One Good Thing (13 page)

His mouth shaped mine, coaxing, persuasive. Opened mine. I tasted warmth and mint. As fast as quicksilver, my anger shifted, changing to something else entirely. I lifted my hands, not entirely sure what to do with them, and ended up bunching the fabric of his shirt into my fists like I didn’t want to let him go.

He stroked me through my dress, just over my back at first, and then down the backs of my thighs. He pressed kisses along my throat. He drew out sensations, shivers, shocks of heat.

From somewhere not too far off, I heard music from a radio and the slam of a door. Evan paused but he didn’t release me. He spun me around so my back was to the car, pressed me in. My upper back hit the roof of the car.

Evan stopped kissing me long enough to cradle my face between his hands and stare down at me. “Dani.”

My name ended in the softest lilt. A question. He was asking me a question. My hands, still tangled in his shirt, tightened. “Yes.” I pulled down hard on the shirt, bringing his face to mine. “
Yes
,” I answered, just before I pressed my mouth against his, my body against his.

Behind me, he fumbled with the car door. Once it opened, I folded down, into the backseat; Evan followed right behind me. He shut the door and crawled forward, over me, forcing me to lay back. I could feel the heat of his body, radiating above me, but the leather underneath my back was cold.

His hand curved around my calf before sliding up, pushing the hem of my dress to my waist. Cool air touched my thighs, replaced by the warmth of his hand as he pushed my legs wider to accommodate his body. Evan’s clean scent surrounded me, mingling with crisp leather and new car.

His lips found mine again in a series of harder, desperate kisses. He traced a line down my jaw and throat, kissing and nipping, his hands shaping my breasts until my hips rose to meet his. I felt the hard length of him against my thigh.

The distant sound of talking and laughter drifted to us and for an instant, we both stilled. Then we heard it again, farther away this time. I nearly laughed in relief.

Evan’s hands covered my thighs, flexing as though he wanted to memorize how I felt. Then his fingers slid along my inner leg, slowly pulling down my underwear, searching, teasing the delicate flesh, slowly pushing a finger inside. His thumb brushed over my clit as his tongue pressed against the throbbing pulse above my collarbone.

It wasn’t enough.

He’d dropped a match and started a wildfire. It wouldn’t stop until it had consumed everything in a potent, frenzied blaze.

I shifted underneath him, restless for more.

Anything,
I thought in a daze.
Do anything you want. Just don’t make me wait.
I might have whispered it. I found his mouth again and bit his lower lip, sharply enough that I worried I might be causing him pain. But he groaned, his thumb pressing down harder.

I fumbled with the button on his slacks and then the zipper. I pushed down his pants and boxers.

From some distant corner of my brain, I remembered the glow-in-the-dark condoms in my purse, which had tumbled to the floor of the car. With one hand, I dug into the bag and triumphantly pulled out a condom wrapper.

Evan made a noise that was halfway between a laugh and a groan, his breath huffing against my throat. He withdrew his finger to take the condom from me and roll it on.

I ached from the loss of him, but then a larger pressure than his finger was pushing into me. And I wanted it. I wanted the pressure with a mindless need that I’d never experienced before.

I lifted my hips, drawing him deep, relishing the weight of his body crushing mine into the seat.

He started off slow, easy, until I fully opened for him and then he stroked faster. I was jostled each time, the top of my head bumping against the inside of the car door. The cushions squeaked with each movement but I barely noticed. All my concentration focused on meeting him, thrust for thrust, and the friction that built between my legs.

There was too much clothing between us, I realized belatedly. I fumbled with the buttons of his business shirt, slipping my hands inside, tentatively exploring his chest.

He stopped me, holding both of my wrists with one hand. He drew my arms over my head, holding me there, and I felt more vulnerable than I ever had before. The backs of my knuckles brushed against glass.

Because I couldn’t touch him with my hands, my legs wrapped around him, tight against his waist as he plunged. My breathing roared in my ears; my body strained against his. He shifted position slightly, grinding against my clit with each thrust.

