by Ashley Logan
As he held the door open for her, he breathed in the floral scent of her hair as she walked by. His eyes slid down her body and back up while she was looking the other way. No bra today either, he noted.
Sitting opposite, Serge watched her over the top of his menu.
“You’re acting creepy,” she said, without looking up. “Stop staring at me.”
“How did you even know I was looking?” he asked, stunned.
“I can feel your eyes on me. And you haven’t turned your menu over from the drinks side.”
Looking down, he flipped the menu card to view the meals. “Have you considered a career as a detective?”
“It’s on the list,” she said, trying not to laugh.
Serge met her eyes. “I suppose a smart girl like you has a lot of options.”
“Maybe too many options.” Her teeth ran over her bottom lip as she paid careful attention to the menu.
“Are you talking about the menu or your career choices?”
“Both. What are you getting? Because if it’s the pancakes I’ll get something else, so long as you promise to share a bite.”
Serge studied the menu. “I do like pancakes. What’s your other choice? Because I’d want to be reimbursed for that bite.”
Her forehead crinkled a little in concentration and it made him smile. “I think maybe the full English with an extra hash brown, or eggs Bennie.”
“I have no idea where you’ll put it, but I’m fine with either of those. Only if you’re getting hash browns with the eggs Benedict, though. I’m going to need at least one of them if you’re eating my delicious pancakes.”
She smiled at him over her menu. “Deal.”
Once the order was made, they had no menus to hide behind.
“So,” Vi said, her eyebrows on the rise. “Work is busy?”
“Mmm. I don’t want to talk about work.”
“My work or yours?”
Was that a leading question? Serge found himself thinking of her on stage.
“Neither,” he said, to be safe. “Tell me something I don’t know about you.”
Her lips pressed together. “That’s tricky. There are too many things.”
“Pick one,” he said, taking a sip of water. “Or I’ll think you’re being purposely avoidant.”
Violet laughed. “You know I’m being purposely avoidant.” Puffing her cheeks out, she exhaled slowly. “Okay. I speak fluent French.”
Serge leaned back in his chair. “Have you been to France?”
“No, I just wanted to check the labels in Canada were being honest,” she said, laughing. When she saw he was unimpressed, she stopped. “Yes. I’ve been to France. Have you been?”
Serge nodded, wondering about this mysterious girl. “Where else have you been?”
Shrugging, Vi slowly sucked vanilla milkshake through her straw. “Name a place.”
What was she playing at? “Albania.”
Smiling, she shook her head. “Not yet. Maybe I should have been traveling alphabetically?”
“Where did you learn to dance?” he asked, ending the game.
“From dance teachers.”
“Why are you being cagey? I only asked because I think you’re very talented. Did you start at a young age?”
Violet kept her eyes level with his.
“I was three. My mother insisted. She thought a ballerina daughter would be good for her image. When I showed promise, I had private ballet tutors to ensure I progressed through the grades, but I preferred the freedom of contemporary, hip hop and even jazz. They felt better. I used to dance those in private so she wouldn’t catch me.”
Their meals were put in front of them, but Serge continued to stare at Vi as she thanked the waitress for them both.
She’d suddenly gone from holding out to sharing an abundance of information and now she sucked on her straw, watching him decipher it with a look on her face that dared him to question her at his own risk. Whatever reaction she was expecting, he knew he wanted to avoid it.
Keeping his face completely plain, he nodded. “I dance in private too.”
Her lips that were pursed tightly around her straw began to curve slowly into a smile.
Picking up her fork, she gestured to his. They ate in silence a while.
“Why did you quit Medicine?”
“Because I was surrounded by pretentious assholes and it made me unhappy. Who helped you lose weight the first time?”
“My Pops. He used to ride his bicycle as I ran, talking to me the whole time.”
“What kind of things did he talk about?”
