I recoiled, physically backing away from him as much as I could on that bus bench. I would’ve climbed over him and out the window if I hadn’t been wearing a ball gown. The pretentiousness of that statement: Vegetarianism is over. I would’ve accepted almost any other answer for why Paul had decided to give up not eating meat—health, taste, boredom, a double dog dare from his best friend. But I could not abide this pseudo-hipster bullshit. Not anymore. Not now that I’d freed myself from Dirk.
“Excuse me.” I jumped up from my seat and hurled myself into the walkway. Paul was exactly my type, which was the problem. I’d been dating different versions of the same guy for twenty-five years—jumping from one unsatisfying relationship to the next, simply to avoid the awkwardness of being alone.
Maybe alone wasn’t so bad.
“Ma’am!” The bus driver glared at me in the rearview mirror. “Take your seat!”
“I am.” Clutching the seat backs as I made my way toward the rear of the bus, I slid into the empty spot next to Ian. “Okay,” I said. “Just dinner sounds great.”
Chapter Two
Ian
When Erin sat next to me, I didn’t say anything. I had no idea what to say. I’d stepped in it back at the hotel, but I wasn’t sure exactly how.
“I’m not a charity case,” Erin said finally, as our bus sailed down Sheridan Road.
Oh, so that was it. “I don’t think you’re a charity case.”
She turned toward me, her blue eyes like lasers. “You paid forty grand because you felt bad for me.”
I sighed. “That’s not…” I turned my body so we sat face-to-face. “That wasn’t why I bid on you. It wasn’t a pity thing. It was a respect thing. You didn’t deserve the misery of having to deal with Paul or whatever other losers were bidding on you. I was…” I wracked my brain for the right words to get me out of this. I settled for brutal honesty. “I wouldn’t have placed that bid for anyone but you.”
Her mouth dropped open slightly, and I noted the surprise in her eyes. “Why me?”
My eyes crinkled. I couldn’t help smiling around her. Erin and I didn’t run in the same circles, really. I’d never go out on Saturday night and run into her at a club in River North or anything. Tonight was an anomaly, because she was only here as an employee of the rich elementary school I’d attended. She really was the Cinderella of the auction. “You’re the woman who stole the wine.”
“Wow, that’s getting me a lot of mileage tonight.” Her eyes crinkled as she chuckled. Sitting on the bus with a grown woman in a dorky costume was honestly the most peaceful and real I’d felt in a long time. Erin showed no pretense. She was who she was. I usually hung out with PR reps—they were all PR reps—who, if they bothered to dress up for Halloween, would go as a sexy cat or just, like, a random sexy human. “Natalie told me to watch out for you,” Erin said.
“You should probably listen to her,” I admitted. “But in my defense, she knew me ten years ago, and I’ve matured since then.”
“No more sad women skulking out of your bedroom at eight in the morning?” she asked.
I winced, thinking of Maria Minnesota. She sat a few rows ahead of us, chatting with the guy who’d bought her, some younger dude I didn’t recognize. “I have rules now. No more sleepovers. Tell Natalie that,” I added. It didn’t matter to me what my best friend’s ex thought of me, but, for some reason, I did care about Erin’s buddy’s opinion.
“Oh, I’m sure she’ll be overjoyed to hear the news.” Erin narrowed her eyes at me. “What other rules do you have?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Sure you do.” She smirked and made grabby hands. “Lay it on me.”
I rolled my eyes. This was not a conversation to have with Dr. Erin Sharpe. While I enjoyed my lifestyle, someone like Erin might judge me for it. She was a school principal, after all. “No sleepovers, no second dates, no strings,” I said. “That’s about it.” Before she had a second to call me a pig, I told her, “I make sure to let the woman know early on that I’m not looking for a relationship, or anything remotely resembling a relationship. If we hook up tonight, we hook up tonight…and that’s it.”
Our bus flew over a bump, and Erin grabbed the seat back in front of her to steady herself. “You turn into a pumpkin post-coitus.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Yuck. That phrase is as bad as ‘moist.’”
