Lauren Blakely - Night After Night

“I like my crazy heels.”

“I love your crazy heels, and I want to make sure you can keep wearing them.”

“How do you like them best?” she said, playfully.

“With your legs wrapped around my neck.”

She smiled at him, a woozy sort of contentment bathing the night. “What time is it? I feel like I lost all sense of the world around me tonight.”

He bent down to kiss her shin. “Good. That’s how it should be. And to answer your question, it’s nearly midnight.”

A brief hit of tension touched down in her body, like an alarm. Tomorrow night at this time, she’d be headed home. This weekend – perfect as it was – would be over. It would be a delicious memory, but only that. A slice of her life that was in the past. There was a part of her that wanted to stop time, and live in this escape to New York for a while, forget her debts, forget her obligations, forget Kim and her hubby and the rest of the employees at Cubic Z. Ignore the whole wide world and live in this bubble of sex and chemistry and the delicious sort of getting-to-know you that fools a person into falling. Boy, was she falling for him, headfirst into a crazy kind of like, the kind that made her want to send him sweet texts and naughty texts, that made her want to talk to him about everything and nothing, that made her want to hear all about his day. Every day.

To be the first person he saw in the morning, and the last one he saw at night.

What a crazy notion. She must he high. Intoxicated on epic sex, and she’d need to clear her orgasm-clouded head.

“So Miss Julia. How’s this going to work out?”

She raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “What do you mean?”

He pointed from her to him, speaking in a clear, firm voice. “You and me. I don’t want this to just be a one-time thing. I want to see you again.”

She fixed him with a quizzical look. Surely, he wasn’t the kind of man who wanted a long-distance relationship. But then, he said he’d been with Sabrina for a while, and she had no reason to believe he was a player, or a ladies man either. And while she wasn’t sure what she wanted from him, she did know one thing for certain – she wanted to see him again. He’d rocked her world in more ways than one. With pleasure, and with laughs, and with the tender ways he had. That was the problem – he was so good for her, and she simply had no real estate in her life for this kind of potential. One of them or both of them would wind up hurt.

But she had enough problems, so she made a split-second choice – to be abundantly honest in this instant about how she felt. “I would like that,” she said, without agenda, without teasing. “I live on the other side of the country though.”

“I am aware of that and I want to see you again and again. You’re not seeing anyone else, are you?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, of course not. I wouldn’t do that.”

“And you like being with me presumably?”

“Obviously.”

“So let’s do this,” he said in the most matter-of-fact tone. As if a relationship spanning 3000 miles were truly that easy.

“How? How are we supposed to pull this off?” As much as she liked him, long-distance love affairs had a gigantic built in roadblock.

“There’s this thing called an airplane,” he said dryly. “It flies. You get on it. I get on it. We both get off on the other side.”

“Oh ha ha, funny guy.”

“Why thank you very much. I like to make sure all departments are fully functional including the humor one.”

“Well, it is. But I do work a ton, you know,” she said, her natural instinct to erect walls rearing its head.

“As do I.”

“So it might not be that often that we can see each other.”

“If you are not interested in this continuing, you should just say so rather than point out the obstacles,” he said, his dark eyes fixed on hers, his gaze serious and intense.

She opened her mouth to speak, but it was as if she’d been injected with an overdose of nerves. One she needed to ignore. “I am interested in this continuing,” she said, and it felt like an admission, as if she were confessing something hard but true. Because this was only supposed to be one weekend. This wasn’t supposed to be more. But the idea of this - them - ending after one weekend felt like a stone in her chest.

“Good,” he said, running his fingers across her calf, and his touch was something she was already used to, and already going to miss desperately. “We will manage what we can then.”

“Okay, but it might get expensive.”

“I don’t know how to break this to you gently, so I’m just going to be blunt. I do well for myself. I have frequent flyer miles and a credit card that works.”

She heaved out a playful sigh, even though inside that was part of what worried her, and a big part of why she needed to keep him not just at an arm’s length, but a football field length from Charlie. He’d find a way to blackmail him, tie him up into all sorts of trouble. A prominent lawyer boasting a client list teeming with money, he’d have a field day with Clay.

“I want to see you and I will buy you tickets and buy my own,” he continued. “I also have clients in San Francisco, and Los Angeles and I get to the west coast a lot.”

“I am sure, but I don’t want you paying for me. I don’t like owing people,” she said with a firmness to her tone. She didn’t want to be in anyone’s debt ever again.

“I don’t want to be paid back. I want to see you. I’m not buying you. I’m saying I want to date you and some dates require a cab, and some require a town car, and some require an airline ticket. And if that’s the cost of transportation – an airline ticket – if that’s my fare from New York to San Fran, I don’t see how that’s any different than if you lived in Brooklyn and came to see me here in Manhattan over the weekend,” he said, keeping his eyes locked on her the whole time as he spoke with such confidence.

“I guess, but I don’t want to feel like I’m a kept woman,” she said, even though she relished the idea of seeing him. He’d made a more-than-convincing argument that they should make a go of things.

He laughed hard. “No one ever in the whole wide world could keep you. I’m just going to be happy if I can spend a few hours with you.”

