By seven o’clock, a sliver of moon had grown visible in the sky. Josh had skipped the espresso but obediently devoured a cookie, and her father had brought out a bottle of Amoretto. “I’m sorry,” Josh declined, holding up his hands to halt him, “but two beers is my limit. I’ve got to drive back to the city.”
“In fact, we really should be hitting the road,” Loretta chimed in. Her task was accomplished. Thanks to Josh, she’d convinced her parents that she could find male companionship without any assistance from Nicky. She and Josh ought to clear out before the evening deteriorated. Alyssa was fussing. The mosquitoes were beginning their aerial maneuvers. Cindy was checking her watch again, announcing that she and Al were going to have to leave in twenty minutes to keep the twins on their schedule. Nona wanted to know if Sixty Minutes was on.
“Yeah, I think we should be heading off,” Josh agreed. He endured a flurry of hand-shaking and back-slapping, and recited heart-warming lines about what a pleasant evening it had been and how happy he was to have met all the D’Angelos. Loretta kissed her parents and grandmother, and then she and Josh broke free, descending the deck steps, holding hands, shouting more farewells as they strolled around to the forsythia hedge and out to the front yard.
Crickets chirped in the descending night, accompanied by the hiss of a neighbor’s sprinkler. The scent of grilled meat hung in the air, as did the muffled chatter of her family. But the night on this side of the hedge was tranquil, darker without the deck light and the citronella candles, calmer without the crush of smothering relatives.
Josh didn’t let go of her hand.
“You are the best sport in the world,” Loretta declared as he led her to the curb and unlocked the Buick. “I owe you so big—”
“And I’m going to rack my brain trying to come up with a way for you to repay me,” he warned, smiling mischievously.
She navigated him through the British prep-school streets and onto the expressway. He turned off the air conditioning and opened his window, and the car filled with heady gusts of real air. Before them lay a chain of red taillights; to their left a chain of white headlights, sparser because fewer cars were traveling east. Loretta settled into the upholstery, with its leathery new-car scent, and felt all the tension drain from her body.
“Thanks,” she said after a while.
“You already thanked me.”
“That was an impulsive burst of gratitude. This is the real thanks. You were good. I think my parents are in love with you.”
“Your grandmother isn’t. She didn’t smile at me once.”
“Because you aren’t Catholic. Don’t worry about it.”
“How about your brothers? Did I wow them?”
She grinned. “Hard to say. Nicky will never forgive you for not being a dentist.”
“So…what’s going to happen when you tell your family we aren’t a couple?” Josh asked. “Are they going to come after me with a shotgun?”
She opened her window, too, so the warm wind could blast her from both sides. “I don’t know about a shotgun. They might come after you with their Mach-5 air abrasion systems.”
Josh shot her an alarmed look.
“No, they won’t. They’ll come after me. They’re convinced it’s my fault Gary dumped me.”
“How could it be your fault?”
“They think I’m too—I don’t know. Too stubborn. Too independent. I don’t go to church, I’m not ladylike enough, I work on a silly, disgusting TV show…. They give me guidebooks on how to catch a man. They think I don’t know how.”
“They’re crazy,” Josh said. The wind blew back his hair, allowing her to admire the perfect proportion of his adult nose in profile. “If you wanted a boyfriend, you’d have eligible guys lining up around the block.”
She snorted.
“The only reason guys aren’t lined up around the block is because you don’t want that. You make it clear that you’re not interested in a big romance. So maybe your parents are right,” he added thoughtfully, “and it is your fault.”
The traffic thickened as they approached the city. Everyone who didn’t take the Long Island Railroad home from their weekend places in the Hamptons or on Montauk or Fire Island or Shelter Island took the expressway and the parkways home. Still, she considered riding home in a car a luxury. No idiots with cell phones could get to her here.
And she had Josh all to herself. Just the two of them, talking, enjoying the bracing night air, relaxing after an overloaded afternoon.
