Текст книги "Mid-Life Love"

Автор книги: Whitney Gracia Williams

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

Chapter 14

Jonathan

“Could you please stop filling my office with hundreds of flowers every day? This is getting ridiculous!” Claire texted me.

“I don’t want anyone thinking you’re available.”

“No one thinks I’m available! I told you no one here has ever tried to talk to me but you (except for Saturday), and I’m starting to rethink our arrangement...”

“Are you threatening me, Claire? You should see how people look at you when you step into meetings or when you walk down the hall. No one ever tried to talk to you because of that damn fraternization policy and they assumed you wouldn’t give them the time of day.”

“I don’t make idle threats.”

“I look forward to being punished. See you this evening.”

“Mr. Statham?” The therapist cleared her throat. “Are you ready to begin now?”

I tried not to roll my eyes. I’d hired a mediator to speak with my mother and me once a week since she and I couldn’t be in the same room for more than five minutes without arguing.

Even though my mother thought this was a brilliant idea, I was beginning to have second thoughts; she didn’t look too composed today—her hair was in a frizzy ponytail, her pants weren’t ironed, and she reeked of beer and ashes.

“Yes, I’m ready.”

“Good.” She clasped her hands together. “We’ll start with a few simple questions to see what we’re dealing with. Mrs. Statham—I mean, Denise—what do you hope to accomplish by these sessions?”

“I want my son to respect me again...I want him to welcome me back into his life so we can start over.”

“Okay...” The therapist jotted down a few notes. “And what about you, Jonathan? What do you hope to gain from this?”

“I have nothing to gain from this...Maybe just to be able to sit in a room with her without yelling. That would be sufficient enough.”

“See?” My mom crossed her legs. “That’s exactly what I was telling you about earlier, Doctor. He only hired you to make himself look good, to make it seem like he’s trying, but he’s really not. He doesn’t give a damn about me, he—”

“Have you told her how many times you’ve relapsed? How many times you’ve been in and out of prison? How you technically should be in prison right now?”

“Damnit Jonathan! I’m trying to make something of myself! I’m working really hard! Stop holding my past against me! I’m—”

“Calm down, Denise.” The therapist handed her a glass of water. “Jonathan, we don’t need to start pointing fingers or assigning blame at this stage. We need to start by taking things very slowly. Surely there is something you want to gain out of these sessions.”

I leaned back in my chair and thought long and hard. “I don’t want to be angry with her anymore.”

“Great! That’s a good start. Now Denise, I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to answer it as truthfully as possible. Jonathan, please don’t interrupt...Why do you think you and your son don’t have a good relationship?”

My mother looked at me and sighed. “I had Jonathan when I was twenty-five...I wasn’t ready for a baby but I did my best with what I had...Me and his father were working three jobs each just to make ends meet and before we knew it, we had another child, a baby girl...One day while we were going over more overdue bills, a few of his friends came over and asked if we wanted to try some meth—to stop stressing out so much you know? We both did it and—”

“They went from users to chronic users to two of the most sought after meth dealers in the whole state of Ohio. It’s a very heartwarming story.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m thinking about turning it into a Christmas play.”

“Jonathan, let her finish...” The therapist sighed.

“Anyway,” my mother said, “I was a horrible mother...I know that, and I’ve owned that but...I was on drugs...I wasn’t myself. I didn’t mean to leave my kids hungry or neglect them...It’s completely my fault that they were taken away from me, but I’m clean now and I want a chance to be the mother I should have been back then.”

“Very good start, Denise. Jonathan, how do you feel about what your mother just said?”

“What do you mean ‘how do I feel’?”

“How do you feel? Do you think she’s sincere?”

“My mother has been clean for what? Two months now? By the end of this month, she’ll be back in rehab and won’t even remember that this session happened—which is quite fitting, because you’re not the first therapist I’ve hired and she doesn’t remember any of the other therapists either...So, I feel rather...I feel nothing.”

“She apologized for leaving you and your sister hungry. She—”

“The word ‘hungry’ implies wanting something to eat—knowing that it’s only a matter of time before some type of food is placed in front of you. My mother did not leave us hungry. She left us starving. We went days, sometimes weeks, locked inside our trailer with just rice grains to eat. It wasn’t until I realized that I could climb out the window and get to the dumpsters that I realized what the word ‘hungry’ meant.”

There was silence.

