Chapter Five
I woke up around two that afternoon.
It was early for me, but I’d gone to sleep early too, having passed out as soon as I’d gotten home. I hadn’t even managed to finish off more than a glass of Moscato—Norma’s favorite and the only thing in the apartment, though way too sweet for my tastes—before I’d sunk my head into my pillow and let the void swallow me whole. Perhaps that was best because I didn’t have a hangover now or even a headache.
In fact, I woke up feeling pretty damn good.
Not good as in I’d forgotten what was happening with Ben or what Norma had said to me about not being strong. But good as in I now felt like I had the energy to cope. It was amazing to see what a difference a good night’s—er, day’s—sleep could make.
Except, as I headed for the shower and felt the reminder of JC in my aching thighs, I wondered if maybe it wasn’t just a good sleep that had affected me. As the hot water poured over me and I washed between my legs, I was invaded with the memory of JC massaging my clit, rubbing me toward orgasm. The words he’d encouraged me with to get there.
And I’d been the one to jump him.
A wave of giddiness fell over me. And I started to laugh.
Like, hardcore laugh. Like, make-me-bend-over laugh. “I had to put my hand up against the tile to keep me from falling over” kind of laugh.
In the midst of my fit, it occurred to me that maybe I had finally gone mad, but I quickly dismissed it and let myself go in this emotion as fully as I’d let myself go when I’d climaxed that morning. The laughing made sense, actually. I’d done a completely out of character thing when I’d banged JC in the kitchen. And instead of feeling shitty as I expected, or hoped, rather, I felt renewed. And alive. And just plain good.
It was so unexpected, it became funny. Also, maybe I was going a little bit mad.
Whether I’d lost it or not, I had an unmistakable spring in my step as I dried off. I was still wrapped in a towel with my blonde hair bundled in another on top of my head, when the phone rang. Hoping it was news about Ben, I ran to it.
After glancing at the caller ID, I answered. “Norma? You made it there? How is he?”
“Yes, I made it here. I landed a couple of hours ago and came straight to the hospital.” In the background, I heard an overhead intercom paging a Dr. So and So. Then heels on a hard floor—probably Norma’s. I could picture her pacing as she talked to me on her cell. “Did I wake you up?”
“No, I was awake. And I wouldn’t have cared anyway. How. Is. He?” That she hadn’t answered that yet worried me.
“He’s good.” She sighed, which did nothing to ease the tension she was carrying. Her voice was still tight and strained. “I’m sorry. I should have led with that. He’s better than good, actually. Physically, anyway. They got to him in time and his liver doesn’t show any signs of long-term damage.”
“That’s great!” I was so relieved that I thought I might start laughing again. The road to emotional repair was going to be hard enough for him. At least he wouldn’t be dealing with health issues as well. “So what now? Is he checking out? Have you seen him?”
“He still doesn’t want to see me. But he knows I’m here. I wrote him a letter on the plane. I don’t know if it will make a difference or if he’ll even read it. We’ll see.”
I definitely had a different outlook than when she’d first called me that morning. This time, instead of being distraught that Ben didn’t want to see me, I was more concerned that he didn’t want to see Norma. “Ah, sissy, I’m so sorry.”
“Sissy. You haven’t called me that in years.” Finally, the stiffness of her tone loosened and took a hint of nostalgia.
“No, I haven’t.” When Norma had been my primary caretaker, it had felt right. An apt substitute for calling her mom, which in many ways, she really was to me. I could tell it pleased her now, and I was glad to be able to give her that comfort. “Maybe I should call you that more often.”
“That might be nice.” Her smile was evident through the receiver. “As long as you’re not meaning that I’m a coward.”
“Never.” I wanted to ask what her letter had said, but I knew it was probably private. So I asked the more important question. “What happens with Ben now?”
The softness she’d discovered disappeared and she returned to the harder no-nonsense version of herself. “They want to keep him until we can make arrangements to transfer him to an inpatient mental facility. His social worker has given me some leads, but I’m looking around to find the right place. It might be a couple of days.”
“I don’t say this often, Norma, but thank God Hudson Pierce pays you so fucking well.” There’d been times when I thought her paycheck was extravagant. Compared to how we’d grown up, it really was over-the-top. Not that I didn’t appreciate what she did for me. I also made sure I contributed as much as she’d let me. And I saved. A lot.
