Kiss Me Goodnight (16 page)

He tried to put me down gently, but I tugged at him too hard, and he tumbled down on top of me.

I held him close as he tried to adjust his weight so he wasn’t squashing me. I wanted him to squash me—I wanted confirmation that he could engulf me. I let him rearrange our limbs before I demanded his lips back.

I snatched and ripped at his clothes until his jacket was gone and his tie was loose. I caressed his thighs and hips with my legs as best I could. The back of the sofa and the tightness of my dress inhibited my range. He explored my neck and the exposed parts of my upper chest with his lips. I loved the feel of his facial hair scratching and tickling my skin. I wanted to know if it would feel as good between my thighs. Looking around with bleary eyes, I decided we needed more space.

Frantically, I ran my hands over his shirt, soaking up the heat that penetrated the fabric. “Thomas, let’s go to the bedroom.” I didn’t specify which one. At this point, I didn’t care. “I think we need more room.”

He stopped what he was doing and stared down at me. Taking a deep, ragged breath, he propped his weight up on one hand. “No.”

“No?” Yep, I echoed him like a parrot. No man had ever turned me down before.

He knelt and pulled me up with him. Now I sat next to him on the sofa instead of being under him in bed. He threaded his fingers through mine, just as he had at the play. “No. You’re sexy and charming, and I click with you in a way I haven’t clicked with anybody in a long time. I don’t want to rush this. I want to savor it.”

I wanted to savor it too. In the bedroom. All night long, if he was up for it.

“I also don’t want you to think I went through all this trouble just to get you into bed. I did it because this was the first date I fantasized about having with you, something amazing that would make you want to spend more time with me.”

If I offered to be his dream come true in more ways than that, would it sound too much like a porno line? I thought about arguing for exactly one half of a second. Then I snuggled my head onto his shoulder. I could have seduced him, but I guess the ease with which I gave in showed I wasn’t as gung-ho to sleep with him as I’d thought.

Still, I had to push the issue. “You didn’t fantasize about sleeping with me?”

He shook his head. “I’ve planned it, but I haven’t fantasized about it.”

I truly did not see the distinction. Maybe he thought the latter was a girl thing. “You planned it? For when?”

“I live in Connecticut, and you’re in Michigan. We’re not exclusive; we’re just getting to know one another. I don’t know your favorite color or what kind of music you like. I was thinking the fifth date.”

Assigning a number was a mistake. My OCD kicked in, and I corrected him. “The sixth.” It was not a negotiation.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll seduce you on the sixth date. Things between us will be serious by then.”

I hope I can hold out that long.

Chapter Eleven

T
HOMAS
D
IDN’T
F
LY
B
ACK
W
ITH
M
E
. We went to the airport together and boarded separate planes. After we decided not to have sex until the sixth date, we’d spent another hour engaging in conversation punctuated by bouts of heavy petting. Not only was it more action than I’d seen in the past six months, it was damn good action. I’d truly believed my crush on Dylan—and my obsession with the breadcrumbs of affection he dropped every now and again—had ruined me for other men. But being with Thomas proved I was alive and vital, and an attractive man wanted to be with me. It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. My vibrator boyfriends could only keep me occupied for so long.

Exhaustion had eventually driven us to our separate bedrooms, and we’d slept until the front desk called to wake us at the appointed time. Thomas had thought of everything.

Back home, I met Luma for an early dinner. I’d skipped lunch, so I was famished. Between bites, I told her about my extraordinary date. It was no surprise she didn’t buy it.

“So you’ve suddenly decided to give up on Dylan, and this new guy flies you to New York for his version of dinner and a show?” She regarded me with open and obvious disbelief. The asparagus tip she’d speared slid from her fork and dropped onto her plate. She didn’t go after it.

“Yes.”

“Are you lying?”

I shook my head. “I know. It sounds like something fantastic I’d make up, but I didn’t. It happened.”

“Is he married?”

Again I gave her a negative answer. “And he knows I lie.”

She stared at me with a calculating look. I’ve never told any man I dated about that part of my compulsion, and lies have derailed all of my relationships.

“Did you sleep with him?”

Not for lack of trying. “No. We’re waiting until the sixth date.”

“Wait. He spent thousands of dollars on a date with you, and he didn’t try to score?” Her dark eyes widened.

“I know, right? I tried, though. He’s the one who wants to wait. He said we have time.”

She dropped her fork dramatically. It hit the table, but it didn’t clatter like she probably meant for it to. “He’s gay.”

Hard evidence of his straightness had made itself known several times while we kissed and rubbed our bodies together. “No. I think he’s a bit of an idealist. After everything he knows about me, he still has me up on a pedestal. I’m not sure I should respect him for that.”

She picked up her fork, wiped it on her napkin, and took a bite of her food. “You think he’s missing a few brain cells because he thinks highly of you? I think you’re selling yourself short, yet again.”

As I’ve said before, I don’t have a great track record. I don’t look at myself and see qualities that would attract other people. “Maybe I just really wanted to have sex. He’s a very good kisser, and he puts his hands in the right spots.”

