“No.”
She’s never been this angry in front of me. Her eyes glow, a ring of gold settling around the blue. The flush to her cheeks hints at what she might look like after an orgasm and it’s something I really, really want to confirm.
“Can you let me save some of the little dignity I have left?” she asks. “Just give me my phone so I can leave.”
I don’t. I don’t even consider it. Instead, I sit as far away from her as I can with her phone nestled in my lap.
“Tell me this: why are you without dignity?”
“Are you seriously going to make me address this?” she hisses.
“Um, yeah.”
“I hate you.”
“I’m calling bullshit on that,” I say, trying not to crack a smile. “You like me and so does the other you. As a matter of fact, one of you almost kissed me last night and this you, well, we both know what this you has been up to.”
“I never would’ve said anything if I’d have known it was you,” she growls.
I blink once. Twice. Three times. “So, let me get this straight. You’d talk dirty, filthy, actually, if I remember some of those conversations correctly—”
“Lance. Stop it.”
“Fine,” I say, propelling myself forward. The salt shaker rattles on the table. “You’ll talk that way to some guy you don’t even know but not to me? You would’ve let me kiss you last night, but you would’ve fucked some guy who didn’t even give a shit about you? What the hell, Mariah?”
“It’s you!” she exclaims like it’s self-explanatory. “I have to see you every day. You’re sleeping with God knows how many women—”
“Wait,” I say, my jaw tensing. “Are you sleeping with men on that app?”
Her eyes narrow. “You know I’m not.”
“I don’t know shit. I’m a little mind-boggled right now to tell you the truth.”
“It’s nothing to you, but no, I’m not sleeping with anyone at all. App or otherwise.”
“Good answer.”
“Oh, go to hell with your good answer bullshit,” she says. “How many women have you slept with this week?”
I don’t even blink. “Zero.”
She does blink.
Something in our exchange calms her a touch. She starts to talk but closes her mouth instead. We watch each other like we’re having a staring contest. The longer we sit like this, the closer she gets to smiling. I hate to tell her, but I’m content with sitting here until the buffet closes because I haven’t even begun to process this.
“Do you need anything?” A waitress approaches us, she’s unknowingly coming upon a den of wounded badgers. “Drinks? Buffet slips?”
Without taking my eyes off Mariah, I twist slightly in my seat. “I’ll tip you one way or the other, but can you give us a few minutes alone?”
“Sure thing.”
Mariah breaks eye contact and checks to see if she’s gone.
“I can’t believe this,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re History Hunk. I mean, it makes sense. I just never even imagined it.”
“Are you saying I’m a hunk?”
She doesn’t dignify that with a response.
“Nerdy Nurse, huh?” I grin. “That was tricky. Not that I would’ve expected you of all people to be hiding out under a fake name on a sex app, but I wouldn’t have looked for you as a nurse.”
“That was Whitney,” she sighs. “My friend made the account for me and kind of threw it in my lap. I didn’t want an account because of my job and working in the school and all and, besides, pretending to be someone else was fun.”
Her hands cover her face again. There’s no suppressing my chuckle this time. It earns me a glare, but there’s no anger there. Just a beautiful girl trying to hide behind a façade.
We sit in silence for a few minutes, her playing with the salt shaker and me tapping against the screen of her phone. There are questions for days I could pepper her with, jokes for years. I could pop just by watching her flush that pretty shade of pink.
“This is mortifying,” she breathes.
“What’s wrong with it?” I ask. Leaning on the table, my hands clasped in front of me, I look her dead in the eye. “I wanted to fuck you when you were Mariah. I wanted to fuck you when you were the other you. Whatever,” I say, confusing myself. “The point is this doesn’t change anything. It just means I’m insanely attracted to you.”
She bats her eyes like I misspoke and she’s waiting on me to clarify what I mean. I could keep talking but decide it’s better for the silence to make the point for me.
“What do we do now?” she asks. “I have to see you every day.”
“Is sex on or off the table? I mean, I’ll do it on or off. I have no problems with table sex,” I tease. Visions of her round ass in the air, my hands gripping each globe as I slide into her warm pussy send a shot of heat straight to my balls.
