* * * *
Meeting his friends should have eased her nerves. Fat chance.
In one way it did, of course. At least it temporarily delayed the consummation of the step she’d taken today.
Her wayward mind’s production of the word consummation coincided with Paul shifting next to her in the booth of the tiny bar. The simple brushing of his leg against her set off sparklers along her skin that translated into something brighter and hotter deep inside. Maybe relief wasn’t her only reaction to the delay.
This introduction to his friends unsettled her in another way. Somehow it seemed Paul was allowing her to see a side of himself he had previously kept hidden. But she couldn’t let herself fall into the trap of hoping for things like that. She knew what Paul was, what he’d offered. And what she’d accepted.
He’d said it—he wanted her. Not a relationship, certainly not a future. The moment. And when the moment was over...Well, she’d be better off then if she didn’t delude herself now.
She glanced up to find Michael Dickinson’s observant eyes on her. Paul had said he had a law degree and worked on the staff of State Senator Joan Bradon. She found herself pitying his political opponents.
He shifted his gaze to Paul.
“You’re the one who keeps track of everybody, Paul—how’s Judi doing?” Paul had told her both Michael and Grady viewed Judi as a kid sister. A sophomore at Northwestern, where they’d also gone to school, she lived in a dorm a mile from Paul’s Evanston apartment.
“Classes, she’s doing great. Socially, she’s always complaining that the right guys don’t go for her.”
“They will,” declared Michael. Michael Dickinson, Bette decided, would be a very good friend to have.
“She comes by sometimes. Claims she needs to use my computer, but it’s really to raid the fridge. She’s always complaining I don’t have anything to eat in the place.”
“Aw, Judi’s Judi,” said Grady with undisputable logic and affectionate acceptance. “Remember how she could pack it away when she was a kid, and she still stayed scrawny.”
“Maybe so, but she’s not scrawny anymore and she’s still eating me out of house and home.”
They all smiled at the plaintive note in Paul’s voice.
“I heard you were out in D.C. last week, Paul. How’s Tris? She’s not pining after that jerk ex-husband, is she?”
Grady asked the question, but Bette had the impression Paul didn’t direct his answer to him, but rather to Michael. “If she ever pined for him at all, she’s not pining now. It was a pretty friendly divorce, really, and she’s long past it. Years ago. She’s grown up, like we all have.”
“No way,” objected Grady with a chuckle. “Maybe Michael’s grown up, but you and I are as crazy as ever, Monroe.”
Bette thought she felt Paul’s gaze on her, but she’d discovered a fascination for her nearly empty wine glass.
Grady’s words didn’t express anything she hadn’t thought. So why should it bother her to hear someone else say it? Paul could deny it. He could say he wasn’t a kid anymore. He could say he’d grown up.
The silence continued.
“Hey, how about another round?” Grady’s attempt to turn the conversation was unsubtle, but effective. Without waiting for an answer, he eased out of the booth.
“I’ll go with him,” said Paul, with another glance at Bette. She felt the awkwardness from the moment before lingering, and wondered if he wanted to escape. “Another white wine, Bette?”
When she nodded, he, too, rose, following Grady toward the jammed bar.