by Bromberg, K
And pancake-making.
New things are better with him too.
Like a certain physical activity he’s introduced me to. One that’s brought me so much closer to him than I ever bargained for.
Love . . . I’ve fallen in love.
But if I tell him I earned an F in keeping my heart out of this deal, I know there’s a good chance I’ll lose him as a friend. Graham has firm boundaries, and I’ve never seen him let a woman as close as I want to be to him.
So close. All the way close.
And I can’t risk that. I care about him too much to excise him from my life by pushing for more than he’s willing to give.
My chest hurts, and a lump forms in my throat. The lump threatens to turn into something more intense, but I swallow it down.
I’m keeping my chin up and my head in the beautiful now, not the uncertain future. When I look back on this magical week, at least I’ll know I soaked it all in, from the first kiss, to hand-holding at the skating rink, to the moment we say goodbye.
Too bad there’s no class that can prepare me to let him go. Of that, I’m sure.
Chapter 22
Graham
The day is passing too fast. Way too fucking fast.
I want to slow time. Or pull a Groundhog Day, wake up tomorrow, and live this day all over again, just like Bill Murray in the movie, but without the existential angst.
The more I get of CJ without the “just friends” wall that used to stand between us, the more I want of her. She’s like mint chocolate chip ice cream. I could eat a gallon of her without stopping.
A part of me wants to tell her that as we stroll across the Brooklyn Bridge. I want to tell her that her smile makes me hopeful in a way I’ve never been hopeful before, and that having her hand in mine makes me feel like the luckiest bastard on this bridge.
But you don’t say those things to a friend you’re teaching how to screw.
CJ didn’t come to me with a seven-day plan for me to get seven kinds of attached to her. And if I tell her that’s happened, I’ll risk messing up our friendship forever. She made it clear that this was a sex deal, and I can’t let the pancake haze or the skating mojo trick me into thinking she wants more too.
I want this woman in my life, and I won’t take a chance at losing her. Some of her is better than none. I don’t want to let her go tomorrow, but I suppose I have to.
CJ sighs happily, looking at the endless sky above us. “This day is perfect. This sky is perfect. It’s so beautiful, isn’t it? Like a painting.”
“Yes, this is a perfect day. Every hour. Every minute.” I squeeze her hand as we cross the Brooklyn Bridge into Manhattan, ambling along beside tourists posing for selfies in front of the skyline.
My eyes catch CJ’s, and a slow, wicked smile curves her lips. “What are you thinking?” she asks.
My shoulders tense as answers rattle through my brain.
You.
More.
Let’s keep doing this.
I’m falling for you.
I part my lips, tempted to throw caution to the wind and blurt out any or all of the above. Tell her that I need her to enroll for another semester of lessons because I’m not anywhere close to ready to let her go.
But I’ve never said those words before, so I fall back on old habits, waving a dismissive hand. “Just thinking about Monday.”
She nods knowingly. “Ah, the board meeting. Of course.”
But that’s not why I’m thinking of Monday at all.
* * *
We’re quieter as we finish our walk, and the air cools off rapidly. By the time we make it back into Manhattan, the sun is sinking behind the horizon, leaving a bitter wind in its wake. I call a car service—Gary isn’t working this weekend—and CJ and I wait inside a coffee shop till a black town car pulls up five minutes later.
Once inside, I say hello to the driver then raise the partition, taking CJ’s hands in mine to warm them up. I rub my palms against hers.
When she lifts her face and meets my eyes, my heart beats faster.
“Hey, you,” she says softly. “I had so much fun today.”
“Me too. The best time.”
“I’ll miss this,” she whispers, and with those words something inside my chest cracks. It’s out of nowhere, but not unexpected.
It’s been happening all week long. Since she approached me at brunch. Since the night at the St. Regis. Since she settled into my home.
But it was simmering beneath the surface well before that. When I look back on the last two years, this woman has been here, right beside me, every step of the way. She’s seen me at the toughest times and the greatest times.
We’ve endured loss together, and now, somehow, we’ve found ourselves on the other side of grief and in each other’s arms.
And when I look into her eyes, that’s where I want to be. With her.
I drop my forehead to hers and whisper her name. It’s all I can say. I don’t know how to give voice to anything more than this. I never have. I’ve never felt this. I’ve never fallen so hard, so fast, and so truly for a woman.
All I know is how to touch her, so I use a language I’m fluent in, pressing my lips gently to hers in a tender kiss that I hope tells her what I can’t speak aloud. She has to feel it too, has to know that what’s happening between us is worth investing so much more than seven days.
I move my hands under her shirt then down her yoga pants, peeling them off. “I want to watch you ride me in the car.”
A wicked grin spreads on her face. “Is this a lesson in seduction?”
I shake my head adamantly. “No. It’s not a lesson. It’s what I want. It’s all I want. You’re all I want.”
“You’re all I want too.”
I push down my jeans, find a condom in my wallet, and roll it down my length as the car weaves through Saturday evening traffic.
