“The angry fuck,” Ice agreed.
“There’s no place for anger in lovemaking.” Marcia frowned at us.
“I’d argue that there’s no place for love in fucking,” I countered. “Just confuses things.”
“Charley, sweetheart, you think that because you’re an emotional cripple.” Ice smiled placidly at my glare. “Which why you’re holed up salving your wounds with chocolate and theatrical romance instead of risking something with this guy.”
“Why is everyone in Charley’s bed?” Amy peered into the dim room.
Julie pushed past her and wedged onto my other side, grabbing the half empty container of candy. “Because that’s where half the population of Chicago has either been or wants to be?” she suggested.
“Oh ha ha. Mine.” I snagged the container back and gave up when Ice took it from me and helped herself.
“Ooh. Still sulking?” Amy made a sympathetic face and dropped gracefully into a yoga stretch on my rug.
“Can’t I want to spend a quiet evening on my own relaxing without it being about some dipshit guy who only wants to play head games with me and can’t just operate like a normal human being?”
They all stared at me, trying—to give them a little credit—not to laugh right in my face. Which gave them all really twisty expressions like someone trying not to sneeze with a mouthful of milkshake.
“You’re Darcy.” Ice nudged my shoulder with gentle affection. “That’s your problem.”
“I thought I was Prince Charming ditched by the fickle Cinderella.”
“Ice has it.” Amy nodded at me. “You are the sexual equivalent of ten thousand pounds a year. You can’t believe a guy wouldn’t snap up any offer you made him.”
“Which means he’s special,” Marcia insisted, returning to her earlier enthusiasm. “Elizabeth of the feisty personality and fine eyes.”
“Or an asshole,” I pointed out in my driest tone, which daunted none of them.
“It’s romantic, you have to admit.” Julie unwrapped one of her handful of my peanut butter cups and handed it to me. “The mystery. No names or phone numbers. He knows how to get under your skin.”
“Just like Lizzie got to Darcy. He respected her more for sticking to her principles.” Amy agreed. “Did you already watch the proposal in the rain scene?”
“You guys—this is ridiculous. You can’t be seriously suggesting I meet up with him again.”
“Let’s take a vote.” Marcia said. “All in favor?”
“You guys don’t get to vote on my love life!”
Too late. They’d all put up their hands, grinning sunnily at me.
“That’s four votes in favor and one abstention,” Marcia informed me. “Will you place the ad or shall I do it for you?”
“I want to register a nay vote,” I grumbled.
“Too late. The vote’s already on record.” Ice tapped her temple. “No changing the past. Now place the ad, already.”
“I am not chasing this guy!”
“Then it sounds like I will be doing it—yay!” Marcia was having way too much fun with my pain.
“You want control of this?” Ice grabbed my attention. “Then set the terms. Tell him when and where. That’s what you always told me.”
“Traitorous bitch.”
She snuggled against me, rubbing her cheek on my shoulder. “That’s me. TB and CB. Besties forever. It won’t kill your rep to chase this guy a teensy bit. That’s all we’re saying.”
“We’re giving you permission to do this thing.” Julie poked me and Marcia nodded.
“Fine,” I said, crumbling in the face of their combined will and my own lustful leanings. “But I’m setting a challenge for him. If he doesn’t make the grade, this is over.”
“Ooh—a new Amendment? I like it.” Ice’s eyes glittered with speculation. “We haven’t added one since Junior year.”
“High time, then. No,” I told Marcia, who held out her tablet. “I’m going to come up with something good and post it myself.”
“Now can we watch the proposal in the rain?” Amy asked in a plaintive tone.
“Yes. As often as you like. Come get in my bed with the rest of Chicago.”
* * *
I thought about the terms I wanted to set, occasionally making notes, while I transcribed and outlined research notes. Ice had set me up with the freelance work back when we were at Northwestern and it served nicely to bring in the rent money that theater—so far—did not. Having a McJob that I could fit in around the crazy hours of auditions, rehearsals, and shows made all the difference.