I shattered, arching, moaning, and mewling as he caught the noises on his tongue. He stopped as I pulsed around him, held still and deep, and I felt his own shuddering release.

For a long time, he laid against me, the smell of heat and sweat and sex permeating the car. My arms ached when I lowered them. I didn’t know if I should hold him or not. I wanted to. My fingers actually twitched.

Evan drew back, looking down at me. He shifted his weight to one arm, using his free hand to brush a tendril of sweat-soaked hair from my face. The tender way he touched me made my throat tighten.

I wiggled out from under him, pushing him away, and straightening my mussed clothing. Then, I stared at the back of the passenger seat for a while, feeling dazed. Oh my God … I’d just had sex in a car. And not even a car that was parked in a respectable private driveway … a car in a parking garage! I was sex-in-the-bedroom-with-dim-lighting girl, not wild-hot-sex-in-the-daylight-in-public girl. I didn’t get carried away like that.
Ever
.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Evan asked quietly.

“No.”

It would have been a lot easier if he had. A lot easier to hate him. A lot easier to not want him inside me again.

But I did want him. Again. Now. I felt new stirrings of desire low in my stomach as I remembered how good the hot, heavy slide of him had felt. It was too much for me to contemplate at that moment, with the scent of the soap he wore still crisp in my nose and the taste of him still on my lips.

“I need to go,” I said miserably, pushing at the latch on the door.

“Wait,” he said.

I turned back, my gaze caught by his face. His lips were swollen, a darker red than usual. I wondered if mine looked the same. They felt bruised and sensitive.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine. Perfect. I’m behind on some things,” I said, “I should go back.”

“Can I drive you home tonight?” he asked.

“No. I need … I need time alone, to think.”

“And the ex?” His face smoothed as he said it, turned into implacable marble.

“What about him?” I asked, defiance edging my voice.

“Will you run to him because you’re scared of what just happened between us?”

“We had sex in a car,” I said shrilly. “Nothing that thousands of teenagers haven’t done before. Why would I be scared of that?”

“It was more than that. You know it, even if you won’t admit it.”

“If I want to see Drew, I can see Drew. I don’t owe you anything.” I jabbed my finger at his chest, nearly hurting myself as it collided with the solid surface.

“No, you don’t owe me anything,” he agreed, much calmer than I was. “But that doesn’t mean I’m giving up on you yet.”

*

That doesn’t mean I’m giving up on you yet.

He’d made it sound like a promise, a vow. If anything, that one simple statement caused the icy clutches of panic to close tighter around my heart. I turned it over in my head that night, dreamed about it, woke up with the words whispering in my ear.

I ignored him the next day at work. Or I
pretended
to ignore him. My eyes had the bad habit of following him every time he left his office while memories of his touch invaded my senses. Evan glanced my way once or twice, but he was able to read my moods fairly well; he seemed to know I wasn’t ready to talk to him yet, even if it was a simple hello.

I didn’t like that he could read me so easily. Did that mean what he’d said about Drew had been right?

I wasn’t very good at self-analysis, but if I had stayed with a guy for so long simply because I knew I wouldn’t fall in love with him, that meant I had some issues to work out. And it would mean that I had used Drew, and even if I didn’t love him, I did care for him.

I didn’t want to think I’d kept him from a more fulfilling relationship because he was my “security blanket”—someone to talk to and hang out with and occasionally lean on, but never fully let in.

My fingers closed around a cold glass and I tipped back a swallow of my drink—just soda this time. I was taking a break from whiskey. And my head already hurt from the loud rock music blaring from the jukebox.

I tried not to glance over at the corner and remember when Evan and I had stood there.

“I heard David is thinking about retiring,” I commented to Lucy, who sat on my left side nursing some kind of fruity cocktail that had a lime wedge neatly arranged on the rim.

“I heard that too.” She smiled at me. “Maybe I’m jumping the gun, but I’ve been keeping my fingers crossed.”

“You’d be great,” I said. “Do you know who else might be up for the promotion?”

“Tom has the most seniority. He would probably be my main competition.”

“Can we pass around a petition?” I asked lightly. “I’d sign for you.”

