Darker Water

by Lauren Stewart

  “Try this one.” It was a man’s voice, not the saleswoman’s.

  “Carson?”

  “Hurry up and try it on. I only have two hours to go home, get dressed, do my hair, and meet the woman I’m not dating for a drink I’m not going to drink.”

  I felt the fabric of the dress he’d picked out and immediately knew it was out of my price range. Then I looked at myself in the mirror. The dress I already had on was perfect…for someone else. On me, it gaped near the arms and pulled across my chest.

  “Hurry up,” he called.

  I took the last failure off and slipped on the dress Carson had tossed me. It was perfect. For me.

  When I opened the door, he let out his breath. “You look…the complete opposite of crap.”

  “Thank you.” That was probably as close to a compliment as I was going to get. “How’d you know it would fit so perfectly?”

  “Because I do nothing but stare at your body when we’re together.” Just like he was doing now, his eyes running the length of my body, covetous. And it wasn’t of the dress. “Take it off and let’s go.”

  “I wish. I’m about ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure it’s out of my price range.” I couldn’t find the tag until I looked at him and saw it in his hand. “Why do you have that?”

  “You’re gonna owe me a lot more Getting Handy lessons.” Then he walked away. “Get dressed. We need to go.”

  “Carson, wait! You can’t buy it for me.” It was so pretty, though, perfectly snug on the top, draping gorgeousness on the bottom. He’d already made up his mind and nothing I said would change it. Plus, I would never, ever be able to afford it and it was so beautiful and it fit me so well and…

  No. “Carson!”

  I ran back into the dressing room to grab my purse, carefully taking the dress off and yanking my own clothes back on, not bothering with shoes. When I got to him, the saleswoman asked him if he wanted his receipt emailed to him.

  “I can’t let you do that,” I said.

  “It’s just an email, Lane,” he said without turning. “I think I can handle it.”

  The saleswoman laughed, taking the dress from me and wrapping it up. “Do you need shoes? Nylons?”

  I said no at the same time Carson said yes.

  “No, thank you. I have shoes.” Not nice enough for this dress, but I had a pair.

  As we walked through the store, I held onto the box as if it was the most valuable thing I’d ever owned, which it may have been.

  “You shouldn’t have done that, but thank you.” It felt so inadequate, but what else could I do?

  “Don’t think you’re getting it for free,” he said as we cut through the men’s department. “You’re buying me a drink at this thing tonight.”

  “I think it’s an open bar.”

  “Then you’re buying me a few drinks at this thing tonight.”

  “If I get you drunk, will you let me take advantage of you?” I teased.

  “Alright, that’s it,” he growled. He took the dress box from me, picked me up, plopped my ass on a display of jeans, and nudged my knees apart so he could stand between them. “I tried to be patient. I really did, but this friend thing sucks.”

  “Umm…” I took a quick breath when he put his hands on my thighs. “You know we’re in public, right?”

  “So?” He was really close, looking intense and amused and completely focused on me.

  “So people are staring.”

  “The place is practically empty.”

  “But not completely.” I looked over his shoulder, seeing the stares of a few customers but no employees. “There are three guys and—”

  “Any women?”

  “One, but her mortification only lasted as long as a quick glance. Men are slower.”

  “True, but we’re also better at prioritizing.” He moved a tiny bit closer. At least, I think he was the one who moved. Either way, I was in trouble. “Why do you think they’re staring?”

  “Probably because some nutcase has a girl on a display case in the middle of a store.”

  “You’re wrong. They’re staring because they wish they were exactly where I am right now, with their hands exactly where mine are.” He ran them up to my hips. “Since the poor guys aren’t that lucky, I figure letting them stare isn’t a big deal.”

  My heart was pounding so hard, it would be a miracle if he didn’t hear it.

  “Next thing,” he said. “I’m now going to try a less subtle approach to convince you a sexual relationship doesn’t have to come with a romantic one. I’m assuming you know the reason behind this.”

