“You did. Did I say how totally stunning you look in this?” He sweeps his hands down the bodice, resting them on my hips. “We should stay a little while longer and then we can get out of here. I have a surprise.”
“A surprise?” I ask in my most sultry tone.
“Yeah, a surprise. You know, like the surprise of finding out that your mom went to Vassar. Where did you go to school?”
“Let’s talk about you for a second.”
“I really don’t want to—”
“I really don’t want to talk about me or my mother.” I can’t help my clipped tone. Talking about my mother does that to me.
“OK. We’ll start with me. What do you mean you agree that I’m wasted on flight training?” He lightly traces his hand up my spine where the design covers my skin.
“I meant that you do a wonderful job there, but it will go nowhere other than being an instructor and owner. You can open more schools but where will that take you? You’re bigger than that. The idea about the startup is crazy good.”
He nods slowly. “I’ve wanted to buy into Mark’s business since I was sixteen years old. It’s been my sole plan. This idea, this timeshare thing is nuts. It’s unheard of. Besides the crazy, crazy capital it would be really hard work—”
“Because you’re no good at hard work.”
“I don’t know. It’s just an idea.”
I wrap my arms around his neck. “It’s a fabulous idea. You’re fabulous and...” I exhale slowly before I add, “I went to Yale.”
“Yale?”
“It was close to my house.”
“You don’t say. What did you study at this little hometown college?”
I press my lips together, dreading this moment. For two years, I’ve never shared this with anyone other than Jayne. Will it change the way he sees me? And if it does, how will I feel about that?
“Law.”
“You’re a lawyer?” He steps back. Though I’m still between him and the wall, he blocks me from running by boxing me in by bracing his arms against the wall. “That makes complete sense.”
“I’m not sure how to take that. I’d like to mention that Mark knew this about me and didn’t tell you.” It a juvenile effort to deflect the attention from me.
“That you’re a lawyer?”
“That I went to Yale.” I search his face and watch as he fights back the doubt.
He shakes his head. “He just forgot to tell me. He’s been busy.”
I cup his cheek. “Brinn, babe. You’re trying to buy into his business and he doesn’t disclose everything about a new employee. Temporary or not.” It breaks my heart watching him struggle to hold fast to his teenage dream. But if there were ever a time to consider all the options, now would be it.
The struggle of emotions is still clearly expressed on his face. It’s a lot of new information to hit a guy with.
He squints at me. “How is it even possible you’re old enough to be a lawyer? I thought you were twenty-four?”
I shrug again and skim my finger down the edge of his lapel. “I skipped a grade and took college courses my last two years of high school. I mentioned that, right?”
“Yeah, that part you did.” He looks over his shoulder, his eyes darting around the crowd before turning back to me. “You belong in this world. Don’t you?”
“Maybe once. Even then I’m not so sure because I was pretty lonely in that world.” I bite my lip.
His eyes wander over my face and stall at my piercing.
“Tell me what you’re thinking?” I venture.
“A lawyer? I’m wondering why I didn’t see it.”
“If it makes a difference, I’ve never sat the bar so technically I have a law degree but can’t practice.”
He nods slowly.
“Please don’t be mad.” I try not to beg but there’s a hitch in my voice that gives me away.
He takes my face between his hands. “Babe, I’m not mad. Surprised. But not mad. I’m just seeing things differently and—”
“Nothing has changed. We’re the same two people who met here tonight. Let’s not complicate this.” I step up on my toes and deliver a gentle kiss that ends with a little sucking of his bottom lip. “We still have this. And speaking of surprises...”
His laugh is soft and deep. “The surprise is that I got us a room here.”
“Ooh, that’s a good one.” I lift up again and whisper naughty suggestions in his ear.
“I’ve lost the ability to think,” he says before kissing me longer and harder than the one we started with. “Let’s just hold on to this,” I whisper and make it a fervent wish.
Twenty-Two
Jayne snaps a pencil in two then flings the pieces on the ground. She jumps off her bar chair and stomps on the pieces, muttering words I’m sure would send the queen into an apoplectic fit. After she’s spewed her anger, she slides back onto the chair, pats down her hair, then stares up at the ceiling.
“Please distract me with something. Anything. I know you said the ball was uneventful but you have to tell me something. Make it up.” She looks at me and picks up a new pencil. “I beg you.”
Jayne’s working her books again as she does every two weeks. Forced torture, she calls it. When I asked her why she does it twice a month she said if she spread it out any further she’d never do it and that’s simply irresponsible.
“You should hire someone. I’ve done what I can for you, but if you can’t keep your shit organized, you’re a lost cause.”
I spent an entire Saturday setting Jayne up. Trying to make her life easier and streamlining her bookkeeping. It lasted an entire two weeks before it looked like a tree exploded in her home and store office. I take her books from her, close them up, and tuck them in her oversized bag she calls a briefcase—because it’s more fashionable then a square attaché case, her words. Papers are crammed at the bottom of the bag, all wrinkled and twisted.
“I said distract me, not belittle me.” She gives me the British two-finger version of up yours.
I laugh and give her a side hug. “OK, there was this one thing...”
“I knew you were holding out on me.” She gestures for me to continue.
I fill a couple of drink orders before I lean across the bar and say, “Remember when I told you we got a room afterward?”
She nods.
“Turns out Brinn rented a donkey and a trapeze so we could—”
Jayne chucks her pencil at me and covers her ears. “Shut up. Shut up. I don’t want to hear your lies or crazy sex-capades.”
“You said make something up.” I laugh then sip at my iced water.
“Honestly, that’s it? You two are disgusting. You’re so smitten.” Her expression is hopeful and playful.
“I’m having a good time,” I say and pour a Riesling for Samantha, a customer who comes in on Wednesdays looking as if she’s taken on the world and the world kicked her ass. Twice. Her standard is to imbibe two glasses of Riesling, briefly participate in the conversation, maybe laugh, and then leave looking a little less worked over. Lately, she’s been staying after the vapors from her second drink have long left the glass.