Adjusting
Ellie
It’s been a day or two since we got back from Kola Kitanabu, and I’m still a bit off-schedule. We weren’t there long enough for my internal clock to adjust, but trying to sleep on the way back proved to be problematic.
After I told Nick all the things I thought he should be doing, but wasn’t, I tried for a long time to ignore his presence. The same approach worked when I brought all those books in the car with me. He may think I’m a bit weird, but at least he won’t know how insanely nervous he makes me.
I don’t believe he’s too good at picking up on that sort of thing.
What I picked up on, though, was the phone call Nick made when we were a few hours from home. Okay, he made a lot of phone calls on the way home; the way there, but he only left his seat for one of them. He was trying to hide something he wasn’t trying to hide before.
At first, I just assumed it was because there was a chance he might start yelling at whoever was on the other end of the phone, but that’s not what I heard when he went back into the rear section of the plane. I didn’t hear anything.
I got out of my seat, curious as to why he’d bother hiding this call when he clearly detailed an upcoming hostile takeover Stingray is making to the CEO of the company Nick’s going after.
I pressed my ear against the door and didn’t understand the language spoken on the other side. It sounded a lot like what they were speaking in Kola Kitanabu, though I’m no expert.
Occasionally, though, Nick wouldn’t know a word, and so I’d catch an aural glimpse of the conversation. At first, this wasn’t all that helpful, but when the English words he was saying shifted from regular parts of conversation to numbers and acres it started becoming clear.
I kept my ear against the door until Nick unwittingly confirmed what I’d suspected: he was calling someone in Kola Kitanabu, or at least someone with some influence over the area. Most of the conversation was impenetrable, but I’d heard enough.
When he came out of the back, he nearly caught me spying on him. Fortunately, I have cat-like reflexes and the instincts of a ninja. Okay, the phone call ended, and I may have flailed my way back to my seat before he opened the door separating us. But that’s not anywhere near as inspiring.
When I tell Naomi about it, I think I’ll stick with the cat/ninja thing. Ooh, I like that: Cat Ninja.
At first, I was more upset than anything. From what I’d gleaned, he was talking to someone about the rainforest around Kola Kitanabu. While a big part of me was glad he’d listened, the rest of me just took it as confirmation that he still believed the only thing between him and my affection was that he hadn’t thrown enough money around for my benefit.
When I asked who he was talking to on the phone, though, he said it was the chef. Nick said he was just giving his old friend a thank you call for the exquisite beachside dinner. That’s all he’d say about it.
That’s when I decided to give him a real chance.
To tell the truth, I probably would have had a hard enough time keeping up my defenses. You don’t talk about price-per-acre with a chef.
Now, I’m almost to work and, as I round the final corner, my stomach drops.
A large crowd is standing in front of the shop.
Ever since that day in the hotel, people around town have been giving me dirty looks. Even though no one, least of all me, got a job from Nick that day as far as I know, they think it’s my fault nobody was hired.
As I get closer to the group in front of the store, though, something happens. Everyone starts smiling.
Almost in unison, somewhere between eighty and a hundred people say my name.
I don’t know what they want, but at least they look happy.
Coming closer, I start wondering if I should turn and get out of here, but the people in front of me move to the side, creating a path for me to get to the door.
“Good morning, Ellie!” someone behind me says.
“It’s a beautiful day, don’t you think, Ellie?” someone else chimes in.
I couldn’t respond if I knew how. As soon as I open my mouth to thank someone for complimenting my outfit or to say, “Good morning,” back to someone, somebody else is trying to get my attention.
Finally, I make it to the door, and I’m a little worried about what’s going to happen next when I turn the unlocked knob. Everyone’s very respectful, though. Somebody holds the door open as I walk through, and despite my certainty of my pending demise, I’m not trampled on the way into the shop.
The people follow me into the store, but so far there’s no visible threat of violence.
