Darker Water (11 page)

“It’s okay.” Lane put her hand on my arm. “A
friend of my parents used to be like that. Until her family had her
committed. So with the right meds, I’m sure Anna will be fine.”

I wanted to kiss her. Stopped myself right
before it happened, actually. She was so damn impressive.

Anna cleared her throat. “You two enjoy your
evening.”

“You forgot something,” I said loudly. I had
no problem embarrassing her to get what I wanted.

“Are you serious?”

“Yep.”

She glanced around at the other guests. They
were all staring, her date glaring at us from across the room.
“Fine. I shouldn’t have said that, Laney.” She looked at me to see
if that was enough, then sighed and got the rest out as quickly as
she could. “You really do look beautiful in the dress and that
comeback about your parent’s friend was good.” She threw her hands
up. “Happy now?”

“Happy now?” I asked Lane.

“No. But I want her to go away and for
everyone to stop looking at us. So…”

Anna took the hint and headed back to people
who liked her, or at least pretended to.

“I’m going, too,” Lane said. “You can stay if
you want.”

“Why the fuck would I want to do that?”

Conversations started back up before we’d
made it out of the main room, only to be silenced when a woman
stepped up onto a pedestal and let her robe fall to the floor.

“Finally, some actual art.” That put a hurdle
in my way out the door.

Lane grumbled something about the
predictability of men. I wasn’t going to argue.

A guy tied ribbons that hung from the ceiling
around the nude woman’s wrists and ankles.

“Please let me do that to you,” I whispered.
“Please, Lane. I’m begging you.”

Then the guy pulled a screen up from the
ground so all we could see was the woman’s silhouette as she moved
awkwardly, like she was a puppet or something.
And
there
went the kind of art I enjoy. What a waste.

“Never mind.” I grabbed Lane’s hand and
dragged her out to the street. We didn’t speak until we got in the
car.

“I may have handled that wrong.” I was
supposed to be there just as a ticket in and I’d not only screwed
her friend, I’d screwed her entire night just by being there.

She shook her head slowly. “
Anna
handled it wrong.”

“You’d think people like her don’t exist
outside of high school movies, but they do. She’s actually gotten
better with age. Like vinegar.”

“Do you know what she said when I told her
what I do for a living? She asked me if refinishing furniture was
code for something in”—she did air quotes—“the business. You know,
screw and nail and drill. Why is she such a bitch?”

“Anna loves competition almost as much as she
loves attention. This is the first time she’s ever seen me with
anyone. I think she was in shock.”

“How long have you known her?”

“Since we were in high school. With breaks,
most of them not nearly long enough.” Out of the corner of my eye,
I saw her grimace. “She and I have a very odd relationship. One day
she hates me, every day I hate her, sometimes we don’t talk, all
the other times we talk more than I want to, that sort of thing.
But after what she pulled in there… You don’t ever need to worry
about Anna. Okay?”

She nodded. “At least I got noticed. It
would’ve been nice if it had been in any
useful
way, but
that kind of thing takes time.” What followed was the longest train
of silence we’d ever had.

“Carson? Let’s promise never to do this kind
of thing again.”

“Okay.” Too bad, though. Parts of it had been
fun.

It started as soon as I got home from the
gallery opening and didn’t stop until Hillary packed her bag and
went to Eric’s for the weekend. She didn’t miss a single
opportunity to tell me what an asshole Carson was. She’d been very
vulnerable after breaking up with Eric, and Carson had somehow used
that to get her into bed. I wasn’t sure how he was supposed to have
known how vulnerable she was feeling, but he should have. Of
course, the truth was that he wouldn’t have been listening even if
she
had
told him.

I wasn’t sure what I believed. When I met
him, he was pretty damn straightforward and, now that I knew him,
it was hard to imagine him manipulating someone into bed. It was
hard to imagine him
needing
to manipulate someone into bed.
Although, yeah, he might have said something moderately rude before
he left. Not to be mean, just because he doesn’t think about stuff
like that.

