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I shrug. “Turns out we have a lot in common. ”
They’ll never know what that means. Now I have to find out if what Jonah and I share can bring us together, or whether it’s destined to tear us apart.
Twenty
Every other time I’ve dressed for Jonah Marks, my main concern has been whether to wear underwear.
Tonight, I have new priorities.
He’s seen me in everything from the professional stuff I wear to teach in to trashy pink dresses to plain old T-shirts and jeans. Even though I’ve never actually been fully naked with Jonah, he’s seen every part of my body. So why am I trying on the entire contents of my closet in an attempt to find the perfect outfit tonight?
Makes no sense. But here I am.
After putting on and then rejecting at least ten other possibilities, I settle on something simple: a pleated black skirt, white button-up shirt with the sleeves cuffed, ballet flats, and a simple chain around my neck. It’s laid-back and pulled together, but not fancy, and, well, not that sexy.
I mean, I think I look good in this. I wouldn’t wear it if I didn’t. But this outfit doesn’t show off my legs, my ass, my cleavage, anything like that. This is the first night Jonah and I have ever spent together that isn’t totally about sex. Tonight we’ll . . . talk. Somehow that feels scarier than our role-playing.
For once I’m ready ahead of time, which means I have to find a way to wait that makes it seem like I’m not waiting. So I open Spotify and click on my contemporary jazz channel; Cassandra Wilson starts to croon, and her voice melts over me like caramel. I sink into my plush white sofa and take slow, deep breaths.
Just for tonight, I won’t ask where this is heading. I won’t try to reconcile our sexual fantasies with the kind of people we are. I won’t bring my enormous load of emotional baggage with me.
Tonight, I’m going to find out just what kind of person Jonah Marks really is.
The music keeps me from hearing the car’s approach, so I startle when I hear the bell. But the song and my new resolution calm me, and I smile as I open the door. “Hi. ”
Jonah simply nods. This man isn’t big on hello. He doesn’t smile, either, but his voice is warm as he says, “You look beautiful. ”
“Thanks. ” So do you, I want to add, because he does. Simple black pants that nonetheless hug his taut waist and skim past muscular thighs—a midnight blue shirt turns his gray eyes the shade of a less stormy sky—and a heavy platinum watch around one wrist, the first sign of real wealth I’ve ever seen from him. But men never understand when you call them beautiful.
I see him glance past my shoulder, perhaps curious about the place where I live. Or maybe he’s figuring out how to get in, some night. He says only, “So—should we go?”
Jesus, he’s ripped the clothes off my body and we’ve fucked like animals, but suddenly neither of us knows what to say. I laugh a little, and when Jonah gives me a look, I explain, “I was smoother than this at my junior prom. ”
“Same here. ” A smile slowly dawns on his face. “Should I have brought a corsage?”
“Next time. Come on, let’s go. ”
• • •
We go to a restaurant on Congress, not far from my place. Most Italian restaurants serve up the classic spaghetti and pizza, but here, the emphasis is on authentic northern Italian cuisine: roasted lemony chicken, pale white cheeses, and light, crisp Soave wine. Just inhaling the scent of the air is more delicious than most meals I’ve ever had.
That gives Jonah and me something to talk about for approximately twenty seconds. After that, we’re sitting across the table from each other, hardly knowing what to say.
What if I don’t like this guy at all? I wonder. What if we have nothing in common besides our kinky fantasies?
Just when the silence is about to go from awkward to pathetic, Jonah says, “What made you decide to draw that picture? The one in the print I bought. The man holding the dove. ”
“I like to portray—contrasts. Duality. So I look for images that express two very different concepts at once. ”
“The strength of the hands,” Jonah says. “And the fragility of the dove. ”
“Exactly. ” Should I ask this? Might as well. “You said you were drawn to the etching even before you knew I made it. Why?”
Jonah remains silent long enough that I wonder if he was lying about his interest in it. But then I realize he’s not stumped for an answer; he’s searching for the right words. “There’s so much tension there—you can sense the energy, even in the muscles. So I thought he’d imprisoned the dove in his hands. That he was on the verge of hurting it. But then I saw how careful he was—that his grasp is gentle. He wants to keep the bird alive. The drawing surprised me, and I liked that sense of surprise. A simple image turned out to mean more than I first thought. ”