Chapter Eight
Turned out I didn’t have to call him.
When I walked out of the club early the next morning, I found him waiting for me, still dressed in the same clothes he’d been in the night before, leaning against the side of the building.
He’d waited for me like that once before, meeting me after a shift at the Eighty-Eighth Floor. Seeing him then had stirred a storm of butterflies in my belly.
This time it was more like a tornado.
I was terrified to face him and yet desperate to all at once. No matter what happened between us in the future, the way he affected me was once-in-a-lifetime. No one else would ever make me weak in the knees like he did. No one else could ever bring me such welcomed tumult.
“It seemed we still had more to talk about,” he said after my closing employees had gone on their way. “I hope this is okay.”
“Yeah. It’s definitely okay.” I wondered if he could tell that by okay, I meant the most wonderful horrible thing in the world.
“Can I walk you home?”
It wasn’t a marriage proposal—ha ha—but the question sent me flying all the same. “Sure.” My voice sounded higher than normal. I cleared my throat. “It’s about fifteen minutes from here.”
“Perfect.”
Not perfect. Terrible. Because I had to tell him. But maybe it was perfect because I needed to get this over with. This way, I wouldn’t agonize for days.
I nodded in the direction we needed to go, and together we fell into step. My palms felt sweaty and itchy. The last time he’d met me after my shift, he’d taken my hand in his. I wished it could be that easy now. I yearned to recapture the electric jolt that I always felt at his touch. The charge around us was driving me crazy, needing something to ground it.
But we weren’t the couple we’d been, which was weird to think, because we’d never been a “couple” at all, and in many ways we were in the same place we’d been then—both of us feeling each other out, trying to decide if we had anything between us. So it was both apropos and not when he kept his hands to himself, thrust inside his pants pockets.
We rounded Columbus Circle in silence and started down the short edge of Central Park, joining the early morning joggers and dog walkers as the sun stretched its first limbs across the earth. I felt like that sun, like I was waking and reaching. Reaching for JC who was still closed off and dark.
I needed to tell him. I was going to tell him.
But I had other things to say first. And, when he still hadn’t said anything by the time we’d reached Center Drive, I plunged in. “I’m sorry about earlier.”
“Look, I’m sorry about—” he began at the same time. We did the nervous laugh thing. Then he said, “Don’t be sorry. I’m the one who needs to apologize.”
“I was so terrible, though.” Even more terrible was us tripping all over each other to be polite. That’s what strangers did.
Oh, yeah. That’s what we were.
“You weren’t. You’re mad and you have every right to be.” He’d been staring at his shoes, but now he peered over at me. “I’ve thought about that. I want you to know that I have. I understand…”
He paused, and I felt so uncomfortable with where he was going, with the serious undertone of it, that I jumped in. “It doesn’t mean that I—”
He stepped in front of me and cut off both my words and my steps. “Let me say this. Please.” He waited for me to nod. “I understand what I put you through. It was unfair and you deserve to be angry. I shouldn’t have gotten you involved like I did. And when I said I wanted to free you from my baggage, that’s what I meant. That I wanted to keep you out of the trial. I wanted to keep you safe. I put you in danger and I’m sorry about that. I’ve been sick about it this whole last year.”
Now that I had the apology I’d wanted, I didn’t know what to do with it. I swallowed. “Okay.”
“Okay.” He stepped aside so we could resume walking.
So I wasn’t the only one with guilt. Why didn’t that make me feel better?
Because I had my own confessing to do.
I waited a beat, though, and it was enough time for him to say more.
“I know that I owe you other words as well. Lots of them. I just don’t know which ones to begin with.”
“Any of them. There’s so much I don’t know. You could start anywhere.” Or I could start. “The video…” Honestly, it wasn’t what I’d meant to say, but it was what came out.
He waved his hand dismissively. “I’d be fine if we never mentioned that.”
“Oh.” I got it if he was embarrassed. But was it, instead, because he didn’t want to marry me anymore?
