The One That I Want (3 page)

“I’m pretty sure they’re gonna have a starring role in my dreams from now on too.”

He felt so good next to me, I melted a little more against him. I hadn’t felt this safe since I was thrown out of home. His skin soft and warm against mine, I didn’t want to move, and I hoped he was staying the night.

Just as I opened my mouth to ask him if he was, his phone rang from somewhere on the floor.

“Ignore it, I’m not moving,” he said, kissing my temple again.

“Hmm, twist my arm.”

The phone stopped ringing, but no sooner did I relax than it rang again. Then again. So much for ignoring it.

Paul got up and searched his pants. “Dammit. Don’t they know it’s Saturday night?”

His face fell when he looked at the screen. “I thought I left strict instructions not to disturb me tonight?” he said once he answered. “Seriously? Dammit, when? What, no. Can’t someone else do it?”

My heart plummeted. Climbing out of bed so Paul couldn’t see the look on my face, I thought it a good time to feed Dave and save my shoes. I pulled on my discarded jeans from earlier and padded barefoot to the kitchen. Dave sat there waiting, a look of disdain on his face. He eyed my shoes. “Don’t even think about it. I’m getting your freaking dinner.”

As I fed Dave, I tried not to think about Paul leaving. He hadn’t told me he was, but I could feel it coming. The knowledge was ingrained in my bones. He would walk out of my room, fully dressed and full of apologies. Mother had a heart attack, have to go away for work, best friend’s dog died. Something. I’d heard them all. I shouldn’t be disappointed, really. I knew from the beginning, once I slept with him, he’d leave. You’d think if you expected something to happen, when it did you’d be okay with it. Except I wasn’t okay with it; part of me hoped Paul was different. I
wished
he was different. But when I saw him dressed and standing in the doorway, I knew my wish went unfulfilled.

Paul looked sad and defeated—he actually looked like he didn’t want to go. He must be a good actor because his expression was so forlorn, I almost believed him.

I held up my hand, stopping any words he was about to say.

“Don’t tell me, let me guess. That was your boss and something
super
urgent has come up at...” I looked at the clock. “... twelve-thirty on a Sunday morning. No one else can deal with it, it has to be you, and you have to leave, right now.” I leaned against the counter, folding my arms across my chest. My disappointment turned to anger. I wasn’t angry at Paul—he’d played his part well after all. I was angry at myself, for allowing the tiny bit of hope that he was different from the others.

“Jase, don’t be like that, you know how much I want to be here. I wanted to wake up with you and treat you to breakfast, maybe go somewhere, explore the city. I wanted to spend the day with you.” The sadness in his eyes only made me madder. I wasn’t falling for it. “Babe, I’m sorry. I have to go away for work, I have a six o’clock flight, and I need to go home and pack. I’ll be out of the office all week, but I’ll call you, okay? I promise. And I’ll get tickets to something playing on Saturday night.”

Paul stepped toward me, a half smile on his luscious lips as he wrapped his arms around me. My body betraying me, I melted against him, resting my head against his chest. I breathed him in, committing his smell to memory.

Kissing the top of my head, he let go and headed toward the door.

“I’ll call, I promise,” he said just before he walked out.

LIKE AN idiot, I looked for Paul every morning, and every time I didn’t see him my chest ached. I switched my phone off and kept it off all week, I didn’t want to hear it
not
ring. I was tempted to turn it on but knew I’d be adding to my disappointment when there were no messages.

I ate lunch alone on Wednesday at our usual café, and then kicked myself for acting like a sentimental idiot. He wasn’t going to magically appear. I didn’t know why but this time felt different. I always had the disappointment when a guy didn’t call, but for some reason this felt like more than just an expected letdown. This was heartbreak. Paul had crawled under my skin and made it his home, like a hibernating, heartbreaking parasite.

My work couldn’t keep my mind off him. Granted, I was an accountant and just saying that word sometimes put people to sleep, but I enjoyed my work. Numbers were absolute. You could rely on them.

The week dragged by, but Friday finally came. And with its arrival came the knowledge I’d be spending Saturday night alone. Maybe I could call Brian. He had become my best friend since I arrived in the city and would occasionally come with me to a show, but musicals weren’t really his thing. Sometimes I thought he came with me because he felt sorry for me when I went by myself. I squashed the idea of calling him—he’d recently moved in with his boyfriend so he’d be doing couple things.