Plus, I sucked at waiting tables. Words I can do.
The orderly nature of the work, the experiments and mundane details, monotonous though it was, oddly soothed me. Hard to find something more diametrically opposed to theater, with all the glitz and drama. The mental discipline, too, helped keep my brain in shape for memorizing scripts, lyrics, and choreography.
I finished the job with a good hour left over to compose my missed connections message before I needed to get ready for the callback audition. Total squee on that, though I wouldn’t let my hopes get too high. For either thing, really. Give your best and offer it up to the universe. That’s all you could do, really. Dazzle ’em with all you’ve got and if that doesn’t work, move on. Goes for men, too.
As carefully as I’d prepped for the callback, I crafted my message.
“Mr. Mystery. First lizards, then a bean. When will you stop running away? I’m not the typical kind of bomb either, so you don’t need to be afraid. I’m changing my answer. I could like it. Convince me. My turn to set the stage. Navy Pier. The Ferris wheel. I’ll buy the tickets. 3pm Sunday. I’ll require a penalty for every five minutes you’re late. ~CB”
Even if I got this part—fingers crossed!—I’d have Sunday off. If things went well, maybe I’d finally get laid after this dry spell. If not, I’d have the rest of the day to sulk and get him out of my system so I could cheerfully tell my roomies to drop the subject already.
Two days away. Hell, he might not even see the ad. I hadn’t asked for a reply, so I wouldn’t necessarily know, especially as I had no intention of checking for one. Better that way. Either he’d be there or he wouldn’t.
Just like I’d get the part or I wouldn’t.
I posted the message, humming Cinderella’s song from Into the Woods, and went to polish my sparkle. One day I should audition with a sexy version of The Good Ship Lollipop. Wouldn’t that just knock ’em dead?
Maybe I would do it someday, when I had a little less to lose.
* * *
It takes more work than you’d think to dress for a guy without him twigging to what you’re doing. This is a mistake a lot of girls make. They think they need to go over the top to get attention. But men are trickier to play than that. Like Amy’s point with Mr. Darcy—they don’t like what they can obviously have. Caroline Bingley tried way too hard. At the same time, men need a little whiff of promise. Don’t go all Jane Bennett on them, either.
Subtle temptation is the key. Don’t wave around tons of boobage or threaten to flash your crotch with a too-short skirt. Yeah, you run the risk of being slut-shamed, which is bullshit, but more than that, it’s way too obvious. They start thinking they’ve seen the goods already. If you want to lure a skittish guy into bed, make sure he only catches glimpses of what he might get, if he’s luckier than he’s ever been in his whole damn life.
And I already knew my guy put mystery high on this fetish list of his.
Okay, yeah, that was clever. He was too charming and sure of himself by half. Time to rock the foundations of his world.
Ice whistled long and low from the doorway of our shared bathroom. “Look at you, pulling out the big guns.”
“But not obvious, right?” I studied myself in the mirror. I’d left my hair down, barely brushed after blow-drying it, so it looked sexily tousled and like I hadn’t worked on it. With the predictable breeze off the lake, that was just
good planning. I went with smoky eye make-up, enough to be casually seductive without looking wrong for daylight. The star earrings, since he’d mentioned them, a scarlet push-up bra under a black crop top that buttoned up the front—makes them think of how easily it could come open—and low slung, faded jeans that showed off my belly button jewelry, also a dangling star, just for him. The jeans had that old, soft feel that let them cling to my hips and thighs attractively, while communicating a casual, dressed-down look that said it would be some work to get inside them.
And my killer red heels, natch. Because.
“The heels might be a little much,” Ice mused. “Can you even wear them on the Ferris wheel?”
“It’s not like I have to pedal.”
“True.” She gave me an approving nod finally. “It works. Just the right amount of girl-next-door date to the carnival who could be seduced on the fun house ride.”
