Chapter Twelve
My phone was mocking me. It was sneering, as I carried it around like a lifeline leashed to me, a hard brick reminder that I was waiting for a call. I curled deeper into the dented corner of the mustard-colored couch, laptop on my thighs as I worked. Jill and I were mirror images, as she sat cross-legged on the other end, tapping away on her computer too. Her hair was twisted up in a red chopstick and a few dark blond strands framed her face. “Do you have any idea how many technical white papers I authored today on nuclear fusion?”
I gave her a look. “Let me guess. Zero?”
She nodded. “Yup. That is exactly right. But I am, in fact, almost done with this list of recommendations for my group of Upper East mommies on their training and diet for the next few weeks before the New York City marathon.” Jill was making headway as a young actress, but she still took on jobs on the side as a running coach. She operated a few running clinics and clubs, especially for men and women who wanted to tackle marathons for the first time, as well as 5Ks and 10Ks. “If I’m going to finally finish this book-length email, I’m going to need a beer. But we have none in this apartment, and it should be considered a crime to be beer-less.”
“Then you should make sure no one carts you away to the pen, Jill.”
I stretched my arm to the coffee table, grabbed Jill’s wallet and tossed it to her. She caught it in one hand, placed her laptop on the couch, and went in search of the nearest six-pack at ten o’clock at night.
I wandered into the kitchen and reached for an apple inside the three-tiered, silver-looking wire basket that hung by the side of my kitchen sink. I needed to throw the crappy contraption out. But it reminded me of my parents. They had one of those baskets too, towering with fruit – apples, oranges, nectarines, lemons that threatened to spill out – in our home in Connecticut. I washed the apple and then headed into the living room. I sat on the window sill and took a bite.
This probably sounded crazy but my parents really are those people. As in those people you can’t believe still love each other madly after all those years. They’ve been together for thirty years and my mom still makes breakfast for him every morning. She’ll set the table with the same green and white checked plates, and the same matching cloth napkins that we’ve had since I was in high school. Then he’ll come downstairs, give her a kiss on the cheek, and they’ll have breakfast together. He’ll do the dishes and clean up and they’ll walk to the store holding hands. When the workday ends, they’ll return home and repeat the same routine for dinner, with him taking out the garbage or mowing the lawn as she cooks. After dinner, she’ll reach for a bar of dark chocolate from the kitchen cupboard, breaking off a section. He’ll have bought either Scharffenberger or some fabulous Belgian chocolate bar. “I never want you to run out of chocolate,” I overheard him whisper to her once after he’d picked some up from the grocery store.
It was almost enough to make you gag, if it weren’t totally 100 percent legitimate.
So when my mom admitted earlier tonight on the phone that the online daily deal had bombed, my heart withered a bit for them. “I’m so sorry, Mom.”
“Well, you know, you’ll just have to keep me stocked in chocolate, my Katerina.”
“I will. I promise. Even though I know it won’t come to that.”
I took another bite of the apple, as I raised the shades halfway to look out onto Twenty-Second Street. A cab pulled up outside the building. A slim man emerged. He had a strong jawline and a regal, Yul Brynner-esque bald head. A woman with a pixie cut stepped out next. She laughed at something he said. Then he reached for her waist and pulled her close, because he simply had to kiss her right then and there. Soon, they walked into the building, holding hands.
I wanted to do that with Bryan. I wanted to walk down the street with him. To kiss him in public. To share a car back to his place, my place, any place. But then, I’d also take what I could get, so when my phone finally rang, I pounced on it.
“Hello?”
“Hey. It’s Bryan.”
My heart leapt. I was the girl in high school, waiting for the quarterback to call. Fine, I’d never dated a football player, and I didn’t even care for most sports. But I bet the zing I felt was precisely the same.
“Hey. What are you up to?”
“Talking to you.”
I rolled my eyes even though he couldn’t see me. Now we really sounded like teenagers again.
“Same to you,” I said, as I placed the half-eaten apple on the coffee table.
“What’d you do tonight?”
I gave him the rundown, then asked the same of him.
