Balancing the Scales

by Laura Carter

  “Don’t worry about it,” I tell her. She waits a beat too long before remembering she was leaving.

  “Jeez, how does he do that?” Kit asks, shaking his head.

  “Some men are born great and get greater, Kit,” I tell him, brushing my shoulder for effect.

  “And some men get fatter,” Brooks says, patting Kit’s stomach. “When are you going to get your lazy ass into my gym, man?”

  “Brooks, I keep telling him. I could find myself a Harrison Ford if he isn’t careful,” Madge says, completely straight faced.

  “I like my food. Right, Edmond? And I like a drink. I don’t see any of you guys drinking water.” Kit downs his champagne. “Plus, Madge can joke all she wants about Harrison Ford. I know she loves something to grab hold of.” He does some scary freakin’ thing that involves wiggling brows and plants a kiss on Madge’s cheek.

  “It’s a good thing I love you. I’m not sure we could find another home for you.” She reaches across the oval table and places her hand in Brooks’s. “Baby steps, Brooks. We’ll keep wearing him down.”

  “You know, I could always think of other ways to work out, Madge,” Kit says, again with the wiggly eyebrow thing.

  “Yeah, that’s worked out so well in the past,” she says. “We bore devils.”

  Laughing, I tell Sarah to scoot around so I can join them in the booth. I drop a kiss on her cheek when I sit. “You look a million, as always.”

  “You don’t brush up so bad yourself.” She rubs the collar of my shirt between her fingers. “Is this Marco’s latest?”

  “Who’s Marco?” Madge asks. “Your stylist guy?”

  “Christ, Madge, make it sound a little more masculine. I don’t have a stylist. He’s more of a personal shopper because I can’t stand crowds and lines.” I pour myself a glass of champagne from the bucket and sit back with one arm resting along the rim of the booth.

  “Well, whichever, can Kit have his number?”

  I literally choke on my Dom. “Are you going to give the man a break tonight?”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” Marty asks.

  We work down another two bottles of champagne, the banter in the group in full swing. I hadn’t been in the mood for a big night but this is the kind of partying I love. Good friends, good music, good drinks, a shit load of laughs. This was actually what I needed.

  Between restroom and cigarette breaks, we end up shuffling our seating order around the booth. When Edmond comes back from his latest smoke, I wind up sitting next to him. As soon as he catches my eye, I know my night of not thinking about Becky has come to an end. At the same time, I admit to myself that I’ve been avoiding this conversation all night.

  We both rest back against the black velvet of the booth. “It’s none of my business, Drew, but I told you to stay away from her.”

  “It takes two people, Edmond.”

  “I understand that, and I don’t want to give you a rough time. Just appreciate that she came here to leave shit behind. She doesn’t need to run into it in Manhattan too.”

  “I’m not trying to bring shit down on her.”

  “Well, intentional or not, she’s hurting. She hasn’t even accepted my pappardelle for dinner the last two nights. My pappardelle is good, Drew, the best in fact, and Becky doesn’t often turn down food.”

  Despite my annoyance that I am somehow being told I’m to blame for whatever mess we’ve got ourselves into, his comment entertains me. “Yeah, missing meals doesn’t sound like Becky.”

  He pats a hand roughly on my shoulder. “That’s all I’ll say on the subject, my friend. Top up?”

  “Sure.” I slide my glass toward him and rub a hand over my chin, contemplating our conversation. She’s hurting. Yeah, well, me too.

  Another table shuffle has me sitting opposite Marty and Brooks, and the conversation switches to ice hockey and trying to get a game together soon. A safe space. We’re laughing about our last game, which was a friendly knock around with the puck, until Kit got his nose broken. That brings everyone in on the conversation again. I’m starting to feel for the guy but Kit gives out as many jokes as he gets.

