I went straight to Cheryl’s office. “Something came up,” I said.
“Judging by the hangdog look on your face, I’m guessing it’s something that’s going to screw up our dinner reservations at Paola’s.”
“Sorry. I have to cancel.”
“I’ve been looking forward to her carciofi alla giudea all day, so you better have a good reason for bailing on me.”
“Kylie and I are going to Thailand.”
She laughed. “No, seriously.”
“I’m not kidding. We’re leaving tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“The Silver Bullet bombings. All roads lead to Thailand.”
“Oh, Zach,” she said, picking up her cell. “What’s your flight number? At least I can follow you on FlightView.”
“Actually,” I said, knowing that there was no way to sugarcoat what I was about to say, “we’re not going commercial. We’re flying out of Teterboro on Princeton Wells’s corporate jet.”
“You, Kylie, and Wells?”
“I doubt if Wells is going to go to Thailand. Ever. I think he only flies into countries he knows he can fly out of.”
“So it’s just you and Kylie on a private plane.”
“And the crew,” I added lamely.
“Do you realize that as a city employee it’s against the law for you to accept—”
“I know, I know. It’s a long story. I don’t have time to give you the details. My flight leaves at seven thirty. I’ve got to go home and pack.” I put my arms around her. “I just came to say good-bye.”
“Not here,” she said, backing off. “Let’s go. I’ll help you pack.”
She grabbed her purse, and I followed her out of the office.
My apartment was a short cab ride away, but four thirty in the afternoon is not the best time for finding a taxi, so we snagged a ride uptown with a couple of uniforms. It was fast and cheap, but it’s impossible to have a personal conversation when you’re riding with two chatty cops in a squad car.
I waited till we got in the elevator. “Look, Cheryl, I know this sucks. I’m really sorry.”
“For what? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“No, but Kylie and I are going to be flying God knows how many hours on this luxury airplane, and…”
“So, then, is this another one of your famous prophylactic apologies? Or are you just projecting that I’m jealous?”
“None of the above, but—” The elevator stopped on the tenth floor, and we got out.
“But what?”
“Are you jealous?”
“Zach, you’re a cop. Kylie is your partner. You spend sixty hours a week with her in the same office, the same car, on stakeouts together, eating meals together—it’s what you do. So what’s the difference if you do it on a private plane? What’s the difference if you do it eight thousand miles and eleven time zones away in an exotic country with gorgeous beaches, exciting nightlife, and luxurious hotels? Why would I be jealous? If I trust you here, I trust you there.”
I wasn’t a hundred percent sure I could wade through the subtext, so I took the high road. I said nothing. I unlocked my door, and we entered the apartment.
As soon as we were inside, Cheryl grabbed me, pressed me against the wall, and kissed me hard. “You realize I’m not here to help you pack, don’t you?” she said, pulling her sweater over her head and dragging me toward the bedroom.
“Packing is highly overrated,” I said, shucking my clothes along the way, my libido kicking into overdrive.
One of the things I love about my sex life with Cheryl is that she has never once been hesitant to let me know what she needs. There are times when our lovemaking is practically puritanical—sweet, slow, gentle. Skin to skin, heart to heart, soul to soul.
This was not one of those times. This was raw sex. Frenzied, loud, primal. I doubt if we lasted more than ten minutes, but they were ten of the most incredible minutes of my adult life.
I lay there on my bed, wrapped in her arms, completely spent, deliriously happy. “That,” I said, still breathing heavily, “was the best going-away present I ever got.”
“Wait till you see the welcome-home present I have planned for you,” she whispered, her tongue teasing my ear, her fingertips making small circles against my nipple.
I felt myself stirring. “You keep that up, and I may not wait till I get back home to collect.”
She kept it up. I collected.
This time the sex was unhurried, sensuous, tender, each of us caught up in the act of making love, neither of us racing to the finish line.
“You’re getting pretty good at this,” she said as we curled up for the second time.
“Thanks. I’d be even better if I’d had any sleep last night. I’ve been up since three.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll sleep on the plane.”
“I hope so. I don’t sleep well on airplanes.”
“You’ll sleep like a log on this one.” She pressed her body closer to mine, and I could feel her warm breath on my ear. “Trust me,” she said. “I’m a doctor.”