“So, not jealous?”
I chewed on my lip, reaching into the cooler. “You what, had sex with her?”
He nodded, watching me closely. “In the office. Upstairs. We—”
“Stop. I don’t want the details. Let me think for a minute.” I knew I wanted more. Didn’t want to end whatever this tryst between us was. But I also knew what we were right now. Absolutely nothing. He’d never promised me anything, other than that he wasn’t the boyfriend type, which was clear. The thought of him and Alexis, his hands on her body, his lips on hers.... I was jealous, but it was jealousy in the true sense of the word—I wanted what she had. I yearned for that missed opportunity, hated that I missed a chance to have him inside me, that she got to experience it instead of me, especially when I was right there for the taking...even though I guess I hadn’t made that clear until this morning. But I knew what he was really asking—if I was insecure about it. I searched my subconscious, examining all the nooks and crannies where insecurities and hidden emotions like to hide. I was shocked to find nothing there.
I shook my head. “Not jealous, at least not in the sense that you’re asking. But, we just met. I think, as I mentioned earlier, that a certain depth of feeling is necessary for jealousy.” I met his eyes. “Guess that means I don’t care, huh?”
“Guess so, Julia.” He looked back over the dam. “Guess so.”
We munched along in silence, Brad opening up a bag of salt-and-vinegar chips and diving in, the bag making a loud sound in the quiet landscape. I wrinkled my nose and looked at him. “Those chips are going to give you vampire breath.”
“Vampire breath? Is that the cool term right now?”
“No, but it’s true. I’m not kissing you after this. Probably all part of Evelyn’s plan—separate us with the power of bad breath.”
“I think Evelyn liked you.”
“I don’t know.... She’s a hard read. I take it you two are close?”
“Yes. I’m not close with my family—they weren’t exactly nurturing. Evelyn takes good care of me, and she needs someone checking in on her, making her feel important. That’s one of the reasons I brought the club proposal to her. I could have easily covered that nut alone, but the club makes her feel important, gives her something to think about. I get her down there every once in a while. She loves being backstage, taking over as house mom for the evening.”
“So you’re basically a saint. That’s what you’re saying? Saint Bradley?”
“God, you are a pain in my ass.”
“No, I just call you on your crap.”
He leaned over and placed a soft kiss on my lips. “You are a mess, you know that?”
I pushed him off. “No kisses! I told you—vampire breath!”
Beaming at me, he grabbed an extralarge chip and chomped down, chewing noisily. I looked at my watch and started to pack up the cooler.
* * *
On the way back to Vegas, Brad insisted we stop back by Evelyn’s to return the cooler.
“She said we could keep it!”
“Yeah, she also said we could throw it away. She can say whatever, but she wants that cooler back. Trust me.”
So return it we did, winding our Vipers through the suburban streets once more until we were crammed into her tiny cul-de-sac again. I waited in my car as Brad took it up to the front and rang the bell. I watched a gushing Evelyn hug Brad about five times before he finally detached from her grip and walked back down the drive. Stopping by my open window, he leaned in.
“I was gonna take the scenic way back. Ready to open them up?”
I revved my engine in response. At the sound, at least two curtains moved in the homes surrounding us. We exited the cul-de-sac carefully and respectfully, and began to head back to the open road. We reached it in two and a half songs, and I raised both hands and cheered into the wind as we hit the highway. I amped up the radio and pressed my foot on the pedal. The car instantly responded, literally jumping forward and throwing my head against the seat. I upshifted and began to fly. Brad and I leapfrogged each other and flew past cars as we traveled through the desert. I felt alive, liberated, and as the car drove, all thoughts of anything rational left my mind.
Twenty-Five
Rule 5: No socializing or communication out of the experience.
“So tell me about the intern you slept with.”
“Which one?”
I coughed on a sip of Dr Pepper and shot him a look of disgust. We sat in Rick’s Roadhouse, a chain restaurant located off Terminal D. We had about forty-five minutes before our flight, and were killing time there instead of the overcrowded concourse.
