“Unless it’s something seedy or morally questionable that will make you blush.”
“No getting my jacket for me. Or walking me to my door after.”
“Does that stuff really still happen? In this century?”
“Not as much as I wish it did, actually.”
“I swear I’ll be nothing but rude to you the whole night,” he said. “In fact, I might accidentally forget that I brought you and you’ll have to find your own way home. You should bring some cab money just in case.”
“Okay,” I said on a sigh, trying not to sound as excited as I was.
In true Carson-style, he called me from his car and told me he was in front of my building. I thanked him for his rudeness, but he was going to have to wait because I wasn’t ready yet. So he grudgingly decided to come upstairs.
I was still doing my makeup when I heard the door open. I never left it unlocked, so—
“Lane?” he called loudly. “Help! She needs emotional support. Stat.”
I ran into the living room with no idea what he was talking about.
He looked panicked, Hillary’s keys in one hand, his other pointing to her. Her face was hidden in his chest, her shoulders shaking and the sound of weeping muffled by Carson’s jacket.
He mouthed, ‘Help me!’
“Are you okay, Hills?” I put my arms around her and led her to the couch.
“That’s not my fault.” He backed all the way to the opposite wall and leaned against it, sliding his hands over his suit. Carson in a suit was the second of the two most amazing things I’d ever seen. The first had been him, too, but he’d been wearing something different. My eyes lingered for only a second before redirecting to where they should be—on my sobbing friend.
“What happened?”
Hillary just shrugged, her lips trembling.
“Lane?” Carson asked. “Can I talk to you for a second?” When I nodded, he flicked his head towards the kitchen.
“Are you going to be okay?” I asked Hillary as I stood. All I got was a whimper, but it seemed like an affirmative whimper. “I’ll be right back.”
When I got to the kitchen, Carson was opening a bottle of wine. “You don’t have anything stronger than this, do you? I’m not sure wine is gonna cut it.”
“What are you doing?”
“She needs empathy and since I’m not very good at that, I’m going to give her booze. And then I’m going to give myself booze to ease the scarring of what just happened.”
“Which was..?” I asked quietly.
“I have no fucking idea.” He took down three wine glasses and filled all of them to the rim. “I was minding my own business, waiting for the elevator and grumbling about how rude it was for you to keep me waiting for our not-date. Then, out of nowhere, she comes stumbling up. She didn’t actually start crying until the doors closed and we were trapped together in a fairly tight space. I figured, worst case, she’d want to discuss my memory lapse of her. Awkward but nothing I couldn’t ignore. But when the tears started…” He shivered. “It was like a volcano erupted out of her eyes.”
He handed me one of the glasses and leaned against the counter after taking a big sip of his. “I could only make out a few words, but I think it was boyfriend stuff which we both know I’m not equipped to handle.”
I wasn’t hugely surprised Hillary and Eric had fought—it seemed like they were doing that more and more often. But I’d never seen this reaction before. Hillary wasn’t a crier—she was a shouter, an arguer. So something big must have happened. Maybe she’d told him about Carson.
“You know this means I’m going to have to stay with her, right?”
“But it’s my birthday,” he whined.
“I know. Happy birthday, Carson.” I went to kiss him on the cheek at the same time he turned. When our mouths met, his was already open, probably about to say something rude. It had to have been an accident because no one could have anticipated my movement that well, but Carson knew how to take advantage of an opportunity when he saw one.
The next thing I knew, we’d both turned so our lips could connect all the way, and his hand was at my neck. I couldn’t have pulled away even if I’d wanted to. Since I didn’t want to, his hold on me just made me want him all the more, a hint as to how strong he was and how incredible he could make me feel. His kiss was hard and demanding, but his fingertips were light as he carefully traced my collarbone and down my chest between my breasts. He cupped me as if I was built to fit into his hand perfectly and brushed his thumb across my nipple. I moaned into his mouth.
