by Jessi Gage
Kissing some more sounded tempting to me too, but going out sounded even better since I’d been cooped up all day. We could always resume kissing when we got home.
“What kind of surprise? Is that why you’re home early? Are we going out to dinner?” I bounced on my toes, excited at the prospect of a traditional date with my hot cop after a day of phone calls and paperwork.
“Kind of. Give me ten minutes, then come up to the bedroom, ’kay?” He trotted up the stairs and I heard his bedroom door close. Faintly, I heard the shower run.
When my ten minutes were up, I knocked on the door to his master bedroom.
He opened it and stood back, spreading his arms to show off what he wore. A black tuxedo with a crisp white shirt and a silky gray vest. A black bowtie lay around his neck, waiting to be tied. He looked like 007, ready to tango or kick butt as the situation warranted.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“Wow.”
He grinned. “You’ve got thirty minutes,” he informed me, motioning to the closet.
I glanced over to see none other than the navy blue dress I’d tried on in Macy’s on a hanger on the back of the closet door where his bathrobe usually hung. On the floor were the heels Stacey had tried to talk me into getting. I gasped and covered my mouth with both hands.
He moved behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. “We’re going to the state patrol holiday party in Manchester,” he said in my ear. “Stacey will be there. Hurry up,” he said with a pat on my bottom as he let go and backed out the door. “Clock’s a ticking.” He shut the door, leaving me with a ridiculously inadequate amount of time to ready myself for a formal event.
Fortunately, I was up to the challenge. I threw on the dress, zipping it awkwardly to about an inch from the top. Cole would have to finish it for me. In the bathroom, I found a curling iron, a pair of faux-jewel-encrusted hair combs, a container of bobby pins, and a can of hairspray. I’d bet anything Stacey had provided those. She must have bought the dress and shoes after we’d separated in Macy’s. That sneak. Cole too. They had to have been in cahoots to pull this off behind my back. Surprisingly, that didn’t make me a single bit jealous. Rather, I was touched they would go to this much trouble for me.
I did the best I could with my hair, sweeping it up into a twist with a few wispy curls around my face. Glad I hadn’t skimped on supplies at the Bare Escentuals counter, I added eyeliner, mascara, and shadow and finished with a dab of powder and lip gloss. The only jewelry I wore was the bracelet Cole had given me. It felt like the perfect accessory for my ensemble.
Looking at myself in the mirror, I frowned at the way the straps of my plain black bra peeked from the wider straps of the dress. I thought about the lacy bra I’d bought yesterday with the removable straps. After a moment’s hesitation, I changed into the bra and the matching thong and slipped back into the dress. Facing myself in the mirror, I blushed. It had been a long time since I’d attempted to be beautiful and felt this much pleasure at doing a decent job of it.
I went a few minutes over my allotted time, but Cole didn’t complain. When I came downstairs, he helped me with the zipper and held my coat so I could slide my arms in and shrug it on. Kissing my check, he said, “You look amazing.”
“You too.”
He offered me his arm. Taking it, I let him lead me to his truck, feeling like a princess on her way to a ball.
On the drive west on 101, we talked about our respective days. I told him about the phone conversation I’d had with Harold Glasby, the lawyer who would be closing down Dad’s business. I was planning to meet him at the shop Monday afternoon to go over the timeline and so he could tell me about my responsibilities as Dad’s beneficiary. At Harold’s suggestion, I’d called ADT and arranged a special weekend appointment so a security panel could be installed in the shop. The locks on Dad’s doors were top tier, but with so many customer guns on the premises, having constant security monitoring would be better than the periodic patrols Newburgh PD sent by throughout the day. Cole grunted his approval.
While I’d been on the phone most of the day, Cole had entered all the serial numbers of Dad’s missing guns into a database. Any registered sale in the nation involving one of those serial numbers would send an alert directly to the state police. He’d told me he was also making arrangements to catch the sale of the guns if they happened through illegal channels, but he didn’t elaborate.