“I’m kidding! There was only one. Blonde, with a tight body. She was my intern, a colossal mistake by HR. Second week she started wearing short little skirts and revealing tops.” He dipped a fry in some ketchup and popped it in his mouth. “You know me, keeping my eyes to myself isn’t my strong point. I started looking...she started bending over more. I lasted another two weeks before we went for drinks after work. Drinks led to sex, which she loved and I didn’t.”
“Why not?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t like to kiss and tell.”
“Oh, please. I think we passed the polite conversation stage a week ago. We have moved into full disclosure and then some.”
“Still...”
“Okay, answer my questions and I’ll open the door wide for any questions about my past lovers.”
“So, you do kiss and tell?”
“You seem trustworthy. Plus, it doesn’t appear like you have any friends, so there’s no one for you to giggle and share this with.”
His brows rose amusedly and he stood for a moment, surprising me.
“Where are you going?”
“Just a minute.” He strode away from the table and went up to the bar, where he was drooled over by a bleached-blonde forty-year-old waitress who, by the look of her skin, should have worn sunscreen and stopped smoking about twenty years earlier. He returned to the table a few minutes later with two shots of a golden liquid. He set them down, one in front of me. I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes at him.
“Come on. It’s the last day of our fun.” The lizard-skin waitress from behind the bar appeared with a glass of lime wedges and set them down, hovering a moment too long, smiling at Brad, before heading back to the bar. “Tequila,” he said.
“Trying to get me to hook up with your bartender?”
“Ha. Ha. I’ll answer your question if you take the shot with me.”
“Sounds like coercion.”
“Guilty as charged. I’ll let you figure out my punishment later.” He held up his shot and I met his with mine. “Toast?”
“To guilty men.” I clinked my glass to his and we downed the yellow fire. I winced and grabbed a lime, biting down on the tart fruit. I followed that with a sip of tea, and pointed at Brad, indicating for him to answer the original question.
“Fine. It was bad for me because she was too loud—moaning and wailing the entire time. She acted like she was constantly either orgasming or on the verge of orgasming. Supposedly, she had about twelve during the twenty minutes we had sex. I finally stopped and told her I was done.”
I thought of our experience together and blushed. Best I could recall, I had been pretty vocal.
He caught my look. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on. What?”
“I was pretty vocal with you also. Maybe it’s an intern thing.”
“Julia.” He reached forward and grabbed my hand. “You are an intriguing, beautiful woman. You are incredibly sexual and I love how you are during sex. Being vocal is a great thing. She took it to the extreme and made me think she was overembellishing. That was the turnoff. I want a real, genuine reaction, not an i
mitation of a porn star.”
I sighed and licked some ketchup off my finger. “I was just stating an observation. I’m not worried about my bedroom prowess.”
“And I was just explaining the difference between you two.”
“So, that was it. You guys never did it again?”
“Oh, no, we did. I just gagged her the next time.”
“What?! You did not!”
He shrugged. “She was kinky and into that type of stuff anyway—kept wanting me to hold her down, spank her ass, that kind of thing. I worked it into the foreplay and she was hot for it. Kept her quiet and the sex was better that time.”
“So you kept seeing her?”
“No. Like I said, her outfits were beyond inappropriate, and her behavior at the office made it obvious what was going on. I told her we had to stop. It wasn’t worth the headache I got from Broward and Clarke. They moved her to another attorney and then ranted and raved at me for at least two weeks—sent me down to HR for a chat like I was a junior associate.”
“Yet, here you sit with me.”
“Well, I’ve got to misbehave every once in a while just to keep them on their toes.”
“Plus, no one’s ever going to find out about this trip,” I reminded him.
“Right. Plus no one’s ever going to find out about this trip,” he monotoned.
“I’m serious!”
“Hey,” he said, raising his hands. “I don’t have a problem keeping my indiscretions secret. It’s the girls who always talk. I can’t help it that I make such an impression.”