Nervousness flashes in her eyes as she glances at the window.
“No one can see us,” I reassure her.
She nods then holds my face. “And I don’t care if they do.”
My heart thumps hard. She’s become so daring. Or maybe she was all along. Maybe she just needed someone to turn the key, to unlock her. God, how I want to be the only one who has that key.
But I will savor every second of her right now as I bring her down on me.
A sharp intake of breath.
Her wetness.
Her arms around my neck.
Her lips on my jaw.
My hands on her body.
Her taste on my tongue.
She moves on me, and I push up into her, and we engage in a time-honored Manhattan tradition—getting it on in the back of a town car.
Only it hardly feels like getting it on.
It feels like coming together.
Like making love.
Like being as close as I can be to the woman who’s opened my heart.
That’s what she’s done. She’s taught me something so much more vital than what I’ve shown her.
She’s taught me how it feels to fall in love.
Chapter 23
CJ
After the past week, I thought I knew what making love felt like. But just now in the car, with Graham’s breath in my lungs and his heart beating in sync with mine and every kiss feeling like a confession that he feels the way I feel . . .
I’ve never been so close.
So deep.
So completely in harmony with another person.
I know he feels it too.
At least, I strongly suspect that he does.
I suspect it enough to climb up onto the high dive, wiggle my fingers in the rare air up here, where the wind is wild and full of possibilities, and seriously consider taking a leap into the great unknown.
As soon as Graham closes the door behind us and flips on the lights in his apartment, moving into the kitchen to fetch the mountain of take-out menus from the drawer, I draw a deep breath, turn my courage up to maximum strength, and s
ay, “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about my parents.”
He looks up from rifling through the menus, his brows raised. “Yeah? Why’s that?”
“Well, my mom died when I was so young, I don’t remember what her relationship with my dad was like.” I keep my tone casual as I wander to the island, crossing my arms on top. “And then Dad married Betty, and that’s a total circus. I mean, I know they care about each other, but he literally does anything my stepmother tells him to do. It’s like he got a lobotomy along with that wedding ring.”
Graham snorts. “Well, Betty is a pretty hot number. Better men than your dad have been sucked into a siren’s sex vibe.”
“Gross.” I make a gagging sound, and Graham laughs.
“Old people do it too, baby. Or so I hear, when my mom has a few too many hot toddies on Christmas Eve and overshares about her last ski trip with the old man.” He holds up two brightly colored menus. “Thai food from the spicy curry place, or the place with the killer summer rolls?”
“But that’s why I love your parents,” I say, determined not to be swept off course by food, no matter how starved I am. “They still love each other so much, even after all the years and everything they’ve been through. It makes me want to believe that love can last, even though I haven’t seen it up close in my own life.” I swallow, my tongue sweeping out to dampen my dry lips as I inch closer to the edge of that diving board, my heart hammering against my ribs. “What about you? Do you think romance can last forever?”
He pauses, shaking his head as he glances down into the drawer. “I don’t know, Butterfly. I’ve never felt anything like that before.”
I freeze. I can’t move. Can’t speak. I don’t even want to think. I want to rewind this moment and change the script, make different words emerge from his mouth.
But I can’t. The truth is out and there’s no going back.
I’ve never felt anything like that before.
As cold, harsh reality hits, I’m suddenly tumbling, falling . . . but not down into the sparkling water. I’m stumbling backward off the wrong end of the diving board, plummeting toward the concrete on a collision course that’s going to leave me battered and bruised.
He’s never felt anything like that before.
Which means he doesn’t feel it for me.
This is one-sided. This is me, the wide-eyed virgin, falling for the first guy she slept with. My chest heaves, and a stupid hitch tries to work its way up my throat. But I won’t let on that I’m every bit as much of a fool as I’ve feared.
Taking a deep breath, I square my shoulders and fight like hell to maintain a calm facade. If I stay strong, I can try to preserve our friendship, our working relationship. That’s what matters now.
Don’t let on, CJ.
He clears his throat, and when he looks up again, he’s smiling and holding a dark menu with sushi on the front. “How about sushi? Keep dinner classic and elegant after a day of adventure?”
I stare at him, amazed that this is so simple for him, astonished that his stomach is his top priority when the floor is slipping from under me.
But his focus on food is further proof that I’m in this alone.
And I need to extricate myself from this situation the same damn way.
My lips part to say sushi is fine, but I can’t seem to make the words come out. I’m too mortified. Too sad. Too deep in grief for what’s never going to be.
But thankfully, Graham’s cell buzzes at that exact moment, sparing me from saying sushi is fine for heartbreak, thank you very much—my one piece of good luck this evening.
He picks it up and is silent for a moment.
“Whoa, slow down, Brian.” Graham paces out of the kitchen into the dining area overlooking the Hudson. “Is she okay? Are you okay?” He nods, pacing faster. “Got it. No worries. You go have a baby. I’ll take care of everything else.” More nodding, and now a hand raked through his hair. “Absolutely. And let us know how it goes. We’re all rooting for you guys and a safe, easy birth.”
