CHAPTER 35
“Whose place is this?” Cait asks as I tap a security code into a keypad in the foyer. Her gaze is pointed toward the modern chandelier hanging above the gleaming marble flooring.
“My brother’s. Linden and his wife, Viv, are in Italy.”
“They won’t mind?” She stands in the entryway clutching her purse and unwilling to move, likely not wanting to break any rules.
“I housesit while they’re away. It’s cool.”
Cait resigns her spot and shadows me as I wander through the spacious brownstone, snapping on the lights.
“You want a drink?” I offer.
“Sure.”
In the kitchen I grab a bottle of Merlot, a wine opener, and two glasses. We climb the stairs to the second floor. Cait’s strolling, taking in all the fancy artwork and furnishing in the hallway. At the end, I open a door.
“Uh, what’s going on here?” Her nervous gaze flutters around the bedroom, but her focus lands on the king-size bed. “I know you’re dying to get rid of your virgin status, but it’s not happening tonight, SpongeBob.”
“Ha, ha. Very funny. And that’s not even true.”
“Denial is the first sign of proof.” She recites the same words I said to her a week ago and bumps her shoulder into mine.
“Chill, woman. This is the way to the roof.” I cross the room, draw back the curtains and open a slider, revealing a small landing outside. She seems more at ease when we step through, leaving the bedroom. We circle a spiral staircase, and emerge onto a huge, open rooftop deck. I flick on the outdoor heat lamps to warm the space. Up here, we’re just above the surrounding trees, like a private tree house.
“That view is, like, wow.” She leans on the railing, fixated on the city skyline.
I open the bottle with a pop before pouring two glasses of wine.
“So how does bringing me to your brother’s house prove you’re a fun guy?” She faces me with her arms spread wide, leaning back against the railing.
“It’s just a place to kill time. We have to be somewhere else in an hour.”
“Care to share?” She approaches and accepts a glass of wine before settling beside me.
“It’s a surprise.” The one I originally planned for tonight.
She sets her glass down and focuses on it for a moment as if she’s compiling her thoughts. “So, Steph told me you lied.”
My hand clenches the stem of the glass. I should have known Steph would gossip about my crush as soon as she had the chance. That I had noticed Cait long before she moved in, and our meeting was an attempted hookup and not necessarily about finding a roommate.
“I’ll strangle her.” I suck down several gulps of wine, preparing for the backlash.
“Why? What you did, it was nice.”
My face crinkles in confusion, but she’s still talking.
“I appreciate what you’re doing, but now that I know, I can’t let you pay for half my rent. That’s crazy. I’ll work more hours to cover my half.”
At first I’m relieved Steph didn’t rat me out but annoyed she told her this. Though it makes me look good, it’ll be a burden on Cait, and I didn’t want that. I shake my head, uninterested in her money. “No way. A deal’s a deal.”
“We’ll see. But my question is: why did you do it?”
“Um,” I flounder. Here’s the part I don’t want to admit—that I would have done anything to get to know her better. So I devise an alternate but honest truth. “I know what it’s like to be snubbed by parents.”
“So you do know who my parents are?”
I recall what Steph mentioned about her. Something about her parents in politics. I think of Cait’s last name—London. Holy shit. My heads swings to her. “You’ve been calling me a rich, spoiled brat all this time and Senator London is your mom? And your dad is a federal judge? Are you serious? Don’t they own half of DC?”
“Takes one to know one.” She smirks.
“So here’s my question: what did you do to piss them off?” I place my glass on the table and lean back, one arm reaching across the spine of the couch behind her.
“I transferred from Georgetown to Northwalton and changed majors. They didn’t like that much, but I needed to get as far away from them as possible.” She stares at her folded hands.
“See, my parents did the opposite. They moved to New York to get away from me.”
“That can’t be true. Haven’t they seen your superb beer-can-pyramid-building skills?” She angles to face me.
“That’s part of the issue. They’d like it if I were more like you.”
“And my parents would like it if I were still uptight-and-neurotic me, but times ten.”
“Don’t forget focused, goal oriented, and driven,” I say conspiratorially.
She laughs, head lolling back toward the stars.
I sit up and match her stiffened stature so I can be closer to her. Then I whisper, “I don’t like them either because you’re perfect the way you are... well, except for your dancing. It sucks.”
She gawks and punches my arm but then giggles again. Her shoulders slump inward before she uncrosses her legs. Now they’re crossed at her ankles, her knees pointing toward me. The wine is warming her, making her relax.
As we chat about family, school, and jobs, we finish off the bottle. And an hour later we lock the house, flag down a taxi and rush for our new destination. A flickering streetlamp highlights several trash dumpsters and two brick walls filled with graffiti. A crumpled newspaper tumbles over our feet in a breeze from Lake Michigan.
“This is the big surprise way you’ll prove your fun-ness? An alley in Wrigleyville?” She’s tipsy and acting goofy. A side of her I haven’t experienced, but I like it. It makes her clingy.
She reaches for my hand. Our fingers twine together, our warm palms press tight. My bones are doing that thing again. They’re buzzing with the excitement of being near her and now touching her. I suck in a breath and think of baseball and the grand slam Montero hit in the World Series. It’ll keep my mind off of kissing her. It’s not the right time yet.
