by Penny Reid
“She’s a former engineer for the State Department. Now she’s a stay-at-home mom.”
His face darkened, and his eyes lost focus for a split second as though he were absorbing this information. “The State Department, huh?”
“Yes. Why?”
“No reason. Anyway….” His eyes ignited again as they moved over my face. “You owe me one.”
“Yes, as you’ve stated previously.”
“A big one—that’s what you said, isn’t it?” His eyes were steady, unflinching. It should have been unnerving. Instead, I found it strangely adorable—like he didn’t know any better.
“Yes. I believe those were the words I used.”
“What time will you be done with your friends?”
“Now, actually. I need you to bring our check.”
“Good. The restaurant closes at ten tonight. Can you be back here by nine fifty-five?”
I tipped my head backward as I studied him, my eyes narrowing into surveillance slits. “I’m confused.”
“Confused?”
“Yes. Your behavior is confusing.”
An eyebrow arched above his overtly nerdy glasses. “How so?”
“You run hot and cold. You sit with me on Friday and act confrontational, and it’s clear you have a genuine dislike of psychiatrists, but now you….”
“You’re right, I do dislike psychiatrists.”
“Then you kiss me, and….”
“You kissed me first.”
“But you offered first. And then you walked away.” I paused to allow my statements to marinate for a few seconds before adding, “But tonight you’re very solicitous, and you’re flashing those sexy eyes again.”
He didn’t respond immediately, and I was somewhat surprised to find an expression of obvious admiration warm his gaze as it moved over my face. Finally, he said, “Correction of my previous statement: I usually dislike psychiatrists.”
“Why?”
“But I like you.”
“Why?”
“And I’d like to apologize for sending mixed signals. Will you come tonight?”
My lips twisted to the side. I wasn’t yet satisfied. “First, answer me this: why did you decide to sit down with me on Friday? I’ve been coming in here for over two years. If you like me, despite my unfortunate profession, why’d you wait so long?”
Without hesitation, he said, “It was the dress.”
“The dress?”
“Yeah—the red dress. I was compelled to act. I had no choice.” His nod was gentle, but his barely-there grin was wicked. It did things to me.
I hadn’t thought about the red dress having so much power, but it made sense to me. I’d bought that dress because I wanted a man to admire me in it. The fact that the dress had compelled Alex into action gave me all the silly girl feels. Also, the fact that he was unflinchingly honest about it, about liking me, about the seduction of the dress, stunned the heck out of me.
Paired with the sexy eyes, this time looking at me with full intensity, I was basically sunk in a shallow pool of hot lust. His hand—the one not currently blocking my way—fiddled with the tassels of my scarf where they hung to my abdomen.
“Will you come tonight?” He repeated the words, but this time they were softer, intimate.
“Yes,” I said, because I wasn’t quite thinking, and it just tumbled out. I was mesmerized, caught in his web. “Where are we going?”
“Here. I live upstairs.”
“Oh!” The earlier shyness I’d experienced attempted to rear its ugly head, but I beat it back with my broomstick. “That sounds—oh, bukakke!”
His eyes widened, and I knew at once that he was familiar with the word bukakke.
I didn’t give him an opportunity to comment on my usage of it as a curse word. “I can’t tonight. My friend Kat is staying the night.”
I tried to impart the disappointment I felt with my expression, a despondent shoulder slouch, and with every fiber of my being. I didn’t want to be one of those losers who put roosters before chicks, but the thought of giving up an invitation from Alex—when he’d been so taciturn and aloof in the past, but was now feeling compelled to act because of my miraculous red dress—gave me a serious case of the disenfranchisement glums.
I was relieved to witness sincere disappointment cast a shadow over his features as well. “That’s too bad.”
We studied each other for a beat; then we both started talking at the same time.
“We could always….”
“How about if we…?”
Our shared, tentative laughter filled the small space; then I offered, “You first. Go ahead.”
“Are you free Thursday?”
I nodded in earnest, not even thinking about my smile—it was unplanned, unmeasured, and completely genuine. “Yes. Free as a bird not in the zoo or any other kind of captivity, including but not limited to, belonging to a falconer.”
“Good.” He studied me as though he thought I was weird, but he liked it. “Meet me outside Chase Bank around six thirty. I’ll….” He paused, glanced over my shoulder, his eyes narrowed as though he were working through a problem. “Just get in the line; you’ll see it when you get there, and I’ll get in line behind you.”
“Get in a line? What are we doing?” I hoped it was either lewd or lascivious, or both.
“You’ll see.” He flashed a new grin, one that showed a devastating dimple in his left cheek, and then he leaned backward, away from me. He let his arm drop, and my path was now clear.
“Okay.” I stuck out my hand to shake his, feeling that if we shook on it, then it would be a deal.
He continued to watch me in his unnerving way, his eyes still narrowed subtly, but he accepted my hand. Instead of shaking it, he brought it to his lips and kissed the back of my fingers. His full lips were wet. I felt nine different kinds of zings and arousal as he pressed them against the space between my first and middle finger, just below the joint.
He lowered my hand, his thumb caressing soft circles over the spot where he’d just placed his lips as though rubbing the kiss into my skin.