“Do me a favor, Ice? Don’t tell the others how much work I put into this.”
She twisted her long hair into a rope and pinned it to the back of her head with one of my big sparkly barrettes, looking thoughtful. “Why do you even care? If our positions were reversed, you’d be lecturing me about how stupid it is to lose your head over a guy. Do I have to remind you that’s why you made the Rules?”
A flutter of panic trilled through my already hyped system. “Is that what you think? I thought you were all in favor of me giving this another shot.”
“No.” She tried on my lipstick, that perfect red that matched my bra and heels. “I said you want this and that, and if so, you should set the terms.”
“You voted! And that red is all wrong for you. Try this plummy one.”
“Also I like that you upped the stakes for him. The penalty thing is good.”
“You looked?”
She gave me a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Honey, Marcia texted us all the link as soon as it went live.”
“She has an unhealthy obsession with my love life. Especially with this missed-connections deal.”
“Can you blame her? You’re her hero. All the brave things she isn’t. Be nice.”
“I’m always nice.” Then I had to laugh at the bug-eyed face she made. “Fine. Fine. If I can’t be nice, I’ll act that way. I’ll be Melanie Wilkes.”
“Ha! You make a much better Scarlett—and you’re going to have penalties of your own because you’re running late.”
“Fiddle-dee-dee.” But I hurried because, as usual, she was right. I just hoped she wasn’t right about the losing my head part.
~ 5 ~
I made it by only five minutes after three—mostly because I forgot how long it takes to walk all the way down the pier to the Ferris wheel, particularly in heels that high. Besides, in Charley-date-time that counts as like an hour early. Besides, he’d been way more than five minutes late to the Bean. My plan of waiting in a bored pose, tickets in hand, fell apart when I spotted him already there. I almost felt his intent gaze before I saw him. A new role for him today. Rather than the silk shirt of the club or the businessman’s suit, today he wore faded jeans and a black t-shirt. In fact, we matched.
Charming or uncomfortably weird? Too early to call it.
Then he smiled, slow and pleased, in that way that gave me the immediate sensation of his generous mouth on mine and chased all other thoughts out of the mind I surely was losing.
“Looks like you owe me a penalty,” he commented.
“No, that was my rule for you, slick.”
“The rules should go both ways or it’s not fair. Or as much fun.”
“Is that what we’re doing—having fun?”
“We will be, once I get you in one of those gondolas.”
“Promises, promises.” I meant to sound airy and challenging, but the sexual undertone of his teasing words had me heating already. Who was I kidding? The jeans wouldn’t stop him from getting anywhere he wanted to be. And this was solidly round 3. Totally within the Rules.
“I never promise what I can’t deliver. Shall we?” He set a hand at the small of my back, touching my skin. The brush of his fingers in that sensitive spot sent a sensual frisson through me, which he clearly felt, since he glanced over at me with a very slight smile, much more eye-to-eye with me in my four-inchers. Deliberately he traced my spine with one finger down to the low line of my jeans, then back up to the dip and rested it there. “I’d like to kiss you, right there. Will you let me?”
“Is that my penalty?” I breathed.
“Something so easy? You wish.” He leaned in, brushed my cheek with his lips and stroked his fingers over that innocently erotic point on my back. “Say you’ll let me. On the Ferris wheel.”
Looked like I could be seduced on rides other than the fun house. But not just yet. I stepped out of his reach. “Maybe. The gondolas hold six, you know. Crowded as it is today, we might not be alone.” I’d pretty much counted on that when I made the plan, wary of being alone with him until I’d gotten a bit more of the upper hand.
A wicked look made his hazel eyes sparkle. He pulled out two tickets.
“I said I’d pay for those.”
He smiled easily. “I don’t mind treating you. After all, you’ve been an exceedingly cheap date so far.”
“Don’t count on that to continue.”
“Duly noted. Also, I already bribed the operator to let us ride alone. Are you up for the challenge?”