  “You haven’t exactly been vague.” Is it possible to die of nervousness? “But I don’t think this is that kind of store.”

  “You’re right. Let’s go somewhere more appropriate.” He yanked me by the hand, giving me just enough time to grab my new dress. When he pulled me into the dressing room area, I finally started wondering why I was letting him do whatever this was. He glanced around, took a credit card out of his wallet, and fiddled with the lock to one of the rooms.

  “What are you—?”

  “You don’t really think this is my first time sneaking into a women’s dressing room, do you?” The lock clicked open. “It’s either this or the bathroom. And trust me, bathroom stalls aren’t made for two people who aren’t…intimately connected, if you get my meaning.” His meaning was gotten and imagined and wanted. But not like this—not here, not now. “I’ll take you there as soon as I can. Promise.”

  “You know, a place where we’re actually allowed to go might be even better.”

  “Those are all too far away. I’ll try to make it quick—the discussion, not what I hope the discussion will lead to.” He yanked me inside the small space and locked the door.

  I pressed my back to the wall as if that would actually do anything. The door was behind him, and even I didn’t want him to open it yet.

  “Tell me all the components of a romantic relationship,” he said. “Even the little ones. Pretend I don’t know any of them…’cause I don’t.”

  “Um… You have to like the person.”

  “Simple start, okay. Do you like me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Bummer,” he said, smiling. “What else?”

  “Attraction.”

  “You’re insanely attracted to me, so that makes another point not in my favor. Keep going.”

  I was throwing out anything I could think of. I didn’t know how to define a romantic relationship. “Sex.”

  “Well, that’s the grand prize, but only if the other issues are taken care of. Next.”

  “Chemistry?”

  “Shit,” he grumbled, but there was humor in his tone. “This isn’t looking good for me. It may have been a bad idea to bring it up. We’ll see soon enough. Next.”

  I was running out of answers. “A spark?”

  “Okay, in my opinion, this one and the last two aren’t exclusive to a romantic relationship, so let’s hold off judgment until later. Next.”

  “Some kind of romantic feeling, I guess.”

  “You guessing isn’t actually that helpful. What we need is—” Damn, his smile was wicked. “I have an idea.” He stepped in close to me, held my face between his hands and brushed his lips over mine. Soft, then a little harder but still gently, taking his time. I opened my mouth to his tongue, my hands sliding up his chest. I didn’t know how this was going to prove anything other than he’d basically perfected the art of kissing, but I went with it. Because…well, because he’d basically perfected the art of kissing.

  Then, without warning, he pulled away and whistled. “Wow, okay. Yeah, okay. Damn it.” He rested his forehead against mine and took a deep breath. “I need you to be completely honest with me right now. Okay?”

  I swallowed, knowing it was a bad idea but ready to say yes. To anything.

  “Lane?” He tipped my chin up so I was looking directly at him. “Did you just fall in love with me?”

&n
bsp; I shoved him back when he started laughing. “You’re such a shithead! Stop making fun of me when you’re even weirder than I am.”

  “Re-do then.” Before I understood what that meant, what any of this meant, he kissed me again. Still slowly, but way more deeply. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he pulled me into him. I rose onto my tiptoes when he squeezed my ass, holding onto the fabric of my jeans to get me closer. It was like in the stairwell but even better because we knew each other now, understood the other’s likes and—

  Oh my god, I liked this. So much, I would happily stay here and do this for the next few years.

  He finally pulled away, wiping my lower lip with his thumb and leaving his hands cradling my face. “Fuck.” Nothing in his expression held humor. “I don’t know what I’m going to do if this doesn’t work, Lane.”

  I didn’t either. This much stress couldn’t be good for my heart.

  After a moment of silence, he leaned against the wall, creating a little bit of space between us. “We’ve confirmed that we like each other, are attracted to each other, and the chemistry and spark are definitely there. If they weren’t, I wouldn’t want to rip your clothes off so fucking badly right now. We’ve also done something that’s traditionally a romantic thing to do—the kiss, not sneaking into a dressing room. So, do you?”