The therapist took off her glasses and looked back and forth between the two of us. “Okay, we clearly have a lot of work to do over the next few months....Let’s take a break and reconvene next week. Okay?”

“Great.” I stood up and offered a hug to my mother. Even though I was beyond furious with her, I always made a point to do that, just in case she relapsed before our next encounter and I wouldn’t see her for another eight months.

“Do you want to get dinner tonight?” She hugged me back. “We don’t have to say a word to each other. We could go to one of those restaurants that plays movies. We never watched any movies together...”

And we probably never will.

“Maybe some other time. I have a date tonight.”

I parked in front of Claire’s house and hit my emergency brake so my car wouldn’t roll down the hill. I’d been meaning to ask why the hell she’d bought a house at the top of a slope; it didn’t seem safe.

“You’re early...What type of car is that?” She texted me.

“A Murcielago. The meeting was cut short. Take your time getting ready...Wear a dress.”

I pulled out my phone and scrolled through a few of my emails, skimming through most of them. I’d been receiving at least five hundred a day since word got out about my company going public. I’d even had to hire a temporary email consultant to sort through them all.

This IPO is going to be the death of me...

I looked up and saw Claire locking the front door of her house. I stepped out of the car and walked over to the passenger side.

“Nice pantsuit.” I laughed. “I actually like this one.”

“Thank you. I figured I’d wear the outfit you liked me in best.” She slipped into the car.

I walked back over to my side and sped away.

“Where are we going today?” she asked. “Did you shut down Ocean Beach so we could eat there?”

“Would you like me to?”

She shook her head and smiled.

“We’re going to Pittsburgh Rivers.”

“What?” She paled.

“Pittsburgh Rivers. It’s a specialty restaurant a few miles from here. They have themed meals from the city. I was hoping you’d be able to suggest some things for me to try since that’s your hometown.”

“Oh...”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.” She turned her head towards the window. “I’m fine.”

I pulled into the parking lot minutes later and looked at her. She hadn’t said much of anything on the drive over. She’d been strangely quiet and hadn’t given me any of her usual sarcasm.

“Are you sure that you’re okay, Claire? We don’t have to eat here if you don’t want to. We can go to my beach house or—”

“I’m sure. I’m just a little tired...”

I knew she was lying, but I decided not to push the issue any further. I helped her out of the car and led her into the restaurant.

“Good evening, Mr. Statham. Right this way.” The host greeted me as soon as I stepped inside and ushered us into a private room.

The walls were painted in murals of all the popular Pittsburgh landmarks—Heinz Field, Cathedral of Learning, Carnegie Museum—and I thought Claire would start chatting about them, but she didn’t say a word.

“Welcome to Pittsburgh Rivers, San Francisco’s own version of the great city of Pittsburgh,” our waiter said. He pulled a few menus from his apron and looked back and forth between us. “Will you two require a full or a half menu tonight? The Hot Metal Bridge special is only available on the full one.”

“Full.” I noticed Claire wincing.

“Fine choice. I’ll bring out those menus right away sir. Would you be interested in the chef’s special wine? It was imported directly from a French winery.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a wonderful wine, a hand-pressed 1975 Bordeaux and—”

Claire started coughing and stood up. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I’ll be right back.”

“No, thank you...” I watched her saunter off. “We’ll have your best champagne.”

“Yes sir.” He walked away.

I scrolled through my emails again, waiting on Claire to rejoin me at the table, but twenty minutes passed and she never returned.

I stood up and headed to the bathroom, knocking before I walked in. “Claire?”

“I’ll be out in a minute.” She sighed.

I stepped inside and locked the door behind me. I walked past all the empty stalls and spotted her sitting at a vanity with her head down.

“What’s wrong?” I touched her shoulder. “Tell me.”

“Can we...” She slowly turned around to face me. “Can we please get the hell out of here?”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere but here...”

I reached for her hand and led her back outside. I wanted to drive to my beach house, but it was forty minutes away so I headed for my condo downtown.

Once again, she said nothing to me during the drive. She kept her head turned towards the window and I caught her wiping away a stray tear.

“Welcome back, Mr. Statham.” The valet caught my keys as soon as I pulled up to the building.

“Thank you, Mr. Reese.” I helped Claire out of the car. “Could you keep it on the bottom level?”

“Of course.”

I pulled Claire close to me as we stepped onto the elevator, watching her face pale in the reflection of the doors. When we reached my place, I led her over to a sofa and sat next to her.