Graham ends the call and turns back to me with a huff of breath. “Babies.” He laughs once. “They don’t come on a schedule, do they?”
My brow pinches. Am I supposed to answer that? But I don’t need to because he keeps going. “I have to head into the office. Brian was putting the finishing touches on our new ads tonight so our ad agency can finalize the package for the board by Monday afternoon. But his wife—”
“Is having a baby.” I force a smile, pretending I’m not in the middle of an emotional meltdown. “I heard. You go take care of business. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to leave you here starving to death.”
“I can order food. I’m a big girl.” I make shooing motions with both hands, pathetically thrilled that I haven’t broken down in front of him. “Now go on, get everything handled. I’ll be fine.”
And I am fine.
Or I will be. I even manage to kiss him goodbye without falling to pieces and crying like an idiot virgin who had no idea how easy it would be to let love become inextricably bound up with pleasure.
But once Graham is gone and I’m alone in his house, with his leather-bound books chosen by an interior decorator, and the pans he never uses, and the sterile decorations in the bedroom that make it clear all this man does here is sleep, the truth settles on my chest, crushing in its weight.
Graham is married to his work.
Work is his steady date, his primary focus, and the drumbeat that makes his heart dance. Women have always been a passion for him, but never as anything more than entertainment, something fun to appreciate and enjoy in his spare time once the work day is done. He told me so himself at brunch when he said he was on a sex-batical because sex complicates everything. Let alone more than sex…
And I am no different than the women who’ve come before me.
I. Am. No. Different.
Tears are rising in my eyes when I’m saved by the bell a second time. Though, this bell is a pack of baying wolves – my landlord’s ringtone.
“Hello,” I sniff as I listen to Arno’s heavily accented voice droning on the other end of the line, telling me that my apartment is all fixed and ready to go. “Really?” I ask, unable to believe such a massive mess was set back in order so quickly. “The sink and the tile and everything?”
“Everything, all done,” Arno confirms. “They fix it all first day and just call me now to say they check and grout is dry. All done. Good as new.”
Well. It looks like the universe is having at least a little mercy on me.
“That’s wonderful.” I stand, heading toward the bedroom to pack my bag, my mind already made up. “Thank you so much, Arno. I’ll be home tonight.”
And then I pack. Because I believe in signs. And all the signs are telling me it’s time to get out before I give any more of myself away to a man who isn’t interested in what I have to give.
Chapter 24
Graham
Almost done.
Another slide.
Another photo.
Another set of ads to review.
As I click on the final proof for the new campaign, I study it carefully, making sure every detail, every word is top-notch. Does it reflect the high-end brand we’ve crafted?
The new models look fantastic—they are every size, shape, and color, and each woman is beautiful in her own way—but I keep seeing CJ in the corset. CJ wearing it better than anyone’s ever worn it.
At least in my eyes.
And that’s when I realize what this campaign needs.
She was right.
CJ was damn right.
It’s not enough to change the images. The cake tagline is crap. These corsets aren’t about food. They’re about how they make a woman feel.
With a renewed focus, I tap out a few lines. Then I tweak them. I tighten them, and I send one final change back to the ad agency.
“This holiday season, feel sexier than you’ve ever felt befor
e.”
Simple, but on point. That feels so much better than a slogan about candy or food. Women love gorgeous lingerie because of how it makes them feel. And men can’t resist a woman who is confident, passionate, and feeling sexy in her skin.
That’s what I need to convey. That’s what CJ has always shown me when she’s worn Adored.
I call my agency contact, not caring that it’s Saturday night. He doesn’t either. Sometimes you have to burn the midnight oil. I give him the change, and he tells me he’ll make the adjustment and send proofs back to me shortly.
As I wait for him to reply, I review the slides one more time, then head to the conference room where the meeting will be held on Monday. I flick on the lights. All the chairs are empty, of course. It’s late on a Saturday night. But as I wander through the room, I picture Monday morning and the big pitch before the board. Before the shareholders. Making it clear I’m 100 percent committed to delivering on my vision.
God, I love this job, this company. I love what Sean and I built. My eyes stray to the photo of Sean and me at the hockey game, and a faint smile tugs at my lips.
He’d be proud too. We built something from the ground up, and I continue to run it with integrity, treat our employees well, and deliver a superior experience to our consumers.
My smile fades.
Usually, I get a charge being in here, like a pitcher wandering across the mound before a big game, listening to the quiet of a stadium to get psyched up.
But right now, there’s a strange hollowness in this room. Maybe because I’m the only one here.
But maybe for another reason.
Because I don’t want to be here at all.
I want to be back at my house with my woman.
But she’s not mine. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
I was being honest with her. I’ve never felt anything like what my parents have before. Not until now, with her. But I don’t know how to do this—how to risk losing the friend I love to win the woman I love, knowing I can’t have them both. Maybe I’m foolish to think I could have more with her. She chose me because I have a reputation for knowing what to do in the bedroom, not because of my stellar track record with relationships.