Maybe it was best to not mention it. Except I already had. “Thank you, though. For sending it to me. It made a difference.” Like that was any better. I was sure he hadn’t been looking for a vague token of appreciation. I just couldn’t give him anything clearer when I still wasn’t sure what he’d wanted me to gain from it.
He ran his hand through his hair and chuckled, the sound tickling places inside me that I couldn’t identify. “Well. Good. I suppose that’s good.”
“It’s good.” We hit a green light at the corner and started to cross the street in silence. I’ll tell him when we get to the other side, I told myself.
I didn’t. I had no excuse. There were so many things I wanted to hear from him that the things I needed to say felt secondary. I was selfish. I wanted to linger in his apologies, in his confessions. He was willing to talk right now. It might not be the case after I said my words.
So I prodded him on. “Will you explain what happened? Not with—” I paused, afraid it was somehow irreverent to say her name. “I mean, I heard your testimony. But what happened after?”
I’d expected him to hesitate, but he didn’t. “After Corinne died, I checked out. I didn’t want to be any more. I lost a lot of time to things that numbed me. Drugs. Alcohol. Sex.” He gave me a sideways grin that shot straight to the space between my thighs. “I didn’t believe I had any responsibility to bring Ralphio to justice. I’d given my testimony. I’d fulfilled my civic duty. He disappeared almost immediately after the murder anyway, and I’d thought that was it. Case closed. Corinne was dead and her murderer was gone. There was nothing to do about it.”
I studied his profile, watched him work his jaw as he paused to gather his thoughts or remember the next detail. It’s a beautiful jaw, I thought. Because thinking anything else was too hard.
“I got really good at wasting my life,” he said. “Then when Tom and Steve were killed…”
“Were they your friends?”
He nodded. “Back when I had those.” His forehead crinkled. “I don’t know why Ralphio didn’t come after me first. I’ve tried to figure it out and I just can’t. Maybe it was random how he’d attacked us. Maybe I was lucky enough to not ever be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe it was because I was such a mess that he didn’t think I was a real threat. Whatever the reason, it was a wake-up call. I was alive—if it could be called that—and there had to be a reason. Something I was meant to do. With my testimony, the police had enough to make an arrest; they just couldn’t find the guy. So I decided to try to find him myself.”
My mouth fell open slightly. “You went after him?” I wanted to be appalled by that, but, in fact, it was kind of hot. I’d always liked JC’s dominant side in the bedroom. I hadn’t realized I’d like it outside as well.
“Yep. Maybe it was a veiled attempt at suicide, but I found myself in the task. I became obsessed. I hired some really good, really expensive, bounty hunters-slash-detectives. And I slowly began to set up business deals with people Ralphio had worked with, hoping to find some leads. As an investor, it was pretty easy to work myself into questionable crowds without drawing any attention. It was a perfect cover.”
The strange arrangement he’d had at the Eighty-Eighth Floor made more sense. “That’s why Matt let you use the club on Tuesdays.”
“Yeah.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you how we were connected. Matt thought it was better to keep that quiet while Ralphio was on the loose. I think mostly it was easier for him not to talk about Corinne. It wasn’t my place to reveal that to you.”
“Sure.” It was understandable but also sad. I’d been hurting from my past. Matt had been hurting from his. We could have leaned on each other. Why was it so hard for the broken to find each other? It made the miracle of me finding JC seem even more spectacular.
Except, here he was a good person. An amazing person who gave up his life to right a wrong, and I wanted him even more for that.
“Honestly,” I said now, wanting to be sure he didn’t feel bad for not telling me about Matt. “I understand the secrecy. It was frustrating, but I get it.”
“I appreciate that,” he said. “Anyway, as much as he didn’t want to talk about it, Matt wanted Ralphio caught as much as I did. It was why he let me get away with things at the club that he wouldn’t have let others get away with.”
