CHAPTER ELEVEN
"Oh, don’t be silly. It was my pleasure," Genevieve was saying. I was pretty sure it wasn’t my imagination - there was something meaningful about the way the word "pleasure" rolled off her tongue.
She smiled at Daniel, and he smiled back.
When he’d suggested taking her out to dinner, as a "gesture," he’d said it in a tone of voice that suggested the decision was already made. So I’d just nodded and smiled, thinly. Gen was able to suggest a restaurant where she absolutely guaranteed no one would bother us, and so far, it was living up to her promise. But once I’d managed to stop looking over my shoulder, I realized the scenes that were playing out directly in front of me were a lot worse.
Gen wasn’t nearly as blatant as the pretty young things that all the papers had been sending during Daniel’s heyday, before everything fell apart. But there was simply no mistaking the way she looked at him, letting her eyes linger a little too long. The way she’d touch her lips, lightly, like she was imagining his fingers on them. She’d cross and uncross her legs, incessantly playing with her necklace, ducking her eyes down and then back up again every time he spoke to her.
On a certain level, as one human being to another, I couldn’t blame her for being attracted to him. And really, she wasn’t doing anything too untoward. What was wrong with a little harmless flirting?
On a certain other level, I wanted to throw her through the plate-glass window.
I forced myself to take few deep breaths, and tried to focus in on what they were saying.
"…and by that time, I didn’t even want it anymore. So I ended up at Brandeis instead, which, you know - it was fine. It was a great experience, and looking back I can’t imagine doing anything different, even if it wasn’t what I thought I wanted at the time." Gen took a sip of her wine and glanced at me briefly, before looking back to Daniel.
"Isn’t it funny," he said, "how things always work out like that?"
"Not always," I said, quietly, but neither one of them had anything to say to that.
Before the entrees came, I actually tried to involve myself in the conversation. And they weren’t - excluding me, exactly, it was just that neither one of them looked at me very often, or responded directly to something I’d said. Mostly, it seemed like I was just talking to myself. So I finally gave up. I focused on my meal when it came, refusing to let myself get upset that the two of them seemed about ready to crawl under the table. After all, we were all responsible adults here. It wasn’t like anything was going to actually…happen.
Because if it started to, I’d stab her with my fork.
I had to snicker at the thought, covering my mouth with my napkin. As if anyone was going to notice.
"What’s so funny?" said Daniel, as if on cue, looking at me for the first time in about twenty minutes.
"Nothing," I said, because that seemed like a better answer than oh, just trying to figure out if you’d be horrified or aroused if me and Gen got into a massive, nail-breaking, hair-pulling fight over you across the table.
Gen glanced at me briefly, then went back to her salad.
I fumed. There was a tiny rational corner of my brain that told me I might just be imagining things, or at least exaggerating them. And even if I wasn’t, so what? Daniel wasn’t really the type to pursue a torrid affair as a married man. At least…I didn’t think so.
But it was that sort of deep-seated, irrational jealousy that’s not necessarily the product of anything you might call "real." I knew nothing was going to happen between them, and I knew most of Gen’s reactions to him were probably subconscious. She wanted him. Who could blame her? But she wasn’t going to get him.
He was mine.
The thought hit me like a ton of bricks, and it left me feeling lightheaded and tingly, in a way that I was pretty sure had nothing to do with the wine I’d been drinking all night. This man, as utterly infuriating and downright heartbreaking as he could be sometimes - was…all mine. Nobody else’s. Nobody else had the right to touch him like I could, or crawl into bed with him at night, or see him the way I saw him. In spite of how well he might close himself off, and in spite of how distant he could be sometimes, I was still privy to a version of Daniel Thorne that no one else got to see.
No one else could watch his face transform when he lost control - his pupils blown wide open, almost swallowing the irises in blackness - his lips parted - the way he’d almost bare his teeth, the little noises - and then afterwards, the smile. The way his whole body would sag, relaxed. That little performance was a privilege that I, and I alone, could enjoy.
I licked my lips, letting my eyes dart from him to her and back to him again. No matter how badly she wanted to see him like that, she never would. And I could see it anytime I wanted. I could see it tonight.
Or now.
I was struck with a wicked idea.
"Excuse me," I said, sweetly, standing up and walking away from the table, briskly. I went down the little hallway that obviously led to the bathrooms, cursing inwardly when I saw that there were no single rooms with locking doors, only a multi-person affair that anyone could walk in or out of, at any time.
This was a fancy restaurant. I had a feeling they wouldn’t take kindly to this sort of thing.
It was in that moment that I almost lost my nerve. But my body was already thrumming and I knew there was no turning back at this point. I stood in the hallway for a second, considering. Despite my eagerness, I’d never actually done this before. I’d never really thought about it in enough detail to figure out the logistics. A man in the women’s bathroom would certainly be more scandalous than a woman in the mens’ bathroom - well, that decided it.