“Work, work, and more work. I heard back from the city of Paris on the padlocks. They said they’re trying to make some arrangements for a deal, so that’s good. But the best part is this amazingly brilliant MBA student I’m working with may have saved the day for us.”
I bounced on my toes. “Really? Did Geeking Out come through?”
“They’re putting a competitive bid together tonight. I should have it first thing in the morning, but they said they could meet the timeline.”
“Damn. I rock.”
“You totally and completely rock.”
“So where are you right now?” I asked as I walked down the hall to my bedroom. I didn’t know when Jill would return with her beer, but I didn’t want to be interrupted.
“My apartment. Finally. Car just dropped me off.”
“So calling me was the first thing you did when you got home? Nice.”
“I walked in two minutes ago.”
“I don’t even know where you live.” I shut the door to my bedroom and lay down on my bed. The one luxury I afforded myself was the bedding. A shimmery purple duvet covered the bed, with pillows in rich shades of red and dark blue.
“Sixtieth and Park.”
I wanted to whistle in admiration. I pictured the block perfectly, seeing it on a rain-soaked night, the quiet street glistening, lined with beautiful brick brownstones. He probably lived in one of those buildings. Double doors, four stories, hardwood floors, white-paned windows that opened on the kind of street that romantic comedy heroines strolled down, holding hands with their lovers.
“What’s on tap the rest of the night? More work?”
“I’m calling it a night on the work front. No more email, no more reports. I’m just kicking back on my couch talking to this girl with my cell phone pressed against my head. I’m probably getting a brain tumor, but c’est la vie.”
“You’re not one of those Bluetooth people? You haven’t been walking around with the headset in your ear all evening?”
“God no. I can’t stand the Bluetooth people.”
“They do that constantly in New York. On buses, on subways. Even in stores. They leave those damn things on all the time.”
“Maybe they are waiting to receive messages from the Bluetooth Uni-mind.”
“Oh, I can so picture that.”
“So, you’ve finagled my Bluetooth secret, Kat. What else do you want to know?”
I shifted to my side, and played with the tassel on one of my purple pillows. What did I want to know about Bryan? “I got it. Shoes on airplanes. On or off?”
“On, of course. As if I would ever take shoes off on a plane.”
“Totally agree. Why do people do that? Stretch their big stinky feet out in front of them and even walk up and down the aisles without their shoes.”
“I’m telling you, that’s another thing that would be abolished should I become president. You would be forbidden from removing shoes on planes. And from clipping your nails in public.”
“You have my vote.”
“You know what I like to do on planes?”
“No. What?”
“Sometimes, I go a little wild and I leave my cell phone on.”
“It doesn’t work up there.”
“Right, but instead of turning it off when we take off, I just go crazy and leave it on silent. And then I like to see how far up we can go before it stops getting messages, and then I like to see how high we are when it starts picking them up again on the way down.”
“You renegade.”
“I know, Kat. I’m not afraid to be a bad boy like that.”
“Are you though? A bad boy?”
He didn’t answer right away. He must have been weighing the question and what I really meant. I wasn’t sure what I really meant. “Do you want me to be a bad boy?”
I rested my head on the pile of pillows. “I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “I just want you to be yourself.”
“I am myself. With you, I am definitely myself.” If we were at a club, the music would have just shifted from a fast, poppy song to a slower number, the kind of tune that made you want to dim the lights. “If I were with you right now, I’d be myself too.”
“What would you do?”
“If I were with you right now?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you?”
“On my bed.”
He was quiet, but I could hear him breathing, and I pictured his chest rising and falling as he stared up at the ceiling of his brownstone on Sixtieth and Park, closing his eyes, imagining me so many blocks away. “What are you wearing?”
“Jeans. Black cami with a Hello Kitty design.”
“Ah, of course. I believe you once said it was a life-long love, you and Hello Kitty.”
“We’re still going strong.”
“And underneath?”
“Black bikini briefs with a light blue stripe.”
“So you want to know what I’d do if I were with you right now?”
“Yes.”
“I wouldn’t kiss you yet. I’d touch your naked skin. I’d run my fingers down your arms, and watch as you shivered at my touch.”