“All sorts. When he was young, the war, when he met Nan, what Ma was like when she was little, what I was like when I was little, sports, the weather, which Presidents were shit and which ones made a difference; all sorts.”
Serge put a heaped fork in his mouth as she nodded and smiled and ate. They kept their thoughts to themselves until their plates were cleared of everything but a few crumbs and a few drops of maple syrup.
“Thanks for breakfast,” she said as he picked up the bill. She swiped syrup up with her finger. Serge followed it to her mouth, but had to avert his gaze as her lips closed round it.
“Thanks for meeting me. I only wish I could stay longer. Vi, I-” Serge wondered how to finish that sentence. “Would you walk back with me?”
As uncertain as she looked, she still nodded and Serge loved her for it. As they walked back along the street, Serge slipped her hand into his. “Is this okay?”
“Very. You can do more, if you like,” she added when they came to a stop in front of the station. Gritting his teeth, Serge shook his head.
“I really want to, but I was thinking that we should take it slow. I don’t want to muck things up, Vi.”
“Are you worried that if we do other stuff I’ll freak out?”
“Maybe. I don’t want you to hate me like that. But maybe I’ll be the one to freak out. It might be that your judgment has been compromised by your deprived state and that after things happen, you’ll decide you don’t actually like me, but I’ll be hooked. I think if we rush things, someone will get hurt. We have time, right? I mean, I know I’m pushing ninety, but you’re still young.”
Vi chuckled as he’d intended, but he thought he registered disappointment in her eyes. “Will you kiss me more?” she asked.
“Like this?” Taking her face in his hands, he bent his head and tilted hers upward, sealing her mouth with his. Her lips parted with a sigh and he darted his tongue inside. Pulling back and gently sucking her bottom lip, he pressed his mouth to hers again before lifting his lips to her forehead.
“Yeah, I’m gonna want to do that a lot more,” he said, a little breathless as he held her close.
“Good. Me too.”
“Hey Guys! I thought it was you two lovebirds giving a public display!” Rick grinned as if he was extremely happy at the sight.
Having Violet in his arms had taken Serge elsewhere and with Rick’s intrusion, he came crashing back to find the regular world around them as they stood outside the station. “Hi Rick. You remember Violet,” Serge said as his face heated.
“Of course! I never forget a pretty face,” he said, viewing a lot more than her face. Feeling a growl building in his chest, Serge pulled Vi closer to him.
“I’m glad I caught you both together,” Rick continued, as if nothing had happened. “Dinner, Sunday, 6 o’clock at our place. Just bring your lovely selves. G and I will take care of the rest. I’ll let her know it’s confirmed. I’m just on my way up to see her now, before I hold a client’s hand through questioning,” he said, the grin still plastered on his face as he went inside.
Serge and Violet both stared at the door after he’d disappeared beyond it.
“What just happened?” she asked quietly.
Serge looked down at her worried face and kissed the top of her head. “I think it was our opportunity to decline being whisked away before we could speak.”
“Wow. He’s good. He’s a lawyer?”
“One of the best. You want me to cancel?”
“Will he let you?”
“Not without a fight. I get the feeling he’s trying to prove a point.”
Violet considered this a while. “Are they good cooks?”
Serge laughed. “Yeah. Does that make a difference?”
“Definitely. Don’t you think?”
He smiled at her serious question. “I suppose if we have to participate in Rick’s dastardly subplot, then delicious food would lessen our suffering.”
“My thoughts exactly. The power of positive thinking. Save yourself the fight and be overjoyed at an invitation to feast upon taste sensations. And, if we misbehave, we not only foil whatever point he’s trying to make, but we also don’t get invited again, saving us from predicaments such as this.”
“I love how your mind works,” Serge whispered in her ear as he breathed in her scent. Violet quivered beneath his touch, her body pressing closer to his.
“And I haven’t even started to misbehave yet,” she whispered back, setting his imagination loose and his libido soaring. Just as Serge was about to pull her in closer to inform her that she was in fact being quite troublesome, Violet slipped through his arms.