I mock scoffed. “Because illegal gambling and stripping in the VIP room were the obvious ways to find a fugitive.”
“It drew the people I needed to talk to.”
It drew me to him. I couldn’t deny that.
“Eventually it paid off. I got a tip from a lobbyist who was drunk at the time he gave it, but I gave the info to my guys and they found Ralphio and brought him back to Manhattan.”
“That was the day you found me in the kitchen with my father.” It was also the last time I’d seen my sperm donator. He’d given me a black eye, and JC had stormed in and rescued me. Then he’d told me he loved me. And I’d never been happier.
JC nodded, his eyes focused on the sidewalk ahead of us. “The next day Ralphio made bail.”
I remembered that too and now things clicked together. He’d had a phone call that had upset him. Next thing I knew, he was proposing, begging me to go with him to Vegas.
“He made bail and you had to go into hiding. So you wouldn’t be killed too.” Saying it sent a chill running down my spine. It made me feel selfish and petty to have spent all the hours that I had lamenting his participation in Mennezzo’s trial. As if he’d had any other choice. As if I preferred him with me and a target, as opposed to not with me and safe.
And while he’d had all that to deal with, I was screwing my best friend’s brother-in-law. For fun. Much younger brother-in-law. My stomach churned.
“But it’s over now.” I said it to make myself feel better. And because he’d seemed dodgy when I’d asked it before.
“The trial’s over. Right.” It hadn’t been what I asked, and he didn’t look at me, but maybe I was reading into things. “Ralphio is behind bars tonight. That feels good. I never thought I’d be a vindictive person, but I’d be pleased as fuck if he gets the death penalty.”
“Is that a possibility?”
“Because he ran, yeah. But even if it’s just life in prison, I’m happy. As long as his life can’t go on anymore.”
It reminded me of what JC had said on the stand. How he’d died when Corinne died. As much as it hurt to believe that meant he couldn’t ever love anyone like her—could never love me like her—I also felt like that was fair. So maybe it didn’t matter what I’d done with Chandler, because JC was never mine to betray.
But he had been mine. Even if I hadn’t been his, he’d been mine and I had betrayed that.
Though, none of it probably mattered if all this was leading to our goodbye.
I looked away, wrapping my arms around myself as I shivered. The day was already rather warm. Yet I felt so cold.
“What are you thinking?”
I shook my head, not ready to say what I needed to say. But I knew he wouldn’t let me get away with leaving it at that—huh, maybe there were things I knew about him after all. “I’m just grateful he’s finally put away.” I forced a smile, but it felt tight.
JC cocked his head at me. His expression said that he could see I was hiding something, which just added to my guilt. I was a coward, though.
And it hadn’t bought me any time, really, because now we were at my apartment building. I stopped and turned to him, wanting to say something audacious even though I hadn’t figured out exactly what that would be. Knowing the thing to do was confess.
He gave me another excuse to wait. “Can I walk you up?”
Yes. I could tell him upstairs, outside my door so that I could run inside and hide afterward.
But wanting to walk me up was another thing that confused me, and I almost swore he meant for me to feel that way. Meant for me to be mixed up and befuddled. Why did he want to? Would he want to come in my apartment as well? Because he wanted to touch me as badly as I wanted to touch him?
Or did he simply have more words that he, also like me, hadn’t gotten the nerve to say yet?
Either way, I had a gut-level sense that letting him accompany me farther would put me in a very vulnerable position, which was funny considering I was the one who had shit to say now. Down here, though, I could spill my guts and be the one to walk away. Up there, it would be him.
Or maybe he wouldn’t walk away.
Maybe we’d end up in bed, which would be amazing. Until we realized that we had nothing else between us. And when that ended up being the case, it would still be devastating to part later. Maybe even more devastating. Prolonging the inevitable was only going to hurt worse later.
Unless it wasn’t inevitable.
Honestly, I didn’t have any idea what could happen. So I said, “Yes.”
