I honestly have no right to feel a pang of jealousy at the thought of him meeting up with another woman—if anything, the thought should make him a bigger douche bag than the guys who refused to hold the elevator for me. But that doesn’t stop jealousy from merrily twisting away at my gut.
“My dad works for the firm and it’s his birthday,” he finally says. “He and I don’t really get along but my mom asked me to make more of an effort.” He shrugs. “I figured wine would make said effort a little easier to make.”
My chest loosens with relief and I laugh, shaking my head. “So the wine was for your dad?”
His eyes widen as he realizes what I must have been thinking. “I know we don’t know each other well—yet—but I’m not that much of an asshole that I’d hook up with a woman while on my way to take a different woman out.”
“No, I totally believe you,” I say, still laughing. “It’s just that you seemed so intentionally vague about who you were meeting and it made me wonder.”
Just then there’s a jolt, followed by a loud humming. The floor vibrates and we start moving. Russell and I stare at each other, momentarily stunned. And then reality comes crashing on top of me.
I’m practically naked: wearing only Russell’s shirt. I glance at myself in the mirror and cringe: My hair is tangled around my shoulders, my lips obviously and thoroughly kissed.
I look exactly like a girl who just spent the last few hours making out with a stranger in an elevator. “Oh crap,” I mutter. I jump to my feet and reach for my clothes but the display by the door begins dinging with each passing floor. I don’t have time to change and so I just stand there holding them, feeling helpless.
The back of my throat burns. How did I not think this through? Please don’t let there be anyone waiting for us, I mentally plead.
“It’s okay,” Russell says, reaching for my hand.
Which is exactly how they find us when the doors slide open: me wearing his shirt and nothing else, clutching my clothes. Russell half naked, his hand wrapped around my own. The remains of dinner spread around us and an empty bottle of wine rolled against the mirrored wall.
Oh God, I think to myself, my stomach plummeting.
And it’s not like there are only one or two people there waiting for us. There must be dozens crowded in the firm’s reception area: firefighters, building engineers, and of course, my coworkers. Including the group of assholes who didn’t hold the elevator for me.
“Dude,” one of them whispers, his eyes trailing down my bare legs.
Be brave, I tell myself. Brave, brave, brave, brave, brave. It’s almost like Russell can hear me because his fingers tighten around mine. He steps forward, moving so that he’s standing in front of me in an attempt to block me from the view of so many prying eyes.
Perhaps I’d have been able to keep it together if at that moment Kauffman hadn’t stepped forward, scowling. His eyes take in everything, lingering on me before shifting to Russell. “What is this?” he asks.
As though I’m not a human being. As though I’m not the intern who’s been working for him for the past several weeks.
Russell’s back tightens, the muscles pulling his spine rigid and straight. “Happy birthday, Dad,” he says, the words sharp.
Oh, fuck. My stomach revolts and I run. Bolting down a side hallway, I shove my way into the ladies’ room and slam the door closed behind me. There’s no lock and I press my back against the door, praying that no one followed me.
No luck. Naturally. There’s a tentative knock and I close my eyes, willing the tears to please, please wait. Just until I can get out of here. The knock sounds again and I hate the disappointment I feel when I recognize the voice and realize it’s not Russell.
“Come on, MacKenzie—I’m not leaving,” my friend Sarah says. With a sigh I crack open the door, making sure she’s alone before letting her in.
She looks me over and places her hands on my shoulders, eyes full of concern. “You okay?” she asks. I nod, not trusting myself to speak just yet.
“Good,” she says. With a pat on my shoulders she strolls over to the bank of sinks and hops up onto the counter so that she’s sitting, facing me. “Because that guy was really hot and I want all the details.”
I can’t help it, I laugh. Which Sarah of course knew because she’s been my friend since the first month of college. It’s one of the reasons I’d ended up applying here in the first place—because I’d already know someone and wouldn’t have to struggle through meeting new people.
“So?” she says, waving her hand in a let’s-hear-it motion. “Spill.”