“Talk to me...Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m just having a bad day.” She forced a smile. “Do you have any movies here? We should watch—”

I cupped her face in my hands. “If you and I are going to work, you’re going to have to open up to me...If this was strictly physical or if I didn’t care about you, I wouldn’t be concerned, but I do care. You can trust me.”

“So, you don’t have any movies here?”

“We’re not watching any movies. You’re going to tell me why you’re upset. You completely changed once I mentioned Pittsburgh Rivers and I want to know why. You can sit here and be silent for as long as you want, but we’re not leaving this room until you tell me.”

She leaned back against the couch and shut her eyes.

Fair enough... I tapped my phone and prepared to order dinner, but she turned to face me.

“My ex-husband proposed to me at Heinz Field,” she said. “He knew one of the physical trainers that worked for the football team and he let us in after hours. I thought we were going there to take a private tour, but he walked me out to the fifty yard line and proposed to me...It was so romantic. He even managed to get the scoreboard to read ‘Will you marry me?’ in bright yellow lights. I just knew that he was the one after that...until fourteen years later when I found out that he and my best friend had been having an affair and she was pregnant by him...Everything that I thought was beautiful about my life in Pittsburgh became ugly after that.”

I suddenly felt guilty for suggesting that restaurant, for thinking it would stir up good memories and conversation.

“I don’t think about it as much as I used to, but there are still little reminders here or there and I just...”

“You just what?” I pulled her closer.

“I still can’t believe it on some days...My best friend and my husband? The two people I trusted the most?” She sighed. “She and I used to take a road trip to New York every year to celebrate her birthday. We always did the same thing: Times Square, a Broadway play, and a night on the town...”

“The last time we went there together, she was three months pregnant and I was buying her all these cute little baby clothes because I was so happy for her...I can’t help but think how sick of a person she really was—to celebrate her birthday with me, knowing that my husband’s child was growing inside of her...How fucking disgusting is that?”

She leaned against me. “When I asked my husband why he did it—why he would even think to cheat on me with my best friend, he said there’d always been something between the two of them. He said he’d had feelings for her since the first day they met, but he thought being with me was the safe and secure choice...Then, one night while they were drinking—at my house ironically, one thing led to another and...And after years of suppressing their feelings, they just couldn’t deny it anymore...Isn’t that the stupidest shit you’ve ever heard?”

I didn’t say anything. I just gently rubbed her back.

“They had another little girl last year...They’ve traveled all around the world together and done all the things I thought he and I would be doing together at this point...He even took her to the Panama Canal, where we were supposed to go...He said he would take me sailing there for our fifteenth anniversary, but we never made it because...because...” She stopped and shook her head.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you, Claire...”

I expected her to say more, to cry even, but she simply buried her head in my chest and drifted into a deep sleep.

I felt Claire nuzzling my chest and set my phone down.

“What time is it?” she murmured.

“Nine fifteen. Are you hungry? Would you like to get something to eat?”

“No. I’m okay.” She moved out of my lap. “You can take me home now.”

I don’t think so...

“What do you normally do when you’re upset? What makes you feel better?”

“Home Depot...Or more recently, sex with you.”

I laughed. “The home improvement store? Why?”

“I can’t explain it. One step inside that store and I just...All my problems go away for a while. I get lost in the paint swatches, the tiles, the bathroom fixtures, and—everything.”

“Would you like to go there now?”

“It closed at nine o’ clock...” She frowned.

“That’s not what I asked you.”

“Yes...If it were possible, right now would be a perfect time to go.”

I picked up my phone. “Hey, Corey? I need you to do me a favor.”

“The manager says you have two hours and he wants every item you take to be scanned on register number one. He wants a sTablet the day it comes out, and he’ll send you the bill tomorrow.” Corey typed a few things onto his tablet and the doors to Home Depot slid open.

Claire looked up at me and smiled as she made her way into the store, leaving me standing alone with Corey.

“Okay, seriously...” Corey said once she was out of earshot. “Does she have any friends who look half as good as she does? I need someone too, you know.”

“Watch it. I thought you had a date tonight. What happened with that?”

“She was an airhead. All she talked about was what type of clothes she wanted to wear to some celebrity party in L.A...We did have sex in my car on the way back though—which was amazing, but I don’t think I can sit through another dinner with her. One was painful enough.”

“I’m sure you’ll have someone else by tomorrow. Did you finish the Sorrento account?”

