Caught Up in Us (18 page)

“What’s that?”

He put his good hand on my waist
and gently pulled my chest to his. Then he whispered in my ear, his
voice low and smoky. “Let me touch you tonight.”

“Bryan! That’s not
fair.”

“Fair to who?”

“You’re all hopped up on pain
meds. I’m not going to take advantage of you.”

He scoffed. “First off, you could
never take advantage of me. I will always want you.”

“But we’re supposed to be
behaving! Didn’t we just agree to that?”

“Yeah. But think of me like a
wounded soldier. You wouldn’t leave me without giving me a little
something to keep me going for the next several weeks.”

“You’re terrible. We might as well
just have sex then.”

“What a brilliant
idea.”

I wagged a finger at him as if he
were a very naughty boy. “The answer is no, no, no.”

He pressed his palms together – a
sight that looked as amusing as it was sympathetic given his
gauze-wrapped hand – and batted his eyelids. I pretended to swat
him, and he deftly reached for me with his left hand, shifting my
body alongside his and spooning me on the couch. He wrapped an arm
around my shoulders, his right hand resting carefully on the couch.
He layered kisses on the back of my neck that turned me inside out.
He pushed my hair out of the way and traced his tongue lazily
across my skin, over my earlobe, and down to my shoulder blade. He
moved his hand to my waist, slipping his fingers underneath my
sweater. I gave in to the feeling of his fingers dancing on the
waistband of my jeans. His hand was warm, his skin was soft, he
felt amazing. I closed my eyes.

“Good thing I’m left-handed,” he
said.

Even though I
could feel the soft little hairs on my arms standing on end, I
moved his hand off my belly. “Yes. That means you can use
your
left hand
to
work the TV remote.”

He heaved a long, laborious sigh
of playful resignation.

“You have a will of steel, and it
only makes me want to get you naked even more. But for now, I
surrender. Want to watch a movie?”

“I’d love nothing
more.”

I handed him the
remote and settled in next to him. We scrolled through the options
on-demand, debating whether we wanted to see
Pitch Perfect
or
Bridesmaids
. Anna Kendrick was my
girl crush, so that movie won. Plus, I didn’t have to worry about
whether that sexy scene where the cop and Kristen Wiig spend the
night together would make me break my vow.

Besides, it was better this way,
curled up and warm in his arms. For tonight at least.

Chapter Nineteen

I surveyed my open suitcase,
thumbing through my folded clothes and neatly aligned shoes. I was
ready for four days in Paris. As I doubled checked that I’d packed
a power adaptor, and triple checked that I’d included extra tights
since November is cold in the city of lights, I chewed the inside
of my cheek with worry.

What if I returned from Paris
empty-handed? Or worse, what if I brought back a brilliant
prototype for a new line of necklaces and it still wasn’t what
Claire and her contacts at the Elizabeth’s department store had in
mind? Where would my parents be then? I had a chance with Claire;
it was in my grasp, and I needed to hold on tight and not let
go.

I took a deep breath, shut my
black suitcase and reminded myself not to catastrophize.

I left the suitcase in the middle
of my purple comforter, and checked the inside pocket of my
carry-on computer bag. My passport was safely tucked away, zipped
up and secured. I looked up the weather on my phone. A storm was
headed towards Manhattan in a day or so. I would probably just miss
it, and escape the city in the nick of time. Maybe that was a favor
from the universe for being good again.

I lifted the suitcase and computer
off my bed and placed them on the floor, then pulled back the
covers and slid into bed. I turned on my eReader, closing out the
sexy Simone Noelle novella I’d finished last night and toggling
over to the new book I’d downloaded about a college girl in love
with insanely hot twin brothers. The story had started to steam up
when I heard the sound of the door crashing wide open. Jill always
had to make an entrance.

“KatGirl! I’m coming to get you
and tell you my news!”

Her heels banged across the floor
as she ran down the hall and jumped onto my bed, bouncing a few
times on her butt.

“Tell me your news.”

“I got a
callback for the new musical. The new Frederick Stillman musical,”
she said, referring to the revered composer. Theater actors fell
all over themselves to land roles in his shows, be they new
productions or revivals. He was nothing short of a legend and had
attained God-like status in the thespian community.

I knocked fists with her. “You are
a rock star!”

She twisted her
index and middle finger together. “Don’t jinx me. But I hope so! I
hope I’m a Broadway star.” She flopped back on my bed. “Oh my god,
Kat. This is my dream. This is my fucking dream. A role in a
Stillman musical. It’s called
Crash the
Moon
and the score is to die for. Well,
the song they gave me. It’s a rock ballad I have to sing. But the
casting director saw my Eponine and called me in for a supporting
role.”

“I didn’t even know you were
auditioning for it.”

“I didn’t tell a soul. I was so
terrified I’d blow it, so I kept it totally secret. Now, she wants
to bring me in for the producer. And, word on the street is that
Patrick Carlson is going to win the lead. I might have a chance to
act with Patrick Carlson. He only pretty much inspired me through
all of high school.”

“Yeah, and he’s the one straight
actor in musical theater, right?”

She laughed. “Pretty much. Well,
him and Reeve.”

Patrick Carlson was a few years
older than Jill, and had risen quickly as a Broadway star, nabbing
a Tony already, as well as a long list of gorgeous girlfriends. He
had chiseled cheekbones and the voice of an angel. You could fall
in love just hearing him sing. Well, if you weren’t already mad
about someone, that is.

“When’s the callback?”

“Next week. It’s a good thing
you’ll be gone because I’ll pretty much just be practicing my songs
the whole time I’m not coaching my newest half-marathon
club.”