I groan and sort through my clothes before pulling them on. “There’s nothing to tell,” I say, even as the evening replays itself over and over again in my head. The feel of his lips trailing along the back of my knee, his fingers dancing across my abdomen.
“MacKenzie,” she says, frowning. “Right now you’re holding your underwear rather than wearing it. I’d say there’s a story behind that.”
My cheeks blaze. “So we hooked up,” I mumble.
“With Kauffman’s son?”
I groan again. “I didn’t know he was Kauffman’s son at the time.” And then I remember what I said in the elevator and cringe. “I called his father an asshole.”
“Can’t fault you there—his father is an asshole. Though who knew such an asshole could produce something that hot?”
I frown at her, the expression somewhat losing some of its edge when I stumble trying to tug on my damp skirt.
“Come on, Kenzie,” she wheedles. “It’s just that you’ve never been the kind of girl to hook up with a random guy. You can’t fault me for wanting to know more.”
Closing my eyes, I stand and let my head fall back against the door. The thing of it is, I can still smell him, drifting up from the collar of his shirt. From my skin. I shake my head, trying to banish the memory.
“I liked him,” I say softly. “Which I know is stupid because we barely know each other. But . . .” I shrug, not knowing how to explain.
I hear Sarah hop down from the counter and walk toward me, her heels clicking against the marble floor. She takes my hands in hers. “It’ll be okay, Kenzie,” she says, suddenly serious. “You’ll either hear from him again, in which case, great, you can go out with him and see if there’s anything there. Or you won’t hear from him, in which case, he’s an asshole who doesn’t deserve you.”
“It’s not that easy,” I say, sighing. It’s never that easy when it comes to me and other guys. Especially one who makes me feel the way Russell did: alive. Sexy. Brave.
Desired. I think about his lips curving across my collarbone, the growl deep in his throat as he slowly unbuttoned my shirt. His heat.
Sarah tugs my hands until I look down at her. “It is that easy. You have to make men deserve you.”
I tell her the fear that’s been circling through my head ever since the elevator doors opened and I realized Russell is Kauffman’s son. “He hates his father and knew I was working for him. What if he just hooked up with me as some sort of power play against his dad?”
She pauses, thinking this over and frowning. “Then he’s just as big of an asshole as his father and doesn’t deserve you.”
My stomach twists at the thought. I don’t want Russell to be an asshole.
“But,” she adds, waggling her eyebrows. “That doesn’t mean he’s not still hot and you still got to hook up with him and you still have to tell me all.” She never was very good at staying serious for long. I smile, because she’s made me feel marginally better and because I need to be alone, which means convincing her that I’m okay.
“How about this,” I offer. “You distract everyone and give me a chance to sneak out of here, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know over brunch tomorrow.”
“We have work tomorrow,” she reminds me.
“Well, I plan on taking the day off,” I tell her. “And maybe the day after as well.”
She la
ughs. “You’re just breaking all sorts of rules these days, aren’t you?” She reaches for the door and looks back at me. “You sure you’ll be okay?”
I nod. “Positive.”
“All the details—you’re answering every one of my questions tomorrow.”
“Promise.”
With a mischievous glint to her eyes she steps out into the hall. “Just give me five minutes and then take the stairs down two levels—you can catch one of the other elevators there and make it down without being seen.” I nod, not bothering to tell her that there’s no way in hell I’m stepping on another elevator this evening.
IT TAKES ALMOST an hour for me to climb down sixty flights of stairs but I’m fine with that. I’d prefer to give everyone else in the building a chance to clear out before I get there and I quickly fall into a rhythm, my bare feet padding against the concrete steps. That and my breathing are the only sounds quietly echoing through the empty stairwell.
I spend the time trying to figure out how I’m feeling. Embarrassed. Angry. Mortified. I think again of what I must have looked like when the elevator doors opened, and my stomach clenches. How in the world am I going to face everyone again?