“You’d better get to work, Power Serge. Who knows what else Rick might be cooking up?” she said over her shoulder as she began walking away.
Taking her hand, Serge spun her back into his arms. “I do have to get to work, but I’m going to want to see you later.”
“Twice in one day?” she asked innocently. “I thought we were taking it slow.”
Closing his eyes, Serge set his jaw and nodded. “You’re right. I did say that.” Kissing her hand, he gave it a squeeze and let it go. “I didn’t say it would be easy,” he muttered to himself as he looked into her eyes. “Not tonight then. I’ll be in touch.”
“Can’t wait.” Standing on her toes, she grazed her cheek against his momentarily before kissing it, turning what would have been a small peck, into a suggestive, sensual experience. As she pulled back, Serge thought her smile was one part mischief, one part nervous, three parts sweet and wholly beautiful.
Unable to take his eyes off her as she walked away, Serge stood on the sidewalk, wondering what on earth she saw in him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
VIOLET
Serge: See you soon. Four days is too long. Wish you’d been able to make it to self-defense yesterday. I can’t wait to see you. And touch you. I want to touch you again so bad.
Me: Where?
Serge: In Albania?
Serge: Anywhere you’ll fucking let me.
Me: I can think of a few places.
A thrill of anticipation runs through me as I put my phone back on the bedside table. Checking myself in the mirror again, I look to Scarlett, who’s lounging on my bed.
“Don’t look at me like that, you look hot and you know it,” she says, flicking over another page of her magazine as she leans against the wall.
Turning back to the mirror, I toss my braid over my shoulder and pull at my skirt. “Is this too tight? I don’t think it’s too short, but maybe it’s too tight. Should I do up another button on my blouse, or does that make it look like I’m trying to hide?”
“Are you trying to hide?” she asks, lowering Vogue. “Who are these people? Can you not just wear jeans?”
“I’d like to say they’re Serge’s friends, but I’m not sure that’s entirely true. It’s his partner and her husband, but it’s a little complicated, because Serge has been in love with her for a while.”
“What?” Scar’s legs slip off the bed and she plants them on the ground as she sits bolt upright. “You never mentioned that part before! What are you doing then? Because I’ve seen you going all dreamy gaga when you look at your phone. Are you setting yourself up to fail?”
Shrugging, I slip out of my heels and into a pair of flats. “We’re both single. I like him. And I think he likes me, and his partner is married, with no signs of leaving her husband, so why can’t we date? Except this isn’t exactly a date,” I add, confusing even myself.
“Then what is it?”
“I’m not sure, but I think it might be one of those ‘lay your cards on the table’ kind of things, so I want to be sexy, but not too sexy, so that Serge wants me and his friends are a little jealous, but also I don’t want to look like I tried too hard because I’m desperate. Which I am. So tell me,” I beg, gesturing to my outfit. “Is this okay?”
Shaking her head at me, Scar frowns. “Only you could make this shit hard. You’re fucking beautiful and could have any casual lay you want, but you have to find the most twisted set of circumstances to clamber out of just to prove to yourself you were worth it.”
Pausing a moment, I consider her words. I’m not offended by them; she could have a point. “That’s not entirely true, Scar. I’ve tried other things and failed. I pick up guys and they turn into assholes. I start relationships, but they don’t work because of my dancing, which is more important to me at the time than they are. Or they’re interested in something I don’t want to be part of, or they find out in a good way or a bad way, that I’m too damaged and they run for the hills. With Serge, everything is already out in the open, for me and for him, and we still like each other. Yes it’s complicated, but we’re working it out.”
“And tonight is part of working it out?”
“Yes.”
“Well okay then. Put your heels back on, but lose the jewelry,” she says, lounging back on my bed and opening Vogue again. “Make sure that skirt isn’t too tight to be hiked up, and check your condoms haven’t expired, because there’s a good chance you’re going to get fucked.”