I make a quick stop to the office to let Troy know I’m here, but it doesn’t look like he’s in there, though his antique phone is off its cradle.
“Troy?” I ask.
“What’s happening out there?” Troy’s voice comes back to me, though he’s still nowhere in sight.
Furrowing my brow, I walk around the desk and find him in the leg space beneath it.
“Hey there, fella,” I say. “If you’ll come out from under there like a big boy, I’ll give you some ice cream.”
“What the hell is going on out there?” Troy asks, his eyelids forming two nearly perfect circles. He’s sweating.
“I have no idea, but I don’t think they came here to break anything,” I answer.
“How do you know?” Troy asks.
I shrug. “Have you heard anything break since they came in here?”
He’s curled into a little ball, and he’s hugging his knees. The phone’s receiver is lying on the ground next to him.
“Who’d you call?” I ask.
“What?” he asks.
“Okay, well you just stay under there, and I’ll deal with the very scary townspeople you’ve known your entire life,” I tell him.
A minute ago, I was pretty terrified, myself, but it’s so much more fun to mess with him.
Still, as I’m walking out of the office, I get another jolt. Everyone in the store has something in their hands, and almost all of them are looking at me right now.
I stand on the threshold a few beats; right until I notice that what I’m looking at isn’t just a mob of people. They’re trying to form a line.
If this is Mulholland’s idea of looting, it’s very polite.
My knees not quite doing their job, I walk around to the back of the counter and take my seat on the stool in front of the cash register. Looking up, I say, “I’m sorry, I have no idea who was first.”
They figure it out, and over the next hour or so, I sell every single thing in the store. Mrs. Taber even comes up to the counter with the tag for the armoire she wasn’t interested in buying only a month ago.
When there’s nothing left on the shelves, a couple of people stay behind to ask if those are for sale, too. I tell them, “I’ll have to ask Troy, but I doubt it.”
They don’t seem to care.
I get up and walk back into the office to find Troy sitting at his desk, the phone to his ear.
“Yeah,” he says, “just one. No, I don’t know how long it’s going to be, can we just leave it open-ended? Great.” He covers the mouthpiece with his palm and says, “Did they get everything?”
“Pretty much,” I tell him. “They wanted to know if the shelves were for sale, too, but I didn’t—”
“How much are they offering?” he asks.
“Probably more than what you bought them for,” I answer. “What should I tell them?”
“Tell them if they can get the shelves out of here themselves, they can buy them, but we don’t do home deliveries,” he says. He turns his attention back to the phone, saying, “Yeah, I’m here. You don’t have anything straight through to Papeete?” He groans and I walk out of the office with the good news.
The guys waiting on word about the shelving pay me, but say they’ll have to come back with a truck another time. I let them know we’re probably going to be closing up for a little while—for obvious reasons. The only response I get as the final two men leave is, “Don’t worry about it.”
After the shortest shift of my life, I head home. As much as I’d love to revel in the insane bonus that’s no doubt coming my way, I’ve got to get my head together.
Nick is coming over tonight.
Initially, we’d talked about grabbing a drink after I was off, but since my schedule seems to be open for … I’m not sure how long, but a couple of days, at least, Nick’s coming over to my place in about an hour.
Now all I have to do is convince Naomi to make herself scarce. I don’t know how that’s going to work, but as much fun as it was to see the townspeople come together to try to buy my affection the same way I thought Nick was, I don’t feel too much like going out anymore.
I get to my building and start down the hall. When I come around the corner, though, I’m hit with déjà vu.
Standing in front of my door is a group of ten or twelve people.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
Mr. Robbins, the assistant principal of the high school answers, “Well, we just wanted to see if we could get a few minutes to talk to you about Stingray.”
“I don’t work for Stingray,” I answer. “Can I get to my door?”