  “I…” I wouldn’t have stopped him. If he hadn’t pulled away, I would’ve let him take my clothes off and I would’ve taken off his. I would have run my lips over all the skin I constantly caught myself imagining the taste of, and then wrapped my legs around his waist. I would’ve fucked him against the wall of Nordstrom’s dressing room even if it screwed up everything between us and turned me into the weak, weeping lunatic I’d been six months ago.

  “Please tell me I can I have you without it messing with your head,” he said, adjusting himself.

  I didn’t know. I wouldn’t know how I’d feel until it happened. That was the problem. If he wasn’t so gorgeous and great, things would be a lot easier. Of course, if he wasn’t so great, I wouldn’t want him so badly, either. Damn him. This was totally his fault.

  He looked a little nervous. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m still thinking you’re a shithead.”

  “Excellent,” he said, laughing. “Then I really think you should consider letting this shithead have his way with you. But I’d suggest it happen somewhere you can lie down after you’ve come so hard you can’t stand up anymore.”

  He was the devil.

  Someone pounded on the door. “If you don’t come out immediately, I’m calling security.”

  “Have you ever been arrested?” he asked. When he opened the door, an older woman was glaring at us, one hand on her hip.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” he said with sincerity. “We didn’t mean to cause any trouble. She and I are just friends, but I really want to be more. So I have to take every opportunity I can to convince her how great we’d be together.”

  The woman’s face softened and she glanced back and forth between us. Her reaction might have been different if she knew what kind of ‘more’ Carson wanted.

  He spoke to the woman, but his eyes never left mine. “Have you ever wanted someone so badly that using common sense doesn’t make sense anymore?”

  “Once. A very long time ago.” She sighed. “If you want to impress her, you should take her somewhere nicer than a dressing room, though.” As we passed, she touched my arm. “You never know what you might get until you try. But if you don’t try, you’re sure to get nothing.”

  My mouth dropped open. Was she kidding? “Did he pay you to say that?”

  Carson thanked her and pulled me away. “She seemed awfully wise, didn’t she? Maybe even psychic. Although, I know exactly what you’ll get when you try. And you’re going to love it.” He winked. “But not that kind of love.”

  Chapter 9 - Carson

  I unhappily said goodbye to Lane. Did it actually take two hours to put on a dress and twist her hair into a pile on the top of her head? I’ve had a fair amount of experience helping a woman take off her clothes and let her hair down, and it never took longer than thirty seconds. A minute if we were drawing it out. But I let her go do her thing and planned to meet her at the gallery so her roommate didn’t think we were actually together. Because evidently, her roommate wasn’t smart enough to understand the words: We’re not together.

  Unfortunately for Lane, her nervousness about that gave me an idea. She needed a lesson in not caring about what other people thought of her. I wasn’t planning on embarrassing her publicly, because this event involved her art. I knew how to be subtle. It just seemed like too much work most of the time.

  She called just as I pulled up to the valet. “We’re waiting in the lobby. Where are you?” Yep. Definitely nervous.

  “I’m still doing my hair. Probably won’t be there for another half hour.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “No. I’m around the corner. I’ll meet you inside at the bar.” I tossed my keys to a covetous kid who was probably already planning to have a really hard time finding a spot to park my ride and would need to take it around the block a few times to find one.

  “Don’t fuck it up,” I said to the valet.

  “What?” Lane asked.

  “Nothing. Just talking to my dick.” I went up the steps, stopping as soon as I saw her through the window. Nice choice on the dress. However many pennies it had cost me, it was worth all of them. “When I get there, I expect you to have a drink ready for me. Nothing with an umbrella.”

  “We have the invitation. How will you get in?”

