The Ground Rules (23 page)

I laugh a little. “He is not.”

“Maybe someone should remind him that you’re
mine
, not his,” he sneers, not taking his eyes off the road.

“Now who’s being predatory?” I tease. “Or rather territorial, I should say.”

“Maybe you were right, Ella,” Gabe concedes. “I think it is a bad idea…all of us getting together.”

“You
think?”
I tease a little.

“I can’t stand seeing the two of you together,” he confesses, “even just talking.”

“Well, I don’t particularly enjoy seeing you and Bridget together either,” I reluctantly admit. “These feelings are normal, Gabe.”

Gabe doesn’t say another word. Neither of us do. We sit in silence, probably both uneasy about the night ahead.

As we near the planetarium, I am awed by the astonishing building, as I always am whenever I come here—the rather fascinating contrast of historical architecture of the dome topped Grainger Sky Theater—it seems so old to me—enclosed in the cool sleek glass modern structure. It always takes my breath away.

We meet at the VIP south entrance. Weston shoots me a smile as we near them. I gather they’ve been waiting for a while—we’ve had a little more walking to do than they have—how does Bridget keep up those fantastic legs when she never seems to
walk?

“This place is wonderful, isn’t it?” I venture, trying to make small talk as we head inside. Weston seems to have arranged for everything—I appreciate how he always seems to be on top of things.

“It’s one of my favorite examples of amazing architecture. Designed by Ernest Grunsfeld, Jr.”

I spot Gabe rolling his eyes a little, and I almost want to elbow him in the ribs.

We
actually
have fun…sort of.

First we visit a solar system display—it’s quite fun walking under the huge solar system floating above our heads—the space is airy and bright, the twilight of the evening reflected in the wall to wall skylight windows.

We learn all about the planets—I’m proud I already know a thing or two—as I should, as a teacher. We explore the surface textures of the different planets and touch a real piece of meteorite, its surface rough.

Weston is the ever-charming guide, answering any questions I come up with easily. He seems truly fascinated by all this stuff—I think it’s kind of sweet.

Gabe, on the other hand, doesn’t seem too interested in his surroundings, but more taken with his touring partner. I can’t help but wonder if he’s purposely trying to make me jealous. I decide I won’t give him the satisfaction. I’m not going to act jealous, but I am more than a little annoyed by his behavior. Weston and I are behaving ourselves and acting like proper adults—not shamelessly flirting and behaving like horny teenagers.

There’s a time and place, people.

I try to ignore them. I’m just happy to be with Weston.

We enter another exhibit, dark and moody with oddly shaped screens everywhere—thousands of pixels making up strange images. Weston tells me they are telescopic views of galaxies, stars, planets and atoms—the story of the universe.

“Gabe seems to be enjoying himself,” Weston points out, looking over at Bridget who is practically wrapped around my husband. It seems odd to me that Weston doesn’t seem to care. I know I do. They must have a very strange relationship—but then again, they’ve been doing this longer than we have.

“They’re certainly not shy about it,” I tell him as we enter this futuristic, glowy pink and blue tunnel, feeling like a young college kid at the hippest club in town. I kind of wish loud music were blasting. “This is so cool.”

“Thirteen thousand linear feet of aluminum siding and two thousand square yards of fabric.” He sounds like Wikipedia—if Wikipedia came in a gorgeous, live-male version. He is such a nerd.

He cocks a brow and looks at me. “I see I’m amusing you again,” he says, a sheepish smile.

“You are. I love when you share your little blurbs of knowledge. Tell me more.”

He laughs.

And I take his hand. I was afraid to do so—afraid he was going to pull away, but he doesn’t—he simply looks at me with that sweet smile of his. We hold hands as we watch video greetings from famous astronauts. I feel oddly normal, but a little nervous. What if we run into a couple Gabe and I know—with my hand in Weston’s and Bridget wrapped around Gabe—just how would we explain that one?

We watch the Cosmic Wonder show, all sitting together in a row. I end up sandwiched between Gabe and Weston, lying back comfortably, looking up at the night sky above us—the universe. Billions of galaxies, Weston explains, but all I can think about is how lucky I am to be sitting between two gorgeous men who both care about me. I can’t help but think—if my younger self were here to catch a glimpse of my older present-day self, she’d be impressed—how did this happen, to little old me?

We end the evening at the bar. It’s magical—the Chicago skyline reflected in the skylights, twinkling, sparkling lights—not stars, but man
-
made buildings, and amazing nevertheless.

Weston comes back with imported beers for himself and Gabe and girly cocktails for Bridget and me. We chat awhile about the exhibits and the show. The energy between all of us seems erotic and palpable. I’m pretty sure we’re all in the mood for sex, but of course, no one dares to talk about it—instead we make polite small talk, and I laugh inwardly at the absurdity of it all.

I catch a glimpse of Weston and shoot him a little grin—a playful smirk.

He smiles back and takes my hand.

“We’re going to head outside,” he tells Bridget and Gabe. “I want to show Mirella the amazing view.”

They both smile, seemingly unaffected. I think it’s understood we are all heading toward a known conclusion.

He leads me to a secluded spot on the observatory, wraps his arms around my waist, and kisses my neck softly. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.”

My heart heavy, I pull away and turn to smile at him. “It’s only been five days, Weston.”

“I know,” he says, looking absolutely defeated, “but I can’t stop thinking about you.” He pulls me back to him. “The vision of you, naked on my bed,” he whispers in my ear, “legs spread wide, pleasuring yourself…is etched in my brain.”

