Opening Act (17 page)

“Oh, no,” he said, snapping back into his own persona as Loni skittered away. “A gentleman keeps his word. I said I'd see you home”—he started galloping after her—“and goddamn it, I'll see you home!”

They'd gotten about two-thirds of the way when the heavens opened and a really terrific downpour struck. The rain seemed to be beating the earth with watery fists. Within seconds, both Loni and Shay were drenched.

When they reached Loni's building, they spilled into the vestibule and nearly collapsed with relief. They half laughed, half gasped, and leaned back against the walls, catching their breath. Outside, the storm continued its angry pounding. A peal of thunder sounded from somewhere far off.

“That was
fierce
,” said Shay. He looked so diminished, so bedraggled, like a puppy just out of its bath. She felt a twinge of almost maternal affection for him as she slipped her backpack off her shoulders. The rose, alas, had not survived the storm. It was no more than a battered stem.

“It was like being assaulted,” she said.

“Nah,” said Shay. “Not nearly that good.”

She snorted a laugh as she twisted the moisture from the ends of her hair. “You're filth, you know that?”

He grinned proudly. “Sweet talker!” Suddenly he snapped to attention, looking worried. “Dammit,” he said, and he reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out his phone. He fiddled with its screen.

“Is it all right?” asked Loni. She didn't need to worry about hers; it was safe in her backpack.

“Seems to be. But I can't risk it getting any wetter.” He looked at her and arched his eyebrows. “Guess you're stuck with me.”

She was about to tell him no. That he could borrow her anorak, which would keep him and his phone safe and dry—well, safe and no wetter—all the way home. It was, after all, the ideal solution. It was like God had inspired her to put the anorak in her backpack just for this moment, since she'd never had cause to use it herself.

But somehow, crazily, when she opened her mouth to tell him this, what came out was, “Come on inside, I can throw your clothes in the dryer. Maybe by the time they're done, the storm will have stopped.”

Loni gave him a fluffy pink terrycloth robe—another gift from her mom that she never, ever used—and he emerged from the bathroom with it tied loosely at his waist, so that his bare chest protruded. She was surprised to see that the tattoo that started at his wrist and ran all the way up his arm also splayed brilliantly across his pectorals. She didn't know what was more titillating…the chest itself, or all that gorgeous ink.

He sashayed up to her like a runway model and dumped his wet things into her arms. His hips were practically in her face. Really, it was like he couldn't help himself. In the meantime, she'd changed into a dry pair of jeans and a rugby shirt, toweled her hair dry and pulled it back into a ponytail. She hoped she looked severe and unfeminine enough to put him off a bit.

“I'll be right back,” she said, and she left the apartment, scooted down to the laundry room, and threw his clothes in the dryer. It hummed steadily as she made her way back upstairs, where she found Shay seated on the couch, his bare legs stretched out and his feet on the coffee table, holding a bottle of beer.

“Hope you don't mind,” he said. “Helped myself.”

She sat across the table from him. “Two double espressos, now a beer. And it's not even three. You must have an interesting metabolism.”

“Oh, it's up for anything,” he said. Then, with a wink,
“Any. Thing.”

She couldn't think of a way to respond to that, and she didn't feel like sitting there with him, face-to-face, with the rain coming down like drumbeats. It was all feeling a little too intense…too primal.

She said, “Be right back,” and then went to the kitchen to fix herself another cup of tea. She really didn't need one, but it would keep her busy for a while.

She filled the kettle, set it to boil, and was just taking a ceramic cup down from a shelf when the whole apartment was shaken by a crack of thunder. It was so loud that Loni was startled into dropping the cup, which smashed at her feet into hundreds of jagged shards.

“God
damn
it,” she cried.

“What is it?” he called from the living room.

“Nothing,” she called back. “Just—
damn
it. What a freaking spaz!” The mess was between her and the kitchen door—and also between her and the broom closet. Since she hadn't bothered to put on shoes, she couldn't get out—and she couldn't clean up, either. “It's just, I'm sort of trapped.”

“What?”
he asked.

She tried to tiptoe through the wreckage, but she was still too shaky from the incident and backed up again. What a stupid, girly predicament to land herself in!

Suddenly he was at the kitchen door.

“Oh, wow,” he said, looking at the debris all over the floor.

She pointed. “The broom's just in there.”

He looked at the closet door, then back at her, and made a little face. “Sorry. I don't do housework.”

She felt her forehead pinch in anger. “Then hand it to
me. I'll
sweep it up.”