After a little under an hour, Cole exited 101 and drove into Manchester. As a high-schooler, I’d liked coming here for shopping trips and to while away an evening with girlfriends at the roller skating rink. It was far enough from Newburgh for the trip to feel like an adventure but less intimidating than Boston with its crowded highways, confusing subways, and foreign urban energy. I was significantly more comfortable with cities after living in Philly, but to a sixteen-year-old with a brand new driver’s license, a drive to Manchester had seemed like a thrill.
I hadn’t been here in years, but it looked the same. Low-slung factories with sooty smokestacks marked the outskirts. Brick buildings situated in city blocks complete with parking meters and bus stops made up the core of the shopping and business district. From across the Merrimack River, the city had a respectable skyline with a handful of buildings above ten stories.
Cole pulled onto a main street lined with trees wrapped in white Christmas lights. Many businesses had wreaths and garland decorating their windows. He parked at a meter between a UPS store and a taco shop in the heart of downtown.
Arm in arm, we crossed the street and walked two blocks, slowly, because it was icy and I was in heels. A sandwich board announcing the state patrol holiday party greeted us, and we went through a turnstile glass door into a warm lobby lined with armchairs and potted plants. “This is City Hall Plaza,” Cole told me as we passed a hotel-style reception desk and stepped over to the elevators. “Tallest building in New Hampshire. The state patrol rents out the top floor for a party every year between Christmas and New Year’s.”
Two other couples in formal dress joined us in waiting for the elevator. I guessed Cole didn’t know either of them, since he didn’t acknowledge them other than a brief nod to each pair.
“Can I ask a stupid question?” I said as the elevator climbed.
“No such thing, honey. What’s on your mind?”
“If all the state troopers are here, who’s patrolling the roads?”
One of the other men chuckled. So did Cole. “They choose a time between Christmas and New Year’s because it tends to be slow. There’s a skeleton crew patrolling, and a lot of the people you’ll meet tonight are on call. Everyone gets to go to at least two statie parties out of three, so it’s fair.”
“Yeah,” said the other guy who’d chuckled. “The guys who don’t like to party volunteer to work these nights for favors, usually something edible or alcoholic.”
“Or something that goes boom,” added the third man in the elevator with a grin.
The doors opened on the twentieth floor. The other two couples stepped out first. Cole whispered, “I’m usually one of the party poopers who prefers to work. Not this year, though.” He winked and led me into another lobby. Two women in black dresses and Santa hats checked coats. I handed mine over, and Cole pocketed the ticket.
A pair of wide paneled doors stood open to a large banquet room with six chandeliers over a sea of round tables set for dinner. One wall was made entirely of glass and offered a view of the night sky and the Merrimack River. Up front was a stage and a small dance floor. A string orchestra played a soft piece that simultaneously communicated class and Christmas. The low murmur of a hundred different conversations rode under the gentle music.
Most of the women had on cocktail dresses or attractive pantsuits. Most of the men wore tuxes or suits. Some were in uniform.
Cole led me by the hand to a section of tables marked “Troop A.” Immediately upon spotting him, people’s faces lit up. Severa
l men greeted him with handshakes and back slaps, and Cole introduced me as his girlfriend. My reception was as warm as Cole’s. It made me proud to see how well he was liked among his coworkers.
Stacey’s arrival was impossible to miss. She wore a red sequined cocktail dress and looked like a supermodel fresh off the pages of Elle magazine, only with more muscle. A few of the guys whistled.
“Behave, boys,” she said with a flip of her hair. “The ball and chain is here, and he’s carrying my piece for me since it didn’t look right with the dress.”
A handsome man with Hispanic coloring and salt-and-pepper hair shook hands with some of the staties. His other arm was wrapped possessively around Stacey’s waist, but he wore a good-natured smile. When the ripple of her arrival settled down, Stacey introduced him to me. His name was Rob, and he was a history professor at UNH. He and Stacey seemed very much in love.
While Rob and Cole talked about hunting, I thanked Stacey for picking up the dress and shoes and helping Cole pull off this wonderful surprise.