He crossed the bridge into Manhattan. They were only fifteen minutes from her apartment, and it was still early. “How about, let’s drop off the car and go back to my place? I’ve got a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chubby Hubby in the freezer.”
“That sounds better than those cookies your mother served.” He cruised uptown on Third Avenue, and the sounds of the city flooded into the car through the open windows. No hiss of a lawn sprinkler here, no twittering of crickets. These were the sounds Loretta loved: horns blaring, people shouting, the jagged pulse of hip-hop booming from a portable radio. No split levels on Third Avenue, no aluminum siding, no third-acre lots. No suburbs. Just the city in all its noisy joy.
Josh settled up at the rental office, refusing to let Loretta contribute toward the cost of the car. “It was a treat for me,” he pointed out. “I don’t get to drive very often, so this was a thrill.” Then they set out on foot toward East 100th Street. Josh took her hand again, just as he had at her parents’ house. He had no one to impress here, no one to con into thinking they were a couple. Yet holding hands seemed appropriate. They’d survived an ordeal today, or maybe two ordeals if she counted the time they’d spent at his mother’s house. She felt triumphant. No one was going to nag her about her love life for at least the next few weeks.
At her building, they halted while she dug her key from her purse. Josh stood close to her, closer than she would have expected. He’d had to release her hand so she could rummage through her purse, but he hovered just inches from her, casting a shadow over her in the pool of light that spilled from the fixture above the door. She could practically feel his breath in her hair.
The city was hotter than Long Island had been. The tall apartment buildings tended to hug the heat, and the subways underground sent more heat upward…and none of that had to do with the prickly warmth she felt having Josh so close. She thought about ice-cream and her window-unit air conditioner, and her fingers closed around the jingling metal of her key ring.
Josh cupped his hands over her shoulders. More warmth, his palms so warm against her upper arms she flinched. “Loretta.”
She peered up at him and tamped down her concern. She trusted Josh. He was her friend, her loyal accomplice. Nothing was going on here.
“I’ve got to go,” he said.
He looked so solemn she laughed. “It’s not that late. Only—” she twisted her arm to look at her watch, and his fingers flexed in response. “—eight-fifteen.”
“That’s not it. It’s just…” He sighed. His eyes looked like blue crystals. “If I go upstairs with you, I’m not going to want ice-cream.”
She could fill in the blanks a lot of ways. She opted to fill them in the safest way. “I could give you a beer. A Sam Adams, not that stuff my dad foisted on you.”
He smiled slightly and shook his head. “I shouldn’t even be thinking this way. We’ve got an understanding.”
“You’ve got a girlfriend,” she reminded him.
Relief flickered across his face at her acknowledgement that they weren’t discussing ice-cream versus beer. “It’s just—all day, getting into the role, living it, I …” He sighed. “I’m sorry. I’ve been thinking…”
“You’ve been thinking what?” she asked when his silence stretched too long.
“You know what I’ve been thinking. If you tell me you’re not thinking the same thing, I swear I’ll turn around and go home and drink my own beer. I know I’m out of line h
ere, but—”
Yes, she knew what he was thinking. Yes, she was thinking the same thing. Not because Donna had nagged her about it, not because she hadn’t had sex since Valentine’s Day, not because her parents wanted her in a romance, but because Josh was such a true friend, and she felt so good around him, and damn it, he had a girlfriend.
“You are thinking it,” he said.
And his girlfriend was, what? More than a thousand miles away? And no one would ever even know, and he’d been living the role of Loretta’s boyfriend in a big way all day, touching her, sending her amorous gazes, kissing her cheek, toying with her hair, acting like her lover… and they were both thinking it. He was so right about that.
“Just this once,” he said. “It doesn’t have to destroy our friendship. That’s fundamental. That’s not going to change. It means too much to us, so we won’t let anything undermine it. But just to, I don’t know, get it out of our systems. And then we can have some ice-cream.”
