Chance (The One More Night Series) (12 page)

“I understand the difference between fantasy and reality, Brooke.”

“I hope you do.”

“I’m still going.”

“Fine—that’s your choice,” Brooke said.  “But as your best friends, it’s our job to try to protect you.  That’s all this is about.  It’s not about getting in your face or getting you angry—that’s the last thing we want, OK?”

“I get it.  And I appreciate it.”  I looked at them both and popped my eyes at them.  “I do!  And I love you for it.”

“We’re not going to say anything more on the matter,” Elle said.  “If you want to go, go.  Brooke and I will help you get ready.  We’ll turn you into the siren you want to be.  OK?”

“I’ll need all the help I can get, so I appreciate that.  And look—I also appreciate where you guys are coming from, but I’ve got this.  Just consider this part two of my one-night stand with this guy.  Nothing more.  I’ve already come clean with Chance about that.  I’ve been honest with him that this is it.  I’ve told him where I stand, and I think what’s most important—to me at least—is that I haven’t led him on.  That would be disingenuous.  Tonight is it for us.”

But even as I spoke, I caught the look in Elle’s eyes.  I knew my Elle, and that look was pure concern for her friend.  She was troubled.  She was worried.

And it was obvious that she wanted no part of this.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Later that evening, after taking another shower, I blew out my hair, put a flat iron to it, and applied my makeup. 

I didn’t put on too much.  I wanted a fresh face and a bold lip, which I painted deep red.  I added just a touch of mascara to my lashes—nothing dramatic, but nevertheless sexy.  I wasn’t going out for an expensive night on the town—I was going out to have a hamburger and fries at a neighborhood diner with a man I planned to sleep with later, so I dressed appropriately for that. 

With Brooke and Elle’s help, we agreed upon a perfect outfit—a pair of dark skinny jeans and a gray, form-fitting metallic lace hem tank that I bought for next-to-nothing at Century 21.  I put them on, slipped into the pair of black Louboutins Elle had snagged from one of her wardrobe peeps at
Vogue
, and then went into her bedroom, which had the apartment’s only full-length mirror.  I stood before it, turned from side to side, and decided I liked what I saw.

But now for the real test.

I walked into the living room, where Brooke and Elle were having martinis before they headed out to go clubbing later that night.  When they saw me, their chitchat fizzled.

“So,” I asked.  “What do you think?”

“Perfect,” Brooke said.  “I love the jeans.  And I especially love what you did with your hair.  Very chic.”

Ever the fashionista, Elle lifted her martini to her lips and took a moment to study me before she spoke.  “Look, your boobs are your boobs—they’re so big, they’re always going to look as if you spent a few months seeing the sights at Chernobyl.  Not that any man is ever going to complain about that.  Or them.  Still, you were smart to wear that particular tank—instead of revealing too much cleavage, you’re showing just enough to look sensual, but not slutty.  Your makeup is spot-on.  I also love the hair—love, love, love it.  And by the way, those shoes make you look ridiculously tall and slim.  I say that you’re more than good to go.”

“Other than my watch, I’m not wearing any jewelry.  Should I?”

“I like the clean look,” Brooke said.  “I don’t think you need anything more.  Elle?”

“In this case, simple is best.  It’s all about the lines—and we sure as hell don’t want to interrupt them.  I wouldn’t wear anything else.”

“What are you bringing for a clutch?”

“My red one.”

“To match your lips?”

“Exactly.”

“Do you have enough cash for a cab in case you need one?”

“I do.”

“And you have your phone so you can text us?”

“I’ll be texting you either way.  I promise.”

“He’s picking you up, right?” Elle asked.

“At eight.  Ten minutes to go.  We’ll see how punctual he is.”

“Do you know what he’ll be driving?  I’m betting that he arrives in a limo,” Brooke said.

“Or a Rolls.  Or maybe some over-priced sports car.”

“Does it really matter?”

“Of course it does,” Elle said.  “If he’s trying to impress you, he’s going to do it first with his car, and then by talking up Caldwell International at dinner, and then, when he gets you into bed, by showing you that python of his again.  You’ll see.”