“Of course,” Mr. Robbins says. “Listen, we know that Mr. Scipio’s putting something together here in town, and a lot of us would just like to be a part of it, you see?” he asks. “Why, I bet if he were to hear it from you—”
“Okay, I don’t know what you think I can do for you, but I don’t work for Stingray. I have no say in who gets hired or who gets fired, and as far as I know, they won’t even be doing any of that for a while,” I say. “I wish you all the best of luck, but now will you please get out of my way so I can go home?”
“We’re not trying to take advantage of anyone, Miss Michaels,” Mr. Robbins says. “We were just hoping—”
“I have nothing to do with it,” I interrupt. “You need to get out of my way, now. And seriously, who camps out in front of someone’s door to ask them for a job?” I ask. “I may not have any say over anything Stingray does, but I know if I were the one doing the hiring, each and every one of you would be on my blacklist, so maybe it’d be best if you all move now.” When they don’t jump out of the way, I repeat, “Move now!”
Slowly, they turn and start filing toward the other end of the hallway.
When I get through the door and lock the deadbolt behind me, I pull out my phone.
Nick answers, “Scipio.”
“Hey, Nick,” I start. “Listen, I just got home, but I’m not feeling so well all of a sudden. Would you mind if we postpone things for a while?”
* * *
It’s been three days and I haven’t left the apartment.
Every time I approach the door to look out the peephole, I get this feeling like I’m on the verge of opening Pandora’s Box.
I haven’t heard anything from Troy about coming back to work yet, but I suppose I didn’t expect I would. Knowing him, he’s probably on a riverboat somewhere along the Mississippi, losing every last dime we made in a poker game.
Right now, I’m ducking behind the couch because someone’s at the door. A moment later, Naomi’s coming in, carrying three paper bags of groceries in her arms, saying, “No, it’s fine. I’ve got it. No, don’t worry about it. I was built for manual labor, you know.”
I get up and take two bags from her, and we haul everything to the kitchen.
“How is it out there?” I ask.
“It’s about the same,” Naomi says. “You know, about the same as it has been for the last twenty-eight years of your life. What is your deal, anyway?”
“They all think I can do something for them, but I can’t,” I tell her. “How much longer do you believe they're going to buy that, though? I’ve seen the news. I know how quickly things can go bad.”
“Remind me to cancel the cable,” Naomi says as she starts unloading groceries. “You have seriously got to get out of this place for a while.”
“Actually,” I start, my nerves creeping back to the surface, “I was hoping you might be willing to do me a favor.”
“If this is another chocolate run,” Naomi says, “I get that your metabolism is fantastic and everything, but—”
“It’s not that,” I tell her.
Nick called this morning, asking if he could stop by with some chicken soup. Apparently, the soup was prepared by world class chef What’s-His-Name and is said to have healing powers beyond that of conventional poultry.
“Oh, you’ll never guess what happened to me today,” Naomi says.
“Win something?” I ask.
She sighs and her shoulders drop a little. “You know you take all the fun out of this,” she says.
Naomi is the luckiest person I’ve ever met. When Naomi was five months old, mom entered her into a cute baby contest. Naomi came in fourth. Between the time she was passed over for the job and the photo shoot itself, though, all three kids in front of her came down with a different illness.
Since then, every time there’s something to win, Naomi’s won it. The only exceptions I’ve found so far are the lottery and general gambling. I guess it’s more a sweepstakes kind of luck than anything.
“What’d you get?” I ask.
“A car,” she says.
“You won a car?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says, waving her hand, “it’s nothing too fancy, though. I think they were just looking for a way to get rid of the thing, if I’m honest.”
“You won a car?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says. “I checked the blue book on it. I can keep it, and we can have something to drive around, or I can sell it and probably get about twelve-thousand. What do you think?”
“You won a car?” I ask.
“Yes, sororal broken record of mine,” Naomi says. “I won a car.”
“This is big,” I say. “Well, why aren’t you out driving it?”
Maybe I don’t have to ask for the favor after all. Now, if I can get her out of the house for a few hours so I can see Nick without leaving the house or subjecting him to her …
“Because I just got home,” she says. “Why, are you trying to get me out of the house so your boyfriend can come over and whisper sweet nothings about how he doesn’t mind dating shut-ins?”
