Bittersweet (7 page)

Since we’re
not
, I feel a little tongue-tied—and like we have an audience; despite being entwined with Todd, Maxine is eyeballing me and Greg closely.

“So, uh, NYC—how’d you get here anyway? Tell me you didn’t drive,” she says, nodding to his beer.

“No. I got a cab, actually.”

Max’s eyes widen. “From
Dogwood
? Jeez, I guess working in TV really pays the big bucks!” Greg shifts a little uncomfortably, and I try to visually communicate
shut up
to Maxine, but she ignores me. “Well, we’d offer you a ride back to the hotel, but our little wagon’s kind of full.” She’s heading somewhere, I can feel it. Her eyes narrow. “But I hate the idea of you riding an hour back to town all by yourself… Cathy, why don’t you ride with Greg?”

I open and close my mouth a few times, not sure what to say, and I hear Hal mutter something about “not even knowing this guy” to Maxine under his breath. I pull a face and turn to Greg, trying to navigate the awkward.

“Uh…”

He stares down at me, his voice low so it’s not a show for everyone. “You want a ride?”

Yes. I want to ride.
I mean… “Yeah. Sure, OK.”

“All right then,” Maxine says, grinning from ear to ear. “Let’s call you a cab, huh?”

* * *

The cab pulls up fifteen minutes later, and I wave over the roof of the car at Max and the others as they pile into Todd’s Prius. I can still see the moonlight glint off Maxine’s grinning teeth. I can’t decide if I’m super mad at her or really, really grateful.

Greg opens the door for me and I duck down, holding on to my skirt as I scoot over to the other side and he gets in beside me. We’ve hardly said anything to one another since we stepped outside to wait, and I wonder if he feels strong-armed into some weird situation he can’t get out of now. I know I shouldn’t be feeling doubt after the way his fingertips slipped just under the fabric of my shirt when I stumbled off my stool, the way his eyes conveyed heat that I can still feel on my skin, the way I can still remember the feel of his breath in my ear… I close my eyes for a second, knowing I must still be a little drunk.

“Where to in Dogwood?” the cab driver asks over his shoulder as he pulls off.

“Uh, the Fairview Hotel, and…”

Greg turns and looks at me expectantly. Oh. “And, um, Clyde Avenue.” I bite the inside of my cheek, embarrassed for thinking that there might only be one stop. Jesus, I only just met this guy anyway, why would we…

I think it’s going to be Option One,
super mad
with Max when I get home.

Greg and I both stare forward in silence as the minutes tick by, with the driver’s low talk radio the only noise inside the cab. I clutch my purse in my lap, fighting the urge to text Max and start berating her now, but then we take a sharp right as the driver turns onto the highway, and I slide across the vinyl seat right into Greg before I can stop my progress.

“Shit, sorry. Guess I should buckle up,” I mutter, but he turns and looks down at me as my body presses up against his. He opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something, then changes his mind. I start to move back to my side of the cab, but he uncurls the fist he has clenched on his thigh and reaches over to brush a finger up the exposed skin of my leg. I watch his finger trail up from my knee to the hem of my skirt, which has ridden up my thighs a little, but this time I don’t seem to feel the urge to pull it down. Goosebumps break out where he touches me, and my lips part as he moves his hand away again.

“Don’t be sorry,” he says in a low voice. “But if you don’t strap in, it could be dangerous.”

I think we’re talking in metaphors again. I can feel my breath getting faster, and I risk a look at his eyes. They’re still trained on me; I sense them more than see them now in the darkness of the cab on the highway. But then he turns away, concentrating on the back of the seat in front of him again. I can see his chest rising and falling, like he’s trying to calm down. Why’s he fighting this? I feel my pulse strengthen. I’m not sure if I can handle mixed messages.

I shuffle back over and pull at the seat belt—but suddenly Greg is pressing in next to me, his fingers clasping over mine on the buckle. I let go and he pulls, then clicks the belt into place next to my hip. He leans closer, and the smell of him surrounds me. He reaches up with one hand and pushes his fingers into my hair, smoothing it away from my face, staring into my eyes. I see his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallows. My lips part once more involuntarily, but he doesn’t kiss them. Instead I feel his mouth brush against my temple, then down just next to my ear, his breath fast and loud and shallow, and I shiver a little, turning my body to face him more, the seat belt restricting my movements. He pushes his forehead against mine, and I reach my mouth up, trying to press my lips to his, but his other hand comes up so that he’s cupping both my cheeks in his palms and holding me away.

