Chapter Thirteen
Tom didn’t like leaving Flick. He got to the building foyer and almost turned back. He could take a day’s leave too, there’d be no issue. But would she want that? He’d pushed her into accepting him in her bed and made it hard for her not to eat breakfast. She’d clung to him most of the night so he didn’t regret that call, but once they were out of bed she shut down on him. Just that one smile to show she was somewhere inside the shell she’d drawn around herself.
She’d been awake most of the night, because he had been too, but where he was everyday sleep-deprived, nothing a good, brisk walk wouldn’t fix, Flick was pale and seemed fragile.
That was what’d shocked him most. How the light and sound and energy of her had spun out to nothing leaving her bleached blank, a bad clone missing all the key ingredients of the essential Flick. It was unnerving to see her so drawn and to be deprived of her easy chatter.
But she needed to sleep and she needed to feel, and if he stuck around he might mess with that, so he went to work.
He only remembered long silences in the house and being sad after Mom died, but with an adult’s lens he knew her death changed Dad. Made him fearful, turned him into a harsher disciplinarian, hoping Tom would be protected from the randomness of the universe if he didn’t make snap decisions, stray outside the lines. Tom knew it explained a lot about himself.
Flick’s relationship with Drew wasn’t something he was easy with, but the man was as much a friend as surrogate parent, and there was nothing fake about Flick’s grief. The least Tom could do was be there for her. Provide whatever consolation she’d accept. It put his own crisis of faith into perspective. He was no worse off today than before Harry un-retired, but Flick’s world had been pulled inside out and left her raw and exposed.
Wren appeared in his office doorway, five minutes after he’d doffed his suit coat and logged on. “Are you sick?”
“Nope.”
“You’re late. You missed a team update.”
“Thank you for that stunningly original observation. I can see why we pay you the big bucks.”
She rolled her eyes. Her shoes were zebra-striped and had red pom-poms on the toes. “I’m glad to see you.”
“You saw me yesterday. What made you think you wouldn’t see me today?”
“That would be the you’re-late thing, and since it follows from the thirty-five-unanswered-messages-I-sent-you-over-the-weekend thing, you might see the reason for my concern.”
“No.” He looked at his screen but she didn’t take the hint and go away, so he relented. “I’m cool. I haven’t blown a fuse. I’m not going to do anything rash.” In fact, it was an insult she thought he might. “You could have asked me this yesterday.”
“I was observing yesterday. Besides, you were in meetings all day and I hardly caught sight of you. Josh was worried, but you don’t seem as bent out of shape as I thought you might be, considering.”
“Considering what?”
“Your career got—” She mimed something being ripped up and tossed away.
“Any time you want to go back to billing a client would be fine by me.”
“How is Flick? Is she still fine by you?”
“That.” A flash of Flick’s face, drawn and shuttered, the way she’d tucked herself into him in bed last night and held on tight, interrupted his thought.
“That?” Wren prompted.
“That’s over.” It didn’t feel over so much as changed, but into what?
“Oh.”
“It was never on. She’s leaving soon.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“What is it with the third degree?”
“Shoot me for being concerned about you. I’ll stop now. I’m convinced you’re the regular grumpy Tom we all know and struggle to love, not a hyper version with vengeance on the brain. While I have your attention, we have a six-thirty meeting with Amtech.”
Regular grumpy? Vengeance? “We?”
“Us.”
“I got my career trashed on Friday. I went hiking all weekend. I was late in this morning. Do I look like a guy who wants a six-thirty meeting?”
“Um?”
“The answer to that is no.”
Wren’s eyes popped. “Really?”
“Hell yes, really.”
“What do I tell the Amtech folk?”
“How about pick a meeting time that’s not slap-bang in the middle of someone’s evening? And if the next set of words out of your mouth goes, ‘but we always have six-thirty meetings with Amtech,’ I’m going to throw something at you because I’m grumpy, I’ve had about three hours’ sleep and I have vengeance on my mind.”