“Oh, lordy. Is there enough room for your ego at this table, or should we pull up an extra chair?”
He laughed. “In all seriousness, it would make my life at the office easier if you kept this to yourself.”
“First of all, you’re not that great, so I have nothing to tell anyone about. Second, no worries. Our secret is safe with me. Plus, once we’re back home, we’re steering clear of each other, right?”
“Definitely. And you’re okay with that, right? No dates, no nightly phone calls, no gushy emails?”
“You got it.” The words left my lips confidently, my tone flippant. Nothing in my response communicated the wrestle of emotions that I felt, the dread I felt at parting ways. The idea of staying away from him seemed impossible, his charm and sexuality too magnetic to resist.
“God, you are the perfect woman.” He leaned in and I kissed him briefly. Leaning back, he looked at me with a sly grin. “Now, do we have time for a quickie before our flight?”
I tossed my napkin at him and quickly stood, speaking before my mind had a chance to even consider the temptation. “You are impossible! Get the damn check. We need to head to our gate anyway, or else we’ll be staying here another night.”
Twenty-Six
I woke up Monday morning in my old bed, looking up at my popcorn ceiling with the one suspicious water stain that our landlord insisted was from an old patched spot. The alarm was rudely blaring and I reached over and smacked it until it shut off. Back to the real world. I yawned and rolled out of bed, rubbing my eyes.
I had gotten home at eleven-forty the night before. I hadn’t bothered unpacking; my bags were sitting in the middle of my room, and I stubbed my toe on one as I tried to get into the hall and to the toilet. One benefit of having slacker roommates was that I didn’t have to fight anyone for the shower in the morning. I stood under the pathetically gentle spray, already missing the body jets and rain head at Bellagio.
Brad, huge inside of me, his wet hands slick on my bare skin. The water spray, pure ecstasy on my clit, bringing me close to the edge of oblivion.
Jesus. I will never be able to take a normal shower again. I despondently turned off the shower and stepped out, wrapping my body and head in towels. Seven hours earlier Brad had dropped me off, giving me a quick kiss and helping me with my bags. I hadn’t invited him in, and we’d had only a quick goodbye on the front stoop.
Back to Home Sweet Home, I thought grimly.
I scanned my closet, settling on a boring brown pantsuit and low heels. I didn’t bother with contacts, just brushed my wet hair into a low bun and put on light makeup. Brad and I had agreed to stay away from each other, which I figured would be easy, seeing as Broward had strict rules for me in that regard anyway. I would just actually follow them this time around. I tried not to let that thought depress me.
* * *
The week passed quickly. Miraculously, Broward gave me a lunch break on Thursday, so I met with Becca and Olivia at Panera. Over chicken-and-rice soup I gave them most of the scoop on the weekend. I left out the shower sex and my girl-on-girl action, but included pretty much everything else. The girls, as expected, had strong opinions on everything. Olivia was adamant that I keep my distance from Brad, her opinion of him only slightly higher than that of a pedophile. Becca thought I should be his travel ho, and wanted to know if there was room for her on the trips. I navigated through their endless questions and finally begged off, telling them I had to get back to work.
By Friday I was watching the clock, and when Broward finally knocked on my door at 8:30 p.m., I was more than ready to leave. I shut down my computer and hurried after him. He held the elevator for me and we rode down together. As the elevator clicked and hummed, I leaned against the wall.
“Big plans for the weekend?” Broward asked.
“No. Sleep.” I smiled at him. “You?”
“Kids got soccer games on Saturday. I’m thinking Sunday I’ll do some work around the house. The wife wants me to build a bookcase in our media room.”
I nodded politely, Brad’s opinion of Broward’s life coming to me unbidden. Boring. Dull. I don’t know that Broward saw it like that. A lot of people were perfectly happy with their lives being ordinary. Not everyone needed fast cars, excitement and sex. Did I?
