Page 72 of The Puck Bunny

Stopping at the coat check closet, I ask the woman for my coat. Sara spins around and stares at me like she doesn’t know what to say or do. Like she hadn’t planned to run into me. I take my coat and sweep her up. She has her coat on so I escort her to the elevators.

“Where are we going?” she asks,.

“Somewhere private. To talk,” I say. We manage to get an elevator to ourselves and, as the doors slide closed, I turn to her. “What happened back there with the princess? What’s wrong? What did I say or do to upset you? Or… was it her?”

She huffs and stares at the diamond-encrusted football tiepin on my tie.

“It was you. What you said. By night? Really? Nothing good comes of a sentence that starts that way. What could you possibly have planned to say I do by night that was going to be okay?” She peeks up at me. “Not that I have room to criticize, since I often say things that are the opposite of okay. I suppose I should be more understanding.”

She pauses and her chest is heaving with the effort of breathing and taking in enough oxygen to keep her talking so fast and furious, to keep up with all that passion and the expenditure of all that emotional energy.

“Okay,” she says. “Go ahead and explain.” She folds her arm across while skepticism wars with hope on her face, that ever-present, heart-squeezing hopefulness.

Glancing at the digital readout above the elevator doors, I see I’ve got four more floors to straighten this out. I clear my throat and go for the truth. “I was going to say, ‘By night, she’s my muse.’” More like my distraction. Or, if I had my way, “My woman. The one I want to bring home to bed and make sweet love to until the dawn forces us to stop.” Fuck. Is that the truth? Or wishful thinking.

She snorts then covers her mouth.

I look at her hand.

She takes it down and laughs. “Some muse. Explains your scoring slump.”

The elevator stops and the doors slide open to the main lobby.

“I’m going to leave now,” I say, looking around at all the people coming and going from the gala. Many smile at me. Shit. “Wait ten minutes, then leave—I don’t care if you have to call Delaney and tell her you’re sick to get out of here. Then go out the front door and cross the street and walk a block. I’ll pick you up. Don’t tell anyone. Not even Billie Mae.” I hold my breath, waiting for her response. It’s a crazy plan, but something’s got to give. I need some time with her. My chest is so tight from holding back all the emotions of guilt and fear. But it’s the sorrow that’s crushing me. Searing pain slashes through me as I watch her face, waiting.

The story her expression tells brings me back, gives me life with the need to protect her, to make her smile and laugh and scream with pleasure. It’s filled with caution and hope and then finally resolve.

“All right. I’ll call Delaney, then meet you.” She clears her throat and backs up a step. “Good night now,” she says in a comically loud voice, giving me a wave. Then she turns and walks to the other side of the lobby with purpose in her step as she pulls her phone from her purse.

* * *

On the way to Revere, I settle into the silence which has a strange quality of tense calm. Sara doesn’t ask where we’re going and I’m not sure if I’m driving to her house or mine. I should be taking her home.

In fact, I shouldn’t be taking her anywhere, but that ship has sailed and sunk. When I pull into my driveway she finally speaks.

“Your house. It’s…unbelievably beautiful. Is it on the ocean?” She waves. “Don’t mind me. Of course it’s beautiful and on the ocean; where else in Revere would you live? A double-decker? I don’t know what I was expecting, but this is exactly what—”

“Sara.”

She looks at me.

“Stop talking.”

I give her a smile and she sighs.

“Sorry. I’m nervous and I don’t know why I should be—”

I pull her into my arms, and plant my lips on hers. None of which is easy because of the Jeep’s wide console. The rush of warmth makes me feel like I’ve come home, like I’m where I belong.

Before I get too sucked into the kiss—literally—I let her go.

She’s breathless and looking at me like I’m a dream.

Damn it. She’s too young and vulnerable for this.

“No you don’t.” She grabs my lapels and kisses me as if her life depends on it. Like she’s proving a point. Like she’s an expert and can arouse me in less than two seconds.

Breathing heavy, I break away gently on a long, hungry sigh. “Well, fuck,” I say catching my breath. “That was some kiss. And I don’t believe I’m saying this, but we need to talk before…”