“I went for the alliteration, and I regret it.” She chewed on the inside of her cheek as she scanned my face, as if seeking further information. “Why, though?”
“Why what?”
“Why no relationships? Why only one-night stands?”
“I just met you.” I raised an eyebrow. This was more of a third-date conversation, and I didn’t do third dates. Or deep conversations.
“One thing you should know about me is I have a PhD in education and I’m constantly trying to learn about people, what makes them tick. So, why?” She glanced out the window. “We still have at least twenty minutes before we get to the restaurant. You might as well spill.”
Well, there was no way I’d tell her the real reason. Not today, not so she could go blabbing to Natalie about what a wounded little boy I was. Only Scott and Tommy knew the real reason. I gave Erin the version I gave everyone else. “I like my life. I own a business that takes me all over the world at a moment’s notice. If I’m beholden to someone, I’ll end up hurting her when I’m not able to be there when she needs me. We’re all better off not letting it get that far in the first place.”
She nodded, satisfied. “Makes sense to me,” she said. “I’m also all about not jumping into relationships.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Well, it’s a new thing for me. I’ve hopped from long relationship to long relationship for the past one hundred or so years. I need a little time on my own for once.”
“Alone time is vastly underrated.” I rested my forearm on the windowsill. Our bus cruised down Lake Shore Drive in the dark. The view just beyond the northbound lanes was navy-blue nothingness. “I’ll clink glasses with you at the dinner in celebration.”
She grinned. “About that, can we just have a fun time tonight, like you promised? No pressure, no drama?”
“Sounds perfect.” I hadn’t had a no-pressure, no drama Saturday night in a long time. I was either out at a club here, trying to impress people fifteen years younger than me, or in another city or country, trying to impress clients. Tonight I had Erin to impress, with her platinum-blond pixie haircut and Cinderella costume, but only in the most low-key, low-pressure way. Tonight we’d be like two bros hanging out, and truly, now that Tommy had become Mr. Family Man, I could use a new bud.
Erin and I booked it for the bar as soon as we reached Girl and the Goat. “Sauv blanc?” I nudged her in the ribs.
“Scotch, please.”
I ordered a double for each of us, and we clinked glasses as we observed the other couples around us.
“So,” she said. “Of all these pairs here tonight, which one’s going to go the distance?”
I laughed. As far as I knew, the Glenfield Academy bachelorette auction had never produced any long-lasting romances, only championship basketball teams. I pointed to Scott and his mom, who stood over in the far corner, basically moaning over the appetizers they’d just put in their mouths. “Those two,” I said.
Erin squinted. “The age difference won’t be an issue?”
“Nope. They’re mother and son,” I said. “That’s why they’re the safest bet. Though Nat and her guy look pretty close.”
Nodding, Erin sipped her drink. “We’ll see. Nat’s a little like me—or the old me. She’s a serial monogamist, who just got out of a five-year relationship”—she checked her watch—“a week ago.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Wow. She moves quick.”
Erin shook her head, shuddering. “And that could’ve been me tonight, jumping at the first guy who spoke to me. It was how I landed in my last two relationships, and both of t
hose ended—” She cut herself off.
“Ended how?”
“They ended.” And I supposed that was Erin’s third-date conversation.
…
Ian
Things I learned about Erin at dinner: 1) she could match me drink for drink, and 2) she knew her shit when it came to movies and TV.
People didn’t normally think of me as a pop culture guy. I guessed it didn’t fit my aloof jet-setter persona, but I spent so much time on planes and in hotel rooms that I saw basically everything. And Erin, who was a homebody, did too.
“Oh my God! You’re the only person in my life who watched Killing Eve! Can we talk about how everyone on that show makes horrible decisions?” She poured about a cup and a half of champagne into my red wine glass. Between the two of us, we’d already polished off an entire bottle of cabernet—on top of the scotch.
“Terrible decisions.” I guzzled the bubbly. “Remember when Bill followed Villanelle into the club?”
“What was his plan there? ‘Hey, let me just tail a serial killer with no backup.’ Oh my God! So stupid!” She clinked my glass and downed her champagne. “You wanna dance?”
