The Collision on Hardwood Drive (4 page)

I told him about how
I was still close to my dad, who lives in Vermont. We try to talk once a week at the very least.

“He actually came to
Manhattan last week,” I said, thinking back on our long walks around Central Park, our early mornings nestled in a corner of my local coffee shop with the
NY Times
split between us. It had been a bittersweet weekend—it had been his first trip up here without my mother. We had both talked incessantly, fearing the silence that threatened to creep in. We avoided anything that reminded us of my mother, his wife.

“Your mom didn’t mak
e it this weekend?” Rob asked.

Inwardly, I braced m
yself against the answer I knew I would have to give. “Well… she…”

I coughed, trying to
hide the sadness in my voice. “She’s, uh, dead. Actually.”

I tightened my mouth
and pressed my lips together, hard, to keep them from quivering. My mother was another wound that had yet to heal cleanly and trying to talk about her was like pouring salt right into that cut. I swallowed, feeling a lump rise in my throat.

“I’m sorry.
I wouldn’t have brought it up if I’d known.” He put his hand over mine, rubbing circles into that sensitive spot right between my thumb and forefinger. I nodded absently.

“Come here,” he said
after a moment. In one effortless motion, he pulled me into his lap, letting me wrap my arms around his broad shoulders. I buried my face in his neck as his firm hands rubbed circles against my back. It was wonderful to be held like this with the warmth of his body close to me. As I relaxed, the lump forming in my throat dissolved.

I sat up, slowly, an
d looked in his eyes. He smiled, the expression gentle on him. “All right now?” I nodded, sitting back in the seat next to him. “Do you want to talk about her?” he asked.

I did, surprising my
self with how
much
I wanted to talk about her in this moment with Rob. I hadn’t even wanted to think about her death before now.

“I miss her a lot,”
I told him. “It’s been really difficult on my dad too. Not just her death—though that was plenty difficult—but all the rest too.”

“What do you mean ‘t
he rest’?” Rob asked.

I explained.
When my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer earlier this year, my dad took a leave of absence from his engineering company. When the chemo wasn’t working, they invested all their savings into a risky stem-cell transplant. At first, it seemed to work. My mother got stronger, and she kept insisting that she felt better. Two months after the transplant, her doctor called to let her know that the cancer had spread to her lymph nodes and her bones. He explained that the transplant often causes a surge of white blood cells, causing the body to release an excess of serotonin, masking any physical feeling of deterioration. Once her cell levels returned to normal, she weakened rapidly. She spent the last four weeks of her life on pain medication, floating in and out of consciousness.

“A week after she di
ed, my dad tried to go back to work. He wanted to distract himself from the grief, but of course, the company hadn’t held his position for him,” I said, my voice growing bitter with each word. Rob’s eyes widened. “He worked for that company for thirty-five years,” I said, darkly, under my breath.

I tried to cleanse m
y voice of the bitterness washing over me, tried to finish the story. Rob was a good listener. I wanted to tell him about myself without spewing venom all over our conversation.

“Anyway, to make a l
ong story short, he’s about to lose the house. The bank foreclosed on him. That’s the other reason he was up here this weekend—we looked at a few apartments. He’s pretending to make the best of it, but I know it’s difficult,” I said, quietly.

Rob
sighed, keeping one arm around me. I breathed slowly and studied my hands. I wasn’t sure how Rob would respond to that story. Michael couldn’t handle it, after all. Anytime the word
cancer
was mentioned, he changed the subject awkwardly. It was abundantly clear to me that he had no interest in discussing the situation—he didn’t even consider himself
involved
in my life and my family.

“I’m sorry,” I said,
trying to lighten my tone and shake Michael out of my head. “I know cancer talk probably isn’t what you had in mind for tonight.”

Rob
lifted a hand to turn my face toward him. “I’m glad you told me,” he said, earnestly. “I know it’s not easy to share that kind of shit with someone you hardly know. Thank you for telling me. Listen, Stephanie—if there’s anything,
anything
I can do, you just say the word.” He looked at me so intently that I knew his offer was serious.

“No. No, really, I’m
sorry,” I said, touched by his genuine sympathy. I felt safe and warm next to him, but I didn’t want to ruin this evening by continuing to dwell on my sob story.

“Tell you what, why
don’t we switch gears for a while?” I asked. I was suddenly overwhelmingly aware of his solid thighs pressed against mine, his broad chest pressed against my side.

“Sure, but anytime y
ou want to talk about this—I’m happy to listen,” he said. “How does some fresh air sound? We can head out to the pool, clear our heads.”

His lips were danger
ously close to mine. I could almost taste the spicy bourbon on his tongue. Cool, fresh air suddenly seemed a necessity.

We slipped throu
gh the back door, stepping onto his backyard terrace. A huge pool splayed across the backyard. The water was lit up by underwater lights, making it glow pale blue. Steam rose from the surface, disappearing into the night air a foot above the surface. I sucked in a sharp breath.
Beautiful
.

Rob
laced our fingers as he led me down the steps to the glowing pond. We walked around the water, silently, and enjoyed the darkness. The night was brisk, but not too cold—just cool enough to be invigorating. A chilly breeze rolled over the pool, sending shivers down my spine. My nipples tightened, swelling through my sweater.

“You’re cold,”
Rob said, running his warm hands up and down my arms when he noticed. His eyes flickered across my chest. “Let’s go inside. Are you ready for your surprise?”

I nodded,
eagerness crashing back into my mind.
 

