He must be really excited about this because he’s smiling. He’s got his hands on my hips again, joking that he’s going to do it for real this time. I smack his hands and tell him it isn’t fucking funny. He’s laughing softly at his little joke, and it’s starting to really piss me off. I tell him to stop it because it’s freaking me out, but he doesn’t. He keeps pushing me forward and then pulling me back at the last second. What the hell, David? I am beyond angry with him, and I try to back away from the bridge, but the bags of sand are so heavy on my feet. I am yelling at him to let me back into the car, telling him this whole plan is ridiculously stupid, and he is a sick motherfucker for teasing me like this. But he isn’t listening. There’s a gritty look in his eyes, one that tells me he’s enjoying his little power trip.
He pushes me again, but this time it’s a lot harder. I feel my body tipping forward, and when it’s nearly parallel to the water, I feel his hand swipe at my arm as if he’s trying to catch me. Only he doesn’t. Then my heavy feet leave the bridge, and again, I feel his hand grabbing at my ankle, but he misses that, too. Fuck. I am falling. My dad is going to be furious.
Chapter Eight
Emma—Present Day
David is sprawled out across my lap, and I’m not sure what to do next. I don’t know how long I’ve been watching the phoenix rise and fall, but I know that it’s been long enough. I place my hands on his back, rubbing the phoenix softly. I am afraid that such an intimate touch might freak him out somehow, but he doesn’t even move.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?” I ask, with more than a touch of irony in my voice.
“No, Emma, I’m not,” he says flatly, his face still pressed against the side of my hip.
“Why not?”
“Because those bastards just saw you lift up your dress, climb on to my lap, and shove your tongue into my mouth. They would fight me to the fucking death for a crack at that.”
“Are you saying you disapprove of what I did?” I ask with a smile that I know he can’t see.
“No, Emma. Quite the opposite. I’m saying I think that everyone in the room heartily approved of what you did. Those fuckers out there will try their damndest to charm the pants off you, and I don’t even want them to have the chance. So, no, I’m not going to introduce you.”
“Then I’ll just have to introduce myself,” I say. His body lifts immediately, and he sits back on his heels, looking at me with a smirk. I have to say, he looks pretty damn fine after our tryst. His eyes are relaxed, and he seems at ease with himself...and with me.
“Very funny,” he says, still kneeling on the floor in front of me. “I’m serious. My friends are pricks. They’ll tell you lies just to get in your pants—and half of the lies will probably be about me.”
“Does that mean that half of what you say is a lie, too?” I’m only partially teasing.
“They’re my friends, Emma, but they would gouge my eyes out for a girl like you,” he says. “And, no, half of what I say isn’t a lie. None of it is. I don’t need to lie...I have the tool belt.” He shrugs, and a boyish grin tugs at his mouth. I can tell he’s proud of his little joke. I can also tell he is serious about not introducing me to his friends. I immediately think his reluctance to do so is both complimentary and possessive. And, surprisingly, I am okay with both.
“Mmm...the tool belt.” I sigh in a mock sexual thrall. “Do any of them wear a tool belt?”
“Again, very funny,” he says while standing up. He looks down at me, his eyes leisurely rolling over my entire body. It makes me feel shy and excited at the same time.
“I think I’d better go now. Would you mind seeing me out?” I say, mustering the courage to stand up fully naked and face him. He looks almost stunned. Did he think I was going to stay here chatting or screwing or whatevering all night while his friends hang out in his living room?
“Um, sure,” he says.
“Just give me a second to get dressed,” I say. He watches me intently as I put on my bra and my dress. Then I reach down, pick up my panties, and casually hang them over the back of his chair. “These you can keep,” I say. His eyebrows go up, and he grins again, but as usual, his lips remain closed. He turns and opens the bedroom door, stepping aside so I can pass.
I breeze down the hallway and out into the living room. Four of David’s friends are on the brown couches and one is sitting on the floor. David, wearing only his black jeans, is just a few steps behind me. I stride right past his friends without making eye contact. But I know they are all looking at me...and I like it.
“Bye, boys,” I say, pleased with the confidence in my voice. I stop just inside the apartment door and wait for David to catch up. Once he’s next to me, I turn and push him into the wall. I hold the back of his neck and press my mouth to his, twisting against his tongue. He pulls me towards him by my waist. We kiss hard, and for a moment, I consider staying for the screwing and whatevering, but then I remember myself and pull away.
He lets go of my waist, and I walk out.
I contemplate standing outside his door to see if I can hear what they say, but then I decide I’d rather not, just in case it isn’t very flattering. I feel pretty damned convinced that David enjoyed that as much as I did, and I don’t want to hear otherwise. I walk my confident self back down the stairs and into my apartment.
It’s only eleven, and because of my impromptu nap this afternoon, I’m not the least bit tired. I take a long shower, washing David off my skin, and get dressed in sweats and a T-shirt. I spend the rest of the evening camped out on the couch watching reruns of South Park and drinking the rest of the mug wine. I think I occasionally hear someone going down the steps and out the front door, but I’m not about to peek out the window and see. I don’t want David to know I’m still thinking about him.
* * *
The sex, wine and reruns cause me to sleep in way later than I had planned. I haven’t checked anything off my weekend to-do list yet, unless you count the few boxes I unpacked yesterday before Michael showed up. After eating a breakfast bar, I set to the task of unpacking the rest of the boxes. When I am done, the only ones remaining are those from Michael—which I shove to the back of my closet and try to forget—and the ones containing the kitchen stuff that I can’t unpack until David is finished.
I spend the rest of my Sunday doing the mundane. Since I can now walk on the kitchen floor, I make a quick trip to the grocery store for some food, beer and more wine, and make myself a late lunch as soon as I return. Part of me was hoping to run into David while I was out, but then I recalled his note saying that he had plans for the day. When I finish washing my lunch dishes, my phone buzzes. It’s him.
Hi.
Hi back.
What r u doing?
Getting my shit together.
Shit?
Unpacking and grocery store. Going to hang pictures now.
Need my tool belt?
He is flirting again. I want to be coy, but...
U left it here yesterday. I’m wearing it right now.
Is that so?
Yep. And it looks damn fine on me, too.
I’ll bet it does.
Where r u?
Boating with the boys.
Any girls?
Do I really want