Wren chewed at her lipstick. “That’s, erm—”
“Awkward. Juvenile. I know. Give me a month and I’ll be back to normal.”
“A month? Did you mean six weeks?”
“Take the zebra you strode in on and get out.”
Wren made what he guessed was a zebra bray as she took off. The Amtech meeting was miraculously rescheduled for a more work-friendly time and Tom got through the day without making anyone in the office cry or hate him any more than they normally would.
The one gap was that there was no message from Flick. He almost called her, to check in, to see if she needed anything, but stopped himself. She might be sleeping. She had other people in her life like the anesthetist she was probably closer to. He was just the temporary roommate, Johnny-on-the-spot.
He left the office at six. Not the first out the door, but he was close. He went home after filling a basket at the market. Flick was exactly where he’d left her nine hours ago, a tiny form huddled in a chair on the balcony, and his heart sank. He should’ve stayed, should’ve checked in.
He dumped the groceries and his satchel and she didn’t react until he was standing beside her chair. “Flick.”
She looked up and blinked. “What time is it?”
Had she truly been there all day? “Oh Jesus, Flick.” She was in the same clothes she’d worn to bed, her hair a wild tangle. He went to his haunches to be closer to her and she launched herself out of the chair and into his arms.
“You’re home early. I’m so glad you’re home.”
He leaned into her to stop himself overbalancing, sending one knee to the ground, wrapping an arm around her back. She smelled like the honeycomb from breakfast. She felt small, brittle, breakable, and he wasn’t equipped for this. “Who can I call for you, Flick? Who do you want?”
She pulled back. “I’m freaking you out?”
“Putting it mildly.”
“I had to think.”
“Have you eaten, slept?”
She shook her head. “I had to feel it all.”
“You have to not pass out.”
She put her hand to his cheek. “I’m okay. I had to rage and cry and mentally break everything in my reach. I’m desperately sad. I can’t fix this. I can’t make something better happen.”
Flick made him anxious, more so than she’d ever done when she was being her usual self. He flattened a hand on her ribs. “You have that here.” I make it happen in a scrolling font.
“I put it there to remind me that I get to control my destiny, no one else. I don’t get to have a say about Drew getting sick, but I do get a say about how it affects me and I need to work through that.”
“I’m hoping that means you’ll think about eating at least.”
“Is that your offer to cook dinner?”
He stood, gave her his hand and she took it and stood too. “I’ll cook steaks.” He’d dance on the table if it would get her to eat it.
“I’d love that. Did you mean it when you said I could stay another month, longer if I need to?”
He nodded. “If that’s what you need.” Life could be untidy and it’d brought its unpredictability to both their doorsteps. “Turns out I’m in the market for an indefinite roommate.”
“Thank you.” A nod but no smile. “I’ll go dress for dinner.”
“You’re fine the way you are.”
“I’m not.” She looked down at herself and squeezed his hand. “But I will be.”
He cooked. She ate, and he was glad to see color return to her cheeks. He thought about going to the gym, but lack of sleep was catching up with him.
“I, ah.” She started and stopped. She’d said almost nothing while they ate. “I wanted to thank you for last night. For staying with me. It was a gorgeous thing you did, Tom, but—” she stopped again “—I know it’s a lot to ask. I’m going in to work tomorrow and I need to sleep, and I think it would help if you’d come to bed and hold me again?”
He didn’t realize how much he’d tensed waiting for what she’d say until he was nodding. They were on opposite sides of the kitchen counter.
“I’ll sleep better if I’m in your arms and I know that’s not something I’m supposed to want and I know it’s not something you want—”
He leaned over and put his hand over her mouth. “Let’s go to bed.”
They went to bed, like last night, in Flick’s room, fully clothed and wrapped in each other. And they both slept, and in the morning Tom scrambled eggs and they left the condo together. Flick was quiet still. Her gray suit made her look washed out; there was no flash of color worn with it.