He shoved me backwards against the counter, not allowing any space between our bodies. I felt his erection, his abs tightening as he ground himself against me. My entire body could do nothing but react to his—I wasn’t breathing, that was for sure.
The only thing keeping either of us from forgetting all about...everything…anywhere…at any time was the increased volume of Hillary’s crying.
I put my hand on his chest and pushed him back, finally getting a full breath. “Wait, we can’t.”
He groaned my name and said, “Please,” allowing the space but not releasing his grip of my hair. He kissed my forehead, his lips still touching my skin as he spoke. “I need more.”
So did I. But even though I thought about it constantly, my mind was still flopping back and forth, doubly so ever since finding out Carson was the mysterious guy Hillary had slept with months ago. This wasn’t the kind of thing I should let my hormones decide for me. Or my lips. Or my hips. Or any part of his body.
“We can’t.”
“For my birthday, Lane. One more for my birthday. Just a kiss. Maybe some tongue. No, definitely some tongue. Please.”
“Hillary?” I called out, unable to take my eyes off him. “Do you want wine or Kahlua and ice cream?”
A mumbled, teary “ice cream” came from the living room.
“I’ll be right there!” Then I lowered my voice. “Only because it’s your birthday.” And because I couldn’t help myself.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, pressing the full length of my body against his. He pulled me higher to catch my lips with his, sliding one of his hands down to lift me up on the counter. I squirmed, lifting my dress up and widening my legs, so he could be between them. I lost track of whose hands were where, but if I said, “everywhere,” I would’ve been almost right. There were a few places on each of our bodies we hadn’t gotten to yet.
No! A few places we wouldn’t get to…tonight.
I gripped the waistband of his pants to keep myself from going farther down. He still had one hand in my hair, but his other was on my thigh, fingers denting my bare skin. He was having just as hard a time not touching me as I was not touching him.
Maybe I was wrong, but I thought somehow we both understood how fragile the line we were pushing was. We merged for another few minutes, until it was either stop or find ourselves in territory we didn’t have the time for and I wasn’t ready to deal with yet.
“More,” he groaned.
“I just gave you more.”
“Not enough.”
“Rain check.” I grabbed his hand to keep it from creeping higher on my thigh. “Wait.”
“Laney,” Hillary wailed.
“Carson, we can’t.”
“Shit.” He backed up and adjusted his pants, his clenched jaw expressing everything he was feeling. “Expect me to be inside you about four seconds after you say yes. And don’t make any plans for the rest of that week.” There was a seriousness in his tone that I hadn’t expected. Lustful, yes. His normal joie de vivre, nothing-really-matters attitude, yeah. But there was a fire in him I’d never felt before.
He tossed back the rest of his wine without taking his eyes off me and then refilled both our glasses. “You should probably start resting up now because once it’s on, you’re not getting any sleep for a very long time.”
“Okay,” I said weakly, not having anything to add because air wasn’t something I
had enough of and, honestly, it sounded perfect. While I tried to focus on ice cream and Kahlua—heavy on the Kahlua—Carson just watched me, his arms crossed over his chest. Simmering.
When Hillary whined my name again, he laughed sadly. “Better go help your friend.”
“Carso—”
“Go help your friend.”
I may have grumbled something before picking up the ice cream and my wine and heading for the living room.
“Hey,” he called, grabbing my arm to stop me.
“Jesus, Carson!” I almost lost hold of everything and covered his fancy suit with ice cream, Kahlua, and Pinot Noir. “What? You tell me to go and now I’m supposed to stay. Can you please just make up your mind?’’ The words were snapped, not because I was mad but because I was frustrated. Nothing was wrong, but nothing was right, either.
“I made up my mind the first time I kissed you. It’s only gotten clearer since then. The part I don’t get is why you can’t.”
Because of the look on his face. A hurt and confused look that made me want him to be mine. That made me want to do whatever I could to take it away and turn it back into a smile. Even if I knew I’d lose in the end.