We were quiet in the elevator, and that added to the tension—both sexual and otherwise. Being together in such a small, secluded space gathered the charge tighter around us, and suddenly I couldn’t stop looking at his lips. Couldn’t stop thinking about the warmth radiating off his body. Every floor we passed was one closer to my apartment. To my bed.
To my door, where I had to tell him the truth.
Then we were walking down my hallway, my heart pounding, my mouth dry. Each step, I told myself, would be the one where I’d say what I needed to say. Each step went by in silence. Finally, at my door, I turned to him, my mouth open and ready.
“JC,” I said, at the same time that he said, “Gwen.”
…And we were back to the tripping over each other.
“You go.” I held my breath, waiting for whatever he was going to say, knowing it was heavy by the way he carried himself, the slump of his shoulders, the frown in his eyes, his hands stuffed again inside his pockets.
God, I wanted those hands out and open and on me. Yearned for them to brush across my skin, to peel me from my clothes, to ease the throbbing in my head and heart and between my legs. They were weapons, I decided. If they touched me like I wanted them to, they’d burn. And if he left after that—their absence would destroy me.
Perhaps it was best he kept them tucked away.
He leaned against the wall opposite me. “I, uh, I saw you at the trial.” He swallowed and all I could focus on was his Adam’s apple as it bobbed up and down. “I saw you, and I’m really glad you came. I appreciated it. I’m sorry if any of it was hard to listen—”
“Don’t apologize for that. It wasn’t my place to be there anyway, and there’s nothing you should be sorry for saying or feeling or—”
He cut me off. “I came here that night.”
“You did?” My voice trembled, and I wondered if he knew it was a reflection of what was going on with my heart. He came after me!
I was so elated it took me a minute to understand what else he was saying. Took a minute to get why these words were hard for him. Why he hadn’t come to my door that night. “You saw me then too.”
My stomach dropped as I imagined exactly what he’d seen—me leaving the building with Chandler. Our embrace as he’d put me into a cab. It was innocent, but it hadn’t been an innocent relationship and the undertones of what we’d done together had to translate in the way we touched each other. It didn’t matter that JC hadn’t seen the worst of what it was. It was enough.
“Yeah, I saw you. Joe, the detective that had kept me updated about you, had already told me, but when you came to the trial, I thought he must have been wrong.” He flashed a tight grin. “Chandler Pierce. A bit young, isn’t he?” He teased, but it was superficial.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s—”
Again he cut me off. “No apologies from you either. I told you I didn’t want you to wait, and I meant it. I hoped you were happy. I want you to be happy. Are you?”
I hadn’t thought his perception could be worse than I imagined but this was. I wasn’t with Chandler. I wasn’t in love with him. I wasn’t happy. Would he believe me if I tried to explain? All I could manage to say was, “No.”
“You’re not happy?” His expression was confused and something else that I couldn’t identify—surprised? Relieved?
“No. I’m not happy.” I hadn’t realized it until I said it aloud. “But also, no, you’ve got it wrong. I’m not with Chandler.”
JC straightened. “What are you saying?”
I leaned my back against the door, needing the support. “I mean, I was. It wasn’t anything for me but—” A separate stab of guilt pierced through me, this one over what Chandler wanted me to be for him.
I couldn’t deal with that right now. I pushed it aside. “Anyway, it was more for him than it was for me and I’m not proud of that. But that’s over. Mostly. For the moment. It was over before that day.” And now I’d confirmed it had once not been over and saying it out loud killed me. More than I’d thought it would. Especially now that it seemed that JC might do more than just care.
I felt horrible. Like I might cry, though I couldn’t really identify all the feelings that were worming around inside me. I wanted JC. Yet I didn’t know what I wanted with him. Didn’t know if it was smart to want anything with him. Because I didn’t want to be hurt. And I didn’t want to have hurt him. And I had.
But JC’s reaction wasn’t what I expected.