It was when they were on the street that he realized they’d lived in a roommate bubble, existing together only inside the condo. There was time to rectify that, especially if she stayed for longer. If she stayed longer, what would she want from him? What did he want from her, other than to see her not hurting?
“Can I take you out to eat?” He blurted it as she was turning away to take her street. Appalling lack of finesse. She turned back, but they were separated by several feet and a stream of pedestrians, so she might not have heard him properly. He had to start again when he caught up to her. “We’ve only ever spent time together inside the condo. We should grab a meal out.” That just made her look perplexed. “Not tonight. When you feel up to it.”
She put her hand to his arm. “I should’ve realized—you must be tired of cooking for me.”
“No, that’s not it.” What the fuck was he trying to say? His face got hot. He’d slept in her bed the last two nights with her warm and welcome in his arms, but he couldn’t find the words to ask her out for a simple meal. “I thought we could, you know, go out. Of course, not now. Not when you—”
She smiled and all the pressure he felt dissipated. “That would be great.”
“Right.” What the fuck was wrong with him? “Take it easy today.”
Whatever that awkwardness was that’d struck him on the street wasn’t there when he got home. He had time to change before Flick came in and was standing at the counter checking his email. “How was your day?” He put the phone down to look at her.
She reached for her neck, for the scarf she’d forgotten to put on this morning. “A normal routine is useful. I didn’t have time to think about Drew.” Her face crumpled when she said his name and then she blew out a frustrated breath as her eyes got wet. “How did I manage to get through a whole day of people asking me if I was okay and you do it and I’m ready to break down?”
“That’s—” He didn’t know what it was. He’d gotten ridiculously tongue-tied on the street this morning and she’d reserved her fragility for him. “Sorry.” They were familiar now. Comfortable. It was hard to understand the nervous effect they had on each other.
“I’ll sleep by myself tonight, but I need a hug now.”
He opened his arms and she crossed to him and tumbled into them. They both made sounds of contentment. He folded her close, put his chin to the top of her head. He’d miss being in her bed tonight, but if it was a sign she felt stronger, he couldn’t be unhappy about that.
She went to bed early, after they’d eaten, and he hit the gym late. Instead of sleeping well in his own bed, he tossed and turned and couldn’t settle. He dozed but woke when he heard the balcony door glide open. It was either Spider-Man or Flick.
He found her on the balcony with a glass of water, staring out at the river. “Are you okay?”
“Ah, Tom, I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m sorry.” She turned to look at him, distress etched on her face. “I’m the worst roommate.”
“It might be the fact that it’s 2 a.m., but I find myself disagreeing with you.”
“I pressured you into letting me move in. I taunted you into having sex with me. I’m too untidy for you. I danced on your table. I cry, I mope, I require feeding constantly. I make you sleep in my bed totally platonically, and I wake you up in the middle of the night.”
“It might be the fact that it’s 2 a.m., but I find myself thinking all of that is perfectly acceptable.”
She shook her head and went to the railing. “I don’t know what to do.”
He joined her, folding his arms to lean on it and look out at the skyline. He had her in his peripheral vision.
“Drew is the reason I work hard and I’m ambitious and I want so badly to succeed in Washington. If it weren’t for Drew, there would be no job with Coalition for Humanity. But I’m thinking of giving it up so I can be here if he changes his mind about seeing me.”
“Washington is only a ninety-minute flight. You could be here the same day.” Or she could stay. It might be the fact that it was a little past 2 a.m. and he wasn’t entirely in his head, but if she stayed, maybe they had a shot at becoming something together.
Washington was only a ninety-minute flight, but it was enough of a barrier they would never try to get past it and this tension between them, the thing that made him stutter and give in to her softness, it was a thing worth exploring, but too tentative to survive being in demanding jobs in different cities.
She nodded and put her folded arms on the railing too. “I keep telling myself that.”