  I drop my head back, laughing heartily, until my attention is grabbed by the next two people to walk into the club. Like a magnet, I’m drawn in and fixed on Becky. Her blond hair falls in waves down her back, glossy under the lights. Her short silver-blue sequined dress finishes high on her chest but the back droops low. Silver heels elongate those killer legs. She has on more makeup than usual. Her eyes are smoky, dark, sultry. Her lips are red and utterly inviting. The way she looks, it’s not just my tongue I want to put in her mouth.

  Before my body finds the ability to react, Edmond has called Becky over to the table. She rests a hand against the arm of the man she walked in with—the bartender from Paddy’s Irish bar—and says something into his ear before he moves toward the bar.

  Well, that didn’t take long, did it?

  The rage burning through every cell in my body overwhelms the nausea in my gut at the sight of her with another man.

  Edmond stands and kisses her on the cheek. “I’m glad you could make it.”

  Sarah steals her attention next. “Becky, I told you you’d look amazing in that dress.”

  I watch her embarrassment show on her face as she glances down over the dress. “I don’t know. I feel like a bit of a tit, to be honest.”

  Madge laughs. “Oh my God, see how lovely that sounds in a British accent. Hey, I’m Madge.”

  Kit kicks my foot under the table and says, not subtly at all, “That is British Becky?” If I could shoot daggers with my eyes, I’d have just stabbed him.

  I can sense Brooks and Marty watching me too. The whole thing has me rolling my stiff jaw.

  “Scoot over, everyone,” Sarah says. “Come sit down, Becky.”

  Becky looks at me, holding on to her clutch with both hands. Does she expect me to invite her? No chance.

  “Becky came here with someone else, Sarah,” I bite out. “I’m sure there’s somewhere she should be.” I say the words without looking away from Becky. She’s clearly taken aback. Maybe it was harsh but it’s true. She came here with another guy. Good luck to her.

  When she eventually speaks, it is just to me, and I can barely hear her above the music. “I came here alone. I bumped into him on the way in. He’s just a friend.”

  “You seem to have a lot of friends, until you…” As irate as I am, I check myself before finishing that sentence with fuck them.

  She shakes her head, everything about her expression screaming her incredulity. “I can’t believe you’re mad at me.” She swallows hard, and her eyes glaze. I want to go to her and wrap her in my arms. But I don’t. I stay right where I am and stare back at her, as defiant as I wish I felt. She looks at Sarah, then Edmond. “Thank you for inviting me, guys. You were right; this place is great.”

  “Becky, please, sit with us,” Sarah says.

  “No, really, I was just dropping in to say hi and take a look at the view.” Her eyes clear and she rolls them, flippantly gesturing toward the rooftop. “I have a touristy thing for views.”

  I watch her walk out to the rooftop, with the growing knowledge that I’m a dick. When I see her rub the back of her hand under her nose, I have one hundred and ten percent confirmation.

  The table is silent, waiting for my reaction. Sarah is first to speak. “Drew, you can’t just—”

  I drag a hand through my hair. “I know. All right. I know.”

  Edmond stands to let me out as I push up from the booth.

  I find her outside, her elbows resting on the balcony edge as she takes in the view. She has a drink in her hands but the Irish guy is nowhere to be seen. She’s like a perfect portrait. I wish I could capture her in this moment and keep her.

  “I’m sorry I upset you.” She doesn’t turn
but the shift in her shoulders tells me she heard me. “I was a dick in there. But it doesn’t change the fact that I am pissed at you.”

  She pushes off the railing so hard to face me that her drink sloshes out of her glass. I brace myself for a tongue-lashing, but when her eyes meet mine, she looks down at her feet, and the inferno seems to go out.

  “Don’t do that, Becky. Don’t look down. If you have something to say to me, you say it.” When she doesn’t respond, I reach out and lift her chin. Whether it’s my words or my touch, her temper comes back full throttle.

  “I’ve told you not to do that. Don’t try to control me, Drew.” She slaps away my hand, making me step back, holding up both arms. “And yes, I’m bloody angry with you. You haven’t even spoken to me since we slept together.”

  “Ha. You’re the one who left, without giving any indication of how you felt. You’re the one who didn’t even put a freakin’ alarm on and almost cost me a client.”