“Wear the red dress.” It was a request, though he’d spoken it like a command.
“I’ll see what I can do. Should I wear anything else?”
I asked this with a pointedly unflustered lift of my eyebrows as if this were something I did all the time…as if his words weren’t turning me into a breathless Alex-aphrodisiac-addict…as if I didn’t care to remember how it felt to orgasm using something that didn’t plug in.
But he knew I hadn’t been kissed in going on three years; therefore, I had no idea how truly successful I was being in my attempts to mask my borderline-manic excitement.
His eyes flashed a lightning strike, an electric current, and his thumb stilled on the back of my hand. “Shoes.” He said calmly, though his voice was somewhat choked. “You should probably wear shoes. And a coat.”
“Hmm.” I nodded, trying to appear contemplative as I reluctantly pulled my hand from his. “See you then.”
I was pleased that my last question seemed to elicit some discernible reaction, even if it had only been a small difference in the inflection of his voice. This small victory, and our heady encounter, carried me in a happy cloud back to the dining room.
And I didn’t even wobble as I walked away, which was kind of amazing.
***
WHEN KAT AND I arrived at my apartment building, I tried my best not to be outwardly relieved when she informed me that she couldn’t stay the night. In fact, on our way to my place, she’d received a text from a member of her wayward family, likely one of her snobby cousins. She was needed in Boston—again.
I wasn’t concerned. This happened to Kat with frequency. I knew more about her than most of the group did because I’m nosey—that, and I got her drunk one night. While intoxicated and under my pointed questioning, she told me that her parents were wealthy and she was an only child.
And by wealthy she meant in
sanely wealthy, so wealthy that they could purchase a small country and several moderately sized islands, and still have funds left over to buy a congressional election or two. And by only child she meant that she was the heir apparent to some sort of massive, global, gazillion-dollar company. She ran away from home at sixteen, but made a tentative peace with her parents on her twentieth birthday, three years ago.
I didn’t pry, but her trips to Boston had been more frequent of late. I assumed either someone was sick, or her family was attempting to brainwash her into coming back permanently.
I waited with her until a cab arrived, then I dashed upstairs to my apartment. I had just enough time to shower and change before making it back to surprise Alex before he closed the restaurant and locked the doors.
Seventeen minutes later, I was approaching the corner of Taj’s. With a smile on my face and no underwear on, I allowed myself to feel excited. It was, most definitely, the most throwing-caution-to-the-wind thing I’d ever done, and it felt fantastic, as long as I didn’t think about it too much.
I was going to have a fling with a completely manlicious younger man.
I tried not to think about Fiona’s words of concern and caution; they would wet-blanket the entire experience. Instead, I focused on visions of Alex taking off all that black he wore and letting me cover him in something sweet and sticky, like honey or…yeah, honey…lots of honey.
However, just as I rounded the corner, I stopped short. Alex stood outside the restaurant; as usual, he wore no coat. He was talking to a teenage girl or a woman, I couldn’t tell which. She was about my height, and her dark hair was gathered in a high ponytail.
I loitered for several seconds, not precisely sure what to do. They weren’t touching. They were talking. Her hands were on her hips, and his arms were crossed—not exactly friendly body language. But before I could make up my mind as to whether I should leave or stay, she laughed. Then, Alex opened the door behind him and she walked in. He followed.
I stood there rooted in place for a full minute and tried to sort through what I’d just witnessed.
When they didn’t reemerge after a full minute, I wrapped myself in Fiona’s cautionary wet blanket and decided that everything happens for a reason, and went home to put on some underwear.
I wasn’t upset with him, not even a little. After all, my expectations of him were actually quite low; they were no-strings-attached low.
But I was still very disappointed. I was disappointed that the unknown woman would be the recipient of Alex’s Tuesday attentions. Undeniably, I was a little frustrated by the Wookie costume I couldn’t seem to escape.
CHAPTER 6
Thursday’s Horoscope: Things should be going your way, and you may feel like quite a bit is getting done without your having to lift a finger.
MOST WOMEN MIGHT have been put off by discovering that the guy they were interested in saddle bagging was already digging his spurs into another filly.
Not me. I was curious.
Furthermore, when I gave myself time to reflect on it, I realized that my rational side was relieved. Confirmation of his multiple mounts spared me any concern that he might be interested in more than a simple fling. Given the situation and our age difference, the chances had already been negligible. But now I had indisputable confirmation.
Thus, 6:30 p.m. Thursday night found me standing in line outside Chase Bank.
I tried to Google Chase Bank and Thursdays or Line, but all that came up were search results related to banking hours and opening lines of credit. Therefore, I stood dutifully in the cold for a full ten seconds, glancing around the small square for any sign of him.
Eventually, I leaned forward and spoke to an elderly couple in front of me. “Excuse me, what is this line for?”
“For the show, of course.” Alex’s voice answered from behind me before the man could respond.