3

As we left the pool, Rob took my hand. He entwined our fingers again, his touch light and careful. The embrace was delicate, but his hands were firm and strong. “Come with me.”

I couldn’t imagine w
hat he had in mind. Actually, I could—but I wasn’t sure how
that
would help anyone recover from an accident. Furthermore, I already forbid myself from sleeping with him tonight. I refused to be another woman in his string of affairs.
Now, all I needed to do was muster enough strength to say no.

Rob
led me up a set of winding wooden stairs. I followed him into a dimly lit room where the scent of sandalwood and eucalyptus rushed to meet me. A small side table was lit with several tea lights, their flames dancing in the shadows. The effect was breathtaking. Rob’s eyes were on me, piercing me from under his strong brow.

“Take off your cloth
es,” he instructed, his voice barely audible as he gave the order. “I’ll come back once you’re undressed.”

I was—
floored
. Quickly, my excitement turned into apprehension. I felt my blood begin to boil. Did I seem
that
easy? That
desperate
? One extravagant meal and I’d agree to fuck him right then and there?

“
Rob, come on now. Really?” I said. “You think I’m one of those women who would just—”

“Shh,” he said, cutt
ing me off with his fingers over my lips. The touch was much softer and more careful than I expected. As though reading the fears in my mind, he said, “I’m not going to fuck you—believe me, when I do, I won’t need to
ask
you to take off your clothes.”

He smiled, that slow
, sexy grin I knew lurked inside him creeping across his lips. “This is just for a massage—hence, the table.” He gestured across the room, directing my attention back to a table clearly meant for massages.

“Oh,” I said.

He stepped in closer, ducking just enough to bring his mouth to my ear. “When I do fuck you, you’ll want it. There won’t be any confusion.”

His sensual voice pr
omised thoroughly dirty things. I desperately wanted to keep my cool, but it was difficult to stay calm and aloof when he made me fight every fiber of my being to contain my desire.

He stepped back, mis
taking my efforts to control myself for hesitation. “I actually worked as a masseur back in the day. It came in handy during my basketball days for the strained muscles and torn ligaments we had to deal with. I rarely do them anymore, but I like to practice occasionally. You’ll love it.”

And, well, I couldn’
t very well say no to
that
. Promising myself that it would be a massage and a massage
only
, I nodded. “Fine.”

“Undress.
Lie down on your stomach on the table, under the sheet. Just let me know when to come back in.”

True to his word, he
stepped out and left me alone to get naked. I stood still for a moment, too nervous to disrobe immediately. The warmth and soft lighting of the room encouraged me to take a deep breath and lift my dress over my head. I slipped out of my thong and bra and folded them under the dress. I tied my hair up loosely and climbed on the bed, under the sheet, anticipating the touch of his hands all over my body.

I settled on my stom
ach, feeling the warmth of the table against my breasts and the light blanket covering my backside like a reassuring arm. I let the calming scents in the room wash over me as I took another deep breath.

“I’m ready,” I said.
“You’d better behave, mister.”

Rob
reentered the room, his mere presence making me painfully aware of my nakedness under the sheet. He approached the table slowly, pouring a steady stream of oil in his hands and rubbing them to warm the slippery liquid.

“What do you like?”

“In a massage?”

“I’d
prefer
to know how you like to be fucked, but yes. My immediate concern is your massage preferences,” he said, nearly purring the sex-laced words in my ear.

“Hard,” I said, bury
ing my face in the headrest.

“That’s what I thoug
ht.” His tone suggested we weren’t talking about massage preferences anymore. I didn’t correct him, but I didn’t confirm anything for him, either. Not directly, anyway.

Instead, I giggled q
uietly and relaxed. “Well, start slowly, and work your way in.”
Otherwise, I’ll go nuts.

He had raised his ha
nds, feigning surrender when I brought my head up to look at him again. He smiled, handsomely, and said, “Whatever you want, Steph.”

I felt his strong ha
nds slide up my back, kneading his palms deep into my shoulders. The warm oil was luxuriously slippery on my skin, and his large hands knew exactly how to release the tension gathered under my skin. I could feel the strength of his arms as he dug into my neck before massaging my scalp and running his fingers through my hair. My whole body was ablaze from the touch of his hands, but I felt utterly languorous.

As he massaged away,
I felt his warm breath tickling my ear. “You’d better be single,” Rob said, lowering his voice to a growl. I smiled into the table, not saying a word. “That’s a
yes
, then? I’m not sure how that’s even possible. Just look at you—newly single, I’m guessing?”

“Mmhm,” I confirmed,
not sure about how much I should be sharing here. I thought about it and quickly decided that if I was going to scare him off, I might as well do it sooner rather than later. I continued, trying not to sound hesitant, “Yeah, I was with someone for four years. Then, six months ago, I walked in on him with another woman—in bed. In
our
bed.”

Rob
whistled, long and low. “The guy’s an idiot. What kind of man cheats on a woman like you?” His warm hands rubbed at my lower back, thumbs tracing firm circles on either side of my spine.

“Flattery will get y
ou everywhere,” I said.

I sighed, enjoying t
he contrast of his rough hands and the silky oil as they moved over my bare back. “I think I’m angrier with myself than I am with him. I’m so pissed that I wasted so much time with a dick like him, you know?”

“Why did you?”

I had to think about that for a good long moment before I could even begin to formulate an answer. “Well,” I said, thinking about my words very carefully before letting them escape my mouth. “He had a strong personality, charming, and intelligent. He was a journalist, and he took his work seriously. Although now, I think he just took
himself
really seriously. I mistook his egotism for passion.”