“You like the sex that much,” she said, playfully pushing her toes against his hard abs.

“You know I like the sex. I think the part that’s not getting through to you is how very much I like all the other parts. I like what’s in here,” he said, stretching across her to tap her forehead with his index finger, “And I like doing the things here,” he said, sweeping his thumb across her lips, “that involve talking.” He traveled down her chest, tracing a line between her breasts, and landing on her heart. “I also like the things I’m seeing in here.”

Her heart beat in double time, and it was such a foreign feeling for her, it had been so long since she’d felt for someone. It scared her, but felt wonderful at the same time too. But then, wasn’t that what liking someone felt like? A little bit like stepping off the diving board and taking the plunge. She grasped his hand, clutched it in hers, holding his against her chest. His eyes sparkled with a happiness, a genuine sort of joy, as if she’d just said yes to him. Which, she supposed, she had.

“So you’re gonna be my boyfriend?”

“Gorgeous, I’m not your boyfriend. I’m your lover. The only one.”

“Obviously. You are my only lover. No woman could ever have you and want or need another man.”

“Good. Now remember what I was saying about liking all the things we do?”

She nodded. “Yeah?”

He leaned across the bench, kissing her lips gently, then brushed them with his fingertips. The slightest kiss sent tingles through her. “I could do that and other things all night. But right now, I want you to use those lips to tell me more about you. You said your best friend is your sister. Besides your hair stylist, Gayle. Were you close to McKenna growing up or did you become best friends later?”

Her eyes widened. She was impressed that he remembered all the details, down to her hairdresser’s name. “We’ve always been close. We’re one year apart. Irish twins, as they say. We fought like sisters did, but most of the time, we were like this,” she said, twisting her index finger around her middle finger. “Read the same books, liked the same TV shows. We were both huge My So-Called Life junkies. The show was only on for one season, but we watched all the episodes over and over on cable, and recited the lines together, and we loved Jordan Catalano too from that show. So McKenna and I had this thing in high school when we started dating that we’d always check in on the other with a phone call.”

“Ah, the old friend emergency call,” he said, sketching air quotes.

“Yup,” she said, nodding proudly. “But our deal was if one of us was having a bad time and needed to be saved, that person would say I can’t believe Jordan’s arm is broken. And if we were having a good time and really liked a guy we’d say You’re watching My So-Called Life right now?”

“Ring, ring. McKenna’s calling. You better pick up.”

Julia mimed answering a phone. “Hey McKenna, how’s it going?” she said into her pretend phone. She paused as if listening. “Oh, I’m so glad Jordan’s arm isn’t broken.” She locked eyes with Clay, and he grinned as she continued her phone call. “What did you say? You’re watching My So-Called Life right now?” His grin widened, lighting up his whole gorgeous face. “That is the best show. Well, you have a good time, because I am having the best time.”

She hung up her imaginary phone and ran her fingers across his stubbled jaw, sandpaper rough with his more than five-o-clock shadow. “You, mister, are better than My So-Called Life,” she said, and was surprised by how easily the admission rolled off her tongue. This was precisely what she hadn’t wanted to happen this weekend. To feel. To want. To have strings start to attach themselves that would extend well beyond a weekend.

But here she was making plans, making commitments, telling him exactly how she felt.

What was she getting herself into? She needed to put on the brakes and deal with her debt first. But then Clay’s mouth was on her, kissing her hard and hungry again, consuming her with his lips that made her bones vibrate and her blood sing, and all thoughts of brakes and debts and troubles turned to rubble in her brain, because desire had slammed hard into her body.

He picked her up in his arms, carried her inside, up the steps and into his bed. This time there were no ties, no binds, no hard, rough hands, though she had loved all of that.

Now, he simply laid her on his bed and kissed her from head to toe, his lips melting her from the inside out. She trembled, both from the way he touched her and from her heart thundering with hope of what they could be. They could be so good for each other. He entered her, taking his time, making slow, sweet, luxurious love to her as she wrapped her arms and her legs around him, reveling in all the ways they came together.

Brunch sounded nice. Julia envisioned one of those lazy New York mornings. They’d make love, then shower, then wander around the Village, stumble into some fantastic four-table restaurant that had fabulous French toast or decadent omelets. Wait, no. She had a better idea. They’d go to a diner because diners in New York were the best ever and diners in San Francisco could suck it. At the booth, his hands would be all over her, touching her back, her waist, her legs. They’d return to his place, unable to stop touching, then smash into each other in the elevator and fall into his apartment already in a state of undress. Fevered and frenzied, he’d take her, one last time, the kind of urgent and desperate goodbye sex that would make them both miss each other terribly when she left for the airport an hour later, waving goodbye in her taxi, trying hard not to stare out the window the entire time as the cab drove away.

She stretched her arms over her head, enjoying that fantasy as morning sun streaked in the window, painting the bedroom in the early glow of dawn. Clay was a sound sleeper, and lay snoozing on his stomach, the covers hitting his hips. His gorgeous back, strong and muscled, was on display. She was tempted to reach out and touch him, trace lazy lines down his skin, but a light flashed on the nightstand.

Grabbing her phone, she headed into the bathroom and scrolled through her messages as she brushed her teeth.