I pushed the door to the mens’ bathroom open, slowly. Peering inside, I quickly scanned the empty-seeming room to make sure we we really would be alone.
For now, at least.
Oh, God - why did that thought send a not-unpleasant shudder through me?
I stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind me. It was pristine - I expected nothing less from a place like this. But still, it was nice to know. I hurried into one of the stalls, shut and locked the door, and briefly considered crouching on the toilet so nobody would notice the obvious women’s feet sticking up under the stall. But couldn’t quite bring myself to act like a fugitive.
I pulled my phone out of my purse and began hastily composing a text message.
I stood in silence for a while, the sound of my own breaths echoing harshly in the room. I took a moment to smooth my hair and blot a little more lipstick on. As if he’d notice. As if he’d care, at a time like this.
The door swung open.
My heart stopped for a split second, and then started beating again like it was trying to escape from my ribcage. I stood stock-still, praying that it was Daniel - praying that if it wasn’t, he’d have the good grace to leave well enough alone.
The footsteps came closer and closer, finally stopping directly in front of the door.
"Maddy," he said, softly.
I threw the lock back and pulled the door open, and he stepped in, quickly, re-locking it behind him without missing a beat.
He was on me, kissing me wildly, before I even knew what had happened. I was of course hoping he’d react well to my proposition, but this was even better than what I’d imagined. I could feel him pressing against my leg, stiff and hot already.
"You…" he whispered, his hands all over me, pressing me up against the wall. He was hurriedly untucking my blouse from my skirt, his fingers fumbling with the delicate little buttons. I didn’t know what he planned to do, exactly - I wasn’t quite so lost in a fit of passion that I wouldn’t object to my favorite blouse being slung over a bathroom stall door. But apparently, he just wanted to open it enough to see me and touch me a little better. He stopped halfway down, reaching up and roughly pushing my bra up over my br**sts.
"I…what?" I breathed, tilting my head back so he could press his lips against my neck. When he nipped me with his teeth, I squealed, but it wasn’t hard enough to leave a mark. Not this time. By the time we got back to the table, no matter what excuse he’d used to slip away, it would be abundantly clear what we’d been doing - hickey or no hickey. There was no use rubbing it in.
Besides, I didn’t particularly want to be banned from this restaurant for life.
"We won’t get in trouble," he rumbled, his mouth against my collarbone, like he knew exactly what I was thinking. "I could buy and sell this place."
I normally hated it when he said things like that, but for some reason, now, in this moment, it was the hottest thing I’d ever heard in my life. Even so, I felt I had to at least put on a show of protest.
"Shut up," I said, planting my hands on his chest and shoving back at him. He didn’t budge an inch; his face registered surprise for a moment, and then he smiled, wickedly.
"Really?" His hand slid behind my head, grasping a handful of hair. I hissed. "Is that really what you want? For me to shut up?"
I didn’t answer. "What if somebody walks in?"
His mouth twitched. "Ms. Wainwright, this was your idea. Surely you’re not getting cold feet now."
"I’m not," I insisted. "I just think we should have…a plan."
"Here’s the plan," he said. Then, he closed his hand around the very top of my throat, where it met my chin - not hard, not nearly enough to be uncomfortable, but just enough to hold me in place. And then he kissed me.
I made a soft noise against his mouth, but he swallowed most of it. I wondered how thin these walls were. The restaurant wasn’t particularly quiet, but it wasn’t necessarily loud enough to drown out everything.
Then again, with every passing moment, I was caring less and less.
He was shoving his knee between my thighs, the way he knew I liked - forcing my stance wider and wider. In my high heels, I had too little traction to try and fight it. My feet slid apart, exactly as far as he wanted.
I moaned into him, gripping his arms for balance. His muscles flexed under my hands as he grabbed me hard around the waist, breaking off our kiss long enough to nuzzle at my face, then slide over and gently nibble at my ear. I shivered and gripped him harder, feeling like I might actually lose my balance.
The skin around my mouth was tingling from his stubble rubbing against it. I exhaled harshly. He hesitated for a moment, pulling back and looking at me with concern.
"I’m fine," I reassured him, smiling a little. "I swear. I’m breathing and everything."
He grinned, and his hands slowly slid up under the hem of my skirt. The pads of his fingers left a burning trail on my bare thighs; I was suddenly very, very grateful that I hadn’t worn pantyhose. I hated them anyway, though I knew I was "supposed" to wear them with certain outfits - and Daniel certainly never complained.
And at that exact moment, I heard the door swing open.
We both froze.
His fingers were inches from the hems of my panties. His eyes followed the sound of the footsteps, all the way across the marble tile, to the urinals. I knew there was a very small chance that our unexpected visitor would even turn to see to the two pairs of feet under the stall. And even if he did, he might choose to ignore it. But in defiance of all logic, my heart was beating so fast I thought it might explode. More than anything, I wanted to take a deep breath, but I didn’t want to risk making a sound.