But right now I was nothing but grateful for her bank account. I knew it would get Ben the best care possible.
“Well, I’ll make sure Hudson is aware of your appreciation.”
“Yeah, I bet you will.” Maybe it wasn’t the right time to tease her about her boss fixation, but I couldn’t help myself. Besides, she hadn’t mentioned her romantic feelings for him in a long time, and as a sister it was my duty to remind her that I knew. “In case you can’t tell, I’m waggling my eyebrows.”
Instead of getting embarrassed and gushy, she surprised me with her response. “You’re in a good mood. What’s that about?”
She was deflecting. But I was in a better mood than I should have been and with only one reasonable explanation. “I fucked a random guy in the kitchen at the club. It did wonders for my attitude.”
“You should do that more often. It’s helped.” Her tone said she thought I was joking.
Which was fine. I didn’t really know how I’d explain my encounter with JC if she pressed. “Yeah, yeah. I love you too. Anyway.” I’d wandered from the kitchen as we talked and now, in the living room, I flopped on the couch and hugged my knees to my chest before returning to the serious talk. “Norma, will Ben even go into a facility?”
“I think he will. It’s completely voluntary, but his social worker says it was his idea.”
That was a good sign. I picked at the polish on my toenail as I considered the situation. “Maybe that’s what all of this was? A way for him to tell you that he needed more in-depth care.” It was hard for me to accept that Ben didn’t want to live anymore, and I’d grasp onto any other option if given to me.
I knew Norma felt the same. “I hope so,” she said. “Personally I think he doesn’t want to deal with Dad’s release. He obviously feels guilty about putting him behind bars in the first place—”
“Which he shouldn’t. Dad was hurting him.” He’d hurt us too, but not nearly as badly as he’d hurt Ben.
And I’d known Ben felt that way. He wouldn’t have run so far away if he didn’t. It was probably why he was so much more scarred by our abusive childhood than Norma and me. Because though we’d all been hit, he’d essentially been the one to finally put him behind bars.
“It’s not that simple to say what Ben should or shouldn’t feel,” Norma said. “He did the right thing, yes. But it’s natural that he feels responsible. And I’m sure that he’s worried that Dad will come after him now. I assured him in the letter that the parole terms won’t let him leave the state. I’ll make sure whatever facility we check him into will be secure, and I’ll hire a bodyguard when he gets out if that’s what he needs to feel better.”
“You told him all that in the letter?”
“Yeah.”
It was overwhelmingly reassuring to discover the lengths Norma would go to for Ben. I knew she’d do the same for me. She loved us wholly. She cared for us in ways that our father never did and our mother never could. She tried harder than she needed to make up for them. Often, I worried who was making it up to her.
Today, I tried to be the one who was her comfort. “He’ll read it, Norma. It will help. And when he does, I bet he’ll even want to see you.”
“Maybe.” She cleared her throat, and like I always knew with Norma, I could sense she was about to say something I didn’t want to hear. “Gwen, I know you were kidding about the guy in the kitchen, but maybe it’s not such a bad idea. You really need something to unwind you.”
And I was right—I didn’t want to hear it. It was bad enough when a stranger called me out on being uptight and I could deny it, or fuck him, as it turned out. When it was my sister, someone who knew me well, it was not as easily refutable.
My pleasant mood plummeted, and I was no longer concerned about consoling her. “I hadn’t realized my personality was so bothersome to you.”
“Don’t do that,” she scolded. “Don’t try to make it seem like I don’t love you just the way you are. You know that I do.” She softened now. “Your personality has never bothered me in the least. Your unhappiness, on the other hand, has. I always worry about Ben, but you should know I worry about you too. At least Ben knows that he needs an outlet. It might do you some good to find one as well.”
We hung up after that, and I immediately felt lonely. Again, I considered buying a ticket and going out to San Francisco just to be there with her. Just to be with someone.
But I didn’t want Norma more upset than she was. And she hadn’t told me the name of the hospital Ben was at, anyway. On purpose, I was sure.
So I stayed home. It was the first Tuesday evening in a long time that I’d spent alone, and that made me more restless than usual. I couldn’t find anything that would occupy my mind enough to settle down. No matter what I tried to do—reading, surfing Pinterest, cleaning—my thoughts kept returning to Ben and Norma and Dad.