  “Are you joking? You’re mad at me because you’re not grown up enough to put your own alarm on?”

  “Yes!” I shout the word and appreciate as I do how ridiculous that sounds. “It’s not just that. It’s you. You mess with my head. I’ve never screwed up so many times in a year as I have since I met you. You’re a distraction, and I don’t have time for it.”

  She snorts. “Oh my God, you’re actually a twat. I was just your friend, Drew. You kept showing up places and doing nice things. I enjoy being around you. I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re the first…”

  “The first what?”

  “You’re the first time I’ve felt happy in this city. You’re the first time it’s felt like more than just a place I work. The first time it’s felt like somewhere I want to call home.”

  I step closer to her and this time, she doesn’t cast her eyes down, she looks up at me. “Becky, you’re the one who doesn’t want a relationship. You said so.”

  “So did you.”

  “I know that. And I meant it then.” I raise my hand to her hair without conscious thought and tuck it behind her ear. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about being in a relationship, Becky. And now really isn’t a good time for me to start finding out.” I fill my lungs, trying to establish in a nanosecond whether my next words are the right thing to say. “But I realized this week that I miss you when you aren’t around. And I can’t stand the thought of you being with someone like that Irish goofball.”

  She laughs and sniffs at the same time. “He’s a good guy, and he really is just a friend.”

  “I know what you do with your friends,” I say. Winking to let her know it’s a joke this time. Thankfully, she takes it as such. “You’re more of a distraction to me when you’re not around, Becky. So, I’d like you to be around.”

  “I want to be around you too, but I…I can’t be in a relationship right now. There are things…” She sighs, and I know she won’t finish that sentence.

  I take the glass from her hands and place it on the bar table closest to us. I take her cheeks in my palms, and I’m staring down at those red lips, wanting nothing other than to take her to bed. “Then how about we spend time together. We keep having fun. And we don’t label it; we don’t make it a thing. We don’t go nuts at each other for working late or not being available. We just do whatever comes naturally to us and leave it at that?”

  “I don’t know, Drew. I… The timing is not good, horrible in fact. But I don’t think I have the strength to stay away from you. And…what feels natural to me…” She bites her bottom lip and one side of my mouth lifts.

  “I know. Me too. So, maybe we’re friends who fool around. At least for now.”

  Her lips curl. “You New York folk are weird. This all sounds a bit Sex and the City to me.”

  I take a step back from her. “Whoa! You want to have sex with me? Slow down, Samantha.”

  She throws her head back on a laugh, her neck elongated, her eyes bright, her hair blowing in the night’s breeze. She’s exquisite.

  I grab her hand and pull her to me. “Are we good?”

  “We’re good.”

  “Want to go inside and meet my friends?”

  She nods. “I’d like that.”

  “Come on then.” With my hand around hers, I start to leave the rooftop, but she pulls me back.

  “First though, I want to do something that feels natural to me.” She rises onto her tiptoes and presses her mouth to mine. I take hold of her nape and part her lips with my tongue until she groans. Her hands roam my back, and her fingertips dig into my hips.

  Reluctantly, I break our connection and lean down to her ear. “I’m pretty sure it’s going to feel natural to me to take you home tonight. This dress.” I run my fingers down her spine. Pimples rise on her skin under my touch. “These heels.” I slide a hand up her thigh, stopping just under the hem of her dress. “They can stay later.” I kiss her once more and lead her back to the booth.

  At the table, I introduce Becky properly and the others pretend we didn’t act out something from Oprah on the balcony. It takes less than a minute for the guys to start regaling Becky with stories of my college days. Needless to say, they don’t paint me in the best light. The recurring themes seem to be booze, women—the few crash and burns, because why would they want to brag about my conquests—and sporting disasters.

  “I was also a cool guy,” I tell Becky, unable to hide my own amusement. I casually drop an arm around her shoulders without thinking. I contemplate moving it but when she leans into my side, I decide to leave it there.

