“I think it’s kind of up to you. You can just drink the tapioca bubbles at the bottom if you want—that’s why the straw is so big. Or you can catch them in your mouth and chew them up. That’s what I do.”
“Call me old fashioned, but I like my drinks to be drinks. I’ll save the chewing for my food.”
Paige laughed and leaned forward a little bit. “I hear you,” she said. “I don’t love the stuff. I think what I love is that it’s something different. It’s a new experience.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I get that. Maybe we don’t get a whole lot of ‘something different’ in Singletree, huh? Especially if you’ve lived there your whole life.”
“Exactly,” she said. “Maybe it’s true in all small towns, but I think sometimes it’s easy to forget there’s a whole big world out here. Different kinds of people and cities, and culture and food.”
Just as she said “food,” Lurch arrived again, and deposited a large spoon on a plate in front of each of us. The spoon held something gelatinous that appeared to be alive, as it shivered slightly on its little bed of string.
“Fresh oyster atop jicama shred,” the waiter intoned. Then he set down a teeny tiny pitcher in front of each of us. “With hot octopus broth.”
Paige smiled up at him, and Lurch nodded slightly at her. “May I?”
“Sure,” she said.
He reached for her tiny pitcher, taking the itty bitty handle between his large forefinger and thumb, and then he poured the scalding liquid over the oyster, which immediately stopped moving.
“I think he killed it,” I whispered, unable to stop myself.
“The oyster,” Lurch said, his voice condescending as he looked at me, “is finished at the table.” He used one long finger to scoot my tiny pitcher closer to my plate.
I picked it up and delicately poured hot soup onto the unsuspecting oyster, desperately hoping the next course might be a hamburger. “Thanks,” I said to Lurch, trying to give him the hint that sticking around to watch us eat these wouldn’t be appreciated.
Lurch did not take the hint.
Paige picked up her spoon and obediently took the oyster into her mouth. It was fascinating to watch, actually. No wonder Lurch stuck around. Her long delicate throat moved as she swallowed, and then she put down the spoon and dabbed at her lips with the napkin. “That was lovely,” she told Lurch.
But I couldn’t do it.
He turned his gaze on me, and I smiled at him. “Is there a drink menu?”
Lurch looked utterly disappointed in me, but bobbed his head and turned to get the menu.
“Do you want my murdered oyster?” I asked Paige.
She was making a face, her hand over her mouth, and I couldn’t tell if she was about to be sick or maybe laughing, or maybe just really disappointed in my inability to eat my oyster.
“I’m not doing well at molecular gastronomy, am I?” I asked her, feeling sheepish about my lack of culture. But seriously, what kind of place had Cal sent us to?
Paige removed her hand, a broad smile covering her lips. “Oh my God, this place is crazy!” she whisper-shouted. “I’m trying not to laugh hysterically each time that guy gives you that disappointed look.”
“I feel like such a failure,” I admitted. “Normally, eating is something I do really well.”
She laughed some more and then shook her head. “Here, give me your oyster.”
I passed it to her and she swallowed it quickly. I wasn’t sure if I should be impressed or worried—this food did not seem entirely edible to me.
She gave me the spoon back, which earned me a more approving gaze when Lurch returned with a wine list. I chose a dry white wine, with Paige’s input, and Lurch’s—though I didn’t actually ask for it—and soon I had a totally undoctored glass of wine. At least I knew exactly what it was. I drank it appreciatively as we awaited our next test of gastrointestinal fortitude.
“Braised yellowtail with a tarragon-parsley reduction, goat’s milk foam and pearls of barley encapsulated in rice.” Lurch set down our plates. “And an arugula salad.”
“Thank you,” Paige said, and I murmured something between “thanks” and “what the actual …”
Lurch made a strange smacking sound with his mouth and then did a robotic turn on his heel and moved away. I stared at my plate and then looked up at Paige, who was grinning at me.
“Do you see the salad?” I asked.
“I think it’s this part.” She used her fork to point at two pieces of lettuce at the side of the plate.