I closed my eyes and listened.
“I’d kiss your belly through your shirt, and you’d wriggle a little bit, trying to tell me with your body that you wanted more.”
I murmured something about wanting more.
“Then I’d come up for a kiss, hovering over you, my arms on each side of you.”
I longed to touch his arms, to trace how toned and strong they were.
“I’d kiss you for the longest time, and you’d be pressing your hands against my back, wanting more.”
“I would,” I managed to say, as I started to unbutton my jeans.
“And when I was sure, absolutely, totally, completely sure that you were turned on beyond a shadow of a doubt —”
“—Which I would be.”
“Which you would be. I’d return to your stomach, and I’d start to lift up your cami thing. And I’d run my tongue across your belly, and I’d take off your top. And I’d finally be able to see those gorgeous breasts of yours in the flesh.”
“And touch them.”
“God yes. I’d cup them in my hands and lick them, and I’d run my tongue from between your breasts down to your jeans, and at that point you’d be unzipping them.”
“I already have.”
“Are your pants off?”
I skimmed off my jeans, pushing them to the foot of my bed. “Yes.”
“Is your shirt off too?”
“No.”
“Take it off.”
I put the phone on the bedcover and pulled off my tank top. Then I pressed the phone to my ear. “I’m back.”
“And are you just in your underwear now?”
“Yes.”
“Touch yourself, Kat.”
I did as instructed.
“Are you wet?”
“Understatement of the year.”
He laughed lightly. “Good. Because if I were there right now, I’d be the one touching you, feeling how turned on you are. Running my hand between your legs, and you’d be moaning, and moving your hips, and wanting so badly for me to take off your underwear.”
“Would you? Take off my underwear?” The question came out in quick breaths, as I followed his direction. My hand was between my legs, and I wished he were the one touching me. But this — this was good enough for now.
“I’d kiss you through your underwear first just to tease you and make you crazy. I’d lean down, and I’d kiss those black bikini briefs, and I’d smell you, and I’d get even harder.”
“I’d want to touch you so badly.”
“I know, but I wouldn’t let you. Because I’d have to taste you, and you’d be begging me to take off your underwear, and to touch you with my tongue. And it’s all I’d want to do too. So I’d oblige your request.”
I slid out of the last shred of clothing.
“Did you just take off your underwear?”
“Yes.”
“Is your hand between your legs?”
“Yes.”
“Are you imagining it’s me?”
“Yes. I want you so much.”
“There is absolutely nothing in the entire world I want to be doing more right now than going down on you, and tasting you, and eating you. I would run my tongue across you and you would put your hands in my hair.”
“I love your hair,” I said, and the image of my hands in his hair sent me soaring. It wasn’t going to take me long at all.
“And I’d start off slow and light, and I’d tease you with my tongue, tracing you and tasting your wetness. God, I bet you taste f*cking fantastic. And you’d whimper and moan, and tell me how good it feels.”
“It feels amazing. It feels so incredible.” My whole body was lit up; I was ignited all over. Every part of me begged and yearned for him.
“And I’d speed up, running my tongue over you in ways you’ve never felt before. And you’d tell me how it had never been this good, how you’d never wanted anyone like this before.”
“I haven’t. I swear I haven’t,” I said, and my breathing was ragged, and my body was pulsing, and I could feel how intoxicatingly close I was to grabbing his hair and pulling his face between my legs. Oh, how I wished he were the one touching me.
“And I’d take you there. I’d lick you and make you crazy and make you say my name over and over, until you were begging to come. Until you were begging me to make you come.”
“Oh god, Bryan. Make me come. Please, make me come.”
“I’m so going to make you come, Kat. I’m going to make you come with my mouth and my lips and my tongue and I am going to taste you right now as you come in my mouth.”
And so I did, shouting his name, calling out, feeling the wave of an intense, otherworldy orgasm pound through me. I was a live wire, exposed and beating, and I wanted him to be with me right now, taking off his clothes, climbing on top of me, entering me, making me feel that way again and again and again.