  “So, Becky, I hear you’re ripe to steal Edmond’s kitchen,” Kit says. “Edmond says you’re the best raw talent he’s seen in a long time.”

  She tilts her head to one side, toward me, and tucks her hair behind her ear. I lean in to her temple and whisper. “You need to learn how to take a compliment.”

  “Well, that’s kind of him,” she says, smiling at Edmond. “But he’s my knight in shining armor. When a man has rescued you as many times as Edmond has me, you don’t thank him by taking his spot.”

  The look Edmond gives her is so warm and fond that my liking for my friend just went up tenfold. “You did everything for yourself,” he says.

  I’m also struck by something that I would like to think is curiosity but that may even be jealousy. I want to know more about Becky. I want to understand what gives her the strength to fight the feelings between us. And, yeah, I want to be the one to rescue her from whatever she needed rescuing from.

  Shit, when did that happen?

  When 2 a.m. rolls around, Madge and Kit declare they are “pooped”, in Madge’s words. Edmond also calls time to get home to his wife and kids. As we’re saying our good-byes, a redhead I recognize from a few other occasions comes up to Marty, rubbing her breasts subtly—but not so subtle that I miss it—against his arm. I manage to count to six in my head before they move to the dance floor, which is now full. Like all of Jerome’s clubs, he keeps the door count low enough that it’s not like a sweat shop on the dance floor when he brings in his top DJ’s for a set late in the night—or morning.

  Sarah, Brooks, Becky and I order another bottle of champagne. I don’t mind admitting, I’m starting to feel that buzz and with it, an increasing desire to be touching Becky. The hand she dropped to my thigh five minutes ago tells me she’s feeling it too. The tension between us is mounting, and I’d like to take her to bed right now. God knows that’s where this night is going to end up. And it will be hot. I’ve seen it first-hand. The longer we wait this out. Touching. Drinking. The more intense it’s going to be when I finally get her in my bed.

  “Say, Brooks, when was the last time you showed me your moves?” Sarah asks.

  Brooks’s usual stoicism is nowhere to be found—that’s a combination of booze and Sarah. “You want to see my snake hips?”

  “Bet your sweet ass I d
o,” she tells him.

  She stands and pulls Brooks by an imaginary tie around his neck, backing onto the dance floor. It’s great to see them so happy.

  When they are out of earshot, Becky asks, “Are they…?”

  “Sarah and Brooks? No, just good friends. They both have shit to figure out. Do you want to dance?”

  “Sure.”

  Taking her hand, I lead her onto the dancefloor. The track changes to a trippy, danced-up version of Lana Del Ray’s “Diet Mountain Dew.” In the middle of the floor, I tug her to me, my thighs on either side of hers. She’s rigid as she glances around us.

  “Relax,” I say against her earlobe.

  I pull her against mine, and she sinks into my hold. Her hips gradually begin to move against me. “I’m sorry, it’s just, I haven’t been allowed in a club for a long time, let alone dancing.”

  “Allowed?”

  She jerks her head back to look at me. “I just mean it’s been a while.”

  This issue she has with being controlled. Not being “allowed” to do things. I think I’m starting to get a picture of Becky’s life before New York. I could be calling it wrong. Maybe the champagne is making me think I know things I don’t. Right or wrong, I pull her against me again and tell her, “I’ll never try to control you, Becky. I want you to be whoever you want to be.”

  She reaches up and presses her lips to my neck, then rolls her hips against me. My cock grows at the contact. I run my hands down her back and to her ass, tugging her tighter to me as I grind my pelvis against her, craving more contact, craving more of her body.

  She leans her head back and raises her arms as I hold her. She looks happy, free, and absolutely smokin’. The move presses her body harder against my erection. When she brings her head back up, she wraps her hands around my neck and looks me in the eye as she grinds against what she must know is rock hard for her. I drop my forehead to hers. “You’re so fucking sexy.”

  I expect her cheeks to flush, for her to look away, but she doesn’t. She continues to watch me through heavy eyes and slides her hands down to my ass. She presses her thigh harder between my legs.