“Oh, yes. How did I miss that?”
“They put barley inside of rice,” she said, sounding amused and impressed at once.
“Two great tastes that taste great together?” I quipped.
We giggled and ate—as much as that was possible. And then we fell into a kind of comfortable rhythm, punctuated by the intermittent arrival of truly bizarre treatments of once-recognizable food items. Each course was tiny, so there was little chance of actually getting full, and the lack of actual food made the wine that much more potent. By the time we were investigating “shard of coconut creme cake atop raspberry foam,” I was tipsy and starving.
When the meal had finally ended, Paige and I found ourselves back outside the restaurant on the sidewalk, the city bright around us and the evening feeling far too young to be over.
“Want to get dinner?” I asked with a grin.
“I’m starving!” she said, and she wrapped her arm through mine and leaned her body into my side as we turned to walk down the sidewalk in search of real food.
Second Dinner Please
Paige
Walking down the Washington D.C. Sidewalk on Cormac’s arm felt both like the most natural thing in the world and as if I was living some alternate life—one that was definitely not mine.
Dinner had been otherworldly too, each presentation of “food” more unlikely and potentially inedible than the last. Cormac hadn’t let me split the bill, but I suspected it had been pricey. Patank was the most talked-about restaurant in town. There was no way it was cheap.
As we strolled together, laughing as the scent of cherry blossoms filled the springtime air, my heart swelled and lifted in a way I’d never felt. Words flitted through my mind, words like right and happy and perfect. And I ignored them because, what was I supposed to do with them?
Instead of examining every little thing about the evening, I opted to just live it. I’d have all the time in the world for examination later, but for tonight, clinical Paige had stayed home.
I held Cormac’s arm, feeling his steady solidity at my side, and just enjoyed the night air and his presence.
His warm deep laugh wound its way around me, pulling me nearer to him, and as we stopped on the curb to wait for a traffic light to change, I looked up and met those blazing golden eyes.
“Hi,” he said softly, looking down at me.
“Hi,” I returned, the world around us still and quiet suddenly.
It was a kiss waiting to happen, a tension growing and pulsing in ribbons that were wrapping themselves around us, tightening slowly and bringing us together.
And then someone bumped me as he stepped off the curb into the street, and the moment broke, my heart falling and then settling it back where it belonged in my chest. We walked on, eventually coming to a little bar with music pouring out and people sitting at tables on the sidewalk eating hamburgers.
Cormac gave me a questioning look, and the hope on his face was almost comical.
“You want a burger?” I asked him.
He nodded. “More than almost anything.”
I laughed, and we went in, the hostess taking us to a booth along the windows. If I’d been a braver soul, I would have asked what the “anything” he wanted more than a burger was. Could it be me?
I pushed the thought away. We were friends.
“See?” Cormac asked, holding up his menu. “This. This is how restaurants are supposed to work.”
I wanted to ar
gue that the experience we’d had—something we couldn’t do in Singletree—was equally great, and very important. But I was starting to realize that my search for things that were bigger, broader and better might not be leading me where I wanted to go. Sitting in a regular old bar with Cormac felt like the best thing in the world.
Soon I had a beer and a burger—Cormac had opted for water since he’d need to drive us home—and it felt like a whole separate night from the one we’d just spent in the tomblike restaurant with the creepy quiet waiter and the tiny food.
“How are things going with the kangaroo?” I asked Cormac.
He grinned. “The girls fight over him constantly. He sleeps on the floor between their beds. It’s actually really funny, except that the thing was some kind of twisted bribe.”
“Who bribes a person with taxidermy?”
“Taxidermists mostly, I think.”
I nearly spit out my beer at that. “Sure. Makes sense.” I shook my head.
“The shady taxidermists in Virginia.” He chewed and then swallowed, and I loved watching the way his big hands moved as he picked up his water glass, held his burger. His fingers were long and straight, his nails square and wide. He had nice hands—something I’d always appreciated for no reason I could actually name. And the way his eyes glowed and deepened as he spoke had my insides clenching.