His eyes close, and then slowly—painfully, torturously slowly—I feel his mouth edge closer, his hands tilting my head, his body pressing into mine at a slight angle … and then he’s kissing me. Lightly at first, his lips working over mine, top then bottom, like he’s tracing their shape. Then harder, pressing his mouth to mine, his tongue brushing the sensitive spot in the center of my bottom lip, then past it, moving deeper. I make a sort of whimpering noise in my throat, and his breath rushes out of his nose urgently—his lips moving faster, he lets his hands drop down so my own can slip up around his neck. His fingers edge inside my leather jacket, tracing my ribcage through the thin fabric of my T-shirt. My own hands are in his hair now, fingertips tickling the back of his neck, moving down, tracing his jaw as it works—

A car horn honks outside suddenly and we break apart, coming up for air. I glance at the rear-view mirror in time to see the cab driver’s eyes flick away, and I bite my lip a little. It feels raw from Greg’s attention.

I take a deep breath, but he speaks first.

“I was trying not to do that all night,” he whispers, his hands still inside my jacket. He slowly pulls them out and moves away a little, and I try not to groan at the absence.

“Hmm. I’m sorry you didn’t then… But I’m glad you did now.” I tip my head to one side, looking at him. “I thought you said if I
didn’t
buckle up it would get dangerous?”

He chuckles. “Oh, yeah. That was a line.”

“Oooh, that was a
line
,” I say, smiling—though I worry, somewhere in the back of my mind, how many other lines he’s tried, and on whom. But as I press my thighs together, trying to find some relief, I find it hard to care. Cars rush past the window, and I turn to stare out at them for a moment, then back to him. “Why did you have to try not to?” I ask, but then worry about hearing the answer. Maybe he was worried he wouldn’t get the reaction he wanted?

“Because you scare me,” he murmurs, avoiding my eyes. Jeez, maybe I really was too hostile.

“Oh.”

“No, I mean…” He trails off and turns to me. “I’m trying to be careful, not get caught up in something, so soon after—” He breaks off again, shaking his head and muttering something under his breath. “I should be focusing on my work. I just … find it hard to be around you. I mean, as soon as I saw you outside the station…” He doesn’t finish, and it’s his turn to look out the window now.

Careful? I want to press him, but then a voice in my head tells me that maybe this is best, us stopping now. The same voice that says I shouldn’t trust him, the voice that says I might like him too much already—I could get hurt. I clasp my hands together and sigh, noticing we’ve made the turning toward town. I feel foolish. I feel kind of upset. I feel … his fingers now, brushing over my hands, teasing them apart.

“Cathy, I didn’t mean to make it sound like I don’t want to—” His eyes drift back down to my lips, and I tell that
voice
to shut the fuck up. At least for tonight.

His fingers entwine with mine and I lean over to him, pushing my mouth against his, sweeping my tongue against his, telling him, showing him. I don’t care. I want this. Now, tonight. I’ll worry about the consequences in the morning.

“Here’s the Fairview, folks. Who’s getting out?”

I pull back and open the cab door. “Both of us.” I swing my legs out, feeling bold and reckless and … I don’t know what. But I do know that I don’t want to leave him. Not yet.

* * *

We stand side by side on the quiet street by the hotel. Just like before, there’s nobody around. I step toward Greg, look up at him. The moon seems brighter here, creating a halo around his dark head of hair.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he murmurs.

“Why not?” My voice is a whisper too.

“I should walk you home…”

“I don’t want to go home.”

I slide my hand up his arm and reach my fingers into the sleeve of his T-shirt, where it’s warm, and I feel the muscles in his upper arm tense. His hand moves up and hovers at my hip, not touching me. Holding his gaze, I lick my lips slowly, deliberately. It’s been a while since I’ve tried to seduce someone, but I think it’s working. His eyelids lower heavily.

I step closer, until one of my feet is in between his, and press my body closer to him. He looks up and away toward the sky, so I take the opportunity to brush my lips against his neck, to taste it with my tongue. God, he even tastes good. My head swims, but I know the alcohol is floating out of my system. I think I’ve moved on to being drunk on lust. But is it
only
that? I don’t know. I remind myself I’m not supposed to be thinking too hard. Speaking of hard—I
know
my seduction’s working now.