The elevator dinged and I nodded to Broward and walked out into the garage, headed to my Camry.
* * *
I spent the weekend in bed with a giant roll of chocolate chip cookie dough and a carton of milk, trying to do anything but think of Brad. I went old-school, watching the first season of Desperate Housewives, enjoying the drama underneath a big, comfy blanket. Sunday, I started getting a little bored, and decided on a bubble bath and a book. I only soaked for fifteen minutes before Alex, roommate number two, started banging on the door. I sighed and pulled the plug, watching the bubbles circle the drain and disappear. Hearing my cell ring in my bedroom, I pulled my naked body quickly up and out of the tub. I barely made it to my phone before it was sent to voice mail.
“Hello, Becca.”
“Hola, chica! What’cha doing?”
“Something superexciting. Too exciting to go into now.”
“Yeah, right. This is you we’re talking about.” She giggled into the phone.
“Hello? Do I get no credit for being superexciting and impulsive last weekend? I am a wild child, and don’t you forget it.”
“Riiiigggghhhhtt. So sorry, Miss Thang. Anyway, the new Tom Cruise movie is playing at 4:00 p.m., and I know how much you like older men...so what do you say?”
“It was one older man, Becca. Don’t brand me with this forever. And I say that I’ll forgo the superexciting thing that I’m in the middle of just so I can spend quality time with you. Is Olivia coming?”
She growled into the phone. “No. Says she has to study. How lame is that?”
I smiled into the phone. “Superlame. Gosh, her sense of responsibility is absolutely ridiculous.”
Becca completely missed my sarcasm. “I know, right? I’ll pick you up in twenty. We can shop a bit first, ’kay?”
“Sounds good.” I hung up, a smile on my face. For the first time in years, I had money to burn. Time to go shopping.
I took extra time getting dressed.
Becca was a tough critic and I wanted to look reasonably fashionable. When she blared the horn outside twenty minutes later, I was still pulling on heels and it took a minute for me to walk out. Becca had the top of her Mercedes convertible down, Gwen Stefani blasting. Designer shades on, she strongly resembled Malibu Barbie.
“Looking good, sistah,” she said, pushing her glasses up, approving of my skinny jeans, wedge heels and silk tank. I had put curl enhancer in my hair and had it down, hoping it would air-dry with some semblance of style. I opened the door and got in, reaching over to hug her.
“Got the goods?” she asked.
“You know it,” I said, opening up my biggest purse and showing her the candy stash inside. I used to smuggle cans of Coke and bags of ice into the theater, but Becca put the brakes on that, saying that was going too far. So now I stick to just candy. That day I had packed Skittles, Peanut M&M’s, Sour Patch Kids and Milk Duds. A mix of sour, sweet and chocolate. I shut the door and she burned rubber, leaving skid marks in front of my mailbox. I laughed, turned up the radio, and we sang and danced all the way to the mall.
Hanging out with Becca was an experience. In some ways, it was similar to being with a toddler in that you had to watch her constantly or she would get into trouble. For Becca, the trouble was normally with M-E-N. She liked all the wrong ones, which, when I came to think of it, was yet another reason I should stay away from Brad. Becca thought he was great.
“I mean, it seems pretty stupid if you ask me,” she lamented, flipping through dresses on a rack in Bloomingdale’s. “You and him had a great time in Vegas, you get along well, the sex—” she looked sideways at me “—was fantastic. Why would you agree to never hang out again?”
I stopped my rack rifling and faced her. “I never said we had sex.”
“Well, I know you never said it, but puh-lease! You have sex countless times with two losers—sorry, Jules, but in retrospect you can admit it—losers—and never orgasmed. This guy makes you come in the first four minutes that he gets you in bed! You’re telling me you just said ‘thanks, but no thanks’ on seconds?” She shoved the dress hangers shut and glared at me. “I may be stupid when it comes to microbiology or the ancient history of Mayans, but I know sex.”