“Of course I did. No thanks to you.” He laughed. “We now have the best security tracking system I’ve ever seen. It’s been three days and I haven’t been able to hack into it from the outside. That’s a pretty good sign.”

“Good to know. Could you deactivate all the cameras in the store?”

“Ten steps ahead of you.” He patted my shoulder and started stepping backwards. “The next time you want to interrupt my favorite show, just so you can break into a hardware store after-hours, please hesitate to let me know.”

I walked over to where I saw Claire disappear to and spotted her on the ceiling fan aisle.

“Thank you so much.” Her eyes met mine. “I only need to get a few things...I left my wallet at home so I’ll pay you back for —”

“Get anything you want. You should know that you don’t have to pay me back.”

Her eyes lit up. “Anything I want?”

“Yes.” I kissed her lips. “Anything you want.”

“Well, in that case, we might be here for a while...”

It was midnight by the time she’d picked out everything she wanted, and we’d filled six carts to capacity.

We were walking around the small pond in the outdoor greenery area, holding hands and laughing at the fish that were flopping across the surface.

“When do you want to start scanning everything?” She looked up at me.

“Never. We’re not scanning any of it. I’ll write the manager a check and cover all his inventory losses at the end of the year.”

“Okay...Well, are we going to start loading up your car? How many trips do you think it’ll—”

“It’s already been taken care of.” I pulled her into my arms. “Don’t worry about it.” I smiled as I slid a hand underneath her shirt. “You know, your creativity never ceases to amaze me...”

“What are you talking about?”

“Why do you like wearing pantsuits all of sudden? You’ve been wearing them all week.”

She smirked. “No reason. I haven’t put that much thought into it.” She tried to step away from me, but I tightened my grip around her.

“Do you honestly think wearing pantsuits will keep me from—”

“From fucking me inside of Home Depot? I hope so.”

I unsnapped her bra and kissed her neck. “It won’t.”

“Jonathan, there are cameras! I’m—”

“Corey turned them all off.” I pulled her down into a bed of grass. “My driver won’t be here with the truck for another hour. That’s plenty of time, don’t you think?” I reached down and unzipped her pants.

“Have I ever told you that you’re ridiculously insatiable?”

“Only when it comes to you.”

April 14, 2013

Dear Journal,

I wish there was a better way to screen potential employees for jobs, a better way to see through people’s bullshit.

In every interview, the candidate always says exactly what he’s supposed to say: “My biggest weakness is trying to be a perfectionist all the time.” “I truly believe I’m the best person for this job because I’m driven, I work hard, and I’m always willing to go the extra mile.” “Oh no, I’ve never been late to work. Ever.”

During his trial period, he’s the most exemplary candidate in the world—showing up early every day, offering to buy all his coworkers coffee, and staying late on every campaign assignment...But as soon as that ninety day trial period is up, he becomes an ass. A complete and total ass.

We hired a new regional director at the beginning of the year, to help us revive our city billboard operations, and once he was “officially” in the position he started acting like he was the CEO.

He took over in all the meetings—talking over anyone who disagreed with him and insisting that his ideas were “simply the best.” He began ordering my associates around—treating them like crap, and badmouthing them at all our directors’ seminars.

While he was in the middle of saying how he couldn’t believe “how dimwitted and dumb” they were—questioning how any of them had “ever managed to get through college in the first place,” I let him have it.

I told him that he was a fucking idiot and that the only reason we agreed to hire him was because our first choice failed the drug test. (By the way, when did employers start testing for opium? And where the hell do people find opium?!)

“And yeah,” I said, “my associates may be dumb as rocks and they may not know a goddamn thing about marketing, but they’re my associates and nobody can talk bad about them but me!”

People these days,

Claire

Chapter 15

Claire

It’s not real, it’s not real...Breathe, Claire...Breathe...

I jumped out of bed and ran downstairs to the kitchen. I opened a cabinet and grabbed a packet of Tylenol, tossing the pills down my throat.

I flung the refrigerator door open and reached for a bottle of water, downing it in one gulp. I took out another one as soon as I finished.

This happened to me every year—every. single. year. Every time my wedding anniversary rolled around.

I shut my eyes and tried to calm myself down from the nightmare I’d just had—the one that featured my husband running off with my best friend, the one that featured her getting pregnant with his baby. But, once I opened my eyes and looked around, once I saw that my kitchen was not our kitchen, I realized that it wasn’t a nightmare after all.