A good three-quarters of the party had crowded onto the makeshift dance floor and currently bopped around to “Shout.”
“I hate this song,” I admitted. Another one of my rules was “no dancing to crappy wedding music.”
But Erin jumped up and pulled me to standing. “I hate it, too, and that’s why we need to do this, to make a mockery of it.”
I let her pull me onto the dance floor where we proceeded to do the John Travolta/Uma Thurman dance from Pulp Fiction. Then we did what Erin called the anti-“YMCA,” which was basically dancing like a fiend through the entire song, except the “YMCA” part, during which we stood perfectly still, like statues, while everyone else threw their hands in the air.
I wiped sweat from my brow with my pocket square. This was a harder workout than Crossfit. “We’re such rebels.” I did not dance. I did not join or revel. I sat on the sidelines with a smirk and a tumbler of scotch.
This was much more fun. At least it was with Erin. I glanced over at Maria, who nuzzled her date’s cheek. I couldn’t picture dancing with her like this. But then, our thing had only been about sex and impressing each other enough throughout the evening to get to the sex, while Erin and I were just two bros goofing around.
The music switched to something slow, one of those old love songs they play at every single wedding, and the other pairs on the dance floor joined together like magnets. Nat and her date had molded against each other like two amoebae. “You want to dance?” I asked Erin. I said it jokingly, casually, like, “Ha-ha, you want to dance?” and I held my hand out to her.
Grinning, she took it. Her hands were small and alabaster, and I noticed for the first time that her stubby nails had been painted in rainbow colors, and she’d obviously done the manicure herself, which, for some reason, pinged my desire. I shook the fog from my head. Erin was my bud. I would not get turned on by my bud’s self-made manicure. Still, I pulled her in close, and she let me.
Oh, the booze was getting to me. I’d been able to disguise that fact while we danced fast to all those cheesy songs. But now with Erin up close and personal, swaying against me to lyrics about “love” and “baby” and “stay,” and her hot breath tickling my ear, I didn’t hate it. In fact, I kept counting to ten over and over in my head, trying to forget her nails and ignore her breath and convince myself that I did in fact hate all of this. I had to hate all of this. Hating this was the only acceptable answer.
Erin was my bro, the principal of my grade school alma mater. I’d keep running into her at events like this all year. “Casual” didn’t exist for us.
“Are we still dancing ironically?” Erin’s lips tickled the edge of my ear, and it was like I’d never been this close to a woman before. What was happening to me? I was going soft. Well, most of me was. Other parts…not so much.
“I can’t tell,” I said.
“Me neither.” The night had taken a turn, one I hadn’t planned on taking. But Erin and I were both looser than we should have been, thanks to the alcohol, and had started crossing lines. Her hips rested right up against mine, and she could certainly feel how much I enjoyed our proximity.
“This is fun,” she whispered.
Oh yes, it was. This was when I’d normally have The Conversation with a woman, the pre-sex chat. I wasn’t Prince Charming. I was good for one night only. I’d be gone before coffee. But Erin and I had already had the talk, hadn’t we? She knew the score.
“I’m having fun,” she said again. “Maybe this is what I need instead of another relationship. Fun.” She wrapped her arms tighter around my neck. “You’re fun. Right, Ian?”
Holy shit. “Too much, sometimes.” It was my way of broaching the subject that this night would not stretch into morning. I disappeared at sunup, preferably before.
But then she stood on her tiptoes and pressed her forearms into my shoulders, raising her face to my height. She touched her lips to mine, and, I’m ashamed to say, I melted. Like a dumb-ass fool in a Hallmark movie—not that I ever watched those, please. She kissed me, and I parted my lips, letting her deepen the angle, allowing her to take control, if just for a moment, while I attempted to regain my senses. This was dangerous. This was a bad idea. I backed away.
“What are we doing?” I held out an arm to block any further advancement on her part. “I’m very attracted to you, Erin, I am, but…” I had to be the adult here, and I didn’t do “adult” in these situations. When presented with sex, I chose sex. “We’re going to keep running into each other.”