“How much do I owe you?” I asked.
“Nada, chica. Cole paid me back. And don’t you dare offer to reimburse him. He’s in hog heaven having a woman to spoil.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not used to being spoiled.”
“You’ll get used it,” she said, as if she had every confidence in Cole and me as a couple.
Dinner was prime rib. Dessert was cheesecake. Conversation was cop-talk. I listened and smiled a lot and didn’t mind not having much to contribute. It was a pleasure just to watch Cole in a social situation. It reminded me of how he’d always been with Dad, joking, easygoing, attentive to whoever had his ear. He kept his arm around me almost constantly and helped me feel included by giving me a lot of eye contact.
I limited myself to one glass of wine, and so did Cole. After dinner, there were a few speeches and a raffle giveaway in which one lucky member of Troop A won a free taxidermy package. “Damn,” Cole whispered. “I was hoping I’d win that one. Maybe next year.”
When a DJ started up a dance track, Stacey dragged me to the dance floor, where we partied like huge dorks. After all the stress of the last week, it felt awesome to blow off some steam and laugh and move my body. It also felt awesome because Cole stood at the edge of the parquet, glaring at any guy who got within five feet of me. I didn’t have to worry about anyone saying or doing anything to push my boundaries. Cole was looking out for me, ever my protector.
After a couple songs, Stacey introduced me to some of her colleagues, including a woman named Rochelle who was deep in the trenches of starting up a transitional-housing shelter in Haverhill, MA. Her husband was a detective in Stacey’s unit. Rochelle and I commiserated about the challenges of social work until Cole claimed me for a slow dance.
“See you met Rochelle,” he said as he pulled me into his arms and started swaying slowly to the beat.
He still towered over me, but with the heels, I could wind my arms around his neck without him having to bend over. I loved pressing the length of my body against my man and feeling his solidness pressing back. It was intimate without being stressful. Since we were out in public, there was no sense of impending hanky-panky, which meant I could enjoy the contact without worrying about things going further than I wanted.
“You know Rochelle?” I asked.
“Me and Jeff go out for rides together sometimes. He’s got a Harley too. Good guy. They live in Atkinson and have two little girls. But enough about Jeff and Rochelle. How’s my girl? You have fun with Stace?”
“A blast.” I narrowed my eyes. “She told me all about how you two conspired to surprise me tonight. I hear you footed the bill for all this.” I motioned at my dress.
“Money well spent,” he said with a waggle of his brows.
“Thank you, honey.”
“You’re welcome. You having a nice time?”
“The best.”
We headed out around ten-thirty, since Cole had to work in the morning. The whole ride home, I kept thinking about the pretty bra I had on and the fact I would need Cole’s help unzipping the dress. He’d made it clear he was okay with going slow in a physical sense in our relationship, but I wasn’t so sure I wanted slow. If I could handle fast with anyone, it would be Cole.
Fast definitely described the way my feelings had grown for him. I just didn’t know whether I could handle fast in a physical sense. I certainly wanted it, but as he’d pointed out last night, wanting—burning—wasn’t enough on its own. He’d also pointed out the two of us had what it would take to make it work. I was ready to put that to the test. Tonight.
It was a little after eleven-thirty when we got in. Standing in his entryway, we shucked our coats and hung them in the closet. His fingers went straight to the bowtie to loosen it and undo the top button of his shirt. The crisp white fabric parted to reveal the hollow of his throat where it dipped beneath the collar of his undershirt.
I stepped into his arms and pressed a kiss to that spot.
He sucked in a breath. “Baby,” he groaned. It was the sexiest sound I’d heard in my life.
I swallowed hard as I met his gaze. “Come upstairs and help me unzip my dress?”
The heat in his eyes let me know he understood it for the invitation it was. “Slow, remember?”
“Maybe slow is what I need,” I admitted. “But it’s not what I want.” I felt beautiful and sexy, and the special date Cole had given me had left me eager for a cuddlefest of epic proportions. “Maybe we could go slow some other time.”