But when Chance rang my cell at exactly eight o’clock to tell me that he was waiting outside, he didn’t say that he was in a limo, a Rolls, or some sort of sports car.  Instead, he said that he was just outside my door, leaning against a cab.

“A cab?” Elle said.

“So much for first impressions,” Brooke said.

“Actually, I think he just made a very sensitive impression.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Look where we live,” I said while I hurried into the bathroom to give my face and hair a final once over.  “He knows I’m working two jobs.  He knows I’m trying to get through grad school.  He’s not stupid—he knows that I’m barely making it.  He likely knew that we lived in some hole in the wall.  And that if he showed up here in anything expensive or flashy, he’d look like an asshole.  So, I guess he isn’t one.”

“She has a point,” Brooke said.

But Elle, who had been against this from the start, remained silent.  I wasn’t angry with her for holding back her support—I knew that her only concern was for my emotional well-being, and I was grateful for it.  But what I hadn’t told either of them was that Chance was leaving Manhattan tomorrow afternoon.  I chose not to tell them that now because when I did tell them, I wanted them to see that I was indeed capable of going into this with my eyes wide open.  I wasn’t being stupid about this.  They needed to see that I could take care of myself.  I planned on enjoying myself tonight, and then getting on with my life.  Because, regardless of how well tonight went, if Chance didn’t live here—and he didn’t—then there was no point in investing more of my time with him.  Tomorrow, he’d move on—and so would I.

“I should go,” I said.

Each came over and gave me a hug. 

“You look fabulous,” Brooke said.  “Have fun.”

“Remember to text us,” Elle said.

“Done and done,” I said.  And with that, I was out the door and down the stairs.  When I reached the bottom of the stairwell, I stopped to calm my nerves with a deep breath before I opened the front door. 

When I did, Chance was waiting for me at the curbside as promised.  He was in a pair of faded Levis and a white T-shirt.  His muscular arms were folded over his chest, and he was leaning against the idling cab with a smile on his face.

“You look beautiful,” he said as I walked over to him.

His voice had a low, husky edge to it that I’d never heard in it before.  As I crossed the distance between us, a warm breeze caught my hair and lifted it off my shoulders, revealing my bare neck.  And my breasts, which were so full, they pressed suggestively against my tank. 

I saw his expression darken with a kind of need as he took in all of me, and then, unexpectedly, he stepped away from the cab, moved toward me, and gave me a kiss that was so searing, it set me aflame. 

I didn’t resist it.  I wasn’t going to resist anything with him tonight, so I matched his passion with my own, and kissed him back with everything I had. 

When he released me, I pressed my hands against his chest to steady myself, and what I felt beneath his T-shirt was a body made of steel.  While still holding his hands, I took a step back to admire him, and it was then that I saw the obscene bulge in his jeans, which was as ridiculous as it was sexy. 

Last night, in his suit at the party, he’d looked hot.  But this was a game-changer.  In tight 501s and a white T-shirt, he looked even hotter, if that was possible, which apparently it was.  He didn’t just exude sex.  He was sex with an exclamation point, something that commanded a room of its own.

“You’re like a schoolboy,” I said. 

He arched an eyebrow at me.  “A schoolboy?”

I glanced down at his jeans.  “One kiss and you’re ready to go.”

“Maybe.  But I’m no schoolboy.  You’ll find that out later, Abby.”

“I’ve already been with you.  I know what to expect.”

He gave me a bemused look, and then he shook his head before kissing me again.  But it wasn’t just any kiss—this time it was a kiss that was so gentle and so tender, it suggested a depth of intimacy that we hadn’t yet achieved together.  But there it was, right against my mouth, a kiss so meaningful, it seemed designed for me to never forget it.

It was at that moment that I knew it would be a miracle if we got through dinner with our clothes on.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

When he finished kissing me, I cupped his face with my palm, stroked his stubbled cheek with my thumb, and then saw the unflinching intensity in his eyes. 

It was as if he’d come here to claim me.  But there was no way that was going to happen.  Earlier, he’d sounded serious when he’d said he planned to smash apart my barriers.  Now I could see that he wasn’t joking.  He’d obviously come here with his game on—it was clear that he’d come ready to do battle—and already I was wondering if I had it within me to ward him off. 