“But it doesn’t feel right.” He liked Flick far too much not to play straight with her.
“It feels like I’m running away.”
“What would Drew want?”
She shoved him with her shoulder. “He wants me to get on with my life.”
It was good advice. Kudos to Drew. “But you get to decide what that is. Chicago, New York, Washington, wherever.”
She leaned her head on his arm. “That would be why I’m out here staring at the city.”
He had to lock down on his jaw so he didn’t pitch her on staying, pitch her on taking a chance on him. It was crass, opportunistic, a bastard act. He pulled away from the railing but reached for her hand. “Back to bed.”
Her fingers crisscrossed through his, he walked her to her bedroom and closed her inside. His head had barely hit the pillow when she knocked on his door. “Tom.”
“Yeah?”
The handle depressed and the door opened a crack, and then Flick pushed it wider. She wore sleep shorts and a big T-shirt and her hair fell about her shoulders. Her silhouette was dumpy and he knew she had dark slashes under her eyes and a breakout on her chin. She was utterly beautiful.
His chest did this painful hiccup, but his arms reached for her. “Come on.”
She ran at the bed and leaped on it, diving into his arms for the second time that night. They didn’t say another word. Flick arranged herself on his pillow, shoved her butt into the curve of his body and dragged his arm over her hip.
She was gone when he woke in the morning and he was unaccountably disappointed to have the bed to himself. The only saving grace was not having to keep his morning erection away from her body. Shaving, he thought about the ifs. If she stayed. If he quit Rendel. He’d briefed his favorite headhunter, Denise Revero, to find him something interesting in Chicago, but what if he widened the brief? He was settled here, hadn’t thought about moving, and moving for a shot at a relationship he didn’t even have was ridiculous. He nicked his chin and had to use a tissue to soak up the blood.
Flick got home before him, but only just. She was still dressed for the office, still had her heels on. Say what you would about how impractical a woman’s heeled shoe was, it did something to their legs, to the way they stood, changing the balance of their bodies. He’d noticed it on other women, on Wren, but on Flick it was devastating.
Last night she was an amorphous blob in the doorway of his room. Tonight she was a bombshell in a sleeveless navy dress, fitted enough it needed one of those sexy slits at the back so she could take a decent stride.
“Oh good. I’m starving. We’re having Chinese delivered.” She bent to pick up her phone from the lump of stuff she’d left on the coffee table, bag, scarf, folder, tablet, and his hand itched to run over her rump, a distinct change from itching to clean up after her. He shoved it in his pants pocket. “Is that okay with you? My treat. Anything you don’t like?”
“Skip the soup.”
“You don’t like the soup. What’s wrong with you?”
He grinned stupidly at her. The rapid-fire response, the near insult. She was less a poor clone of herself today.
“Why do you have that stupid look on your face?”
Before his stupid look called for greater scrutiny he backed off to ditch his suit, calling, “Skip the soup.”
When the food arrived, they were both out of their work clothing and made a picnic of it, eating off the coffee table.
“Westworld or The Handmaid’s Tale,” Flick said, pointing the remote at the TV.
“You want to watch TV?”
“I don’t know if you noticed, but you’ve started coming home earlier and I am in need of a distraction, so Westworld or The Handmaid’s Tale.”
He’d seen neither, heard the raves about both. She ate the last pork dumpling and they said “Westworld” together.
The show grabbed him from the opening titles, 3-D-printed humanity, and he was totally absorbed by the time Dolores said the newcomers only wanted to come to a place with unlimited possibilities. Flick tucked under his arm, her head on his shoulder, her legs curled at her side. He could get used to coming home early if there was more of this in his life. Simple and surprisingly rich at the same time. Unlimited possibilities.
He looked down at her. “This is—”
The sentence died. Flick’s face was bathed in tears. Grief came in gruesome, unexpected waves. He’d forgotten that. He was an ass for thinking she could possibly be doing okay. She let out a sob and he hugged her closer.