The downside of living with someone you grew up with is they see through ploys, plots and schemes better than anyone.
“Come on,” I say. “I postponed on him a few days ago, and he still thinks I’m over here hacking up a lung or something.”
“Ooh, he should be thrilled to drop what he’s doing and come over here, then,” she says.
“I may mention something about not being sick,” I tell Naomi through gritted teeth.
“I don’t know, sis,” she says. “Perhaps I should meet this gentleman and make sure he’s the kind of guy who’s worthy of you before I let you have him over here all by yourself.”
“Nan,” I say and Naomi shudders, “think about it this way: While you’ve done a great job of furnishing this place with all the crap you’ve won over the years, I’m still the one who’s paid rent every month. In fact, I’m not sure I remembered to have them add you to the lease.”
“You didn’t add me to the lease?” she asks. “With as long as I’ve been living here, I’d say that’s a breach of contract on your part. What else do you have?”
“Maybe I just decide to have my boyfriend get me a nice place out of state and maybe I don’t tell you where it is,” I say.
“Oh, come on,” she says. “The two of you have only been on one real date. He’s not going to rent you a place.”
“Who said anything about renting?” I ask. “You know, with a nine-digit bank account, I’d bet he wouldn’t even feel the pinch if he got me a lovely mansion on a shore somewhere.”
“You know a beach house is my dream house,” Naomi says. “That’s not cool.”
“Leave now, and I’ll put away the rest of the groceries,” I tell her.
I don’t know if it was the hypothetical beach house or the offer to put away a single bag’s worth of items, but Naomi stops what she’s doing, grabs the keys to her new car off the countertop, and walks out the front door.
She’s a bit of an odd one, Naomi.
I pull out my phone and send Nick a quick text to ask if he has a minute. The phone’s ringing a minute later.
“Hey there,” I answer.
“Hey,” Nick says. “How are you feeling?”
“You know,” I tell him, “I think I’m doing a lot better.” I’m not going to complain about a few people in front of my door when he had half the town camped out waiting for him. “Naomi’s out. I was wondering if you maybe had some time to come over.”
“Well,” he says, “I’ve got a few things to finish up right now. How does three o’clock sound?”
It looks like Naomi’s going to get to meet the boyfriend after all.
“That’s fine,” I tell him. “Let me know when you’re on your way and I’ll make sure to have a drink ready for you when you get here.”
“Sounds great,” he says. “Listen, I have to go now, but I’m glad you’re doing all right, and I’ll see you in a little while.”
“Thanks,” I say, though I have no idea why. “I mean sounds good. I’ll see you then.”
If I offer to do Naomi’s laundry for a week, I wonder if she’d be willing to stay out of the apartment a while longer. I pull out my phone.
* * *
It’s about 3:05 when the knock falls on the door, and I’m just finishing up the vodka martini—stirred, not shaken. Max barks lazily from Naomi’s room but doesn’t follow it up with anything. Sammie just sits in the middle of the floor staring at me.
I get to the door and, once it’s open, I poke my head out just far enough to look to the left and then to the right, and I grab Nick by the lapels of his suit jacket and pull him into the apartment. Closing and locking the door, I say, “Hey, sorry about that. Things have been a bit hectic around here.”
“I’d say from the amount of force you used pulling me in here you must feel quite a bit better,” he says.
I cringe. “Yeah,” I say. “Hey, I know this is off-topic, but I was wondering if you had any particular way you deal with people who want something from you.”
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“Never mind,” I tell him. “You look great.”
Nick is wearing a dark gray suit with a deep red tie. While it hardly seems like he uses any product, there’s not a strand of his short, black hair that’s out of place.
“You can take your jacket off,” I tell him. “Stay awhile.”