I knock on the metal door. A black sign with white letters reads STAGE DOOR. After a few moments, it bursts open and a rush of heat pours out, along with music that floods the alley. My friend, Devon, fills the doorway. He’s all muscle and bounces for clubs at night and delivers flowers at the hospital by day. Under a thick neck, matching tattoo sleeves, and gruff voice, he’s all softy.
“Dude, you’re late,” he says.
“Sorry, man.” Inside, I introduce Cait, and they exchange quick pleasantries.
“Can’t hang tonight, but you know the deal,” he says.
“No worries. We’ll stay out of the way.”
He rushes off toward a loud commotion, leaving Cait and me alone. But she’s already migrating toward the music that’s on the other side of a black velvet curtain. She leans onto a large equipment box with a blank stare etched on her face, stealing a peek of the stage.
“Holy crap. Is that who I think it is?” Her saucer-shaped gaze swings to me. She’s found my surprise, the band that’s preforming at this moment—The Cure. “How did you know they were my favorite?”
“You play their music nonstop, so I thought you’d like this.” I play it cool, but I knew how much this would mean to her. I’m trying to prove myself, and I hope it’s working.
“I guess I can give you a few fun points for this, but only a few,” she teases.
I thread my fingers with hers and lead her through the venue. We emerge at the front of the crowd near the stage. We’re so close that if she wanted, she could touch the lead singer with his far-reaching spidery, black hair, rings of dark eye shadow, and smeared red lips.
Cait nears the stage, singing the words to the song “Friday I’m in Love.” I press behind her as she bounces with the music. Her hair is so close, so bouncy, I can smell her candy-scented shampoo. I slide my arms around her waist and settle my chin on her shoulder as the band plays their entire backlist. I’ve never seen her so happy or smiley.
When they play the song “Mint Car,” she turns around and sings the words, “Kiss me quick!” She slides her arms around my neck and settles her petal-soft lips over mine. When her mouth parts and we deepen our kiss, I angle into her, tasting the lingering wine on her tongue. Now I’ve never been so happy or smiley.
It’s when the song ends with a cheering crowd that she eases away and says, “Thank you, this is the best birthday gift ever.”
“Birthday? Are you joking?”
“Don’t act like you didn’t know.” She sways her shoulders.
“I swear. I didn’t.” If I did I would have planned something even bigger.
“Then I guess you win more fun points for being sweet and thoughtful, no matter what day it is.” She traces her fingertip over my bottom lip, and I swear it’s all I can do not to capture it within my mouth and then devour her.
At the concert we drink, we sing, and when she attempts her crazy cat dance, I try it too. It’s kind of fun—when you’re trashed. At one a.m. I practically carry her back to our apartment. With her arm over my shoulder, I lead her to her bedroom and settle her on the edge the bed. I’ve laughed so much tonight my face hurts.
She’s blasted, so I kneel down and help her take off her heels. I toss them aside and her weight falls into me, her forehead banging into mine. I right her by bracing her shoulders. She’s been rambling the entire trip home. Her drunk filter is on, which for Cait means she has zero filter. She’s been telling me everything about her life. Some details she’ll wish she didn’t.
“How did you arrange the concert so fast?” she slurs.
“I had already planned it, but you messed things up by leaving with Steph.”
“Nice save.” She shimmies out of her jacket in slow, awkward movements. I toss it on a nearby chair.
“My turn for a question,” I say, kneeling in front of her. “Why don’t you have any friends?”
She wrinkles her nose. “Making friends takes work and time. And you’ve seen what I do with my time. Work, school, work, school. Yawn. But I have you and Steph—right?”
“Of course, friend.” I smile.
“My turn.” She jabs a finger into my chest and draws the letter V. “Fess up. Are you really a virgin?”
With complete certainty that she won’t remember this tomorrow, I tell her the truth. “Unfortunately, yes.”
“But why? You’re hot.” She gives me her puppy-dog eyes.
Though she makes me smile, the answer doesn’t. Either way, the details are unimportant. “I had a girlfriend for a long time but we never got around to it.”
“That’s a shame. But I guess you already figured I was one too.” She appears sympathetic.
“But why? You’re hot,” I mimic her tone.
At this admission, she grabs my shirt and tugs me forward for the second time tonight. Her kiss is more urgent this time, and when she traces the tip of her tongue along the seam of my lips, I moan. It takes a fuck-ton of willpower to extract myself from her grip. Right now, I could sink into her lips and never look back.
“You should go to bed.” I rub her arm.
“We could change our status. One night, no strings?” Her grasp is still tight on my shirt. She’s bobbing back and forth in a sexy little sway, her bottom lip disappearing behind her top teeth. And all of it’s driving me nuts. My dick stands at attention.
“You might regret it in the morning.”
“Would you regret it?” She tilts her head.
I’m a dude. Of course I want her, but I know she would hate me if we did. She means something to me, and I don’t want to sleep with her like this, so I do the right thing. I move away. She reads my body language and flails back onto the bed, covering her face with her cupped palms.
“Gah. You would regret it.” She groans.
I lift her feet onto the mattress until she’s laying flat. Against my better judgment, I kneel to hover over her, the mattress dipping beneath my weight.
“It’s not for the reason you think.”
I drag her hands away from her face and kiss her softly, savoring the shape of her lips, her taste, and the heat of her tongue. Depending on how she remembers tonight, she may not let me kiss her tomorrow, so I soak it in. I soak in everything about our amazing night.
“Happy birthday, Cait London.” I pull away, but she’s already passed out cold and purring.