“You’re going to blow them away
and make gobs of money as a star. Break a leg.”

My phone rang. Jill raised an
eyebrow as she picked up the Hello Kitty-encased device from my
nightstand and brandished it at me. “I thought you two were on
ice.”

I sat up straight and looked at
the screen. Bryan’s name blared across it.

A part of me wanted to hear his
voice. Another part urged me to resist. Neither part had a chance
to debate it because Jill swiped her finger over the
phone.

“Kat in the Box’s line. How may I
help you?”

I rolled my eyes as she
waited.

“No, I don’t believe she is
available. She’ll be free again to speak with you in about five
weeks.” Jill spoke in a professional voice as if she were my
receptionist.

A pause. Jill smirked and nodded
several times. “My, my, my. Isn’t that just convenient that the
padlock deal came through.”

My shoulders tightened with
excitement. Padlocks. That could only mean one thing.

“Oh, really? Well, you definitely
shouldn’t go anywhere near the Hotel Marquis that’s just three
blocks from the Eiffel Tower on rue Dupleix when you go to Paris
tomorrow.” Jill clasped her hand over her mouth in an overly
dramatic gesture. “Oh my. I did not mean to just happen to drop the
name of Kat’s hotel. Especially since you two have your chastity
belts on. Pretend I didn’t mention it. Wipe it from your brain.
I’ll make sure she knows to stay away from the W Hotel too. Ta-ta
for now.”

She hung up the phone and I stared
at her, mouth agape.

She shrugged. “What was I to do?
He was giving you a heads up that the city of Paris called him in
for some last-minute meeting about the padlocks, whatever that
means. He didn’t want you to be surprised if you see him at the
airport tomorrow. He said he had to move up his flight a day
because of the storm.” Jill winked. “Convenient, that mother
nature, isn’t she?”

Très convenient. Or inconvenient.
Depending on how you looked at it.

Chapter Twenty

The lights of the city shone like
fireflies as New York City fell away below me. The plane soared
higher, and I worked on a crossword puzzle since all my reading
material was of the electronic kind. Though I often wondered — if
the power from a simple eReader could disable a plane’s navigation
on takeoff, what did that say about the sturdiness of the
plane?

I returned to the clue in front of
me, filling in edict as the answer for a five-letter word for
doctrine. How apropos, given my self-imposed edict to stay away
from Bryan for the next five weeks. I didn’t even see him when I
boarded, but I suspected he was in first class, and I was stuck in
lowly coach.

As I finished the puzzle, one of
my least favorite odors permeated the air. The scent of smelly man
foot. The guy next to me had removed his shoes. I wrinkled my nose
and tried to breathe in through my mouth.

“Ah, that’s better,” he said to
the woman with him as he wiggled his freed feet in their white tube
socks. The woman smiled without showing any teeth, and then began
clipping her nails.

Great. Now, I had not one, but two
of my least favorite human activities on public transit taking
place in a two-foot radius. At least I had the aisle seat. I
turned, shifting my body away from them and hoping the lady might
gently remind her man of proper social mores.

But after several minutes of
sweaty-sock-scented air and the clip-clip-clip of nail maintenance,
I started to wonder if perhaps my seatmates might break out Q-tips
next and check for earwax. I frowned at the image as the plane
reached its cruising altitude, and one of the flight attendants
strolled down the aisle, a purposeful look in her eyes. When she
reached me, she bent down. She wore her hair in a perfectly coiffed
twist.

“Bon soir. You are Ms.
Harper?”

“Bon soir. I am.”

“If you’d like, I can move you to
a row closer up.”

“You can?”

“Yes, the seats are much more
comfortable, and there is a spare one.”

She didn’t have to ask twice. I
grabbed my computer bag, unbuckled, and followed the sharp-suited
woman. She escorted me out of coach, held open the blue curtain to
economy plus and guided me through the cushier section. I spotted a
few empty seats, but she didn’t stop. She marched forward to the
next blue curtain, the one that led to first class. I slowed my
pace when I realized where she was taking me. The empty seat was
next to Bryan. He turned around, smiled with his eyes, and gestured
grandly to the massive leather seat next to his, so large it could
turn into a bed. He no longer had a bandage on his right
hand.

“Would you care to join me? The
seat is empty and I have plenty of miles, so it’s not a
problem.”

“The guy next to me had his shoes
off and his wife was cutting her nails. So, yes, yes,
yes.”

“Those activities are forbidden
under my regime.”

“I know!”

I took the seat, buckled in, and
leaned against the buttery leather chair, feeling like a princess
flying through the sky to Paris.

*****

“Would you like
to see the wine list?”

A dark-skinned woman with light
brown eyes proffered what looked like an invitation to a fancy
party. I tried not to let my jaw drop. They weren’t just passing
out diet sodas and seltzer here in first class. There were several
varieties of wine on the list, not to mention cocktails. I looked
at Bryan. “Are you getting something?”

“I’m not really a wine person.
I’ll take a Glenlivet on the rocks,” he said to the flight
attendant. Then to me. “You?”

I shook my head.

“Would you like
a cocktail, then?”

“Just an orange juice, please.” I
felt like a kid, but the truth was I didn’t trust myself not to
pounce on Bryan if I had a drink or two in me. She nodded and
walked away.

“Not in the mood? Or do you not
really drink?”

“Not often.”

“What’s that all
about? Any reason?”

“I wish I could say I had this
horrible childhood and my mother was a raging alcoholic or my
father was a drunk who beat me. Well, I don’t really wish I could
say that. But you know what I mean. There’s no deep-seated
childhood reason. No dysfunction I’m trying to avoid. The truth is
I just don’t like the taste of alcohol.”