In one sudden movement, he’d crossed the hallway and braced his palms on the door, caging me in. “Are you saying that you aren’t with him now?”
I bit my lip. “But I was. I’m sorry that I was. I should have—”
He shook his head back and forth. “I don’t care about that. Just tell me—do I have a shot?”
My throat was suddenly thick with emotion. Jesus. How could he ask that? He didn’t just have a shot—he had the best shot. He might even have the only shot.
All I could get out, though, was a husky, “Yes.”
His features softened, his eyes locking with mine as he brought his hands down from the wall and cupped my face. At his touch, every nerve in my body woke up, not only to overwhelming lust, but something deeper. Something that had slept since he’d been gone, and now, like Sleeping Beauty, was stretching its arms and spreading its reach through my being.
And he hadn’t even kissed me.
But he was going to. It was in his face. It was in the underscore of his words when he said, “That’s all I want to hear.” And it was in the way he leaned in closer.
I tilted my chin up, ready to meet his lips, ready to be consumed by the flare of emotion inside.
Then, just before he closed the distance, he said my name, and a panic rushed through me. I’d been so hurt when he’d left. He’d been the first person I’d ever truly let into my heart and if we didn’t work out, if something went wrong, I didn’t know if I could take it. And when his mouth brushed against mine, instead of giving in, I let out a soft plea. “JC. I can’t…”
He moved back an inch. “What? Is this not good? Do you not want this?” He was eager and concerned and adorable in both.
I smiled. “No. I mean, I do. I do want this. I do want you.” Like, really, really wanted him. “But…”
He straightened and an alarm went off in my head. A screeching voice begging me to shut the fuck up and let the man kiss me already.
But the “but” was there at the tip of my tongue ,and it needed to be said because it could be everything. The difference between whether we could be good together or great, and it was important enough—important enough to me—to have to say it.
So I ignored the internal opposition. “But I can’t do this again.”
His hands dropped from my face. “Which part? Because if it’s something I can change…”
“I don’t want you to change.” I already missed his touch. It had been so long in coming, and I was desperate to hold onto him, despite how my words sounded, so I put my palms against his chest. I sighed at the distantly familiar form of his taut muscles. So firm. So beautifully sculpted. So deliciously tempting.
Yeah, hands were dangerous.
I brought them down to my sides and pressed them against the door behind me instead. “I’m not asking for you to change who you are. But I can’t do what we were doing, JC.” I corrected myself, “Justin,” intentionally reminding both of us of the obstacles in the way of our relationship.
It did its job. He took a step back, tentative. On edge. “What is it that we were doing?”
“The casual, no-commitment. It can’t work this time.” I took a deep breath and plunged on. “I gave you my heart. Totally. But I don’t even know you. You don’t know me.”
His guard softened. “You do know me, though. The important parts. Is it everything? No. But we have time for that. We can get there.” He reached his thumb out and swept it across my jaw. “I want to get there.”
I swear my skin shot a degree hotter under his caress. “I want that too. I need that. I need to know that we won’t have walls anymore. Having said that, I’m not quite ready to bring all of mine down. Yet. So, maybe we could do this differently this time?” Differently, even though what I wanted in the moment was to take his thumb between my lips and suck.
“Whatever you want.” He shoved his hands back in his pockets, and I understood now. Touching made it too hard to say the words that needed to be said. “As long as you’re saying we can do it at all, I’m in. Whatever the conditions. I’d prefer not to be tied up and made your slave, but if that’s what you need, I think you’d look really hot in one of those dominatrix outfits. With the whip. And the boots. And the tassels.”
I chuckled. “Stop it. This isn’t about sex.”
“That’s what the people in that lifestyle always say, which I don’t understand, but I can try to be open.” This was the JC that had won me over in the first place—playful, charming. Oozing with sexiness.
“You know that’s not what I mean.” I cast my gaze down, shy about what I wanted to say next. “And if I did, I think you already know that I’m more of the submissive type. With you, anyway.” I peeked up at him.
