I nodded, “I have to go back, France. You know my dad.”
He lifted me into his arms, “Then let’s make it a fun five days.”
I swallowed, “I can't.”
He lowered his face onto mine, “I can.” He brushed his lips against mine softly. It felt right, instantly. I pushed him back, “Fine, but none of that, okay? I wasn’t kidding when I said I wasn’t complicating this all with you and me. We are confused about what we are. Sex with another man isn’t going to fix my engagement to Phil and his cape.”
“I tore up some random dude’s number like two days ago. You sleep at my house at least a couple times a year. Don’t tell me what you are. I know what you are. It’s you that’s confused. Not me.” His face turned up into a grin, “I need to have a drink when you tell me this cape story.”
I laughed and shuddered, exhausted with my own shit, “Just let me process all this, and the cape, and the being disowned and everything, and then we can discuss kissing.”
He smiled, “I’ll wait for you to ask me to kiss you again.”
I laughed and slid back against the wall, “You do that.”
He looked down on me, “I think you’re the prettiest girl I ever have seen.”
I laughed out loud, “Liar.”
He shook his head, “Laugh all you want, but it’s true. There are fireworks inside of you that haven’t been lit since the last time me and you...”
I laughed and pointed, “You keep that puck-fuck shit to yourself. I don’t want to hear the lines.”
His eyes sparkled, “You know you like it when I try.”
I swallowed, “‘Cause I know nothing is going to come of it.”
He laughed.
I sat forward, “What do you want to do after the five days?”
He put a hand on my thigh, “Run away and drag you with me.”
I laughed, “Okay, let me confront my family, and if I can't go back, I’ll run away with you.”
He cocked his head, “I need some kind of guarantee.”
I shook my head and wiped away the water, “Shake on it?”
“I guess. How about this? You don’t run away with me and you have to tell me that bad thing you did.”
My brow knit together, “Deal.” He shook my hand, pulling me in. He kissed along the side of my mouth.
He stood up and offered me his hand. I waited a second and then took it. He lifted me up but didn’t let go of my hand. We just looked at each other for a minute. The shower got thick with the tense feeling of the forbidden kiss. He flashed me a grin until he finally smiled, “You have to say it or I won't kiss you.”
I swatted him with my free hand, “It’s not going to happen.” I climbed out and dried off. I noticed the changes in his body. His body was thick and beefy, but toned. I had to pull my eyes away from the square of his jaw and soft lips, and the memory of how they felt against mine. His scruffy face made me want him more for some barbaric reason. I had the dirtiest thoughts ever and blushed.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing.” I answered too quickly.
It made him smile, “Your face just went a hundred shades of red.” He winked, “I can imagine what you were thinking.” He scoffed and left the bathroom. I stood there clutching my towel and trembling.
He poked his head back in, “If you want me to kiss you, all you have to do is ask.”
I threw a rolled towel at him. We were flirting. This was us half a decade ago.
I dried off and started opening my boxes of stuff. I did my makeup without actually meeting my own gaze. I knew what was in there—the thoughts and feelings that I had been fighting for some time.
I wore the robe out to the room and grabbed the clothes I’d asked for. I carried them into the bedroom and dressed. The bra and underwear made me uncomfortable, but I knew in boutiques they were not tried on. I slipped on the black dress I already owned. It was a classic sleeveless knit dress with pleats sewn into the skirt. It hung perfectly and was the most comfortable dress ever. I slipped the pearl earrings from my purse on and ran my fingers through my curly hair. The long, strawberry-blonde ringlets sat perfectly, thanks to hundreds of dollars worth of product.
I looked good, like me.
“I got the hotel dry cleaning the clothes you had in the bags.”
I snapped around, “YOU WHAT?”
He stepped back, “What’s happening here? Why are you yelling at me?”
I stomped across to the phone.
He grabbed it from my hands, “Are you insane? I did you a favor.”
I growled through a clenched jaw, “That coat is my favorite. It’s discontinued and there is one Chinese lady I trust with my clothes.”
He laughed, actually in my face. I took a deep breath and turned and walked to the door, “Are you ready?” I was still raging inside, but I wasn’t about to show him my fucking fireworks. He was always patronizing me and making derogatory ‘ginger’ remarks about my temper.