“Ah, Flick.” She didn’t want him to see her face, kept it angled away, wiping her cheeks with a tissue. He kissed the top of her head. “What do you need?”
Up came her face, eyes red and puffy, cheeks damp and inflamed. He cupped it in his hands and kissed her forehead, then her temple, murmuring nonsense. “You’ll be okay. It’s all right. I’m here.” He rested his forehead on hers and her breathing slowed. “I’ve got you.”
Another press of his lips to her temple and she shifted, bringing both arms up around his neck. He’d do anything in this moment to ease her pain. He put his hands to her shoulders, rested his cheek on hers and closed his eyes when her fingers played in his hair.
It was a mistake to kiss her lips, no matter how gently and without intention to take it anywhere, but it was done before he’d thought it through. He didn’t get an apology out because she kissed him back, less tentatively, more achingly sweet.
“We shouldn’t, Flick.” If he believed that, he should take his hands off her, move away.
She kissed him again. “I need it.”
“You need rest and time, and this is going to confuse things.”
“I’m not confused. I’m sad, Tom. I want you and I want to forget just for a moment, to feel good. Help me forget.”
Did it cross a line? She’d made him forget about Harry’s un-retirement and the walking time bomb he’d become in the office. She needed to feel good and he could take her there.
It was a rush of power and responsibility that had him scoop her onto his lap and stand. She clung to his neck and nuzzled into him, and that did nothing to temper his resolve. He couldn’t take her grief away but he could stall it, suspend her in a moment free of its gravity.
In his bedroom he stripped her slowly, taking her clothes and paying her permission to touch the utmost respect. She trusted him and he wouldn’t let her down, and that was heady. There was guilt too, that he should be so turned-on by the way she’d responded. She became a trembling, sighing, excited firefly, buzzing where his hands stroked, rubbing against him, and racing her lips across his skin, in constant motion to match his own fervor.
He’d intended to be gentle, to give, not take, to make her pleasure his reason for being, but she wanted more, pushed him to feel his own need as acutely as he’d helped her quit her brain and live in her body.
On the bed, with her below him, he mouthed across her tattoo, tongue tracing the letters, teeth eating the sentiment. Flick had marked her body with her will to master her fate, and right now she’d put that fate in his hands; a lit torch, a sugary treat, a potent drug with the promise of everlasting life, that was his to devour. He could not have enough of her. The scent of her arousal, the sting of her nails on his shoulder, the rough, throaty moans he ripped from her chest and the muscle-twitching intensity he coached from her limbs.
“Oh, Tom. Oh, Tom.”
“What do you need?”
“More.”
Velvet and simmering heat. Fast thrusts into feeling so good he had trouble keeping his eyes open, and when watching her was as exciting as hearing her chase her peak, he had no intention of missing out on the show. Her writhing hips, the bounce of her tits, the ecstasy rippling across her face.
“Don’t stop.”
He had to slow, or he’d rocket past her. Short-circuit the ride and leave her stranded. “Feel this, Flick.” A hard thrust; held. “There’s always this pleasure.” Another. “It’s yours to take.” Another and another, and she cried out as his own tolerance got thready.
He stilled while she shuddered and then took her lips to seal the pleasure inside her. “Enough?”
The lust-dazed look in her eyes faded as she focused. “Almost.”
He got a hand to the hot skin of her ass and pinched, making her jump. “Almost—what’s that supposed to mean, brat?”
She yanked on his neck and spoke against his lips. “There’s more. There’s always more with you. Just when I think I’ve got you worked out, you go and surprise me by being more.”
It was supposed to be about her pleasure, her break from reality, and it became his too. The bed their world, the night their blanket, the heat of each other’s bodies their sustenance. Kisses for air, caresses for reason; heartbeat to heartbeat, the beloved music of a shared existence, separate from the world and time, and all the ways a person was meant to live, and skin to skin, cocooned and indestructibly, immortally, all too momentarily, entwined.