I thought about JC, too. I guessed he was at the club while I was sitting on my ass watching Netflix, trying not to worry about my family or my own need for an outlet. I considered going to Eighty-Eighth. Considered finding something revealing in my closet, doing my hair and my makeup. I could show up in the Viper and take Norma’s advice—try to unwind.
But it would be weird to show up like that. Clingy and annoying. JC and I had clearly had a wham, bam, one-time thing. He’d probably have his horde with him again, anyway. Half-dressed women ready to respond to the snap of his fingers. He didn’t need me. And while I’d been bold when I’d dropped my panties that morning, that didn’t mean I was ready for an orgy.
Oh, and Alyssa was working. He’d come to the club that morning for her. I hadn’t forgotten that. Shame on me for making the whole thing a potential sex triangle in the first place. I refused to encourage it.
That didn’t mean I couldn’t fantasize about him again. Home alone with my vibrator, it seemed the thing to do.
It wasn’t until I’d woken up on Wednesday afternoon that I remembered—we hadn’t used a condom.
***
I got into a walk-in clinic that afternoon only to be told that it would be at least two weeks before any STDs could potentially show up. It would be longer before I could test for HIV. I was offered a morning-after pill, which I declined. Instead, I asked the nurse practitioner to check to make sure my IUD was still in place. It was. I left with an appointment to come back in a month.
A whole month. A month to worry. A month to regret. Needless to say, any bounce I’d had from my screw in the kitchen was long gone by the time I showed up for my shift on Thursday night. I was the closing assistant, so I didn’t actually need to be on the clock until ten, but I’d come in at eight-thirty, tired of being alone and fidgety at home. The main doors didn’t open until nine, so when I came in the back door, I stopped by to check on the kitchen staff before heading out to the office.
Maybe I just wanted to see it again—the cold, sterile room made alive by the bustling of prep cooks and wait staff. The place I’d stripped myself of my sanity and my panties. The place I’d let myself go. As the head chef, Brent, barked an order regarding the proper angle to julienne carrots, all I could hear were JC’s words to me. I want to make you feel good.
Even with the nagging worry about the health risks of my behavior, the memory brought a pleasant blush to my cheeks.
“Hey, pretty lady,” Brent said when he noticed me. He was one of the few staff members at the club that I could really get along with. Partly because I wasn’t his superior. While I was the first assistant manager of the club, Brent was pretty much the first assistant manager of the kitchen. We were equals who both reported to Matt.
But I had a feeling Brent and me would get along even if one of us outranked the other. He was as demanding of excellence as I was, as orderly and organized, but the air about him was less severe. He laughed more than I did, for one. And he could joke around without losing respect. His kitchen always ran smoothly, but he never showed the stress that I felt when I finished a perfect shift.
I envied him in many ways but not enough to resent him. I knew he was who he was and I was who I was. I recognized that those parts of him that I coveted didn’t live in me.
Tonight, though, filled with the thoughts of the unexpected tryst I’d had the other morning and Norma’s insinuation that I should unwind, I wondered if maybe there was a hidden vitality in me after all.
I pretended that there was, that I could access it just by willing it. I flashed a brighter than usual smile. “Hey yourself.”
“Now that’s what I’m talking about. You need to show those pearlies off more, Gwen-Gwen. They make your whole face.”
“Oh, Brent, try as you might, you aren’t going to get in my pants.” It was a joke that made us both laugh. Not only was Brent twenty years older than me, but also one-hundred-and-ten percent gay.
But along with being humorous, it was also surprising. I hardly ever made jokes let alone let myself laugh at them after.
Brent pushed up the chef hat that I suspected he wore for fashion rather than function. He eyed me. “You’re frisky today. Might I guess it has something to do with a man?”
I rolled my eyes, yet I felt my cheeks reddening again. Which was silly because Brent couldn’t know anything about JC. Unless…were the security cameras focused on that part of the kitchen?
I casually scanned the ceiling for the cameras as I answered. “If I’m anything it’s tired. I’m not sleeping well. My brother’s had some problems and my sister flew out to take care of him. And I don’t sleep well when I’m all alone.” Whew, the cameras weren’t pointed directly at the table—our table. Maybe if someone watched it they would make out the very edge of us, but no one ever watched the tapes unless there was an incident, and they only stored for a week at a time anyway.