“Thanks,” he says and starts looking around as he slides the jacket off of him with incredible ease. “Do you have a coat rack or a hanger or something?” he asks.
“I’ll take it,” I tell him and hold out my hands. When he hands me the jacket, it’s all I can do not to start going on about how deceptively soft the material is. “Your martini is waiting for you in the kitchen,” I tell him. “I’m just going to take this back to my room, and I’ll be out to join you.”
“Thanks,” he says, and I head back to my room.
Closing the door behind me, I take a stab at getting the butterflies in my stomach to stop trying to escape.
He looks incredible. Nothing’s changed about him since the last time I saw him—clothes excepted—but I’m noticing, for the first time, the finer points of his physique.
Without the jacket, he’s a lot more muscular than I’d anticipated. I just thought he had a preference for thick fabric. Something has changed, but I don’t believe the change came from him.
I go to my closet and open it up, scowling at my laughably inferior clothing. For a second, I consider changing into something a bit chicer, but I’m already wearing my best low-cut dress.
There’s so much about him I hadn’t noticed, or hadn’t let myself notice, and it was all, every bit of it, in front of me the whole time. I have a little trouble convincing myself, but after another minute, I hang up the suit coat and head back out of the room.
I get to the living room to find Nikolai Scipio looking out one window, martini in hand.
“I like your place,” he says.
“Right,” I scoff.
“Seriously,” he says. “I’m particularly fond of your view. In New York, the best you can hope for is a high vantage point so you can see all the other CEOs somewhere down below you. Apart from the schadenfreude, it’s not all that spectacular.”
I’ve never been to New York, but just like everyone else in the world, I’ve seen plenty of pictures. Maybe a person gets tired of the cityscape when they live in it, but I can’t see anything like that ever happening to me.
“So,” he says, “what would you like to do this evening?”
“Huh?” I ask.
Stop daydreaming, Ellie.
“I was just asking what you’d like to do,” he says.
“Oh,” I respond, finally. “You know, I hadn’t thought about it.”
He smiles and then looks back out the window, sipping his drink.
“It’s weird,” I tell him, “you being in this apartment.”
“Why’s that?” he asks, and now I’m certain he’s just playing dumb.
“Oh, don’t be polite,” I tell him. “I bet where you live, you’ve got bathrooms bigger than this whole place.”
“No, really,” he says. “Why do you think I’m here and not in Manhattan?”
“You’re moving headquarters, aren’t you?” I ask.
“Yes,” he answers, “but why do you think I chose a place like Mulholland instead of, say, L.A. or Boston?”
“Better deals on rent?” I ask.
He laughs. It’s a rich, almost soothing sound. “That’s just a perk,” he says. “I noticed you didn’t have a drink of your own set-out, so I took the liberty of fixing one up for you. I’ll just grab it.”
“You stay and enjoy—” I can’t believe I’m saying this “—the view, and maybe we can figure out something to do when I get back.”
“Okay,” he says, and I go into the kitchen.
What’s the matter with me? I don’t know if I’m speaking normally or if I’ve said anything at all. At the moment, the only thing I’m sure of is the drink waiting for me isn’t a martini. Of course, not knowing what I’m drinking doesn’t stop me from downing the whole thing.
Once the last few drops are down my gullet, I become acutely aware that I’m about to go back out there with nothing. As quickly as I can, I pour some vodka into the glass and walk back out to the living room once more.
Nick’s sitting on the couch.
“Have you tried it yet?” he asks. “It’s something my butler told me about—apparently, it was one of the Tsar’s favorites, though I still haven’t gotten Witherton to say how he’d know that.”
“Yeah,” I say, giving my glass a big whiff and then squinting my eyes to hide the tears that form. “It’s really something.”
I walk over to join Nick on the couch, setting the glass on the coffee table, far enough away from him he shouldn’t notice the sharp smell of my drink.
“Tell me something,” he says as I try to get settled into a cushion that has never felt so awkward to sit on.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Were you really sick or did you just not want to see me?” he asks.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I mean,” he smiles, “were you really sick or did you just not want to see me?”