“Thank God. Now take off all your clothes.”
“JC! I’m serious.” But I stifled a giggle as I said it.
“You think I’m not? Fine. Go ahead and tell me what you’re thinking. It sounds like you have something in mind that’s probably a whole lot less fun and a whole lot more practical. But hit me. I can take it.”
“Yeah, actually. I was thinking we could…maybe…” God, this felt so silly when we’d been as intimate as we’d been. “Maybe we could go on a date?”
“A date?” He said it like he wasn’t sure he’d heard me right, not like he thought I was being ridiculous.
Which made it easier to say it again. “Yeah. A date. Where we set a time and you pick me up and you take me some place. A date.” It hadn’t ever been something we’d done before, and suddenly it felt vital.
His mouth slowly curled into a half smile. “A date sounds like a fabulous idea. When? Now?”
“You’re very eager.” To be honest, I was too. “But now I need to sleep.”
“Dates can involve sleeping.”
“No, they can’t.” I laughed outright now, because this was the JC I remembered—flirting and forward, but mostly I was just so happy that this was happening. That he was here. That he wanted me still. “Besides, our date specifically needs to not be in a bedroom.”
It was his turn to let out a sigh. “When you said differently, you really meant it.”
“I did.” I was crazy for meaning it. He’d asked me to take off my clothes in jest, but if he asked in seriousness, I’d be a goner. We had such intense chemistry. Such a compelling draw, and I was asking him to deny that…why? To find out if we connected elsewhere? What if he wasn’t into finding out?
My legs were trembling as I asked, “Is that still something you might be interested in doing? With me?”
“Yes.” His expression complimented the sincerity in the word. “God, yes. I’m very interested in doing it with you.” A naughty gleam appeared in his eye. “And not doing it. Both. I’m interested in both.”
I blushed. “Just a date first. We know we’re good together when we’re doing it. I need to know what we are when we’re not.”
He scowled, but it was playful. And then he was serious. “Just a date then. Tonight? It is Wednesday.” Our date night.
“But it’s The Fourth.”
His face fell slightly. “You aren’t working, are you? No, you probably already have plans.”
“I do, but—”
He cut me off. “Break them.”
I shivered. JC could be my plus one on Hudson’s fireworks boat trip. Laynie had even said as much. But, even if I didn’t mind sharing him for the night, I really was submissive to him. And when he talked to me like that—commanded me—I couldn’t do anything but comply. “Okay.”
“Excellent.” His smile was a full one this time, and it reached his eyes. “Is seven too early? Six?”
“Six-thirty is perfect.”
He put his hands on my shoulders, and my heart tripped. He ran them down my arms, sending goose bumps across the surface of my skin and tingles shooting beneath. “Then that’s when I’ll be here,” he said.
He leaned in and as much as I hoped that he’d kiss me, I prayed that he wouldn’t, because I knew that if he did, I wouldn’t be able to keep it from turning into something that had to be finished on the other side of my door. And that would make the whole date idea null and void.
So it was a good thing when he only pressed his lips to my forehead and stepped away. A perfectly, awfully miserable compromise.
He walked backward down the hall, his eyes never leaving me. “This is incredibly difficult, you know.”
I leaned my head against the doorframe. “Walking backward?”
“Walking away.”
Damn, could he make me swoon. “It’s hard for me too.”
“I could come back...”
“No. This is good.”
“Matter of opinion.” At the elevator, he hit the call button and said, “Dress casual. And don’t look so good that I’m forced to rip your clothes off.”
I giggled.
“Never mind. It’s impossible. You always look that good.”
He gave an adorable half-wave, then the elevator doors opened and he disappeared inside.
I stood where I was for who knows how long, tracing my fingers across the place his lips had touched my forehead, feeling more giddy than I’d ever remembered feeling. Cherishing his kiss as though it had been on my lips. As if it had been my first. As if it was the only kiss that had ever mattered.