I smile, feeling that familiar energy between my legs. But this isn’t the time or place.

“Stop it, Weston.”

“Why?” he asks, his tone playful. “Am I arousing you?”

“Yes,” I admit, looking up at him. “Big time.”

“I like that,” he says, his delicious wide grin teasing me.

“Well, now’s not the place.”

His hands travel to my rear. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it all week. I had to excuse myself a few times to go take a shower. Thankfully, it’s pretty handy having your own washroom at work.”

“The perks of the powerful,” I say with a sly smile, trying to tear away from his grip.

“I want you,” he whispers in my ear, “as soon as possible.”

I look up at him, my gaze heavy.

I want him too.

He’s really turning me on. “When you say you want something as soon as possible, I bet you usually get it.”

“Always.”

“Well, I don’t know if you’ll be so lucky tonight,” I can’t resist saying. “Your beautiful wife and my husband are here too, remember?”

His lips press into a tight smile. “You’re jealous.”

I jerk away. “I am not.”

“Oh yes…you are. You’ve been surly all night,” he points out. “You’ve been sneering at Bridget like you just want to tear her head off.”

He’s right. I do want to tear Miss Universe’s head off. But there’s no way I’m admitting that. He is so full of it, and suddenly, I want to tear his head off too.

“You can’t be jealous, Mirella,” he deadpans. “I made that explicitly clear from the onset.”

“Yes, sir,” I scoff, turning on my heel. “Let’s go.”

He grabs my arm and pulls me to him. “Bridget wants to leave with Gabe. You and Gabe should discuss.”

“Oh…she does, does she?” I snap. “No, she can’t have him tonight.”

He laughs, but his laughter is edgy. “Seriously?”

I smile. I’m enjoying every second of this. “I want him all to myself tonight,” I say and walk away.

He darts after me. “You can’t be serious. You’ve been looking at me all night like you just want to tear my clothes off.”

“You’re delusional.” I pull away.

He grabs my arm again. “Mirella…”

I glare at him. “Let me go.”

He lets go.

“It’s nothing personal, Weston,” I tell him as I walk away. “I’m just in the mood to be
properly
pinned against a wall tonight.”

Weston calls me on my cell, the next day, at seven thirty in the morning. I don’t answer, of course. He calls again at ten forty-five and then again at twelve thirty. I finally relent.

“Mirella, this is the third time I’ve called.”

I gaze out the kitchen window, trying desperately to remain unaffected. “I know.”

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I thought this was against the rules,” I scoff. “You can’t call me.”

I can hear the sound of a deep sigh. “I can call you if I want to speak with you, Mirella.”

I scrunch a dish cloth, my hand a fist. “Oh…how convenient. You can bend the rules, at your leisure. But when I might have a problem with them, it’s a big to-do.”

“Obviously, I’ve upset you. I didn’t—”

“I’m sorry, but I’ve gotta go.”

As I press “end call,” I look up to see Claire, juice box in hand, staring at me, slack-jawed. And I realize she’s overheard everything. I try to replay my end of the conversation in my head.

“Oh…it was…just…grandpa,” I stammer. “You know…
grandpa
.”

She stares at me, wide-eyed. “Why were you screaming at him?”

“Uh…” I stammer. “It’s okay now. It’s all better, sweetie.”

My cell rings again. The man is really starting to annoy me.

“Hello.”

“Mirella…just listen to me…”

I don’t dare scoff, in Claire’s presence. “Yes.”

“I miss you.” His words are soft. “I was so torn-up last night.”

Please.

“I’m sending a car later tonight, and I want you at my loft.”

Who does he think he is?

I look over at Claire, who’s at the table drawing funny faces on people in my
Redbook
. “I’m not a pizza. You can’t just order me to be at your place whenever you get a craving.”

“Don’t you want to be with me?” he asks, his tone laced with uncertainty, vulnerability.

I do want him. I’m not only hurting him…I’m hurting myself.

“I do,” I admit, my words a whisper.

“Then you’ll come?”

Suddenly, I’m so easy. I’ve
never
been easy.

I bite my lip. “Yes.”

Weston kisses me in the elevator, a hungry kiss, but soft. His tongue explores my mouth, and I moan at the sensation. I don’t think there’s anything on earth I enjoy more than his kiss. I could kiss him for hours.

When we’re finally in the privacy of his suite, he presses me against the wall, and pins my arms above my head with a hard grasp. His kiss takes on a whole different dimension—it becomes more aggressive, wilder. He bites my bottom lip—it’s deliciously painful.

“How’s this for
properly
pinning you against a wall?” he asks me between kisses. He’s pushed all my buttons. I’m just about to explode.

He trails his tongue along my jaw line. “Tell me I’m better than him.”

I want him to kiss me, just like this all night long. I’m torn—I don’t know if I’d rather just make out all night or go all the way.

He pulls at the waistband of my dress pants. “Tell me,” he almost growls.

“You are. You’re amazing.”

“I wish you were mine,” he whispers in my ear. “I could have you anytime.”

I am taken aback by his words. I wish he were mine too. I’ve wished he were mine a thousand times.

I reach for his soft cashmere shirt and pull it over his head, revealing his delicious body. I slide my tongue down his chest to his navel and swirl it around his belly button. He moans, and I love the sound. He’s so delicious—I just want to eat him up.

I pull his belt and reach for his fly.