“Scar!”
“Just saying,” she says without looking up. “I don’t know how you two haven’t already gone at it, but one look at you tonight and he’s going to cancel dinner.”
“Oh shit,” I cry, tossing my earrings onto the dresser and reaching for the clasp of my necklace. “It’s too sexy? Should I take off the makeup?”
“You barely have any on!”
Checking my phone, I let out a terrified squeak. “I’m running out of time! What do I do? Smaller heel? Change completely? I should lose the blouse!” Unbuttoning, I freeze at the knock on my bedroom door. It’s not even shut.
“Don’t lose the blouse,” Serge says in a shaky voice as his dark eyes fall to my fingers. His grip on the door frame tightens, turning his knuckles white. “Please.”
Dressed in tidy jeans and a shirt, he is the poster boy for smart-casual.
“I don’t know what to wear,” I utter, knowing how pathetic that sounds.
“You look beautiful in everything,” he says, making me blush. “Please do up those buttons before I rip them off and maul you.”
“Don’t mind me,” Scarlett says, scooting off the bed, out the door and across the hall to her own room, where she promptly closes the door - though not quite all the way, I note.
Muffling my laughter with my hand, I watch Serge turn a deep crimson. Slowly doing up my buttons, I step toward him. “You’re early.”
“I was eager to see you,” he says, his voice deep and rough.
“Was?”
“Am.” Pulling me in, he lays a hungry kiss on my ready lips as his hands slip under my blouse and run up and down my spine. Moaning into my mouth, he drops his hands down, running over my ass and down to the hem of my skirt. Slipping beneath it, he follows the same path back up, grazing his fingers over my bare skin.
Gasping against his lips, I press myself into him and feel his need, hard between us. Relishing his touch, I rub against him as his fingers trail across my sensitive skin, hoping he’ll give me more.
Pulling back, his fingers hold me firmly at a distance. “Shit. Vi, I want to touch you everywhere, trace every curve, but I get the feeling I won’t be able to stop in time for dinner. I have to stop now.”
“You have to?”
He looks torn, as if he has a cartoon devil on his shoulder telling him to just stick me good, while the angel on the other says he should wait and make sure everything is right, and that I’m safe at every stage. Secretly rooting for the devil, I would much rather skip dinner and have Serge feel me up before taking me in a fit of lust. Just thinking about it is enough to make me squirm in my lacy underwear.
“Fuck. I can’t even look at you without wanting to rip off your clothes,” he says, turning around. “I’d like you to think you mean more to me than that; that I don’t just see you as the hottest chick in Buffalo and I’m just another pervert, but shit, Vi. This is tough.”
“Would it help if I changed?”
“Maybe. Do you have any sacks?” he asks, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head. “Never mind. You’d even make a sack look sexy.” Turning back to me he looks tortured.
“How about jeans and a t-shirt?” I ask, opening my drawers. Looking over my shoulder, I catch him staring at my ass and raise an eyebrow. “Exactly how long has your dry spell lasted, Serge?”
“Over a year.”
“What? Oh shit!” Looking down at myself I groan. Kicking off my heels, I unzip my skirt. “Damn, Serge! This is a major bait kind of outfit. Turn around!”
He does so immediately and I lose the skirt, pulling on my jeans. Not my tight ones, but the oldest, baggiest ones that have the hole in the knee. Shrugging out of my silky blouse, I pull on a plain t-shirt and try to calm myself.
“Vi? You’re breathing funny. Is it safe to turn around?”
Counting to ten as I zip up my hoodie. “This better?”
“I don’t know what you mean by better, but at least I can’t slip my pervy hands under your skirt. You still look amazing. Like I said, even a sack.”
“Serge! A year?”
“A little more than, yes. Is that bad?”
“Not bad. Hard.”
Serge nods. “It is hard,” he agrees with amusement before his face gets serious. “But I’m not going to force it on you.”