He chuckled, but quickly sobered. His hands shaped around my shoulders, warm and reassuring. “Tell me what you want, honey.”
“I’m not sure,” I said honestly. “And I know you need some sleep tonight because you have to get up early. But I know I don’t want to sleep in separate beds. I know I want to kiss you. I think…I think I want to lie down with you and see where things go. Is that crazy?”
“No, baby. That sounds nice. I’d like to lie down with you, but not in bed. Let’s change and meet in the den, yeah? I’ll put in a movie. We’ll wind down and see what happens. I’ll tell you right now though, we’re not going all the way tonight. Nothing sexual. Need you to know that’s not on the table, okay?”
From any other guy I’d dated, those words would have put me at ease. From Cole, they sent a jab of disappointment through me.
I considered challenging his assertion that there would be nothing sexual tonight but decided to respect it, same as I would expect a guy to respect it if I’d said the same thing. For the first time since my assault, I was letting boundaries a man had set dictate how far I was willing to go instead of letting my fear do so. The resulting sensation was like being reined in rather than hemmed in, corralled for my own protection rather than trapped. It made my feelings for Cole swell until they filled my heart near to bursting.
“Okay, honey,” I said with a peck to his cheek.
After Cole lowered the first inch of my zipper, I raced upstairs to change. Instead of the shelf-bra tank top I’d worn under my flannel jammies last night, I reattached the straps to my new bra and put it back on before buttoning up. He’d said no sex. He hadn’t said no second base, and if I was going to round that elusive base tonight, I wanted it to be in a beautiful bra.
Chapter 22
When I padded into the den and found Cole lounging in the corner of the sectional with a throw blanket raised up to invite me in, I shuddered with anticipation. He was in army-green sweats and a white T-shirt. Half-reclining on a bed pillow, he had his legs spread with one long, pale foot on the floor and the other propped on the couch with his knee hugging the back cushions.
“Saved you a spot.” He indicated the space between his legs.
I swallowed and went to him, lowering myself to sit with my back to his front. His warmth seeped through my jammies and into my skin. The blanket settled over us, and his arms came around me. He hugged me, and I hugged his forearms, lovin
g the way they bulged with strength and were dusted with soft blond hairs. As a teenager I’d fantasized about these arms. Imagination had nothing on the reality of being within their protective circle.
Cole swept the hair off my neck and kissed my nape. “I put in 2 Fast 2 Furious. You like that one?”
“Yeah,” I said distractedly. I didn’t care what movie he put in. I just wanted more of his shiver-inducing touch. I was actually looking forward to fooling around with my boyfriend. A chuckle rose from my throat because that was such an out-of-character thought for me.
“Ticklish?” Cole asked, long fingers stroking my arms, lips brushing my neck.
“No. I’m just happy right now.”
I felt like I was in high school again. Dizzy on hormones and desperate for a guy’s attention. But the flavor of the desperation was different. Back then, I’d wanted to be liked so badly. Affection from a boy meant he liked me, he would be seen with me, he would pay attention to me. With Cole, I already knew he liked me. I didn’t have to earn it by being any certain way or offering certain pieces of myself. With Cole, I wanted to fool around simply because I suspected it would feel good and ease my building desire.
“The woman giggles like the world’s cutest angel when she’s happy. Good to know. Anything else I should know?”
“Probably lots,” I said, angling my head to meet his nuzzle. “But I’m not super interested in talking right now.”
“Mmmm. Direct. I like that.” He aimed the remote at the TV and started the movie then settled in with me reclining in the cradle of his body. During the first act, he alternated between slowly stroking my arms and twining our fingers together for long stretches of hand-holding. His gentle touches should have lulled me into relaxation. Instead, they drove my desire into a frenzy.
Eventually, he cupped my cheek and turned my head until our mouths met. He didn’t wait for me to part my lips in invitation but licked at the seam in something between a request and a demand. I opened to him with a little moan that he swallowed.
