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19
She was stilla little high the next morning when her alarm went off for brunch with Liam. She’d been physically exhausted when she’d gotten home, but her mind had been full of Jack and she’d lain in bed for more than an hour, tossing and turning, her body humming like an idling engine primed for an experienceddriver.
She replayed every moment between her and Jack, the gala itself fading into the background of every charged encounter, every graze of his body against hers. She had no doubt he knew what he was doing. Whether as a method of seduction — one that worked — or manipulation, his practiced distance wasintentional.
Harder to explain was the power he had over her, his ability to elicit compliance even when commanding her to do things she wasn’t sure she wanted to do. Her response felt primal, almost beyond her control. He spoke and she obeyed and somehow it felt not only right but hot ashell.
She pushed Jack from her mind as she brewed coffee and took a hot shower. Now that the gala was behind her, she was looking forward to brunch with Liam, to the easy conversation between them and the physical chemistry that was somehow both comfortable andnew.
She spent some time considering her wardrobe options and came to the conclusion that Karen was right: she needed new clothes. She’d gotten lucky last night with the dress Jack had sent, but she couldn’t expect to be handed a suitable outfit every time she went on adate.
She sighed and shook her head. "Toto, I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore,” shemurmured.
Two months ago she’d been in the suburbs, donning her uniform of jeans or slacks and a blouse, finished with sensible flats that would get her through the day’s errands and allow her to cook meals in comfort, even if only forherself.
She’d been comfortable there, had felt like herself, but now she couldn’t help wondering if that brand of comfort was actually laziness. It was easy — too easy — to wear the same thing, to do the same thing, everyday.
This was harder. She felt like she was walking a tightrope almost every moment of every day, balancing the person she thought she was with new revelations that made her wonder if she’d been fooling herself all along, that made her wonder if her comfort zone had been a pleasant disguise forfear.
She settled on a dark pair of jeans and a black V-neck sweater, close enough to show her waist without being obscenely tight. She finished it with the boots she’d worn on her first date with Liam, telling herself he wasn’t the kind of man to care if she wore the same shoes twice. She didn’t know how she knew this about him, but somehow, shedid.
She’d blown out her hair into long waves and touched her face with a little mascara and tinted lip balm. It was Sunday, and her face was still thanking her for removing the makeup she’d worn to thegala.
By the time Liam buzzed the intercom, she was relaxed and looking forward to a couple of hours in a comfortable environment. The gala had been exciting, a chance to try on a completely new persona, but the brunch part of her date with Liam wasn’t such astretch.
The Liam part, on the other hand, was still unfamiliar, something she was reminded of when she emerged onto the stoop to find him standing with his hands in his peacoat, his face flushed with cold, blue eyessparkling.
Jesus, he wasbeautiful.
“Hey you.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “You lookpretty.”
She smiled and looked down at the jeans emerging from her coat. “Aw, shucks. This oldthing?”
He laughed and took her hand. It felt natural in spite of the heat that ran through herbody.
“Hungry?” heasked.
“Starving.” She’d picked at her dinner the night before, too busy keeping up her end of the conversation with everyone at the table, too preoccupied with the nearness of Jack’s thigh next tohers.
“Good,” Liam said. “I know just theplace.”
They took the subway to the Stone Park Cafe, an upscale bistro in Park Slope. Liam gave the hostess his name and she drew a line in the reservationbook.
“A reservation,” Nina said. “How very organized ofyou.”
He laughed. “Don’t get used to it. Spontaneity is usually more my thing, but I know Brooklyn on Sunday atnoon.”
The hostess picked up two menus. “Followme.”
Nina followed her, Liam’s words striking a chord in her memory: an argument between her and Peter near the end of their marriage. She couldn’t remember the exact context of the fight, but she could see it in her mind’s eye, Peter pouring himself another inch of vodka, his face pinched andangry.
“Jesus, Nina… I remember when you were actually fun. When it wasn’t impossible for you to bespontaneous.”
The words had cut to the bone, both because Peter had said them — because he’d obviously been thinking them for a long time — and because she knew he wasright.
What had happened to her? She’d never been the life of the party. Had never been one of those college girls who suggested streaking across the rugby field during the big game or who climbed onto the bar to dance when she wasdrunk.
But she’d been fun. She’d been willing to try newthings.