“Ah, that’s a bummer. I’d hoped your fella had gotten a hold of you by now. Seems like you don’t have to be alone if you don’t want to be.” He winked at me.
Dammit. He did know about JC. But how? And what, exactly, did he know? “I don’t have a fella, Brent. What on earth are you talking about?”
“You didn’t see the message for you yet?”
“Where? Who from?” I hadn’t been anywhere but the kitchen and there was nothing waiting for me here. And the second question was one I didn’t have to ask.
“There’s one taped on your locker in the break room. There might be another in the office. The guy wouldn’t leave a name. Said you’d know who he was.”
God, “the guy” was cocky. But I did know who it was. Of course I knew who it was.
Brent moved to the stove to check on his soup as he talked to me. “He was here Tuesday. Came right in here like he owned the place and asked Matt when you’d be working again. Funny, Matt didn’t get on him about strolling through my kitchen, but he wouldn’t tell him when you worked either. Seems our boss cares more about protecting your goods than mine. Anyhoo.” He turned back to me. “The young man called again yesterday, and I happened to answer.”
“Did he leave a number?” I sounded eager, a stupid hormonal response. My whole body was tingling at the knowledge that JC had come looking for me. How could he do that? Turn my entire nervous system on without even being present?
“Yeah. It’s in the note. And, Gwen, I hope you don’t get offended by this, but damn, was that guy cute.”
“He’s a customer, Brent. Nothing else.” I wasn’t fooling either of us by the way I was already heading to the break room, a place I rarely went and at a speed that could only be called a run.
My locker was in the front of the room, a perk of having been a staff member for so long. I kept a box of tampons and a pair of sneakers in there for days that were too icy to head home in heels. Seemed like I couldn’t go a week without a waitress asking to borrow one. It never failed to amaze me how unprepared people could be. Periods came regularly. I mean, even I had feminine products on hand, and I didn’t get my period anymore.
The note was taped on the metal, not even folded over. Simply the words Call this guy followed by a phone number scrawled in Brent’s handwriting. I traced my fingers over the numbers, memorizing them unintentionally, or maybe intentionally, as I wondered why JC wanted to get a hold of me so badly. Was he worried that I’d gotten in trouble? Was he worried about the state I’d left him in? Did he want to see me again?
And if he did, did I want to see him again?
I’d thought about it. Hell, besides Ben and Norma, it was all I’d thought about the last two days. I’d ruled it out completely before we’d banged, and all the reasons I’d listed then still stood. But now that we’d been together, it felt like I needed to rethink. JC was obviously a playboy—if I hadn’t figured that out from the night I met him then I knew it now. Who else bagged a girl he barely knew simply because she came on to him?
But if I didn’t care about romance—which I didn’t—then did his playboy status really bother me? It had been good sex. It had been great sex. More importantly, it had made me feel better than I had in a long time. And he hadn’t gotten all mushy about it after. Which was a plus.
So what was stopping me from giving him another go?
Well, the fact that I had no idea how to ask for another go was one obstacle. And two, I wasn’t sure he did want to see me again.
And three, there was no way in hell I could call him. I wouldn’t even know what to say.
Behind me, the employee door swung open, bringing me back to my surroundings. I’d gotten in early, but I could still start on my pre-opening work.
I spun to head out but froze when I came face-to-face with the person who’d just entered.
It was JC. And he took my breath away.
He was wearing a suit again. It was tailored and expensive and suddenly I understood why so many women went ga-ga over a guy in a three-piece Armani. He looked rich and yet not pompous. Sort of like a rock star that had dressed up for the Grammys—a suit wasn’t what he belonged in, but oh, could he wear it.
Adding to his devastating sex appeal was what I knew about him now. That he fit my body like he fit that suit—tightly and with no give.
I didn’t bother to ask him how he got in before the club had opened, just like I hadn’t asked him how he’d gotten in the last time. And even if I’d really wanted to ask, I was too blown away to find any words.
He looked as surprised to have found me as I was to see him, but after a moment, the shock slid into a grin. “I’ve been looking for you.”
His voice was smooth and sincere. It poured over me like a nearly-too-hot shower—both wonderful and abrasive. I didn’t know if I wanted to luxuriate in it or step away and wait for it to cool. Didn’t know if I wanted to press closer to him or turn away.