I sank down to the floor and sighed, trying to make myself think of something else—anything else, but another ugly memory forced itself across my mind...

It was weeks after the hurtful revelation, and Amanda hadn’t called or texted me to say that she was sorry. She hadn’t said a word about her part in the affair to any of our mutual friends.

Nada. Zilch. Nothing.

I walked into our neighborhood grocery store—puffy eyed, drained, and ugly, and spotted her in a wrinkled red sundress. I saw her turning down the very aisle I needed: Specialty ice cream.

I knew she was going to pick out our favorite mint chocolate chip brand and cry just like I’d planned to, but we weren’t going to be crying together this time.

We were going to be crying separately, over the same situation that had broken us in two very different ways.

I followed her down the aisle and tapped her on the shoulder.

“Yes? May I—” She dropped the carton to the floor as soon as her swollen eyes met mine.

There was silence as we looked at one another, as we searched for something to say about a situation best friends should never have to go through.

I tried to control my anger, tried to step back and take a slow deep breath, but it didn’t work. I drew my hand back and slapped the shit out of her.

She gasped and reached up to touch her cheek. The fact that I almost felt sorry for her made me want to vomit.

“I deserved that...” she whispered.

“No shit.”

“I am...I am so so sorry, Claire.” Her voice cracked. She uncovered her cheek and I saw the beautiful red imprint of my hand. “I never ever wanted to hurt you...I wanted to call you and say something but...I already know you’ll never forgive me for what’s happened...If I could take everything back, I swear I would. I didn’t realize that—”

“That I was married? That you were the maid of honor at my wedding? That you helped me shop for an anniversary present every year? What exactly didn’t you realize?”

“I didn’t think our feelings were—”

“Real? Genuine? Worth mentioning before I tied the knot? As much as it would’ve hurt me, Amanda—as much as I would’ve cried over it—if you had just said, ‘Hey. I have feelings for Ryan and he has feelings for me too,’ before we got married, hell before we got engaged this would’ve...” I couldn’t hold back my tears. “Do you even realize how fucked up this all is? This isn’t some goddamn romance book on your shelf, Amanda! This is my fucking life!”

“I really am sorry...I—”

“When the fuck were you going to tell me?” I wanted to slap her again. “Huh? When the baby was born? When he turned two? At one point did you and Ryan think about letting your spouses in on this twisted ass joke?”

“Listen to—”

“Answer the goddamn question!”

She sighed. “We never discussed that...”

“Of course you didn’t...I guess fucking each other all the time was conversation enough.” I moved past her and took two cartons of mint chocolate chip from the fridge.

“Claire, wait...I’ll always hate myself for—”

“That makes two of us. We’ve always shared the same enemies.”

“I can’t say how sorr—”

“The only reason I’m not stomping the living shit out of you right now is because you’re carrying a baby—my ex-husband’s baby. But the more I stand here looking at how pathetic you are, I’m tempted to disregard that fact because you’re not really sorry, Amanda. You’re only sorry because you got caught. And you’re right, I will never forgive you.”

I swallowed one more Tylenol pill and washed it down. I looked at my watch and realized it was noon.

I can’t waste my whole weekend thinking about this... I need to do something...

I walked over to the pantry and saw that there was nothing inside but a box of cereal and a jar of unopened peanut butter.

Problem solved...

I stood in front of the meat freezer at Whole Foods, debating whether I should buy two or three packages of chicken. Since Ashley had recently given up her “vegan-status,” she and Caroline were on some type of “all-protein” fix and they’d been eating meat like crazy.

For the past few nights, I’d witnessed them scarf down grilled ham sandwiches, burritos, and turkey burgers like their lives depended on it.

I decided to go with three and headed for the register.

As usual, there were only two cashiers working, and since it was Saturday—the day everyone else did their shopping, I prepared myself for a long wait in line.

I picked up a copy of Cosmopolitan magazine and skimmed through the pages, trying not to laugh at the ridiculous article titles: “The Number One Thing He Craves in Bed Tonight...” “How to Break the Three Date Rule,” and “Two Hundred Sex Tricks That Will Make Him Love You.”

I turned to another page and saw an article entitled, “For ANY Relationship: How to Keep Things Spicy.” I read the first paragraph and rolled my eyes, but I kept reading:

“The key to any relationship—whether you’re young or a little more mature in age—is not communication! (Well, that IS important but we’ll get to that later.) The key is variety—within your date nights, within your displays of affection, and within your bedroom.

