"Because I didn't think anyone else would want me," she admitted, voice a small squeak as she studied the pattern on the arm of the couch. "Which is a silly reason to stay."
"Well, you're half right," I agreed, watching as she looked up at me from under her lashes. "It was silly," I told her. "To think it, that is. Of course someone else would want you."
"I have a lifetime of experience that says otherwise," she told me. "And that's okay. It's okay. Some women beat men away with sticks. The rest of us get by, maybe a good guy comes around. Or a string of bad ones who make us decide to be single. And that's okay. It's fine. I kind of always knew, deep down, that it would be me and my books. Maybe a cat. I think when you hit a certain age and are still single, the cats start coming to you. So I am waiting on mine," she quipped, lips twitching.
"Katie," I started. "Can you look at me for a minute?" I asked, waiting until her chin lifted, her gaze slid up my chest, throat, chin, then finally to my eyes. "Hi," I said, getting a wobbly smile from her.
"Hi."
"You want to know why you're silly?" I asked.
"Sure."
"Because I want you," I told her, feeling like the tension left my chest at the admission. I'd been keeping it to myself, refusing to acknowledge it to anyone, but knowing the truth within me.
"You don't have to say that. It's okay," she said, shaking her head.
"I don't say shit if I don't mean it, baby. I wasn't faking shit at the cabin. I don't make out with random women just because they're in reaching distance."
"But that was before—" she started to insist.
"Yeah, but also no. It was before I knew it was your voice on the other end of the phone with me for months, the voice that was making my cock hard at my desk at work. Yeah," I said when her head shot up, eyes going wide. "I'd never had a hard time keeping shit professional. I had always been able to detach from it. But then your voice was on the phone. And something in me responded to you."
"You don't have to say that to make me feel better," she tried again, refusing to believe the truth.
"You want to know how I figured it all out?" I asked, watching as she gave me a tight little nod. "When you were on the phone with your ex, you begged him for something. Please," I repeated, sucking in a deep breath, exhaling it slowly. "I knew that sound. You. Begging. Fuck, you begged on that phone and my cock was straining. Every fucking time. Don't," I said when her mouth opened. "I already told you I don't bullshit people. I'm telling you the truth. You don't get to choose whether you want to accept it or not. It's a fact. I get it flies in the face of all the ugly shit you've probably been telling yourself, but that is what happened. And kept happening. And that's probably why I flew off the handle when I found out it was you all along. Not someone untouchable, someone halfway across the country, married with kids. No. You were right there. All that time. Right within reach."
"I... I don't know what to say to that," she admitted after a long silence that had her pulling at a loose thread in the seam of her jeans.
"You believe me?" I asked.
"I don't think you would lie to me," she hedged, letting me know she wasn't fully there.
"Okay," I said, nodding, standing.
I moved over toward the front door, sliding the lock.
"What are you doing?" she asked, brows pinching as I moved back toward her side.
"Come on," I urged, reaching down to grab her hand, pulling her to her feet, getting a small grumble. "Just a couple feet," I promised her, pulling her through the office, bringing her through the door to my office, pressing her down into my chair. "You sit here," I suggested, swiveling her so that she looked at the back wall, facing away from the doorway. "And when that phone rings in ten seconds, answer it," I suggested.
"I, ah, why?" she asked, voice getting squeaky.
"Answer it, baby," I said, moving out into the hall, closing the door, taking a deep breath as I reached for my cell, dialing.
She let it ring three times, likely looking for the nerve to pick up, before she finally answered.
"Rush?" she asked, tone high-pitched. Nervous.
"Hello, Katherine," I said to her, leaning back against the wall in the hallway.
I couldn't see her, save for one of her arms on the rest of the chair.
Still.
She was there.
Close.
Reachable.
And, fuck, I wanted to reach out.
But I couldn't. Not that way. Not yet.
Instead, I let my voice dip low, the same smooth sound it always had on the phone with her all those long nights.
"Oh," she said, her breath rushing out. "This isn't..."
"How was your day?" I cut her off, not giving her room to feel weird about it. It wasn't weird. We'd done this dozens of other times. The only difference was, now we both knew who we were on the phone with.
"I, ah. It was okay," she said.
"Just okay?" I pressed.
"I think I made a new friend," she admitted.
"Yeah? What'd you two do?"
"She... she gave me a makeover."
"Yeah?" I asked.
"She said something about how it worked for Sandy," she added, snorting a little. "But that I could do better than Danny," she added, and I could hear the smile in her voice.
"How do you feel about the makeover?"
"It's... it's different. And I don't think I could ever figure out how she did the makeup myself, but I like it. I mean the shoes are awful. But I like it. She told me that she was going to make me see in the mirror what other people saw when they looked at me."
I felt a pang at that, at realizing how hard she must have been on herself, how much those assholes she went to school with had worked to shape her perception of herself.
"You're beautiful, baby," I told her. "Even without all that shit on your face. And the awful shoes," I added, getting a small giggle out of her. "So, what are you wearing?" I asked, trying to ignore the cheesiness of that line. Sometimes, you had to pull on the classics. Clothing talk, well, it led to other things. Things were classics for a reason.
"Ah, jeans," she said immediately. "And a top."
"Yeah? What kind of top?" I asked, feeling my lips quirk up.
"It's kind of like a, well, a corset," she admitted after a short pause.
"Hmm," I said, letting the sound rumble through my chest. "The kind where your hand can just slip down the top?" I asked, hearing the little in-drawn breath as she finally started to catch on.
"Rush.."
"No, baby, we're not in a rush," I cut her off. "We can go as slow as you want," I added. "Or as fast," I told her, already feeling my cock stirring, not sure how I was going to muster the self-control to stay where I was when she had her hand down her pants, when she was not only moaning through the phone at me, but one room away. "Back to that corset," I went on, knowing she needed the talking, the suggestions, that she never did any of the talking, any of the leading. "Can your hand just slide right inside the top?" I asked.