I turned around and faced our apartment building. 

“Isn’t she a beauty?” I asked.

He shrugged.  “She probably was at some point.  I bet in its day, this block was amazing.  You can see it in the details.”

“Not so much now.”

“This is nothing.  You should have seen where I lived during my freshman year in college.  Total shithole, but at least I had a roof over my head.”

“I’d ask you inside so you could experience the building in all of its sweltering glory, but my girlfriends would only grill you—and I can promise you that you don’t want that.”

“You mean those two up there?”  He waved up at the building, and with a sense of dread, I looked up to see Brooke and Elle’s faces filling the living room window.  Brooke waved back and Elle lifted her martini to us.  Then—likely because they’d been caught watching us and were shamed to move out of view—they both left the window.

“Sorry,” I said.  “They’re just curious.”

“And protective, which is good.  How long have you known each other?”

“Since we were six.”

“Then you’re practically family.”

“We are.”

“I wish I had close friends like that,” he said.  “I used to have a few really close friends—but then everything changed when my life took this weird turn.  I guess they saw someone else after what happened to me, even though I was still the same guy inside.  It took me awhile to process it, but eventually I realized that it was them who changed—not me.” 

Was he referring to the Microsoft deal?  He must have been.  “I’m sorry,” I said.

“I am, too.  I loved those guys as if they were my brothers.  But at least I now know who has my back, which is none of them.”  He took my hand in his, and his voice brightened.  “But that’s no longer important.  That was years ago.  At this point, it’s old hat.  So, are you hungry?”

I hadn’t eaten all day.  “I’m starving.”

“Me too.  Let’s go.”

He moved aside so I could step inside the car, and when I did, he slid in next to me.  He was so close that I could detect the faintest hint of the cologne he’d worn last night.  It wasn’t too much—it was just right.  I’d long been taught that wearing cologne or perfume should be an intimate experience.  I was glad to see that Chance knew better.

He put his arm around my shoulders, drew me in close to him, and then asked me where we were going again.

“Ruby’s,” I said.  I gave the driver the address.  “Going there is kind of like going back home for me.  I think you’ll like it.”

He took my hand and held it in his lap.  Again, I thought how rough his palm was, and I had to wonder—was this really the hand of someone who ran an international corporation?  The gentleness of his touch clashed with the callouses on his skin, which intrigued me. 

There’s so much I don’t know about you, Chance Caldwell
, I thought. 
And so much that will remain a mystery after tonight. 

When he kissed the back of my hand, I found myself melting into it.  And him.

Check yourself, girl.

After seeing him in jeans and a T-shirt?  That’s becoming a bit difficult to do.

Then stop this while you can.

Not happening.  I want one more night with him.

You might regret that.

I seriously doubt it.

And with that, the cab lurched into traffic, and we were gone.

*  *  *

When we arrived at Ruby’s, I felt a kind of thrill.  I loved this place.  I had no idea if Chance would, but I hoped that he’d see in it what I saw in it.  It wasn’t just the food that made coming here so good.  It was that somehow, in one of the world’s largest cities, there was a place like this that could remind you of home the moment you stepped into it.

Since both of us came from rural backgrounds, I wondered if he’d appreciate it as much as I did.

“This is it?” he asked as the cab slowed against the curb.

“This is Ruby’s.”

“It really is a diner.”

He sounded happy about that, which made me happy.

“I told you it was.  So, let’s see what you think.  I need a burger.”

He paid the driver, and we stepped out of the cab.  Then, once on the sidewalk, he reached for my hand again.  It was a warm July night, and the streets were thronged with people jamming the sidewalks.  A group of five teenage boys darted past us on skateboards, screaming and shouting as they shot through the crowds in a colorful blur of red and white and brilliant shades of green.  There were couples strolling along the sidewalks, some of whom had children with them.  Some of whom didn’t.  I could smell hotdogs, peppers, and onions roasting on the grill of a nearby street vendor, and in the distance, I could hear someone playing a guitar.