mention those jeans. You always tend to fill everything out, Tank. All the bulges that should be showing are happily doing just that.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Now, I guess I’ll just need to keep the girls away from you.”

  The look on his face made it clear that my reaction pleased him—and also that he was a bit taken aback by it. I think he was still gauging me, wondering about the shift in my attitude, but not wanting to overthink it. What came through was that he was just happy to see me appearing to be happy. And I was.

  “How was your day?” he asked.

  “Excellent. Pretty much perfect. And I have a feeling that tonight will be even better. I’m hungry for some beef.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “That’s a curious way to put it.”

  “Read into it what you will.”

  “Here,” he said, reaching for the flowers. “I have a vase filled with water for them in the kitchen. Let me put them in it before it’s too late.”

  “And let me jump into the shower and get ready. Give me thirty minutes—it won’t take long. I don’t want to take a minute away from a night on the town with my man.”

  * * *

  We took a taxi to Ruby’s. It was little more than a hole in the wall, but when we stepped inside, I remembered how much I loved it there. The restaurant was so old, you could feel its secrets, which would only grow because the place was a lure for the youthful and hip. When we arrived and started looking for a free table, the diner was busy and dim, and it smelled wonderful. It reminde
d me of some of my favorite diners back home—authentic to the core, with no side of bullshit.

  Ruby’s was the real thing.

  “Now I remember why I wanted to come here,” I said. “Just smell the food!”

  “I hope you have an appetite,” Tank said as he led me to one of the red vinyl booths that lined the right side of the space. There were only three left, and given the many people entering the diner behind us, we were lucky to get one. “The portions are huge.”

  “Huge is just what I need tonight.”

  “You’re in a mood,” he said.

  Instead of sitting opposite me, Tank sat beside me and placed his hand on my knee. It was a close fit, but I decided I rather liked it like that, so I put my left arm around his broad shoulders, kissed him on the neck, and held him closer to me.

  “It’s long overdue, don’t you think?” I said in his ear. “It’s time to live again. I’m moving on with my life. And I want to thank you for being so patient with me. Many wouldn’t have been.”

  “I’ve never been one to give up and run when things get tough,” he said.

  “Others would have.”

  “Not my style.”

  “Nor mine.”

  A waitress appeared at our table, and for a moment, she seemed almost taken aback that we were sitting next to each other. “Well, aren’t you two the cutest things I’ve seen all night,” she said. “Who sits together anymore?” She was an older woman with red lips and a matching shock of red hair that had clearly come out of a bottle. She had a kind face set off with mischievous eyes. I liked her at once. “You look like a couple of teenagers.” And then she looked twice at me. “Wait a minute—are you one?”

  “Hardly.”

  “I don’t know—you look pretty young to me.”

  “Just keep the lights dim. In fact, shutting them off would be preferable.”

  She smiled at that, and then handed us our menus. “Indulge, my little pepper pots. I’ll be back in a minute to take your order. For now, drinks?”

  “Just an iced tea for me,” I said. “Unsweetened.”