I had to keep reminding myself this was not a real date. We were friends.
“They want me to stop asking questions, so they sent me a kangaroo.”
“As one does,” I added.
He grinned. “As one does.”
“I wonder if that’s potentially illegal,” I mused. “I mean, kangaroos are considered exotic here, right?”
“I haven’t looked into rules surrounding Australian marsupials, but …” he trailed off.
“Helen Manchester says it’s actually a wallaby and that they eat their young.”
“I haven’t spent a ton of time with Helen,” Cormac said. “But I think she spends most of her time fucking with people.”
I burst out laughing. “I’ve known Gran most of my life, and I think you’re exactly right. She’s one of my mom’s best friends.”
“That’s funny because your mom is so … she’s just so nice.”
“In that small-town, up-in-everyone’s-business kind of way,” I suggested.
“She’s just being kind,” he said generously.
We ate in silence for a little while, enjoying the boisterous atmosphere and watching the city move on the sidewalk outside. This. This was what I missed in Singletree, and what Baltimore would surely offer. People, life, movement.
But the man sitting across from me with the warm soft eyes … He would not be in Baltimore.
I pushed the thought away. I’d been telling myself the only reason Cormac seemed so appealing lately was because I’d been without prospects for so long. It was like offering a starving man a half-dead oyster on a spoon with scalding octopus sauce. To him, that would be a very welcome feast. But to a man sitting in a burger joint, the oyster would probably not be appreciated.
Was Cormac just a half-dead oyster?
I sighed.
“What’s on your mind?” he asked.
I shook my head. I couldn’t tell him I was wondering if he was actually the most attractive man in the world or if my perception was just skewed by my persistent loneliness. “Nothing. Just enjoying myself. Thanks for bringing me. It’s nice to be in a city again.”
“It is,” he said, but his eyes narrowed slightly and I knew he sensed there were other things occupying my thoughts.
When we’d finished our burgers, we walked a bit around the neighborhood, soaking up the vibrant night life before heading back down to our quiet town. Finally, Cormac held the car door open for me and we headed back south to Singletree. I was equal parts happy and sad to go home. On one hand, I loved the culture and excitement of the city, but on the other—Singletree was where Cormac lived, and I would not have enjoyed my trip to the city without him by my side.
As he pulled into my driveway, I sensed some kind of tense hesitation between us. I knew I was thinking things I should not have been thinking. About Cormac. About his broad shoulders and day-old scruff. About what it might be like to wake up in his arms.
But he got out and came around the car, opening my door for me and offering me his hand. As I stepped out, he didn’t move back, and I ended up just inches from his broad chest.
“I didn’t tell you how much I like this dress,” he said, his voice low and deep.
I looked up into those hypnotizing eyes and whispered, “Thank you.”
One of his hands had slipped onto my hip, and it rested there gently. Neither of us moved for a long beat, and then I took a steadying breath before putting one of my own hands on Cormac’s chest, my fingers splayed over the navy blue cloth of his button down shirt. He inhaled sharply.
“I had a really nice time,” I said, my voice still a whisper.
“Me too,” he said, his head dropping infinitesimally closer to mine.
I wanted to ask him in. I wanted to say a million things that were all wrong, given the circumstances. But I didn’t have to say anything. It must have been written on my face, because one second later, Cormac’s mouth dropped to mine and my arms were circling his neck, and his hands were on my hips, pulling me into him.
The kiss was firm and hard, Cormac’s soft lips pressing into mine as my body melted into him. Our tongues met, a teasing touch at first and then a devoted and determined sweeping pull. His mouth tasted like water and salt, like a promise delivered after years of waiting.
As my desire ratcheted up, I realized I wouldn’t be able to stop if I didn’t stop now, and I stepped back. Cormac’s hands stayed on my waist, and a wild blaze lit his eyes.
I was going to remind him we were friends. I was going to tell him goodnight.