He grinned. “I have a better idea.” And he stepped forward, maneuvering his bare feet through the shards. “I'll sweep
you
up.”

“Are you mentally defective?” she cried in alarm. “You'll cut yourself to ribbons!”

“I have very tough soles,” he reassured her, and suddenly—so quickly she barely registered it was happening—he had her in his surprisingly strong arms, and his face was incredibly, disorientingly close to hers.

A moment passed. The beating of the rain was drowned out by the thrum of her heartbeat in her ears. He lowered her a little, toward the stove. “You might want to turn that off first,” he said, in a voice so soft, so gentle, that Loni thought she would've done anything he suggested. She reached out and flipped off the burner beneath the kettle.

Then he carefully stepped back through the shards—never once flinching or jerking—and carried her back to the couch. He laid her onto it, and when she was safely delivered there, he tried to get up—

—but Loni wouldn't let go of him.

She pulled him onto her and slipped her hands beneath the fluffy robe. It was all the encouragement he needed to reciprocate and he gently lowered himself down next to her. The sensation was immediate and arousing. His body was so
hard
—like he was sculpted from marble. All the men she'd been with, up till now, had been soft and doughy…pillow men. Thinkers. Shay was a doer. Action, activity, had armored him in muscle.

She realized, with a twinge of guilt, that Zee could walk through the door at any moment. Zee didn't have any real claim to Shay. She didn't even really
know
him. Still, Loni felt as though she was betraying her roommate at least a little. But then he kissed her, and she tasted the espresso, tasted the beer—it was dizzying. His self-confidence, his eagerness…she felt herself challenged to meet it with her own. He pulled the rugby shirt over her head in one big
whoosh
. She felt the sudden ping of the cool air against her skin and was gratified by the way his hands roved over her—and the grunts of approval he emitted in appreciation of her taut, firm flesh.

He began working on the fly of her jeans. Not wanting to fall behind, she gathered up the robe around his waist and cupped her hands around his buttocks—they, too, were like sculpted marble—and guided him into her; not that it took much guiding. He was a man who knew exactly what he
was doing and where he was going. The suddenly hooded look that came over him couldn't hide the intense, fiery concentration beneath it—at least until he buried his face between her breasts.

What was happening? It had been only an hour ago that she'd made up her mind to give herself to someone else. Now here she was, falling into intimacy with someone entirely different—someone she'd only just met. She'd lived her entire life in thrall to the power of words, and the courtship dance she and Shay had engaged in that afternoon had been almost entirely verbal, so it was a shock to her now that the sheer energy of Shay's come-on—and her response—had completely pulverized her capacity for language. She couldn't form a coherent thought—not with Shay thrusting with so much rhythmic fury that the couch actually moved beneath them, jumping backward at half-inch intervals. She thought at one point he might run them right through the wall—despite the fact that she never felt out of control. She felt, rather, that she was riding a wild and untamed beast that was entirely under her command. Never mind the apparent violence of their lovemaking—or that the way they were crying out might be mistaken by passersby for victims of an attack—the thrashing passion that drove them was entirely mutual.

It wasn't till Shay had sent her skyrocketing through the roof of the building and out into the rain like a Roman candle that she realized, in a flash of clarity—possibly aided by a flash of lightning—what she was doing with him. She was testing her resolve. She was looking for something to stand up against Byron, to see whether his offer was worth it.

And now she had her answer. He was on the floor below her, where he'd fallen after finishing, all tangled up in pink and looking vacantly, but happily, at her face.

She sat up. It was all so clear now. So unambiguous, so
apparent
.

And look…the rain had stopped, too.

Everything was calm.

Everything was right.

It was while Shay was showering that Byron called. Like he'd sensed something had changed.

“Just wondering where your head is,” he said. “No pressure.”

She sat down and sighed. “Thanks. Actually, let's meet. Today.” Might as well get this over with. Before her courage ebbed or she talked herself out of it. She was clever enough to do that, clever enough to fool herself into betraying her own interests. She'd done it before.

“Oh,” he said with a little peep of surprise. “Today, huh? Uh…my schedule's a bit tight. Unless you're available right now.”

She looked at the door to the bathroom. She could hear Shay gargling an Overlords tune in the running water.

“Now's good,” she said. The sooner the better. She was already feeling a worm of self-doubt.

“I've only got half an hour. Coffee?”

“Coffee's fine,” she said. “The Mambo on Eleventh?” It was close to campus. Might as well make it convenient for him since it wouldn't be anything else.

“Great. See you in ten.”