I stayed put. “So I heard. The staff left this for me.” I held up the message I’d just read, amazed that I’d been able to make any sense with the way the heat of him jumbled my thought process.
His brow furrowed and I wondered if maybe I hadn’t really made sense after all. He pulled his cell phone out of his pants pocket and checked the screen. “That’s funny. I haven’t missed any calls.”
For the second time that night, I laughed. “I just got your message. I haven’t had a chance.” He was easier to talk to than I’d remembered. Or maybe easier to talk to than I’d realized since I hadn’t had much occasion to actually speak to him as of yet.
“You wouldn’t have called anyway.”
I lowered my gaze, not wanting him to see the truth in his guess. Hating the way his guess was, as always, right. I’d forgotten how he liked to point out perceptions that normal people ignored out of politeness. Maybe he wasn’t as easy to talk to as I’d just decided he was.
Or maybe it was me that wasn’t easy to talk to. I decided to put forth some effort. “I don’t know. I might have called you. As soon as I figured out what I was going to say.”
“You don’t know how happy that makes me to hear that.” He stepped closer and now there were only a few feet between us. The air around us felt charged, and as afraid as I was that he would close the distance altogether, I was more afraid that he wouldn’t.
So, of course, I broke the connection first, dancing to the side in what I hoped didn’t seem too obvious of a move.
“How did you know I’d be here tonight?” Trying to appear cool, I smoothed a hand over my hair, wishing it were down and that JC’s fingers were tangled in it instead.
No, I didn’t wish that. I wished he’d leave and never return.
“Deductive reasoning. You had two nights off. You work full time. Unless you were on vacation, you should be here tonight. I took the risk.” He met my eyes and I tried to hold his gaze.
But I found myself trying to read him even though I didn’t think I wanted to find out anything his eyes might be telling me, so I looked away quickly, moving my focus to his hands. “What’s that?”
He had a paper in his hand, folded into thirds. “Oh, it’s for you. I figured you’d want to see it as soon as possible.” He held it out to me, and I took it, careful not to let my fingers brush against his as I did.
Immediately, I admonished myself for not taking the opportunity to brush against him, because what if I never had that chance again?
But now I had this piece of paper in my hands, and the strangeness of whatever it could be was compelling enough to center my thoughts.
I unfolded it and scanned over what looked like some sort of report. “What is this?” But I didn’t have to wait for his answer. As I read further, it was clear what it was. I studied it closer now. HIV Early Detection—negative, HIV—negative, Chlamydia—negative, Hepatitis B –negative, Hepatitis C—negative, Herpes Simplex 1—negative, Herpes Simplex 2—negative, Gonorrhea—negative, Syphilis—negative. Each horrible and terrifying word followed by another word that erased all the fear of the one preceding it.
My shoulders felt the weight of a huge boulder fall from them. “This is your medical chart.”
“Part of my medical chart. The page I thought would interest you most.”
“It does. Thank you.” I looked at him now, wondering about this man who I knew nothing about. I’d made judgments about him, I realized. Sure, he was probably still a playboy. But while he’d been unsafe with me, his test results indicated that he at least had been safe with others. “This makes me feel a lot better.”
He nodded once, an informal you’re welcome. “I knew it would. That’s why I was so eager to find you. I’m sorry you had to wait the last couple of days for it. I would have gotten it to you sooner if I could.”
I felt the now familiar stab of irritation at JC’s ability to read me so well and had to bite my lip to keep from making a caustic remark about it. Besides, as much as it irritated me, it also fascinated me. How did he know me so well? And why did he care so much that I knew that he did?
Whatever the reason, he’d gone to the trouble of getting me information that I otherwise would have had to wait a month for. “I appreciate that,” I said, handing him back his medical report. “Honestly, I probably deserved a couple days of sweating it out.” It would certainly teach me to not use a condom again.
Though, now that I knew JC was clean, no condom with him wouldn’t be a problem.
Nope, nope, nope. Do not go there.
JC rubbed his chin while I tried not to imagine the tickle his stubble would give on my own hand. Or thigh. “You never do things like that, do you?” he asked.
Again, with his unfailing perception. “You know I don’t.”
“Good.”