“Not what I meant.”
“Yeah, you’re right. We both know sex is on the table. It’s really a question of whether you’ll allow me to participate or if you’re just going to keep using your fingers and pretending they’re mine.”
She leans closer. “Stop it.”
I think she likes the proximity, so I back away. The corners of her lips drop just enough to be noticeable and enough to tell me I’m right.
If I back away and it makes her come around, how can I be blamed for that? Answer: I can’t. At least not in a way I could feel guilt over. God knows I’m avoiding that fucker.
“You know what?” I say, getting to my feet. “You’re right. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable and you’ve been very clear you want me to stop.”
She’s not sure whether to buy this line of bullshit or not. But as I scoot her phone across the table and it hits the side of her purse with a thud, she slumps.
This is a go-for-broke kind of thing and I don’t want to be broke. I swipe my wallet from my pocket and hope I’m a good shot.
“Did you have anything? I’ll pay,” I say, forcing myself to ignore the look on her face. I pull a twenty that’s sticking out and toss it on the table. “Want me to walk you out?”
She pulls her brows together. We both know she’s waiting on the rest of it, the very Lance-like addition to every sentence I can get away with. I surprise us both with my willpower and don’t give it to her.
But damn if I don’t want to give it to her.
“Okay.” Her possessions get compiled together as if they’re the most interesting things in the world. She stands and heads to the door. This time, I make it a point not to touch her.
Thirteen
Mariah
Each step leads me closer to the door. Each fall of my foot has me holding my breath and waiting for the moment his palm touches the small of my back. By the time I’m halfway to the door, I itch to turn around and find him. He’s there. The ripple of whatever moves between us when we’re near each other is roaring, almost knocking me on my ass.
On its own, that’s enough. But coupled with the newfound knowledge that Lance is also History Hunk, is like going from a Category One storm to a Six in a second flat. Here I am, in a little tattered sailboat, trying to navigate this hellacious situation. The only thing that might help me stay afloat is him reaching out for me.
“Let me get the door for you,” he offers. More than enough room is taken to walk around me. “Here you go.”
I look at the floor all the way out, not sure what to think of all this distance. I hate it. But something about it feels almost normal in a really sad way. It reminds me of Eric and his lack of physical attention. “Thanks.”
The sun is bright, making me squint, as I step outside. The door snaps closed but I plow forward. It’s more than embarrassment now. It’s a fear of rejection. It’s knowing who I’m dealing with and wondering how I’m going to internalize it when he’s in my office on Monday making plans to bed some other woman. What do I do? Grin and bear it? Because there’s no doubt that’s what he’s going to do. He’s unapologetically Lance.
My pace quickens and I spy my car at the end of the row. I don’t notice the custom pearly-purple paint job on the SUV on my left until it’s too late.
“Good morning, honey.” My mother removes her oversized sunglasses, her keys dangling in her hand. “What are you doing here?”
“Just had lunch.”
I’m ten, maybe twelve steps from my car. Shuffling that way, I can cut it down to eight. Possibly six.
I can’t do this today.
“I really need to go, Mom.” A dull throb begins in my temple. “I’ll call you later.”
“You can’t even make time to say hello in a parking lot?”
Her voice is too loud, too demanding, to be ignored. We’ve done this before. If I walk away, she will just increase the volume and half of Merom will know our business. Or, by her version of it, will think I’m a complete asshole of a daughter, in a best case scenario.
“Mom …”
Her attention is diverted behind me. My hips pivot to turn but I stop. There’s no need to look. It’s Lance.
Mom’s eyes go wide, the mask she uses when she’s being watched falls effortlessly over her features. I’m distracted from her performance when his arm stretches around my waist and he pulls me to his side.
He’s warm and solid and if it wasn’t already weird, I would bury my nose in his chest and just breathe him in like a bouquet of flowers. One of my hands plants in the center of his chest to steady myself. His heartbeat pounds against my palm as roughly as mine clangs in my chest.
“I dropped my keys back there,” he says, peering down at me. The greens of his eyes are filled with some nameless emotion that I could watch swim in his irises all day. “You okay?”