“Since this is Cosmo, we’re going to focus on key number three! Your bedroom!

“Sex should never be the same thing day in and day out. It should be spontaneous, passionate, and so amazingly good that you and your guy think about it for days after. (If you’re not already having sex again that is...)

“Our senior editors decided to take the plunge for you, interviewing over a thousand men for this feature. They asked each of them what they liked most about the women they’ve dated, what turns them on, and most importantly how important variety is to a relationship.

“Feel free to read exclusive interviews on the next page, but for now, we’re going to give you a list of tips to automatically boost your sex life and add some much needed variety!

“1. Sexting! Sexting is a—”

I couldn’t read anymore. I reached for something safer—Oprah’s O magazine, and searched for her most recent book club picks.

I moved up two spaces in line and cursed under my breath. There was an elderly couple arguing with the cashier about a stack of coupons.

“Excuse me?” A blonde tapped my shoulder.

“Yes?”

“Could you pass me a copy of Cosmo please?”

“Sure.” I picked one up and handed it to her.

“You know, a lot of it is crazy but some of this stuff actually works on my husband.” She laughed and walked away.

She’s got to be kidding me...

I pulled Cosmo off the rack again and read the rest of the article:

“1. Sexting! Sexting is a great way to spice up any relationship! Now, if you’ve never done it before, you may want to start off with a regular text conversation to make sure that he’s near his phone and it won’t be seen by anyone else.

“Once you’ve committed to sexting, you should simply text your guy something simple, something like “I’m sooo horny” and then say something short and naughty right after. For example: “I’m sooo horny. I wish you could see what I have on right now.”

“Once your guy sees the text, he’ll definitely text you something naughty back. Don’t let it die down after this! Continue engaging him in sexy banter all day.

“The next time you two are together, he’ll be reminded of your messages and want to live out everything the both of you ‘sexted’ about.

“Trust us, nearly every guy we interviewed said engaging in sexting was one of the best things that—”

“These are supposed to be double coupons!” “We are not paying an extra dollar!” “Where is the manager?” The elderly couple ahead interrupted my reading.

I sighed. I figured I might as well try to have some fun while I waited in line.

I pulled my phone out and sent Jonathan a text: “I’m sooo horny. I can’t wait to ride your dick again...”

I found my place in the article once more and started reading about points two and three: Homemade sex tapes and weekend sex retreats.

My phone started ringing and I answered without looking at the screen. I was too wrapped up in reading about the benefits of using flavored condoms.

“Hello?”

“If you want to ride my dick that badly, you don’t have to wait. Where are you?”

Jonathan?! “You’re supposed to text back! Not call me! Why can’t you just text back like a normal—”

“Where. Are. You?”

My body tingled from the sound of his voice. “I’m at Whole Foods...”

“Which one?”

“The one on Fourth Street...”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Go to your car and get in the back seat.” He hung up.

Ugh. Fuck Cosmo... They clearly didn’t interview any “Jonathan Statham” types...

“Ma’am? Ma’am?” The cashier looked at me. “You can start unloading your cart now...”

“Um, actually...I need to get something else...”

I pushed my cart out of line and parked it in the soft drinks aisle. I headed to the restroom and looked myself over: Pink collared shirt, light blue jeans, slightly tousled hair.

My cheeks were bright red and my body was aching—longing to be touched; I had to silently scold myself to calm down.

Am I really this insatiable? Am I as bad as he is?

I took a deep breath and walked out, taking my time to get through the store and into the parking lot. I found my car and fumbled around in my purse for the keys, dropping them to the ground.

I bent down to pick them up, but Jonathan grabbed them before I could.

“Good afternoon, Claire,” he whispered against my neck, setting my nerves on fire.

“Hi...”

He kept the keys in his hand and unlocked the back door. “You first.”

I stepped inside and scooted over to the window. He stepped in after me and shut the door.

I looked away, but he reached over and tilted my face towards him. I was literally trembling in anticipation, wondering when he would start ripping my clothes off.

Instead, he simply looked into my eyes, tracing his fingertips along my jawline—along my lips. Without breaking gaze with me, he slid closer and gently dragged my headband away from my hair. He tossed it towards the front seat and cupped my face in his hands, still staring into my eyes, making me wet while barely touching me.