I wasn’t sure he meant good that I didn’t sleep around or good that I didn’t sleep around without a condom, and I was about to ask when he answered my question for me. “I mean, good that you don’t normally put yourself in that sort of risky situation.”
“I don’t,” I said, but the shaking of my head that accompanied my response was at my continued awe of his ability to predict me and not to emphasize my statement.
He caught my eyes and this time he held them for several long seconds. I’d been avoiding them because I knew when I finally fell into his gaze, I’d be lost there. I saw, again, the traces of hardness and sorrow that I’d seen the first time I’d met him. There was a hint of recognition too, as if he knew that I saw that in him, as if he expected it of me. And also I saw genuine fascination.
It was that last thing that kept me in a daze. He looked at me with interest. Not my body, though he’d definitely stolen several glances at my curves, but me. It made me stand up a little taller. Made my smile a little easier. Made my heart a little less heavy.
Just about the time that I thought I’d either have to kiss him again or combust in flames, JC frowned and said, “Look, I hate to ask this, but…birth control? Do you…? Or the morning-after…”
He was nervous, and I had to stifle a giggle. It was hard to imagine JC ever being anything other than completely cool, even as I was witnessing it in front of me. “We’re good. I have an IUD.”
It was subtle, but he relaxed. “Good.”
“I don’t get periods anymore either because of it.” I reddened. “I don’t know why I told you that.”
“That’s good to know as well.” He chuckled, and I could tell he was laughing at himself as much as at me. “I didn’t realize how worried I’d been about it. Not your period but the birth control. I’m just usually really careful about being protected.” He leaned toward me—how were we suddenly only a foot apart?—and added. “Also, periods have never been something to scare me away, but it’s much more convenient to not have to worry about them.”
Goose bumps ran down my arms as I tried not to infer too much from his statement and yet wanted to all at once. “Well, like I said, we’re good. On both counts.”
“Awesome.”
I pulled at the hem of my shirt, suddenly not knowing what to say, half fearful I’d blurt out something else that was unnecessary or embarrassing. “Oh. I’m clean too. I haven’t had a test in a year, but I’m scheduled to get one next month and I can get it to you, if you want.”
“No. That’s fine. I’m sure you’re clean.”
It struck me as odd that he cared so much more about an unexpected pregnancy than a potentially life-threatening STD. Did he really fear children more than disease? Typical guy.
Then a horrible thought crossed my mind. “Are you saying I couldn’t have had sex in the last year? Is that why you don’t need to see a report to know I’m clean?”
“No! No. Of course not.” He was closer now, and he reached his hand out to brush my cheek. “I’m saying I trust you.”
His touch on my skin felt so right. The only thing that stopped me from leaning into it, begging for more, was the impact of his words. They equally affected me. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” One side of his mouth curled into a sneaky smile. “And it’s also likely you haven’t had sex in the last year.”
I started to say something—something not very nice—but he stopped me with a finger to my lips. “Hey, hey, not because of anything except that you’re denying yourself for some reason.”
My frown remained but I settled somewhat.
“Look, Gwen, you could have your pick of any guy. I have no doubt of that. You just don’t pick any. It’s not a put-down. You’re a very controlled woman.” He brushed a strand of hair off my face, sending another buzz of awareness through my body. “That’s admirable. A lot of people—most people—would kill for that skill. Control is the solution to weight loss and keeping money in your wallet. It’s something to be proud of no matter what anyone tells you. Me included.”
They were the words I’d been wanting to hear—words that assured me that I was okay like I was, that I didn’t need to change as Norma seemed to think I did. I was flattered and grateful and moved.
But I also sensed an undercurrent of something else to his tone. Condescension, maybe. Arrogance. Or maybe it was simply that I realized that JC’s compliment wasn’t really that complimentary. Because even if control were remarkable, even if other people would kill for that skill, I worried that if I didn’t find a way to sometimes let it go, my control might kill me.
So I was thrown. Again. Caught between being the person who’d banged a stranger in the kitchen and the person who alphabetized her spice cabinet. Caught between wanting JC to say more things like he just had and wanting him to take them all back.
Caught between wanting to tell him to go away for good and wanting him to never go away.
Confused and frustrated, I did what I often blamed Ben of doing—I ran away. I pushed JC out of my personal space, and in case the physical act wasn’t enough, I pushed JC away with words too. “By the way, I’m sorry I derailed your plans the other morning.”