Maybe I’d give Dave a bath. That was always fun, and bloody.

I looked at the people milling around the elevator but of course there was no familiar tall, dark and looks-fantastic-in-a-suit. My heart somewhere in my big toe, I made my way to the stairs.

As soon as the door shut behind me, I was pinned against it and familiar lips were pressing against mine, demanding entry. I heard the thud of Paul’s briefcase as it hit the floor, and a second later his arms were around me, dragging my body against his, our cocks rubbing against each other through our pants.

I thought I must be dreaming. I opened for him, letting him explore my mouth as I grabbed his ass and rutted my hips against his, ratcheting our lust higher.

“Turn your... fucking... phone on,” Paul growled between kisses, sucks, and licks.

“I didn’t expect you to call.” My breath came in sharp rasps as he assaulted my throat.

“I know you didn’t, that’s why I called and texted you every goddamn day. I finished up as soon as I could so I could come home and see you. You will be having lunch with me today, twelve-thirty. Don’t be late.” Those final words said, he grabbed his briefcase from the floor, kissed me deeply and took off up the stairs, two at a time, leaving me to pick my jaw up off the floor.

I watched the clock but the morning seemed to take all week. Did I imagine him in the stairwell? The raw burn on my cheeks from his unshaven face told me no, but my Paul was always clean shaven; surely I wouldn’t dream him with stubble? But if I didn’t dream him, why didn’t he shave before he came to work?

Twelve-thirty finally came and I made my way across the street. Paul was there at our usual table. He’d already ordered a BLT for me, and I smiled when I saw him, but he remained stony-faced with his arms folded across his chest as he watched me push through the crowd. My smile faded and my stomach clenched.

“Want to tell me what that was all about?” Yep, angry all right.

“Umm, not really,” I said as I sat down. “Thanks for ordering.” I looked at my sandwich, not wanting to see the anger in his eyes directed at me.

“I told you I would call and I did, every single night, and sometimes during the day when I could. Why didn’t you believe me?”

Returned hurt flared in my stomach.

“Because no one ever does. They always say they’ll call but they don’t. I hoped you were different.” I sighed. “I can see now that you are, but at the time all I could think about was that you were another guy running the other way.”

“Why would anyone do that to you?”

“God, look at me. I’m skinny and awkward. My mousy-brown hair never does what it’s told and I’m a boring accountant.
I
wouldn’t want to be with me, so I don’t know what
you’re
doing here.” I was channeling a whiny teenage girl.

Paul raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying I have bad taste?”

I chuckled at the thought. He wore designer suits like he was born with Armani tattooed on his ass.

“Hardly.”

Paul smiled, and it felt like I’d been punched in the chest, my breath knocked out of me.

“Why didn’t you shave this morning before you came to work?” I didn’t know why I asked, but I needed to know.

“Because I caught the red-eye last night so I could be waiting for you. I haven’t been home yet.”

“Oh, sorry. But you’ve shaved now, and changed your suit.” He looked a lot less disheveled than he did first thing this morning.

“I always keep a spare suit in my office, and I showered and shaved after I cornered you this morning.” Paul pointed at my plate. “Eat, you’ll need all your energy for tomorrow afternoon.”

“I HAVE a delivery here for Mr. Jason Jennings.”

“That’s me. Thanks,” I said, signing the slip for the enormous package.

Once I closed my apartment door, I put the box on the counter and read the accompanying card.

Put these on. All
of them. I’ll pick you up at 1:00 p.m. P xxx

Pushing aside the enormous amounts of tissue paper, I pulled out the items one by one. Black jeans, white T-shirt, and black boots. A black leather jacket with
T-birds
written on the back. Finally, a black wig, complete with sideburns and Danny Zuko big hair.

It occurred to me then that Paul wanted me to go out—in public—looking like this. Oh no. Where the hell was he taking me dressed like this?

My phone buzzed with a message.

Stop thinking and start dressing. P xx

I did as I was told and stopped thinking about it, but when I looked in the mirror after dressing, I looked ridiculous. I sure hoped Paul was dressed as Sandy. That would be the only way he’d look even remotely as ridiculous as I did.

But when I opened my door to Paul, my heart stopped.