“Come inside?” I said instead.
Without a word, Cormac closed the car door, locked it, and followed me into the house.
Leave the Boots on
Cormac
It wasn’t the right choice and we both knew it. And that very fact—the taboo nature of what we were deciding to do despite all the reasons it was wrong—made it that much hotter.
Paige pulled me by the hand into the dark foyer of her house, and as soon as the door was shut, my mouth was on her neck, and she was in my arms as my brain tried to remind me that this was a bad plan. I pressed her against the firm wood of the door, devouring the glorious silky skin of her jaw, her throat. Her arms were around me, pulling my body closer to hers, and everything inside me was focused on her.
It was dark, and Paige’s light skin was glowing from the shaft of light filtering into the little hallway from the living room beyond.
“No,” she said, sounding somewhat more certain than I’d thought she might if she were to change her mind. My heart fell and I stepped back.
That was when I noticed the two dogs at our feet, one of them growling low in his throat.
Bobo was still a big fan.
“Let me just put these guys out,” she said, pulling away from me and calling the dogs to the back door.
I sneezed once, just to confirm I was still allergic to dogs. I sniffed, hoping I wasn’t about to ruin things with a very unsexy allergic sneezing fit, but I actually felt pretty good.
Paige returned, and though the interruption could have given either of us time to think, to reconsider, to make a wiser decision, she pressed herself back into my arms without a moment’s hesitation and I fell on her again, knowing it might be my one and only chance to make this particular bad decision.
My hands explored her body, her curves made soft by the knit of the dress she wore. I skimmed her hips, her breasts, her back, memorizing the feel of the fabric and her shape so I could replay it later. I wanted to go slow, take my time, but Paige’s hands were fisted in my shirt and her mouth was hard and hungry beneath mine. Her breath was coming in gasps
, and it was impossible to quell my own desire in the face of hers.
Still, I wasn’t going to take her up against the front door, as hot as that would be.
“Bedroom?” I managed to ask, pulling my mouth from hers for a second.
“Mmm,” she said, and we began moving down the hallway, Paige still in my arms. She backed through a doorway, and into a large bedroom with a four poster bed commanding attention at its center. There was a single lamp lit on a table in the corner, casting the room in a soft glow that lit Paige’s golden skin.
“You’re beautiful, you know that?” The words fell from my lips without thought, but they were so true. Paige was a gorgeous combination of strong and soft, independent and relatable. She was a woman who made it clear she could take care of herself, and something about that only made me want to take care of her more.
I pushed her backwards onto the bed, and she scooted backwards, still wearing the brown suede boots. I took a moment just to look at her, again, expecting this was probably a one-time thing and having some firm memories would be nice. Otherwise, I might convince myself this never happened. What I was trying very hard not to think about was Linda, though she was there too, in a quiet corner that I absolutely wasn’t going to focus on. She was always going to be there, at least a little bit.
But she would want me to be happy, wouldn’t she? And right now, the thing making me happy was the idea of being closer to Paige, of taking her and having her right now. I’d worry about whatever guilt might result from it later.
I leaned over and climbed onto the bed, moving slowly up the length of Paige’s body, trapping her legs beneath me as my hands slid up the outsides of her thighs, pushing the soft fabric of her dress up. There was a silky slip beneath the dress, and I slid that up too, my hands sliding along her soft skin to find a pair of lacy panties.
Her eyes glittered in the low light as she watched me, her chest rising and falling visibly as she tugged her lower lip between her teeth. God, she was sexy.
When I pushed the dress up over her breasts—clad in a lacy bra that matched the panties—she reached down to help me, pulling the dress over her head and tossing it aside. Then she reached for my shirt with a smile and unbuttoned each button slowly as I held myself above her. It was hard to wait as she slowly slipped each button free, but it was a delicious anticipation. When she finished, I whipped off my undershirt with one hand, and Paige stared at me for a long moment, in a way that would have made me self-conscious were I not so fucking hard.
Second Chance Spring Page 13