If he was disappointed by my withdrawal, he didn’t let on. “My plans?”
“With Alyssa.” I could barely say her name without it catching in my throat. “You’d said you were waiting for her.” God, I sounded like a jealous girlfriend when I meant to sound exactly the opposite—like someone surrendering, not clutching on.
“Alyssa? You thought I was with Alyssa?” He chuckled. “I didn’t have plans with her. She wanted the number of one of the guys from last week and I dropped by to give it to her.”
“Oh, I assumed.” My tone was cold. While I was more relieved than I’d wanted to be that he wasn’t with Alyssa, I didn’t much appreciate being laughed at.
Before I had a chance to react, JC grabbed me with one hand at the waist and spun me against the lockers. He leaned close, his mouth inches from my lips, his body caging mine in. “Don’t assume, Gwen. It doesn’t become you.”
“You know you’re kind of an ass.” Damn, I wanted to kiss him. And then smack him. Then possibly kiss him some more.
“Yes. I really am.” His breath tickled against my lips and I held my own breath, waiting for him to move in. Waiting for his mouth to cover mine. Instead, he kept talking. “Mostly, Gwen, I just don’t want you to think you have anything to be jealous of. She is definitely not who I want.”
I didn’t know what to say. Or do. But as the seconds ticked by, it became apparent that he wanted me to make the next move. He wanted me to kiss him.
I wanted to—I so, so wanted to.
But I just couldn’t. When I’d jumped him before, I’d been half-crazy with grief and worry. I had an excuse for acting irrationally. Now, I didn’t. Now, if I kissed him, if I made a move of any kind, well, it would be a conscious choice. And while I’d flirted with the idea of more with him, I didn’t know if I could actually make that firm of a decision.
He sensed it in me. His eyes fell first, and I thought I might have caught a flash of disappointment in his expression, but perhaps I was flattering myself. Then he stepped back, setting me free from his all-male prison. “Well, that’s all I had. I should let you get back to work. If there’s anything, ever, that you need…”
It was the last invitation he’d give me. I don’t know how I knew it, but I knew it clear as crystal. And I ached inside, wishing I had the strength to be someone else. Wishing I was the kind of person who didn’t think too much or too hard or too long.
Wishing I could do more than watch him leave.
He was almost gone when it happened. I called after him. “JC!”
I waited until he spun back toward me before I went on, mostly because I had no idea in hell what I was going to say. When I spoke, the words were automatic. “Your offer—did you mean it?”
His brow furrowed questioningly.
“You said before that you could help me. Help me be less tense.” My words fell out in a rush partly because I was suddenly full of adrenaline and partly because I was afraid I would stop myself if I slowed down. “Did you mean it?”
JC smiled in a way that was half-taunting and all hot as hell. “Gwen, if you’re asking if I’m willing to pop your cork again, the answer is yes, I very much am. Additionally, I’m willing to help you relax.”
“You’ll help me relax with fucking?” Norma would be so proud.
“And other things.” He grinned like a man who had caught his long-hunted prey, and my pulse kicked up from both fear and excitement. “Did I mean it when I offered it? Yes. I did. I do. Is it something you’d like to talk more about?”
“I think I would.” I wanted to sound surer than that because I was surer than that, so I corrected myself. “I would like to talk more about it.”
“I’ll take you to lunch tomorrow.” His tone was final. He may have been tentative before, when I’d still been indecisive, but once I’d admitted my interest, he took control.
Surprisingly, I liked that. It was strangely comforting to not to have to worry about something even though it also felt foreign. But this was what I wanted. So I’d let him make our plans.
Except for one thing. “I don’t do lunches.” If JC were going to be in my world, it would have to be on my schedule.
“Of course you don’t, I wasn’t thinking. That’s fine. We can work with that.” His tone suggested he was talking about more than just the date we were currently planning. “We’ll do breakfast. I’ll pick you up here at six.”
He left then, and in complete opposition to the morning I’d heard about Ben when I’d felt numb and frozen, I was overwhelmed with emotions. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to scream or squeal or laugh or cry. I felt like a pressure cooker ready to burst.
For better or worse, I’d done it—two impulsive things in less than a week.
Somehow I had a feeling this was just the beginning.