Kenickie Murdock was standing in front of me. Complete with cigarette behind the ear. Paul was dressed in blue jeans and sky-blue T-shirt, just like Kenickie. His wig was the same as mine but brown instead of black. He wore a pair of aviators, chewed gum, and had slung his leather jacket over one shoulder.

I was going to come on the spot.

He snapped his gum. “Hey, baby, you wanna hickey from Kenickie?”

“Ungh.”

Paul chuckled. “I see words have fled your company again. Come here, I need to kiss you.”

I put my hand on his chest, stopping his advance. “Uh uh. If you touch me I’ll come in my pants.”

Paul laughed so loud, Dave ran off down the hallway. “Okay, I’ll try not to touch you. C’mon, I want to get there early.”

“There? You actually want to go out looking like this?”

“Don’t worry, we’ll blend right in.”

AND BLEND in we did. Paul took me back to the same theater from last week’s Grease performance but this time we didn’t have to sit down if we didn’t want to. It was a dance party. There were Sandys and Rizzos, Frenchys, Doodies and Sonnys everywhere. I spotted the odd Eugene and even a few Teen Angels. The same performance was on stage, but we were encouraged to dance in the aisles and sing our hearts out. Some of the actors on stage laughed at the antics of the audience, and I’d never been so exhausted in my life. I didn’t sit down once, and my feet were killing me in the costume shoes. But it was so worth it. Paul danced and sang with me and didn’t fall asleep once. Sometimes he appeared happy to sit and watch me carry on like a man possessed by the spirit of Danny Zuko, a huge grin lighting his eyes.

When the shortened intermission was announced, we both gulped a load of water and rushed back to our seats, in a hurry to rejoin the fun. The performers were more relaxed during this showing, and it was evident when they screwed up their lines and laughed and improvised instead of trying to cover their mistakes.

Everyone had a blast, and there wasn’t a single person sitting down during the final song.

And I shoo-wopped with them all.

AFTER THE Grease dance-off, Paul took me home and showed me how much he missed me during that week apart. Then he showed me again the following morning.

He made me promise never to turn my phone off, and I made him promise to call me when he said he was going to call. He never missed a call and neither did I.

In the next few months, we ate lunch together most days. Sometimes work got in the way for Paul as he had meetings that he couldn’t get out of. During those meetings I’d get a text telling me how boring it was and how much he’d rather be sharing a BLT with me instead. I could picture him trying to send a text, his fingers working the buttons under the table out of sight. I asked him once if he had ever been caught. He replied,
all the fucking time. Oops, just got busted again.

We made love every weekend, sometimes all weekend. Yes, made love. Sometimes we fucked like monkeys, but there was always an underlying tenderness. We hadn’t said the words yet, but they were there, on the tip of my tongue. I wouldn’t say them yet, no matter how strongly I felt them. In my limited experience, they were the kiss of death to a budding relationship.

But our relationship wasn’t all rainbows and unicorns. Paul was hiding something. I was never invited to his apartment. All I knew was it was somewhere close to work and after being shot down for the tenth time, I quit asking about it. He said he wanted to introduce me to his family, but whenever I mentioned it, they were always busy or away on vacation. He took me to every musical showing on Broadway, and all the off-Broadway shows, too. Even some that were off-off-Broadway. And every time, he slept through the majority of the performance, only to wake and clap enthusiastically when it was over, looking like he enjoyed every minute of it. On the way back to my apartment, he would talk about the show and the actors like he’d been paying attention the entire time, or had studied the program for a thesis topic.

He picked me up one Saturday evening and because it was a nice night we walked to the theater. “Are you tired?” I asked as we walked the streets.

“No, babe, I’m wide awake.”

I wondered if tonight’s performance of
Cats,
and the fresh air, would be enough to keep him awake. It wasn’t. Fifteen minutes into the second act, he was out like a light.

I wondered if he was married with kids and I was his bit on the side. It would explain his secrecy. I imagined living a double life would be tiring. Could I be happy being second to his family? Would he ever leave her for me? And what about the kids? My squirrel brain went into overdrive. What if he was with me because I was just a pathetic, average-looking loser who wouldn’t turn him down, even when I found out his secret? Was I his sure bet? He knew I wouldn’t make a fuss when it came time to end our relationship—I’d been expecting it to end from the beginning.