  “Do you seriously think I don’t know how to crash a party? I’ll see you at the bar.” Before she could say anything else, I hung up. She made a face at the phone before putting it into her purse and saying something to Eric and a woman who had to be Hillary.

  I’m not sure why I hesitated. Just to gawk at her uninterrupted, or to see how many eyes she drew as she walked through the crowd? She had no fucking clue how many heads turned. It was sweet and naïve, but screamed insecurity. Probably a gift from the assholes she’d dated. They weren’t frogs, they were idiots.

  I took a deep breath before heading in. It was the first time I’d been near a bar since that night I hated thinking about. Fortunately, the chance of someone throwing a punch while wearing Armani and looking at recycled hippie art was slim.

  On second thought…

  That chance skyrocketed when I saw my wicked stepsister on the arm of a guy I’d never seen before. Anna looked great, like always. No one could ever say she lacked fashion sense or didn’t know how to spend someone else’s money. She also looked bored as hell. Not a good sign, considering the evening was only starting, but Anna didn’t excite easily. When our eyes met, hers opened wider but she made no move to come over or call me to the group she was standing with. I gave her a little nod before heading inside.

  I was one-hundred percent okay pretending we didn’t know each other. I’d be one-hundred percent okay with doing it one-hundred percent of the time, too. The only thing that stuck in my throat was who she was with. Was that the new boyfriend she mentioned and, if so, how much of an asshole was he?

  Fuck it, I was here for someone else. If Anna wanted to screw her life up, there wasn’t anything I could do about it. Lane stood next to the bar with Eric and Hillary, her back to me. The closer I got, the wider Hillary’s eyes became. At least I assumed it was Hillary. She looked a little familiar, but the only Hillary I’d ever met gave me a damn good blowjob after a—

  Oh shit.

  That was only a couple months ago, definitely less than Lane said her roommate and Eric had been dating. Unless I was getting my blowjobs mixed up. Well, this should be fun. I’d have to try not to laugh too loudly.

  She whispered something into Eric’s ear and he nodded. Obviously it was about me, but since her boyfriend’s forehead barely wrinkled, it probably wasn’t a confession. Another thing I didn’t care
about. Too bad for Eric, but not my problem.

  I held my finger to my lips until I was right behind Lane. “Hi, honey. Sorry I’m late.”

  She spun around and stopped. Her drink kept moving—most of it landing on my jacket. She attacked it with a cocktail napkin apologizing and mumbling obscenities under her breath about what I’d said.

  “Quit grumbling. I’m only about ten minutes late.” I stopped her and took off my jacket, handing it to the bartender to toss in back somewhere.

  “That’s not what I’m grumbling about.”

  After setting her empty glass down, she turned to her friends. “This very cruel man who I am not dating and who is about to promise never to call me ‘honey’ again is Carson.”

  “I promise to never call you or anyone else ‘honey’ ever again, muffin.” When I caught Hillary’s eye, she stepped back, her lips tight. And while I couldn’t give a shit if Hillary could take a joke or not, Lane did. “Alright, fine. I won’t call her or anyone else muffin again either. Oh, and we’re not dating.”

  “Or sleeping together,” Lane added quickly.

  I turned towards her and mouthed, “Yet.”

  “Laney, help me find the bathroom,” Hillary said, looking at me.

  “I’ll be right back.” Lane let herself be dragged off, shrugging her shoulders. As soon as she turned, Hillary bent in close and started whispering.

  “Do you think women really think they’re fooling us when they do that?” I asked. “Why don’t they just say, ‘We’re going to go talk shit about you’?”

  “Not sure. But then again, how often have you said, ‘I’m gonna be over here with my friend talking about your ass,’ to a woman?”

  “Point. You think they’re talking about me or you?”

  Eric chuckled. “Hillary and I have been together a long time—the whispered conversations stop long before the two-year mark. So it’s definitely about you.”

  “Two years.” Minus the night my cock was in her mouth. I could’ve been wrong about the timing, though. Or the mouth. “Think they’re talking about my ass?”