“Cathy…”

“Hmm?” I stand on my tiptoes and my lips find his earlobe. I suck, and he groans a little. I chuckle to myself, then move across his jawline and up to his lips, brushing gently over the place where he got hit. “Greg, let’s go inside,” I murmur against his mouth. He exhales, and I breathe it in. I want to slip my arms around him in that moment. He seems so … vulnerable. It scares me, the feeling that I want something more than just sex. I think about what he said in the cab…

No. No thinking.
“Please.”

At that word, at the tone of my voice when I say it, Greg’s hands finally pull my hips forward, against
him
, and he kisses me fiercely, like he’s angry—at me, at himself. I break away and turn, my legs shaking as I walk off toward the hotel’s entrance, and he follows close behind me, reaching out, grabbing my hand, interlocking his fingers with mine.

Greg and I walk fast through the lobby toward the rickety elevator, but a voice calls out.

“Excuse me, sir?”

We slow down reluctantly and Greg looks over at the concierge’s desk. I sigh as I recognize the woman behind it. Wanda Priddy was a year above me in high school, and for some fairly transparent reason she’d taken a dislike to me when I got together with Jeff. She looks at me disdainfully now and pulls down on her gray suit jacket.

“You have another package here,” she says, her eyes flicking down to our joined hands. I wonder if she’s jealous now, too? I look up at Greg and think—who wouldn’t be? I smile a little to myself, but try to compose my face as we walk over to the desk.

“Hey, Wanda,” I say as she hands over the envelope to Greg.

“Cathy.” She nods curtly.

I remember having heard she’d been doing some managerial shifts here. I’d seen the vacancy and half thought maybe it could be a good way for me to take a step up if Joe wasn’t going to let me stamp my mark on the restaurant. But I decided I’d just bide my time until I wear him down. I know it will happen eventually…

I turn to Greg as he tucks the manila envelope under his arm. “All set?” I ask.

“Yeah.” He glances over at Wanda. “You can just go ahead and slide them under my door next time.”

She pouts a little, like she enjoyed having an excuse to talk to Greg. “Oh, OK. The lady was just pretty adamant I make sure they go directly into your hands.” She looks down again, noticing that he still hasn’t let go of
my
hand. I squeeze, and he turns and smiles down at me.

“Let’s go,” I murmur.

“Have a good night,” Wanda says automatically as we stride away across the lobby.

“We will,” I can’t help throwing over my shoulder, petty though it is.

We reach the old wooden elevator and Greg presses the button to call it.

“
Playboy
subscription?” I ask, nodding to the envelope.

He smiles again at my teasing, but rolls it and tucks it into his back pocket without answering. I’m curious, and want to press him on it even though it’s not really any of my business, but then the elevator
dings
and the doors open. He steps inside and I follow.

The doors have only just slid shut when he backs me against the elevator wall. It judders, and I wonder if this thing might break down. I don’t think I’d have a complaint if I got stuck in here with Greg though. His hands slip up my sides, under my shirt, brushing over the front of my bra, and his lips press against the sensitive spot right below my ear. My nipples push against the light tease of his thumbs.

“Hey there,” I croak.

“Hey,” he whispers, but then the creaking elevator stutters to a halt and the doors open. He steps back, and we get off. He stands in the hallway for a moment, just staring at me. I slip off my jacket slowly, deliberately.

“Which way?”

“Left.” His voice is hoarse.

I stride away down the hall, pointing at doors and looking at him over my shoulder. He shakes his head, his eyes darting from my ass and back up, until I point at the right one. Just him looking at me like that makes me feel sexier than I’ve ever felt before. I stand in front of the door to his room, and suck in a breath as he steps behind me, reaches around, and slips his old-fashioned key in the lock, then leans down to kiss the exposed skin on my shoulder before pushing it open.

I take a few steps inside. The room is bigger than I expected, with homely furnishings and an amber glow coming from the lamp next to the bed. Greg’s duffle is on the floor, with a few T-shirts and boxer shorts spilling out of it. I turn around as I hear him close the door and lock it again. Suddenly I’m nervous. I hover in the middle of the room, then reach over and drop my jacket on a chair in the corner. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the dresser, my hair wild, my eyes wilder.