It was the other thing that freaked me out
more. I remembered the morning after they slept together and
thinking what a mistake Hillary had made. Not for the sex, but for
the way she talked about the mysterious guy she’d been with. As if
he’d actually cared about her. I was right—four months later, he
didn’t even remember being with her. He didn’t care about her or
want to make her feel special. All he wanted was to make her feel
good while he made himself feel good. Hillary was a smart woman, a
realist in almost everything, but she’d turned one night of sex
into something more than it was and then had gotten upset when she
found out she was wrong.

After a night with Carson, would I do the
same thing? Would he?

Saturday morning, I decided to take the whole
day off and do absolutely nothing. Since Hillary was off having
another unexciting weekend with Eric, I didn’t even bother getting
out of my pajamas.

When Carson called, I flipped the TV off and
stretched out on the couch. “What do you want?”

“You know what I want, Lane. But that’s
actually not why I called. I screwed up and forgot to send someone
for that coffee table. The auction is tonight, and Eric’s photos of
your table were sent out in the catalogue.”

I’d completely forgotten, my mind on all the
wrong things, even with a very full workload. “Should I bring it to
you?”

“I don’t want to mess up whatever you planned
to do today. Well, I need to mess up enough of it for you to be at
your shop when the guy comes by. What time’s good for you?”

“Give me an hour to jump in the shower and
get down there.”

“What are you doing later?”

“I’ll be at the shop anyway, so I’ll probably
work for a little while. Why?”

“I take back my earlier comment. It was too
polite. I’ve already ruined your plans for this morning, so it’s
only right that I ruin them for the whole day.” His voice never
changed inflection or speed. “And since it’s my birthday, you
should give me a present. Guess what I want.”

“Is it really your birthday or are you just
saying that because you want a present?”

“It’s really my birthday and I
told
you because I want a present. But you haven’t guessed what I want
yet.”

I laughed. “I don’t need to guess. I know
what your answer will be and you’re not getting it.” Yet. He wasn’t
getting it
yet
. Or if Hillary had her way—ever.

“Oh, you thought I wanted you wrapped up in
nothing but a big bow, didn’t you? Eww, gross. No. Ewww.” I could
practically see his face twisted up with feigned disgust. “No, I
want you to take me out for a birthday dinner and then go to the
auction with me.”

I bit my lip. “I don’t think that’s a good
idea. We just agreed we weren’t going to do things that were
too…”

“Date night-ish? Yeah, I considered that. But
as long as you don’t have any other roommates I could’ve slept
with, we both know it’s not a date, and you wear more than a big
bow, I don’t think it’ll be a problem. Don’t you want to see your
piece go to the highest bidder?”

“Yeah, but…” Would it work if I promised
myself I wouldn’t do anything lame like pretend we were actually on
a date?

“I have to spend my birthday with a bunch of
people I don’t like, Lane. The only way I’m gonna get through it is
if I have someone to harass and grope under the table.”

Well, that made it far less of a date night,
didn’t it? “No hand-holding.”

“Fuck no! Are you kidding me?”

“No whispering secrets in my ear.”

“Unless it’s something seedy or morally
questionable that will make you blush.”

“No getting my jacket for me. Or walking me
to my door after.”

“Does that stuff really still happen? In this
century?”

“Not as much as I wish it did, actually.”

“I swear I’ll be nothing but rude to you the
whole night,” he said. “In fact, I might accidentally forget that I
brought you and you’ll have to find your own way home. You should
bring some cab money just in case.”

“Okay,” I said on a sigh, trying not to sound
as excited as I was.

In true Carson-style, he called me from his
car and told me he was in front of my building. I thanked him for
his rudeness, but he was going to have to wait because I wasn’t
ready yet. So he grudgingly decided to come upstairs.

I was still doing my makeup when I heard the
door open. I never left it unlocked, so—

“Lane?” he called loudly. “Help! She needs
emotional support. Stat.”

I ran into the living room with no idea what
he was talking about.

