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Head spinning, I sat on the bed and touched my fingers to my lips. It was only a kiss, and an accidental one at that. Embarrassing, sure, but it could’ve happened with anyone.
I needed to believe that. There was no alternative.
The intercom buzzed in the living room. Footsteps thudded down the stairs. There came another buzz, then the squeal and bang of the door as it opened and closed. Then, silence, loud and accusatory.
I busied myself with putting away my toiletries and clothes before venturing out to explore the rest of the apartment. Downstairs, the kitchen was fully stocked with food and flavored seltzer, all unopened. I used to drink lemon and lime seltzer as a kid. I wondered if he’d started drinking it after he left, or if he’d bought them just for me. I tried to watch TV but nothing held my interest. I couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss.
The sun was halfway to setting when I heard a woman’s laughter on the other side of the door. Curious, I got up to investigate.
Easing the door open a couple of inches, I peered into the hall. My father stood by the elevator, across from a dark-skinned woman with blonde braids and enviable curves. Her voice dripped with affection when she said his name.
Jealousy, sharp and unwarranted, flared in my gut. It made no sense. My father was a handsome man, and she was obviously a beautiful woman. Who was I to begrudge them a flirtation, or anything else?
I forced myself back to the couch.
My father sauntered in a few minutes later and sat in one of the recliners. I pretended to be riveted by the selection of on-demand movies.
“Sorry, that took longer than expected,” he said. “I’m starting a new piece and the planning always takes twice as long as the painting. I hope you weren’t too bored.”
“I’m fine.” I fiddled with the volume settings and pleaded with my voice to sound normal. “Was that your model I heard?”
“It was,” he said. “Her name’s Kristin. I’ll introduce you next time she’s here.”
I looked at him and then had to look away. He was assessing me again, his gaze penetrating my strained veneer of calm.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“I could eat.”
He rose from the chair. “I’ll make us some dinner.”
From the moment we sat down to eat, he seemed content to pretend the kiss had never occurred, which was fine by me. He asked me to show him some of my sketches, and spent the rest of the meal paging through my sketchbook, pointing out the drawings he liked and how I could improve the others. I felt buoyant, high on validation. I’d almost forgotten about the kiss entirely, until his hand captured mine on the table and I felt a jolt like a spark in my chest. Even my nipples had hardened.
When he stopped at my door to say goodnight, he didn’t cross the threshold. He simply asked if there was anything I needed. The caution in his gaze spoke volumes. I told him I was all set. He said, “I love you, Paige.”
The words nestled somewhere between my heart and my hips. I struggled against the full-body flush. “You, too, Dad.”
His smile unraveled me. I clasped my hands together to stop myself from reaching for him.
Chapter Four
Hours later, I still couldn’t sleep. And it wasn’t because of the unfamiliar mattress or the sounds of the city drifting in through the open window.
It was the kiss.
When I closed my eyes, I could still feel the smoothness of my father’s lips and the heat of his breath, the tickle of his short-cropped beard against the corners of my mouth. Everything about these impulses was inappropriate, yet I couldn’t deny the truth. The kiss had happened, and here in the dark on this borrowed bed, there was no pretending it hadn’t.
I tossed and turned and waited for a wave of nausea to hit, for my skin to crawl, but all I felt was restlessness. Sleep was out of the question. I checked the time on my phone and found two missed calls from my mother. At just after twelve o’clock, it was too late to call back tonight; I’d deal with her in the morning. I climbed out of bed and pulled a long T-shirt over my sports bra, then crept into the hall, listening for signs that my father might still be awake. Hearing nothing, I tiptoed downstairs and into the kitchen.
Lights from other apartment buildings glittered in the distance. The moon was out in full, painting the hardwood floors in shades of gray and silver. I poured myself a glass of water and went to stand by the window. It was too bright to see the stars, but the streetlights were a more than adequate replacement.
Brake lights flashed as traffic lights winked from red to green to yellow to red. This far above the ground, I couldn’t help feeling like a storybook character in a tower, cut off from reality and time itself.
Only, I didn’t want to escape, and no one had trapped me. I could leave any time I wished.
I refilled my glass and padded upstairs. Soft noises emanating from my father’s room stopped me on the way to my door. After a moment’s hesitation, I crept to the end of the hall. His door had been pushed closed, but hadn’t latched completely. Gently, I pressed my ear to the slab. I thought I heard a woman’s cry. That was odd. Carefully, I nudged the door the slightest bit forward.
The door inched open. Not too much, just a slight crack, enough for a curious eyeball. I saw my father’s face bathed in iridescent light and heard another moan. The flat-screen television wasn’t visible from this angle, but the grunts and cries confirmed what I wanted to know.
