Page 90
“Baby, you okay?”
I blink and the room comes back into focus. The horrible feeling fades. I’m back with him, having the time of my life in Memphis.
“No,” I say. “I’m perfect.”
For the rest of the meal, I ignore any persistent thoughts. We make our way through the bottle of wine, then through a plate of bruschetta and an entire charcuterie board. I shift closer. He shifts even closer. Somehow, my thigh ends up over his, my hand on his chest, playing with his collar. At one point, when I have my chin on his shoulder, I feel his hand slide under my dress, and he grips my upper thigh.
It’s like a dream.
A beautiful dream I never want to end.
Before he showed up, I stood on the porch and wished for something. Not to leave, but to live.
He gave me that this week. He’s giving it to me tonight.
We have steak for the main course. I’m drenched with wine and giggly, so I don’t do a damn thing for myself. We’re concealed in the dark. Nobody can see. I let him cut my steak and feed me. Then, when dessert comes, I dip my finger in whipped cream and hold it out for him to taste as he licks it right off my fingers.
We’re drunk and shameless tonight.
When the bill comes, he pays it before I get a chance to look. I stand, shaking out my skirt. My panties are soaked, but that’s his fault.
“Is it one million dollars?” I say, tilting my head.
“Close,” he says, signing it, snapping it shut, and getting up.
“What?”
He laughs. “I’m joking, baby.”
He reaches for me, but I’m drunk enough to tease him by stepping out of his way.
“Tell me how much,” I demand.
He catches me by the waist, smoothly so we don't cause a scene. “Six-fifty.”
“Six dollars—”
“Six hundred and fifty.”
“Oh, Lord.”
He pulls me in and kisses my mouth, tasting like whiskey. “You can pay that off on your back tonight.”
My jaw drops. “Coen Taylor, I didn’t know you were dirty like that.”
“Oh, the hell you didn’t.”
He gives me a full twirl and pulls me after him across the room. The elevator door is open, occupied by two couples. We get in, and he casually leans against the wall, back to them. I make eye contact with him, and he gives me a look that says behave. It takes everything I have to be good until we get up to our floor.
Then, I take off my shoes and run down the hall. He’s at my heels, arm looping around my waist right as we get to our door.
“Stop,” I let out, gleeful.
He turns me around, bending to kiss me again, this time on my neck, my shoulder, my collarbones. With his free hand, I hear him unlock the door. He pulls me inside, and it slams shut. Then, his hands are all over me, trying to find the zipper of my dress and tripping over myself.
“Coen,” I gasp.
“Please,” he says.