Her blue eyes locked on mine. “That shouldn’t be a problem, if we both know the deal.” She pressed her body against mine again, and I pulled her in tighter. It was a reflex, triggered by her hair, which smelled like jasmine with a hint of vanilla. That scent was my kryptonite.
My mind kept playing the scene of Erin and Nat at brunch tomorrow, Erin crying, Nat repeating a refrain of “I told you so.” But the alcohol and my hormones syphoned off any and all reason from my brain. My good sense fought a losing battle against my groin. “Yes,” I told her. “Yes. Let’s go to your place.”
…
Erin
I’d had three boyfriends in my life, boom, boom, boom, one right after the other, and I barely had time to breathe between any of them. Before I joined up with my college boyfriend, I did get a tiny little taste of the single life. A minuscule taste. A morsel. But it did happen.
I’d been out with my high school girlfriends while visiting their school during freshman year. At the U of I, we’d been able to get into the local bars at nineteen with driver’s licenses. I’d never been to a bar before, and I followed my friends’ leads. Guys bought us drinks. I ended up dancing with some dude I claimed looked like Leonardo DiCaprio, but who knew how accurate that was. I’d been wearing beer goggles in the dark at one a.m.
Anyway. Thanks to the alcohol and the atmosphere, I ended up kissing Leo out on that dance floor. No names, no numbers. We went our separate ways at the end of the night, but the experience left me feeling powerful. I’d never done something so spontaneous, so random, without fear of consequences or what came next.
Dancing with Ian brought that nineteen-year-old out in me.
I didn’t want another grown-up relationship. I wanted to make a colossal, teenager-y mistake tonight. I’d ditched my control-top pantyhose in the bathroom before dinner, and I was free as a bird.
I stood on my tiptoes—God, Ian was tall; my previous boyfriends had all been basically my height—and kissed his cheek. “Let’s get out of here.” I nibbled his earlobe. Check me out, taking charge. When Dirk and I dated, I’d always wait for him to tell me what came next—in all aspects of life, really.
Ian, however, seemed content to let me take the reins.
I liked that about him.
“Are you sure about this?” His brows knitted be
hind his glasses. He’d been a perfect gentleman tonight, not at all the person Natalie had described. I mean, I still had no illusions about where this night was headed. We’d talked about it. He was a hookup-only kind of person, but tonight so was I.
“I’m sure.” He had to stop being so worried about my feelings. I was a big girl. I could take care of myself.
I laced my fingers in his and pulled him out of the restaurant, careful to avoid catching Natalie’s eye. She’d try to talk me out of this, for sure. But she was busy sucking face with her dude while straddling him on a barstool, so we were all making interesting life choices tonight.
Ian and I hopped into a cab, and I slid into the middle seat, right next to him. I caressed his cheek, and he leaned down and kissed me. Damn, he was good at that. I couldn’t tell if it was the newness of his lips against mine or what, but the rush, the anticipation, the forbidden nature of this clandestine tryst was a revelation. This was how kissing was supposed to feel. I’d missed out on a lot these past two decades plus.
“You know,” he said, torturing me with his breath against my ear, “this is not why I bought the date with you”
“You made that clear.” Crystal clear. I’m your charity case, Ian, we got it. Even though he’d insisted that wasn’t the situation, I had my doubts. I knew from what Nat had said that I wasn’t his type. He was basically slumming it with me tonight.
Well, that was his problem.
I ran my fingers through his messy-styled hair and clutched the back of his head, as he lowered his lips to mine again.
The rest of the cab ride flew by in a blur of kissing and groping. I actually reached down and cupped him—I did that! Me! Dr. Erin Sharpe, elementary school principal!—and he moaned as he arched toward me. I felt invincible, like Wonder Woman. Was Wonder Woman invincible? Didn’t matter. I was on fire.
We kissed all the way up to my condo, stopping on every landing up to the third floor to grind against each other. Ah, dry humping. Truly the unsung hero of foreplay. “Shhh!” I hissed as I unlocked the door. “My sister’s probably sleeping.”
Knocked-Up Cinderella Page 3