He looked panicked, Hillary’s keys in one
hand, his other pointing to her. Her face was hidden in his chest,
her shoulders shaking and the sound of weeping muffled by Carson’s
jacket.

He mouthed, ‘Help me!’

“Are you okay, Hills?” I put my arms around
her and led her to the couch.

“That’s not my fault.” He backed all the way
to the opposite wall and leaned against it, sliding his hands over
his suit. Carson in a suit was the second of the two most amazing
things I’d ever seen. The first had been him, too, but he’d been
wearing something different. My eyes lingered for only a second
before redirecting to where they should be—on my sobbing
friend.

“What happened?”

Hillary just shrugged, her lips
trembling.

“Lane?” Carson asked. “Can I talk to you for
a second?” When I nodded, he flicked his head towards the
kitchen.

“Are you going to be okay?” I asked Hillary
as I stood. All I got was a whimper, but it seemed like an
affirmative whimper. “I’ll be right back.”

When I got to the kitchen, Carson was opening
a bottle of wine. “You don’t have anything stronger than this, do
you? I’m not sure wine is gonna cut it.”

“What are you doing?”

“She needs empathy and since I’m not very
good at that, I’m going to give her booze. And then I’m going to
give myself booze to ease the scarring of what just happened.”

“Which was..?” I asked quietly.

“I have no fucking idea.” He took down three
wine glasses and filled all of them to the rim. “I was minding my
own business, waiting for the elevator and grumbling about how rude
it was for you to keep me waiting for our not-date. Then, out of
nowhere, she comes stumbling up. She didn’t actually start crying
until the doors closed and we were trapped together in a fairly
tight space. I figured, worst case, she’d want to discuss my memory
lapse of her. Awkward but nothing I couldn’t ignore. But when the
tears started…” He shivered. “It was like a volcano erupted out of
her eyes.”

He handed me one of the glasses and leaned
against the counter after taking a big sip of his. “I could only
make out a few words, but I think it was boyfriend stuff which we
both
know I’m not equipped to handle.”

I wasn’t hugely surprised Hillary and Eric
had fought—it seemed like they were doing that more and more often.
But I’d never seen this reaction before. Hillary wasn’t a crier—she
was a shouter, an arguer. So something big must have happened.
Maybe she’d told him about Carson.

“You know this means I’m going to have to
stay with her, right?”

“But it’s my birthday,” he whined.

“I know. Happy birthday, Carson.” I went to
kiss him on the cheek at the same time he turned. When our mouths
met, his was already open, probably about to say something rude. It
had to have been an accident because no one could have anticipated
my movement that well, but Carson knew how to take advantage of an
opportunity when he saw one.

The next thing I knew, we’d both turned so
our lips could connect all the way, and his hand was at my neck. I
couldn’t have pulled away even if I’d wanted to. Since I
didn’t
want to, his hold on me just made me want him all the
more, a hint as to how strong he was and how incredible he could
make me feel. His kiss was hard and demanding, but his fingertips
were light as he carefully traced my collarbone and down my chest
between my breasts. He cupped me as if I was built to fit into his
hand perfectly and brushed his thumb across my nipple. I moaned
into his mouth.

He shoved me backwards against the counter,
not allowing any space between our bodies. I felt his erection, his
abs tightening as he ground himself against me. My entire body
could do nothing but react to his—I wasn’t breathing, that was for
sure.

The only thing keeping either of us from
forgetting all about...everything…anywhere…at any time was the
increased volume of Hillary’s crying.

I put my hand on his chest and pushed him
back, finally getting a full breath. “Wait, we can’t.”

He groaned my name and said, “Please,”
allowing the space but not releasing his grip of my hair. He kissed
my forehead, his lips still touching my skin as he spoke. “I need
more.”

So did I. But even though I thought about it
constantly, my mind was still flopping back and forth, doubly so
ever since finding out Carson was the mysterious guy Hillary had
slept with months ago. This wasn’t the kind of thing I should let
my hormones decide for me. Or my lips. Or my hips. Or any part of
his body.

“We can’t.”