How does this guy see right through me? I lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “Whatevs.”
He grinned at me and guided me over to the line, once again setting his hand on my back, a gesture that had always gotten under my practiced flirtations to a foolishly romantic, soft part of my heart that found it protective and chivalrous. Turned out it could drive me crazy with anticipation, too.
Sure enough, with a lascivious wink the operator bundled us into the gondola alone and ignored the protests of a pack of college guys waiting to board behind us. Mr. Mystery helped me sit and turned back to the guys, handing them a twenty. “Beers on me, gentlemen. I’m sure you understand.”
They hooted and I would have blushed if I hadn’t learned long ago to control that particular reaction. Never reads well on stage. Kind of shocked me that I even had to think about it. Maybe this had been a bad idea. I wasn’t setting the terms at all. So far he’d called every shot. But two could play at this. A little Sharon Stone action would work. I turned on the bench, put my back to the grate and set my heel on the seat, then casually draped a hand over my knee. A very seductive pose, as most guys simply can’t resist the invitation to look at a girl’s open crotch, clothed or not.
Not this guy, of course. He met my eyes steadily, even managing to make it seem like he’d rather be looking there than anywhere else. Without breaking eye contact, he wrapped a hand around my ankle, holding it in place while he slid along the bench closer to me as the gondola surged up into the sky. “Sorry about that. I hope you weren’t uncomfortable.”
“It takes a lot to embarrass me.”
“You’re bold, I’ll grant you, but I think not as hard-shelled as you like to come across.” His fingers flexed on my ankle. “Do I get my kiss?”
“Sure.” I brushed my hair back and leaned toward him, but he didn’t meet me halfway.
“Not that kind. Not yet.” He caressed my ankle, sending little shivers up my leg. “I want the other one first.”
“It’s against the Ferris wheel rules to stand. What you want may be out of your reach.”
“And you’re so into following rules.”
“You’d be surprised. Besides, maybe I’m not into making things easy for you, slick.”
“Now that I believe. Kneel up on the seat and face out.” He stared me down, that challenging glint daring me to call him on giving me orders like that. Or to chicken out.
“What is this all about? I don’t get your game.” I said, to cover up that I’d gone abruptly breathless.
“Yes, you do or you wouldn’t have posted that m
essage, wouldn’t be here now. Will you let me kiss you the way I want to or not?” He asked the question in a serious, intense way. Like you might ask someone to marry you in a gazebo while the rain poured outside.
No wonder I couldn’t quite catch my breath.
With a sense of being in an enchanted bubble, I pulled my ankle from his grasp and he let his fingers caress along the top of my foot as I did. They’d loaded the Ferris wheel and we spun in unbroken circles, sweeping up and plunging down, my nerves following the same giddy cycle. He steadied me with hands on my hips and I grasped the holds beside the window, looking out and away from the crowds, over the lake, the shoreline, and the city.
“This line is so beautiful.” He slid his hands, hot on my bare skin, from my rib cage down my waist and over the flare of my hips. “I imagined touching you exactly this way. Fantasized about it.”
Wait. “Since when?” I managed to ask.
“Since the club. That backless dress.”
I made a sound of acknowledgment, my words not quite there, stolen by the disconcerting sense of having him behind me, the mesmerizing sensation of his finger now trailing up my back, under my shirt to the nape of my neck and down again to rest in that place where my spine dipped the deepest.
“I thought about asking you then. Seeing if you’d agree to let me kneel down and kiss you. Here.” His lips, cooler than his hands, replaced his finger, pressing against my skin. I went wet, as suddenly as I’d lost my breath at his demand that I turn around.
“Why didn’t you?” Impossible how rattled everything about this made me.
“I didn’t want you to think I was crazy.”
“I do think you might be crazy.”
His soft laugh whispered across my skin followed by a longer press of his mouth before he spoke again. “Yes, but you’re intrigued instead of afraid, which works better.”’
He had me there.
Last Dance Page 4