Especially Kauffman. I groan even thinking about it. I can’t believe I hooked up with his son. There’s no way I’m getting an offer after that.
When I reach the first floor of the stairwell, I tug on the door out into the main lobby. It doesn’t budge. I knock. Nothing. Sighing, I drop my head, banging my forehead against the door in frustration. I just want this day to end!
Resigned, I trudge down the final few sets of stairs until I reach the emergency exit. I push against it, expecting to hear the piercing wail of an alarm, but thankfully the door isn’t armed. My relief is short-lived the moment I step outside.
A gust of rain-soaked wind hits me full in the face. Of course, I think. It’s still storming and the closest umbrella is sixty floors up, so with no other option, I tug Russell’s shirt on over my own and start making my way down the water slicked sidewalk, glad that the apartment Sarah and I are sharing for the summer is only a quarter of a mile away.
I’m drenched almost instantly, but at this point, who cares? It’s late enough at night that the streets are practically empty and there’s a certain loveliness to the way the city lights blur in the wet darkness.
I’m barely a block away when I hear someone call my name. I look over my shoulder to find Russell charging toward me through the rain. If possible, he’s more drenched than I am, causing the firm T-shirt he’s wearing to mold perfectly to his chest. Even sopping wet, he looks amazing.
I don’t bother stopping. “Hey! MacKenzie, wait up,” he shouts, picking up speed.
The moment he reaches my side I turn to face him. “Here,” I say, yanking off his shirt and thrusting it toward him. “Just take it.”
He looks at it, frowning, and then back up at me. “That’s not why I’m here,” he says.
I say nothing, just turn and continue down the street. “I talked to my dad,” he says, trotting after. “I told him that none of this was your fault and that if he didn’t give you a job because of it, I’d never speak with him again.”
I keep walking, still not responding. Of course, the moment I hit the corner, the light changes, forcing me to stop. “Listen, MacKenzie—” he starts, but I cut him off.
“Was I just a way for you to get back at your dad?” I ask. His eyes go wide. “You know, hooking up with the intern he’s obviously got the hots for, just to prove you can get what he never will? A power play?”
He sputters, and thankfully the light turns back to green. I start across the street, but he grabs my hand. He’s stronger than I am, but I know that if I were to try to pull free, he’d let me go.
It’s unfair the way the rain courses across the planes of his face, highlighting the sharpness of his cheekbones. The tenderness of his lips. No one should look that good sopping wet.
“First you think I’m hooking up with you while on my way to pick up some other woman for a date,” he says. “And then you think I hooked up with you just to get back at my father?” Scowling, I tug my hand back and start walking. “You don’t have a very high opinion of yourself,” he calls after me.
I spin around, ready to go tell him to fuck himself, but he’s closed the distance between us. Before I can say anything, he starts talking. “You made me laugh. When those guys didn’t hold the elevator and you called them assholes—right then I wanted to know more about you.”
He reaches a hand toward my face, but doesn’t touch me. My traitorous body begs to sway toward him but I hold myself rigid.
“Do you have any idea what you look like when you’re angry?” he asks. When I say nothing he continues, “You have no idea, do you? The kind of fire you have in your eyes?”
I swallow. Shake my head.
The tips of his fingers barely trace the edge of my jaw. “You looked at me in that elevator like you wanted to eat me alive,” he says softly. When I don’t pull away, his touch grows bolder, the palm of his hand pressing against the side of my neck. “And God did I ever want you to.”
The heat I’d tried to keep banked deep inside comes roaring to life, flooding through my veins.
He blinks and steps away and instantly I want to pull him back. But I don’t. “I’m not this kind of guy,” he says, gesturing between us. “Someone who comes on to a girl in an elevator—makes out with a stranger. Chases after her in the rain.” He runs a hand over his head.
“It’s just that when you talked about being afraid that fear would keep you from really living life—it sounded familiar. And I thought about all the decisions I’ve made in my own life—where to go to school, what to major in, what kind of job to get—because it’s what my father wanted. Because I was afraid of what would happen if I just struck out on my own and he yanked his support.”