He stopped laughing, “Yeah.” He opened the door as I reached for it and placed his hand on my lower back. I walked fast, to get away from his hand. He grabbed my arm and pulled me back to him, pressing my back against the wall, “I was trying to be helpful.”
I
glared, seething. I wasn’t a fan of being manhandled.
He locked his gaze on mine, "You're being insane. It's a fucking coat, Jack."
I started to laugh. The sentence was absurd—a coat? I pushed him back and walked to the elevator. He pushed me playfully from behind. I turned, "Screw you."
He grabbed my hand, grinning like an idiot, and pulled me into his arms, "I wanna screw. You keep saying no."
I laughed, but it wasn’t the homicidal one I wanted it to be. It was genuine. "Don’t say screw. Sometimes I hate you."
He wrapped his huge arm around my shoulders, "Nothing better than getting a princess to hate you and love you at the same time."
I rolled my eyes as he pushed the button. When we got inside, he nodded, "Don't forget that I'll be swarmed if anyone recognizes me."
I shook my head, "If I end up in pictures again, I'm going to get disowned. My mother and father hate you."
He looked down on me, "Your mom likes me. She grabbed my butt once."
I sighed, "That doesn’t mean she likes you. She doesn’t have to like you, to do that."
He scowled, "Your mom is sort of a player."
The restaurant was full when we got down there. I ignored everyone as I sat and glanced at the wine list. The server walked up, smiling at me. He was sexy as hell and probably not much older than the little bartender that could.
"Can I get you a drink to start?"
France shook his head, "I'll just have some water."
I smiled, "Do you have any Lafite?"
He nodded, "The ‘95 Bordeaux."
"We'll have that."
He winked, "Excellent choice."
A small chuckle slipped from my lips. I glanced at the confused and rigid-looking face of France and started to laugh harder. I shook my head, "Just a coat? I can't even believe you said that. It's a one of a kind and some seventeen-year old is dry cleaning it now. That’s excellent."
He pointed after the server, "I'm not drinking that snooty wine."
I leaned forward, "You are. Trust me."
He looked like he might growl but he sat back, relenting. "So where should we go tomorrow?"
"I don’t know. You're the captain."
He drummed his fingers on the chair, glancing about the busy dining room. He was avoiding me.
"If you want, I can just hop on a train or a bus." I shuddered as I imagined the feel of it, but I had to be realistic about what was happening. I ordered an entire bottle of wine; he would have half a glass and bitch the entire time about it. I would drink the rest, and then all my choices would be tainted by my undying love for him and delicious Bordeaux.
He shook his head, still averting his eyes, "No. I want you to stay with me." An evil grin crossed his lips "Besides, we both know you have never set foot on any form of public transit. You would panic and call me to come get you anyway."
I couldn’t fight the smile on my lips, "Shut up."
He laughed and my heart pitter-pattered.
The server brought the wine and poured him a small taste of it. He frowned, "Well, fill it up, son. I don’t love it, but I can drink more than that."
I laughed, "Just taste it and see if you like it."
The server looked confused as France lifted the glass and drank the little sip. He shuddered, "Tastes like piss and vinegar."
I nodded at the flushed and upset face of the young man, "It's perfect then. You may fill both glasses."
He hesitated and poured us both a glass.
I sipped, it was bliss. I might have even slipped out a moan. My dream had always been to own a vineyard. My parents always mocked my dream. Owning a vineyard was equivalent to farming.
France took a sip and made a face, "I can't, Jack." He looked at the young man, "How about a Bud? You got beer here?"
He got a nod and I got another wink as he left our table.
France pointed, "That kid winks at you one more time, I'll close his eye for him."
"You aren’t my boyfriend, what do you care?"
His voice still sounded throaty from the sip of wine, "He doesn't know that." His twang was thick suddenly.
I laughed harder, "You are cute jealous."
He laughed sarcastically, "No, I'm not."
The beer and an iced mug were delivered. Of course, he drank from the bottle. He sighed, "That’s good." He sat back and nodded, "Alright, tell me the story."
I glanced at the menu, "You sure?"
"Yup. We're hundreds of miles away and I have you here and a beer in my hand. I can take it. I know he cheated. I know there was a cape. I know you’re pissed. Spill."