“I have issues,” I said quietly.
“Ya think?” The corner of his mouth rose.
I rolled my eyes. “As if I’m the only one in this room with issues.”
He looked around himself and then back at me. “The only one I see.” He sighed. “One of these days you’re going to be in my bed, Lane. I’m not giving up until it happens.”
“Why not?” It seemed kind of a stupid question to only be thinking of now. But why was he being so patient? “I’m sure you’ve been with prettier women with better bodies and less issues. Or maybe the same amount of issues but ones that weren’t in your face all the time and didn’t keep them from having sex with you. Shit, even the woman weeping on the couch right now got over her issues long enough to sleep with you.”
He took a while to answer. “I’m gonna skip the whole ‘women with better bodies’ thing because it’ll come off like a compliment and that will negate what I’m about to say.” His volume dropped momentarily. “I find you highly, highly attractive and want to fuck you more than I’ve wanted to fuck anyone in my entire life, by the way. So I don’t ever want to hear you compare yourself to another woman again. Got it?”
He sighed. “And now for the good news—I can be a real dick. Almost all the time, actually. Sometimes it’s a good thing, but most of the time, for me, it’s a really bad thing. I’ve done a lot of stupid shit, hurt a lot of people, and never made it up to anyone. The foundation is the way I pretend I’m not as much of a prick as I am. You are a way I can pretend being selfish isn’t a bad thing. Because in your case, it isn’t. You need to be more selfish, and I want to teach you how to not let dicks like me and your exes treat you less than the way you deserve.”
“They’re frogs.”
“Right,” he said smiling. “Frogs.”
“But you’re not a frog.”
“Well, I sure as hell am not a prince.” We stared at each other for a few more seconds and then he said, “Go help your friend.” He followed slowly.
Hillary took the bowl from me before I sat down, but she just chopped the ice cream up and mixed it into the large pool of Kahlua.
“Did you tell Eric about…how you know Carson?” I tried to be as delicate as I could be, not wanting her to start fighting with Carson on top of everything else.
She swallowed, setting down the bowl. “Eric and I... We’ve been together forever and have been talking about moving in with each other for a long time. But we’re so boring. You were right, Laney. Do you know what we did today? Nothing. Do you know what we did last night? Nothing. We spend two nights out of seven together and he was too tired to have sex. A man too tired to have sex. I didn’t even think that was possible.”
I didn’t either. “Maybe he had a bad week or wasn’t feeling well.”
“He’s a man. It doesn’t matter how bad he’s feeling.”
“I’m sure he had a good reason. Like…”
Over Hillary’s shoulder, Carson shook his head. He stopped when Hillary sat up and looked at him.
“You wouldn’t have, would you, Carson?” she asked. “If a woman wanted to.”
“Uh...” He glanced at me for help but I was too busy holding in my laughter at his expression and the guilt I felt for finding anything funny when my friend was obviously hurting. “I’m different, Hillary. You shouldn’t use me as a marker for all men. Eric loves you, right? So...yeah, he probably wasn’t feeling well.”
“If he wasn’t feeling well, he could’ve told me that instead of falling asleep without a word.”
“True. You know what’s also true? I’m the worst possible person in the world to get relationship advice from. So I’m going to... I should probably go.”
He took his empty wine glass into the kitchen. Coward. He couldn’t escape through there. He had to come back through the living room to leave. Obviously Hillary hadn’t given him a thorough tour of the apartment when she had him over.
“What exactly did you say to Eric?” I asked.
“That we were turning into old people and I was tired of doing old people stuff and having old people sex and—”
“You said that?” Carson yelled from the kitchen. He came in, bringing the wine but no glass. “Damn…um…yeah, that’s not gonna go over well with a guy. Even an old guy. Old people sex. I’m not even sure what that is. I’m not even sure I want to know what that is.” His brows furrowed. “Seriously, though, is that an actual thing?”
