“What if she tells someone?” Hannah plucked at my sleeve. “About Seth and Chrissy. I don’t know who would listen, but … tabloids? Gossip blogs?”
I shook my head briskly, mostly to allay my own anxiety. “No audience for that shit.”
“There’s an audience for every sort of shit, Matt. He’s the lead singer of a pretty major band. You’re … you. And Chrissy and I are sisters. Someone would find that luridly interesting.”
“I told you I paid Bethany a visit. I promised her that if she takes another step in your direction, I will solicit Shapiro’s assistance in finding some grounds to sue her out of every penny she’s got. You know legal threats are very … compelling.”
Hannah frowned. I couldn’t set her at ease, much less myself, and any pity I’d felt for Bethany began to crystallize into hate.
Our entrees arrived. We picked at the artistically arranged dishes, barely denting our small portions. Hannah drank a second glass of wine.
“We want to see the dessert menu,” I snapped at our waiter. He scurried away and returned with it. I barely read the page. “She’ll have the stout float. Nothing for me.”
“Hey. You’re too tense.” She massaged my hands.
With two glasses of good wine in me, I might not be so fucking tense.
I winced at the thought.
“I wanted us to have a nice time,” I said. “I thought I had control of the Bethany situation. But now, with her knowing about Chrissy…”
“Now you don’t have control.”
“Well put,” I muttered.
“But you have me. And nothing Bethany does can drive us apart, especially now that we know her game. So let’s have a good time.”
Hannah tackled the float valiantly. Chin in palm, I watched her, deep within my dark mood, but after a while I shifted my chair closer to hers. I spooned mascarpone into her mouth. Brandy syrup drizzled down her chin. She licked it away and I kissed her. So sweet, those lips, and the way her mouth worked against mine.
Because we were alone, I gripped her thigh and dragged it over my lap.
Her short dress rode up. Her leg brushed my cock.
We laughed and let go of one another.
“Even I wouldn’t try that here,” I said, “with our poor waiter hovering somewhere.”
“Hovering in terror.”
“What?” I licked a daub of cream from her cupid’s bow. We got tangled up again, kissing and snickering.
“You were so mean to him!” She shook with giggles. Her brows drew down in mock severity. “‘We want’”—laughter bubbled out of her, her faux male voice trembling—“‘we want to see the dessert menu! Now! Where is her fucking float?’”
“Ha!” I leaned back and admired Hannah’s amusement—the way it lit her face.
“You know, I’m surprised the prospect of a one-man audience disturbs you.” She stroked her chin. “I read something somewhere about exhibitionism…”
“Not now.” I glowered at her.
“Oh, I know. I haven’t actually agreed yet.”
“Yet?”
She shrugged and sipped her float. Pretty, mischievous Hannah … I smiled at her.
“You don’t have to agree,” I said. “You know, I’ve never done that with anyone.”
She glanced at me quickly. “No?”
“No. It’s something I want … wanted to try, that’s all.” I narrowed my eyes. “With you.”
The image, the idea of exposing Hannah—and enjoying her in front of others—blinked into my mind. I breathed out slowly. Fuck …
“Let’s go,” she whispered in my ear. “It’s too warm in here. I’m tipsy.”
I left our waiter an exorbitant tip. Hannah approved. We held hands and strolled around Denver, both of us a little drunk. I told her about Marion, the realtor Pam recommended.
“We spoke on the phone. She seems very capable. I gave her our price range and she’ll send us some listings before the weekend.”
“What’s our price range?” Hannah smirked. “One million to—”
“I said two-fifty and up.”
“Two hundred and fifty … thousand?”
“Mm. The price of your average suburban shanty. Happy?”