I think a moment and answer, “There’s just no satisfactory answer to that question.”
“You know I like you,” he says. “I don’t think there’s been a lot of suspense there. With that said, though, it’s hard to know how to act when you keep dropping out of existence for days at a time.”
“I know,” I tell him. “I’m sorry about that.”
That’s all I can manage to say.
“So, how do I know that’s not going to happen this time?” he asks.
I shrug and scour my brain for something resembling a verbal response—only I don’t find anything there.
“Well that’s comforting,” he chuckles.
“Oh come on,” I say. “Don’t you get that I like you too, that this is all just a bit overwhelming for someone like me? The only time I’ve even seen millionaires was that time Naomi and a friend of hers dragged me to an NBA game, and then you come into the shop where I work and ask me out. It’s a lot to take in, you know?”
“Would you rather I weren’t as successful as I am?” he asks.
“I’m not saying that,” I tell him. “I’m just saying that … I’m just saying …”
His eyes fixate on mine, and he’s turned toward me, his left arm resting on the back of the couch. The next thing I know, his left arm is around me, and I’m kissing his beautiful lips.
He grunts, and I pull back, already in the middle of an apology. Before I get too far, though, he holds up a hand and says, “I was about to spill my drink.” Nick leans forward, sets his martini on the coffee table, and now he’s kissing me.
I naturally lean back, pulling him with me until my shoulders come to rest between the armrest and the back of the couch. While I may have made the first move, at least physically, he seems more than happy to take it from there.
Nick kisses my neck, whispering, “You’re beautiful,” and I’m covering my mouth to prevent the laugh from escaping me.
He glances up, but I tell him, “Don’t worry about it.” His lips meet mine again. This whole thing is just crazy.
I look over at the clock on the wall to see how much time we have before Naomi gets home, but before my mind can process the numbers, I’m closing my eyes. She said she’d be gone all night. I need to stop worrying all the time.
Nick pulls back and my eyes open again. He says, “This is a bit sudden, don’t you think?”
He doesn’t know what I’ve been thinking about in the shower over the past couple of days, or else he might have a different opinion.
“I need you to tell me something,” I say.
“What’s that?” he asks.
“Is this just a sexual thing, or are you looking for something more?” I ask.
“More,” he says, “always more.”
“Always?” I ask. “I don’t know. I’ve put up a pretty good fight here, and I can’t help feeling like I’m letting myself down a little.”
He has to be frustrated, but he doesn’t let it show.
“Okay,” he says. “Let’s talk about it.”
“See,” I say, “that’s the thing. I don’t feel like talking. I just need to know that you’re not going to up and leave if something were to happen between us.”
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“You know,” I answer, my voice soft enough he’s leaning in to hear me, “sexually.”
“Nothing has to happen tonight,” he says. “I’m sure after a while, we may want to talk about it a bit more, but I’m not going to—”
I pitch forward, kissing him hard on the lips. A second later, he’s the one leaning back into the couch.
My arms are tight around him, and I’m on top of him now as he adjusts his position. When he settles, I lower my hips and I can feel the proof of his attraction as my center comes to rest on his.
Nick is running his hands up and down my back and for once in my life, I stop thinking about all the what-ifs. I just give myself over to him.
I lean back a little and start unbuttoning his shirt. Nick brushes the hair out of my face and rests his hand on my cheek as he looks up at me.
With Nick’s shirt now unbuttoned, I part the front to reveal his tan, muscular upper body. I kiss his chest as he starts tugging at the bottom of my wonderfully short dress.
I start working my way down his chest, over his firm abs and all the way down to the top of his pants. Taking a deep breath in, I unfasten the button and pull down the zipper.
Nick’s erection is barely hindered by the fabric of his boxers, and he’s a good deal bigger than I thought he’d be. I’m a bit nervous as I lift the waistband over him.