He steps forward, eyes burning with intensity. “I stood up to him tonight for the first time. Because of you. Because in that elevator I decided to start making decisions based on what I want.”
He’s so close at this point that it seems impossible we’re not touching. “And what I want is you,” he whispers. “MacKenzie—”
But I don’t wait for him to say more. I push onto my toes and wrap my hands behind his neck to pull his mouth down to mine. Rain pours around us, but I don’t care.
His hands circle my waist, pushing me back, back, back until I feel the solid bulk of a wall behind me. “Let me walk you home,” he growls against my neck. I nod. “Let me take you out.” He nips at my ear and I shudder. “Tomorrow,” he adds. “And the day after that.” His lips trail across my shoulder. “And the day after that.” Down along my arm. “And the day after that.”
He lifts my hand, pressing a kiss into my palm, his tongue tracing along my lifeline. “And the day after that,” he whispers.
“You can have them all,” I tell him, laughing. Not demurring or second guessing like I always have in the past—feeling truly brave for the first time.
“Good,” he says, returning his mouth to mine. “Because I wasn’t kidding when I said that this is what I intend to be doing for the rest of my life.”
About the Author
CARRIE RYAN is the New York Times bestselling author of the Forest of Hands and Teeth trilogy and Infinity Ring: Divide and Conquer as well as the editor of Foretold: 14 Tales of Prophecy and Prediction. Currently, she’s working on The Pirate Stream, a four-book middle grade series co-written with her husband, JP Davis, the first book of which, The Map to Everywhere, will be out from Little, Brown Books for Young Readers in fall 2014, and Turnabout, a romantic thriller, which will be released by Penguin Random House in early 2015.
Born and raised in Greenville, South Carolina, Carrie is a graduate of Williams College and Duke University School of Law. A former litigator, she now writes full-time and lives with her writer/lawyer husband, two ornery cats, and one large rescue mutt in Charlotte, North Carolina. You can find
her online at www.carrieryan.com or on Twitter @CarrieRyan.
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Bunga Bunga
ANDREW SHAFFER
“YOU GOT ANY rubbers, or do we need to pick up a few here?” Allen asked, counting the quarters in his palm.
I eyed the rusty condom machine on the men’s room wall. There were two different types of condoms for sale (glow-in-the-dark and banana-flavored), plus some horrifying rubber monstrosity advertised as a “Dual! Stimulating! Pleasure Sleeve—Ribbed for His and Her’s Pleasure.”
“No way am I trusting my dick to a company that can’t even use an apostrophe correctly,” I said. “There’ll be candy jars full of condoms at the party anyway, right?”
Allen dropped four quarters into the machine. He cranked a knob and the machine spit out a small silver package into his waiting hand. “Here.” He handed it to me. “Just in case.”
I imagined myself amidst a sea of naked bodies, plunging balls-deep into a blank-faced stranger. Only this stranger turns his head, and he’s no random hookup. It’s Allen, grinning like a schoolboy. A schoolboy who just got fucked by his best friend.
“No thanks,” I said, snapping back to reality. “You keep it. I couldn’t possibly accept such an extravagant gift.”
“You have to take it. It won’t fit me.”
A middle-aged man in a beat-up Cardinals cap burst into the restroom, shooting us a wary eye before making a beeline for the urinals. “Prom night?” he asked over his shoulder.
Allen and I exchanged glances. Sure, we were both juniors in college. But with our black tuxes, baby blue cummerbunds, and matching bow ties, we could easily pass as a couple of twelfth-grade cherry-poppin’ daddies.
“We’re on our way to prom,” Allen said. “Fag prom.”
The man snorted. “Sounds better than my prom.”
Exiting the restroom, I stashed the condom in my jacket pocket. “That’s the last time we go to the bathroom together,” I told Allen. “We might be gay, but we’re not a couple of girls.”
Fifty First Times Page 39