“Just this once,” she echoed.
His eyes met hers. His smile was both hopeful and resigned, as if braced to accept whatever she decided.
“Just this once,” she said again, half in warning and half in capitulation. He smiled as she opened the door.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Naturally, she wasn’t wearing the silky burgundy teddy. If she’d known how this day might end, she would have chosen her underwear more carefully. But she’d dressed for comfort, donning a plain white cotton bra and high-cut panties. At least they matched.
The funny thing was that, all in all, the paltry seductive quotient of her underwear didn’t bother her. This was Josh. It was a one-time thing, devoid of profound meaning. They were going to make love because they really, really wanted to, and the hell with moral qualms or fears about the long-term repercussions. It was just sex, just once, a little fun between friends, possibly more pleasurable than Ben & Jerry’s ice cream—and possibly not. The act might just disappoint them both. But that would be okay, too. They’d still be friends afterward.
She led Josh into her apartment, past the slipcovered sofa and the uncomfortable rocker and around the screen to her bed. It was the one piece of furniture she’d actually bought new, after her mother had badgered her for several days, citing the dubious scientific fact that a person could catch something by sleeping on a used bed. “You don’t know where a used bed might have been,” she’d scolded. “You don’t know what might have been done on it.”
Murder? Loretta had wondered. The filming of a porn flick? Trampoline practice? But she’d yielded to her mother’s wishes and blown the money she’d been saving for a weekend in the Berkshires on a new double bed, which was delivered sealed in sterile plastic. A single or twin mattress would have fit better into the nook of her L-shaped studio apartment, but Loretta figured she’d be spending more time in that nook sleeping than strolling around, so she wedged the bed into the cramped space and did her best to avoid stubbing her toes when she had to walk to the closet or the bathroom.
She doubted Josh cared that she’d bought the bed new. He spared it only a brief glance before turning her toward him and lowering his mouth to hers.
This kiss was nothing like the kiss he’d given her outside her building after their blind date. It wasn’t tentative, it wasn’t asking. It was telling, announcing, celebrating. It was lusty and hungry and unabashed. It was his breath filling her, his teeth gently tugging on her lower lip, his tongue sliding deep.
Oh, God, he could kiss.
After a long minute, he drew back. His beautiful hazel eyes were glazed, his breath shallow. “Do you—?”
“Yeah.”
“Because I didn’t—”
“It’s okay.” She’d gone on the pill when she and Gary started getting serious, and she’d stayed on it after they’d broken up because she’d loved what it did for her complexion. And Josh didn’t seem like a high-risk guy. A nice Jewish boy, she thought, although his kisses, which had moved from her mouth to her throat and shoulder and the edge of her earlobe, weren’t exactly “nice.” But…oh, she was feeling nice, very nice as he slid his hands down her back and tugged her shirt free from the waistband of her shorts. Very, very nice as he moved his hands up underneath, as he caressed the warm skin there, as he lifted his mouth back to hers.
She was greatly relieved, when he shed his shirt, to discover that his chest wasn’t terribly hairy. Just a small patch of tawny curls along his sternum. He could have guzzled her mother’s espresso without turning into King Kong—but if he’d had some, he might have been jittery from the caffeine, and she didn’t want him jittery. She wanted him exactly as he was: purposeful but relaxed, almost leisurely as he stripped off her clothes, her boring underwear and then his jeans and boxer-briefs.
They were friends. This should be relaxed. She’d never made love with a friend before, but she liked the lack of emotional neediness in his touch—and in her heart. She liked the absence of unspoken promises. This was what it was and nothing more. Just one final scene at the end of a successful performance, an epilogue for the enjoyment of the players alone.