Wrapping my hand around his shaft, I kiss Nick’s tip. He lets out a pleasured sigh, and I swirl my tongue over his flared ridge.
Finally gathering my courage, I relax my jaw and take him into my mouth.
He’s hard, pulsing in my mouth, and I’m looking up at him. It appears like he’s all right with the fact I can’t fit all of him in my mouth at once. Judging by the way his eyes are rolled back in his head, I’d say he’s more than all right.
I work my lips back to the tip of his shaft, making a loud smacking sound as the suction breaks, and I give Nick a wicked smile while my hand grips and slips over his shaft.
“Come here,” he says, and I crawl over him again until he’s pulling my head down toward him, kissing me deeply.
Nick’s hands around me now, he unfastens my bra, the cold air of the air conditioner hitting my skin. Nick’s face turns a deeper shade, and he lifts his head to kiss my breasts.
His lips and his tongue are concentrated heat, and I’m so wet there’s nothing left for me to do but slip off the tanga. So, I manage to leave Nick’s incredible touch, though only for a second, and a moment later, I’m naked on top of him, my hand going between his legs.
“Are you sure you’re ready for something like this?” he asks. “You’ve been pretty reserved—”
“I think I’ll be all right,” I tell him.
He doesn’t argue as I run the tip of him against my waiting pussy.
For a moment, I press him against my clit. “We should probably go to the bedroom, though,” I tell him.
“Naomi’s not on her way home, is she?” he asks.
“No,” I answer. Kissing him on the lips, I whisper, “But that’s where the condoms are.”
The whole way to the bedroom, Nick’s hands are on my hips or cupping my breasts. When we get to the doorway, he bends down, works an arm under my knees, another under my arm, and he picks me up and carries me into the room.
I giggle and kiss him, and he lays me down on the bed before him. For a few seconds, I lie here, bare and open, and he gazes over my body.
The most difficult part about being woefully insecure is not letting him know it. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with anyone.
“Where are they?” he asks, his eyes now focused between my legs with such intensity I’d swear I can feel it.
In my sexiest, most casual way, I point to my dresser, saying, “Top drawer.”
I may have been in the dry spell to end all dry spells, but that doesn’t mean a girl doesn’t hold out some hope.
Nick grabs the box and opens it. He takes a condom from inside and comes back over to the bed as he opens it.
“Here,” I say, holding out my hand.
He gives me the condom, and I move into a halfway decent position to put it on him. Placing the condom over him, I kiss his chest and his stomach.
Now properly sheathed, Nick tells me to lie back. I do, and he leans forward and puts himself between my legs, hesitating a moment at my opening before sliding himself inside of me.
My mouth is open, but I can’t speak. I can hardly breathe.
He goes slow, easing himself in, bit by bit. Once he’s covered in my dripping juices, though, the tempo steadily increases.
My legs are hanging over the side of the bed, and Nick is bending down to deliver dozens of eager kisses to my lips, my neck, my breasts.
I’d close my eyes if I didn’t think I’d wake up.
Nick lifts my legs, so my feet rest against his chest, and I almost feel like a virgin again, only this time, there’s no blinding pain.
He’s so deep in me now, and I’m writhing in delight on the bedspread as he enters me again and again. Right as I’m getting to where I feel like my body can’t contain all of the pleasure he’s giving me, though, I hear a door somewhere else in the apartment open and close.
My eyes go wide.
“Hold on,” I whisper.
He stops. “What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Did you hear that?” I respond.
“Yeah, it sounds like Naomi just got in,” he answers. “Why?”
“Yeah, she knows you’re here, and she’s not above walking in here, pulling up a chair and asking you if you know Benedict Cumberbatch while we’re having sex,” I tell him.
“I’ve met the guy, but I wouldn’t say I know him,” Nick answers. When I don’t laugh, though, he nods, saying, “All right. There’s plenty of time.”
We barely manage to cover up before I hear the sound of Naomi picking my lock.