“If only,” she said.

Someone slid into the seat next to me. I glanced over, ready to turn back to Lucy, but then I did a double take. I recognized the profile, the broad shoulders, and the dark hair. My heart did a nauseating flop. “Hi, Drew.”

“Hey. Can we talk?”

I stared down at a groove in the bar top … it looked like someone had taken a knife and etched the wood for the hell of it.

I heard rustling beside me—Lucy gathering up her purse. “I was going to take off. Are you staying?” she asked quietly, leaning down as she stood. Her gaze strayed to Drew.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Have you thought about what I said?” Drew asked, once Lucy was out of earshot.

“I’ve thought about it.” Although, I had to admit, it had taken a backseat to what had happened between Evan and me … in a backseat.

“You’re not dating that guy are you?”

I started. Could he read my mind too? “No …” My mouth went dry. “But we … we might have … had sex,” I said in a small voice.

Drew didn’t move. When he spoke his voice strained. “We’ve only been apart for a month.”

I gawked at him. “Are you telling me you haven’t been with anyone else?”

His jaw clenched, and he didn’t answer.

“What kind of double standard is that? I’m supposed to mope around for an appropriate amount of time while you can do whatever you want?”

“That’s not what I meant. It’s just … since I saw you with him—”

“Wait.” I held my hand up, battling a flash of annoyance. “Are you telling me the only reason you want to get back together is because you’re jealous?”

“It’s not the only reason,” he hedged.

I turned in my bar stool, so I could face him straight on. “Why did you break up with me?”

“I told you, things weren’t the same. We’d drifted apart, and I don’t think either of us were having fun anymore.”

“And how would getting back together change any of that?”

He propped his elbows on the bar, pressing his hands to make one large knot. His knuckles turned white from the strain. “I don’t know. I went on a date with this woman I met. She had this little handheld mirror—I think she checked it about ten times. And all she wanted to talk about was herself.”

“So it wasn’t a good date, then?”

“Not really.”

My forehead wrinkled as I studied him, as I surveyed the face that had been so familiar, so close to me. The dark hair and wide nose and broad shoulders. Had my pulse ever quickened when I thought of seeing him? Had I ever missed him with a nearly tangible ache when we’d been apart for a few days? Or had we always been friends trying to pretend we were more?

“I miss you too,” I said after a moment. “But not in the way that I should.” I rested my elbow against the countertop and leaned toward him. “You’re trying to convince yourself of something that won’t happen.”

“What does that mean?”

I waved my arm helplessly to encompass the two of us. “You and I being right for each other.”

“You don’t think we are?”

I shook my head. “You didn’t think so either. Or you didn’t feel it, at least, or you wouldn’t have broken up with me.”

He stared at me. “What if I made a mistake?” he said softly.

And I heard something that I recognized too well—fear. I could sense what Drew was going through. He’d made a decision to end things, but now he had a knee-jerk reaction to go back to what was familiar. He was trying to jam puzzle pieces together that didn’t fit because it was easier than searching for the right ones.

I knew the compulsion. And I could see him more clearly, now that we’d been separated. We had more similarities than just the superficial, but they weren’t good ones.

And still, even realizing all this, I might have been tempted to fall back into the same old pattern. I might have been tempted to go back to what was familiar.

But I was selfish. I’d tasted honey when all I’d had beforehand was plain bread, sexually speaking.

I knew if I got back together with Drew, I would lie underneath him and move underneath him and pretend he was someone else. To his face, I would pretend I didn’t want someone else. But I would look back at ten minutes in the backseat of a car with a little too much longing.

“I don’t think you would be here right now,” I said slowly, “if your date had gone better and you hadn’t seen me with Evan.”

“That’s not true,” he said, shaking his head.

But I noticed, and maybe he noticed too, he didn’t sound quite as emphatic as before.

I reached for his hand, untangled it from his other hand and clasped it gently on top of the counter. How many times had I felt his fingers around mine? It was a comforting sensation, if only because I was used to it. “We should just be friends,” I said. I wondered if I should have given him that answer a year ago, but it was too late now.