They sprawled out on the bed, kissed some more, touched, tangled. He wove his legs through hers, ran his hands all over her, ran his mouth all over her. Through the arousal that filled her with a shimmering heat, she managed to notice that he had a gorgeous physique. Not surprising; the very first time she’d seen him, clad in old, grass-stained work clothes as he rode home from his weekly mowing chore, she’d figured him for a great body. The reality was every bit as attractive as she’d assumed. What she couldn’t see in the dim light she could feel—the sleek surface of his back, the knotted muscles of his butt, the breadth of his shoulders and the taut plane of his abdomen. But there were surprises, too. His hair was much softer than she’d expected, cool and silky against her fingers. And his arms were strong, taking the bulk of his weight so he wouldn’t crush her, even when he was on top of her.
She liked having him there, his hips settled between her thighs, his shoulders bunched as he held himself above her. She liked gazing up into his face and glimpsing his smile just before he bowed his head to kiss her breasts. He kissed lower, and she liked that even more. Oh, God…she would be his truest friend until her dying day if he just kept kissing her like that.
He slid back up her body, replacing his mouth with his hand between her legs as she reached down for him. He smiled again when she stroked him, groaned a little, then let her guide him in. And suddenly she didn’t feel like his friend anymore.
Well, yes, still his friend but…more. All the neediness, all the possessiveness, all the promises they hadn’t dared to acknowledge flared to life inside her. With each thrust, she recognized what a mistake this was, what a fool she was, what a disaster this would turn out to be…because nothing in her entire life had ever felt as magnificent, as honest, as right as having Josh inside her.
She came in a great, shuddering rush, clinging to him and closing her eyes, hoping he wouldn’t see the love bursting open like a ripe blossom inside her. He kept moving and she came again, feeling bits of her soul shatter and drift beyond her reach. Tears burned her eyes but he wouldn’t see that, either, not as long as she kept her lids slammed shut.
He let go, his body wrenching and his tension escaping in a low moan. She wrapped her arms tightly around him and pulled him down, keeping her face turned from him so he wouldn’t notice the few stray tears that leaked through her lashes.
He lay still for a few minutes, then stirred, twining his fingers through her hair. His legs relaxed against hers, his breathing slowed and he let out a long, weary sigh. Don’t say anything, she pleaded silently. Don’t make jokes, don’t ask me for ice cream, don’t mention your girlfriend, don’t say we’re friends. Don’t do anything until I’ve had a chance to recover.
But he didn’t wait for her to recover. He straightened his arms to prop himself up and stared down into her face. “We’re in trouble, aren’
t we,” he murmured.
She batted her eyes and bravely attempted a smile. “What trouble?”
“This was too good.”
“Just a little too good,” she said.
“A lot. A hell of a lot. Damn.” He looked away, and she realized he regretted the whole thing as much as she did, for precisely the same reason.
Why did he have to reach the same conclusion she had? Why couldn’t he have thought nothing special had just occurred? Then she could have labeled him a jerk and put some emotional distance between them. But no—he had to agree with her. It had to be too good for him, too, and its too-goodness had to bother him the same way it bothered her.
He rolled off her and settled onto the bed beside her. Because it was a firm, high-quality mattress, it didn’t sag under his weight, and she didn’t slide toward him. He rectified that by pulling her into his arms, guiding her head onto his shoulder and resting his chin against her hair.
“What are we going to do?” she asked.
“Make love again.”
“How is that going to help things?”
“I don’t know if it’s going to help, but it sure won’t hurt.”
“Josh.” He didn’t seem to be taking the situation as seriously as she was. She couldn’t decide whether that pleased or irritated her.
“Until you kick me out of your bed, I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “Okay? You want to kick me out, go ahead.” He made that challenge impossible for her by circling her breast with his hand, fondling it, teasing the nipple with his thumb until she was hot and restless, wanting him again.
“No fair,” she whispered. She started to push his hand away, but wound up only covering it with hers, holding him to her.
“The damage has already been done. We can repair it now or later. I vote for later.”
“There might be more damage later.”
“I don’t think so.” He moved his hand down her belly, her hand going along for the ride because she didn’t want to let go of him. “We’ve screwed things up—”
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