I sighed as I turned, ready to make a new appraisal of him now that I knew he had several booty-call partners. Slamps is what my friend Elizabeth called them, which, also according to Elizabeth’s colorful vocabulary, made Alex a Wendell. Because, after a great deal of meditation on the subject, I became convinced that it wouldn’t make me crazy to assume Alex and the mystery lady on Tuesday night were on their way upstairs to do the dirty deed. I just happened to arrive seconds after she did.
Unexpectedly, as I met his gaze, I felt a pointed measure of both possessiveness and jealousy. But I wasn’t crazed with jealousy. More precisely, I was aggravated with jealousy. I freely admitted it…to myself. And there it was.
Alex looked quite happy to see me, and the vision of him smiling with genuine anticipation, his left cheek dimple out in full force, made me a little sad because it felt like a deception.
But I would get over the sadness. After all, he hadn’t been vetted for a relationship. I had no long-term designs or plans. He was my right-now guy; and, right now, I wanted to have a good time.
I was looking forward to slamping it up. In fact, I was counting on it. Embrace your inner slamp!
“Hello, Sandra,” he said, taking his place by my side in line.
I tipped my head up to smile in greeting and found his grin contagious. “Hello, Alex.”
His eyes swept over me, a quick surveillance. I was wearing brown leather riding boots, dark jeans, and a white down coat with a furry hood. Under the coat, and currently hidden from view, I wore a scandalously low-cut red halter-top that did great things for my boobs and waist. I even wore a necklace that dangled just above my cleavage, just in case I wanted to torture him with the vision of my (currently) unavailable tatas at some later point.
“You know, the first time I saw you in pants was on Tuesday.” His smile didn’t falter, and his eyes, on their return pass, lingered on my legs.
“Really?”
My phone chose that moment to ring; I retrieved it, glanced at the screen. It was Devon, one of my first-date potentials turned platonic friend. He probably wanted to talk to me about picking out furniture for his new place; he’d been pressuring me to help him decorate. I made a mental note to call him back then returned the phone to my bag.
“Not important?” Alex’s eyes narrowed as he leaned in toward me and peered down at my bag.
“Um....” I twisted my lips to the side, not sure how to answer.
“So it was important, but you just….”
“Everyone is important. It’s just that the call wasn’t urgent.”
Alex slow nodded, peering at me as though I were something new. “I see.”
“Sorry.” I reached for the phone and set it to airplane mode. “I’ll turn it off. Now, where were we?”
“Clothes,” he said.
“Clothes?”
“More specifically, where’s the red dress?”
“At home.” I shrugged, “Probably making out with my flannel shirt.”
He laughed, and it was something magical. For a brief moment, I was ensnared by the sound. I’d heard him laugh before—with a hint of sinister last Friday and a note of nervousness on Tuesday—but this was something new.
My heart constricted. My stomach fluttered. I was enthralled, swept up and away. He had a remarkable laugh, and I loved it more than I loved the sound of his voice.
The laugh tapered slowly, but his large smile remained. “You’re pretty witty.”
“I think you meant to say, ‘You’re pretty and witty.’”
“No. I said what I meant.”
“I don’t think I can approve of that response.” I tried not to smile but failed, even though by all accounts I ought to have been offended.
That’s right, he was one of those guys—the kind that make you think in awkward run-on sentences: those guys who you talk to and you’re mentally undressing and you suspect he’s doing the same thing to you because you’re both smiling, and neither of you knows why, and you can’t seem to stop.
“You can’t approve of me calling you witty? Would you prefer to be a dullard?”
&nbs
p; “A dullard? Where’d you pick that word up, the nineteenth century?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. I read a lot.”
“What do you read?”
“Mostly books on global currency theory, algorithms for predicting tertiary structures, and James Joyce.”
I narrowed my eyes and wrinkled my nose at his ridiculousness. “You are allowed to tell me the truth once in a while. I won’t be offended.”
“Yes, but you might make me cry.”
I hit him on the shoulder and appealed to the heavens. “Why am I even here?”
He didn’t miss a beat. “Because I’m pretty and witty?”
“That must be it.” I teased, and gave him a little shove. “Even though I’m only witty.”
Alex stepped closer to me and crowded my personal space, dipping his head so that mere inches separated our lips. “You’re not only witty.”
I cast him a suspicious glare though my heart quickened. “Let me guess: I also have a really great personality.”
“Actually, yes, you do.” He sounded maddeningly sincere.
“And you want to be friends.”
“Absolutely. That sounds great. We should give that a try.” He sounded delightfully sarcastic.
“No thanks. I have plenty of male friends.”
“No, you have plenty of mental patients.” His voice was laden with challenge, and I thought I discerned something like resentment flicker behind his eyes.
Someone cleared his throat behind us, breaking the moment. We both turned our heads to find a gap between our stagnant position and the couple in line before us.
Alex placed his hand on my back, but then stuffed it in his pocket instead and motioned for me to walk in front of him. “The line is moving. We should go.”
“Where are we going? What is this? Should I know anything first? Should I have anything prepared?”
“Wait, wait…don’t tell me,” he said.
I screwed my neck around to peer at him. “Don’t tell you what, Mr. Ninja? You’re the one who told me to come to Chase Bank and get in line.” He was smirking at the floor as though laughing at a private joke.