Neither of us answered him. Hillary went back to crying and I went back to telling her it would all be okay.
“You and Eric are great together,” I said. “This is just a bump in the road.” Eric treated her really well and was with her for all the right reasons. She hadn’t changed who she was to be with him, like I always had when I was with someone. “You guys have the healthiest relationship I’ve ever seen.”
“You don’t believe in relationships, Laney. Or love. So what do you know?”
“Not much. But he makes you happy and you guys love each other just the way you are.” If there was such a thing as love, that’s what it would be like. Two people wanting to be with each other, knowing they each came into the relationship with their own full set of issues and working together to make sure those issues don’t overwhelm one or both of them. “No two people are going to always have the same needs, but the kind of trust you guys have is so much more than I ever had with any of the frogs, even before I turned them into frogs.”
“Do you think he’s cheating?” She hadn’t asked me. She’d asked Carson.
“Well, Eric and I aren’t fucking each other, if that’s what you’re asking. If you want to know if he’s sleeping with anyone other than me, you’re gonna have to ask him.”
Hillary pulled away from me and leaned towards him. “You’re a guy and I need to know what Eric’s thinking, so be totally honest.” She was going to regret saying that.
“You’re really upset right now, right?” Carson asked. “This isn’t just a cry for attention.” My mouth dropped open, but Hillary didn’t seem offended at all.
“Okay.” He sighed, set the bottle on the coffee table, and slid into an armchair. “Me and love aren’t that well acquainted, but I’ve known a lot of guys who say they are. So does Lane, so she can back me up. The bottom line is that most of them are pretty good at forgetting all about love when there’s a chance of getting laid.”
“Carson!”
He shrugged. “She told me to be honest, so I’m being honest. But let me finish. I don’t think Eric is like most of us. First off, when I made a joke about sleeping with his woman, before I actually knew I had slept with his woman, he laughed. If he was cheating, he wouldn’t have laughed—he would’ve assumed you were cheating, too.”
That actually made a lot of sense. I motioned for him to contin
ue as I reached for my wine, only then realizing that I had to put down Hillary’s empty bowl of alcoholic ice cream before I picked up my drink. Oops. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to have noticed either.
“Second,” Carson said, “from what I’ve seen, most guys can forget about their women, but not all of them can. And not all those who forget will actually go for a quick lay. Do you know what the largest deciding factor is?”
Both of us shook our heads.
“The woman he’s in love with. If she teaches him that’s how he can treat her, he’ll do it. Why not, right? She told him it was okay.” He paused. “Lastly, sitting here whining isn’t doing fuck-all for any of us. If Eric’s not cheating, you’re condemning an innocent man. If he is cheating, he’s at home thinking he got away with it and will get away with it again. So if it were me, I’d get him on the phone and ask him instead of spraying my tears all over everybody else.”
When neither of us said anything, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. “What’s his number?”
“What are you going to do?”
He stood, growling. “What you should’ve done while I took the woman I’m not dating or fucking out to a party that might’ve made her happy and excited enough to let me get her naked.”
Hillary looked at what I was wearing. “You guys were supposed to go out?”
Before I could say anything, Carson did. “In a non-dating manner, yes.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I already gave him his birthday present while we were in the kitchen, so he’ll live. And complain a lot.”
“Damn straight I will. And now that the mood is completely lost, it’s my turn to cry. Right after I yell at Eric for ruining my night.”
After a quick glance to me, Hillary gave him Eric’s number.
Carson put the phone up to his ear and slumped onto the sofa, right next to me. “Hey, Eric? It’s Carson. Yeah, listen, be straight with me. Are you fucking around on Hillary or what?” He jerked his head away from the phone when Eric yelled. “Whoa! There’s nothing kinky going on, if for no other reason than Lane’s here with us. And the way things are going, that woman is never going to let me take her panties off. Plus, your girl is all sobby about you.” He paused. “Yeah, well…you guys need to sort that shit out.
Darker Water Page 9