She giggled. “If he’d put his hands in the right spots, you wouldn’t be complaining about not getting any last night.”

“True, but that’s not what I meant. I’m trying to say he’s good with his hands. Perfect placement, perfect pressure. You know when you’re making out with some guy, and he puts his hand in an awkward place?”

Luma wrinkled her nose. I could tell she was trying to not laugh. She lost that battle and decided to mock me. “Like when he’s reaching for your hoo-ha, and he finds your nuh-uh?”

“No, but that’s a mood-killer too. I mean like when he’s holding you up, and he’s only supporting half your back. You have to work to stay level or take a nasty fall. Or when one finger presses too hard into your lower back or your thigh. That one off thing is all you can think about, and it ruins everything.”

She stopped laughing long enough to commiserate. “Yeah. I had a date like that last weekend. I had to make him stop touching me, and even then he kept trying to hold my hand. I was so glad I’d driven my car over. Nothing makes a bad date worse than needing a ride home after you tell a guy he sucks ass.”

Silence fell as we digested a bit. I knew Luma still didn’t believe me.

“Luma? I swear this happened.”

She shrugged. “You’ve been mooning over Dylan for months, and then you come up with this fairy-tale story? It’s too convenient, Lace. Your lies tend to be outlandish and convenient. This hits both marks, dead center.”

I had the ticket stub from the show in my purse. I dug it out and shoved it across the table at her. “Maybe I deserve to have the fairy tale. Maybe I finally deserve to be with a guy who doesn’t have another woman in the back of his mind. Thomas cares about me.”

He truly does. I have no idea why, but he does.

Luma opened her mouth, but I cut her off. “Except for pretending to be the band manager for Kiss Me Goodnight, which I don’t really count, I haven’t lied in months—not to you or anybody else—and it feels like a new normal. If I continue to wait for Dylan to see me as a woman instead of a mentally unstable friend, I’ll die alone. I’m moving on. I need someone like Thomas in my life, someone who knows the real me and likes me anyway.”

I think that’s the first time I’ve ever snapped at Luma. Tears tracked down my cheeks, and I rubbed angrily at them. The wetness on my fingers triggered a deep longing to wash my hands. I rose to my feet.

Luma grabbed my arm. “I’m sorry. I’m happy for you, Lacey. You’re right; you deserve the fairy tale. I’m just…I…I thought you were head over feet for Dylan.”

“Dylan had his chance. I’ve moved on.”

That was a lie unlike any I’ve ever told. It wasn’t exactly an untruth, just an oversimplification. I haven’t moved on, but I’ve made up my mind to do so. I think Luma recognized my resolve. She released my arm. I went to the bathroom and washed my hands six times.

Jane called later that evening to offer her support. Luma and I had left things on a positive note, but the fact that she spilled her guts to Jane meant she felt guilty for doubting me. Or that she still doubted me and wanted to see if Jane would get the same story. I’m a consummate liar, but I can’t keep an outlandish story straight for longer than it takes to tell. These details were not hard to recall.

Within ten minutes of hanging up with Jane, my mother called.

“John is home from the hospital.”

I didn’t know John had been in the hospital. “What happened?”

“He had some chest pain and shortness of breath.”

I knew the indicators for a heart attack. John’s parents had both died from heart-related problems, and his brother had heart-valve surgery last year. “Mom! Why didn’t you call me?”

“Well, it was the middle of the night, and we didn’t know what was wrong. I didn’t want to worry you.”

I closed my eyes and counted to eighteen. She didn’t sound too concerned, and my mother wasn’t the kind of woman who would downplay a significant event. Was there a point to arguing with her after the fact?

“What did the doctors say?”

She sighed. “That he needs to take aspirin, which he hadn’t been doing even though his regular doctor told him to do it months ago. We’re going to see a nutritionist tomorrow, and we’re going to start an exercise regimen. Apparently, walking Sadie around the yard until she does her business isn’t enough.”

I was the one who took Sadie out for her longer walks every few days, so I knew how little exercise John got. He was tall and thin, but not healthy. I swallowed hard. “Mom? He’s taking this seriously, right?”

It would be just like him to blow it off. Bad things happened to other people, not John Zimmerman. As he liked to say, fate had brought me and my mother into his life, and he’d promised never to let go of us.

“Yes, sweetheart. We both are. We’re going to get fit together. I boxed up my old cookbooks. They’re in the basement, if you want them. I’ve ordered a bunch of newer ones with healthy meals.”

My mother loved dessert. She made the best cakes and pies. For her to put away her beloved recipes meant she was more afraid than she was letting on. Knowing that, I couldn’t hold on to my anger. As always, she was protecting me, trying to avoid triggering my lying and hand washing. Hot tears pricked at my eyes. “I have tomorrow off. Can I come over for a visit?”

“Of course. You’re always welcome at home. Why don’t you come for lunch?”

“I’ll be there.”