Chapter Thirty-Three - Nolan
When I land at Boston Logan I find my driver and head over to the municipal airport to make the last leg of my journey before picking up Ivy.
The entire ride to Providence my head is filled with visions of tonight. What she’ll look like in that dress. How long it’ll take her to say the first no. How many times I’ll make her come before we’re done.
When we land in Providence, I thank the pilot and get in the waiting Panamera—what can I say, I have a thing for Porsches—and enjoy the drive over to Ivy’s side of town.
College Hill is way too close to Brown for my comfort level and the only good things about being back in this neighborhood are Ivy and the amazing Colonial architecture. I’ve missed the East Coast. I like the west. I was born there. And I like the South because it reminds me of my mother. But I spent most of my years up here in New England. It was home during all my formative years.
And they chased me away.
Ivy’s house is a stately light gray colonial townhouse with authentic white trim. I already know it isn’t hers, but belongs to her roommate. Ivy might’ve come from privilege but she doesn’t come from money.
I like that, I think, as I pull in front and take a deep breath to calm my nerves.
What if she says stop? What if I set all this up and she says stop?
What if I get to the door and she’s changed her mind?
I will sulk away like a chastised dog. I will probably never try this again with anyone.
“You won’t know until you get your sorry ass out of the car, Romantic.” I say the words, but in my head it’s Mac talking. He was always the calm one. The rational one. The logical one. Mr. Perfect comes by his name honestly.
Unlike me.
I get out and walk up to the low wrought-iron gate, let myself in, and then walk to the front door filled with equal parts excitement, dread, and curiosity.
The door opens before I can knock and suddenly my face is stinging with a slap.
I just stare at my date. Her hand is still raised, her expression is one of surprise, and her dress—holy fucking shit, her dress—hugs her curves like it’s painted on.
“Why did you hit me?” I ask, kinda stunned.
“Oh, my God.” Ivy starts laughing so hard, she doubles over.
“What’s so funny?”
“I’m so sorry! I just figured… oh, my God. I can’t believe I hit you! I really hit you!”
She’s laughing so hard I start to laugh too. “Ivy?” I say. “What’s going on?”
“I’m sorry,” she says, waving a hand in front of her face to stop her laughing. “I’m sorry. It’s just, I was thinking that I might want to do that to you later, but I won’t be able to because we’ll be in the fantasy. And even if I did, you wouldn’t understand what it meant. You’d think it was part of the scene.”
I just blink at her.
“Shit, your whole cheek is bright red. And my hand is stinging!”
I reach for the hand that slapped me, place it against my cheek. The heat of the slap doubles as we come skin to skin. And then I hold her palm up to my lips and kiss away the sting. “I get the point.”
“I’m sorry,” she says through the constant smile.
I don’t know how I expected this date to start, but this certainly wasn’t it. “Don’t be. I get it. I will probably scare you a little tonight. And this is a good way to get your point across. You,” I say, stressing the word, “are the one in control. Even when you feel out of control.”
She nods and then takes a deep breath. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know why I’m doing this. But I’m going to do it anyway.” And then she bites her lip. “People will think I’m crazy.”
“No one’s gonna know. This night is a series of private moments between us, and only us. No one will know unless you tell them. OK?”
She nods, becomes shy again, and then says, “OK.”
“Are you ready?”
“When do I say no?”
It’s my turn to laugh. “Well, I was thinking we’d have dinner first?”
“Dinner?” She looks surprised.
“It’s a date. Our first real date. Did you already eat? We can do something else. Get dessert or go for a walk in town. Although, I have to say, walking around this neighborhood brings up all kinds of bad memories.”
“A walk?”
“If you want. If you’re not hungry—”
“No, I’m hungry. I just didn’t expect…”
I cock my head to the side and grin at her. “Didn’t expect… what?”
“Romance.”
I laugh almost as hard as she did when she slapped me. “My name is Mr. Romantic, Ivy. Give me a little credit.”
“I thought it was ironic?”
“Not tonight. Tonight you get all of it if you want. The romance. The fantasy. Even the truth if you’re still interested.”
“The truth?” Her smile drops. “About… that night?”
I shrug. “If you still want to know. I’ll share. It’s the least I can do considering what will happen after.”
She looks very uncertain. Does she still want to know? Will it scare her off? Will she see it through my eyes? Or the eyes of my presumed victim?
“That sounds… perfect. I do want to know. I don’t know what to think about you right now, but I’d like to learn more.”
I lean into her, pushing her body back, until she almost trips over the threshold. Until we are inside her foyer and I have her pressed against the coat closet. “Good,” I whisper in her ear, my lips dragging down her neck before I bite her shoulder. “Good. Because I’m about to show you everything, Ivy. All the secrets,” I say, taking her hand in mine and placing it over my heart, “in here.” I kiss her on the lips and her mouth is soft, and sweet, and tastes like peaches. “Are you ready for that?”
She sighs into my mouth and says, “Let me get my purse.”