Here in Austin, most bars are raucous places meant to serve either the live-music scene, the crowds of college students with fake IDs, or both. This hotel bar, however, is more sophisticated, more low-key. Instead of the usual blaring alt-rock, R&B music plays softly from hidden speakers around the room. Pale leather couches and chairs cluster in various nooks to encourage conversation and create privacy. The other people here are mostly adults, and nearly as many people hold coffee cups as wineglasses.
I hesitate before I order my own drink. It feels important to keep my head—but I’m already nervous. Caffeine would tip me over the brink. Pinot noir it is.
The couch tucked in the farthest, most intimate area of the bar is available, so I claim it. I came here early on purpose, so I’d have a few moments to collect myself before Jonah arrives. Now I’m wishing I hadn’t. While I sit here, I have nothing to do but freak myself out.
It’s not too late to walk out of here. E-mail Jonah, tell him you can’t make it, go out to your car and drive the hell away while you still can.
I don’t move.
By now I’m used to the second-guessing. I’ve been doing that ever since I sent that e-mail to Jonah two days ago. His reply was simply this address, this day, this time—and the line, “Just to talk.” At first I found that maddening. He couldn’t express surprise, enthusiasm, doubt, anything? Not one question, not one detail, about what he’s thinking? Then I realized this conversation is one that has to happen in person. We have to be completely clear about this, in every detail. Otherwise everything could go terribly wrong.
Is it even possible for something this screwed up to go well? I doubt it. Maybe I’ll regret this. The dangers are very real, and I haven’t lost sight of any of them. This fantasy that dominates me—it’s sick, and it’s twisted, but it’s not going away. Fighting it hasn’t done any good. So I’m giving in. Surrendering.
I take a deep drink of my wine? close my eyes, and take a deep breath, willing myself to be calm. It works until I open my eyes again and see Jonah.
He walks straight toward me as if he’d known where I would be sitting before he even came through the door. Like me, Jonah dressed to fit in at this upscale place—charcoal gray slacks cut perfectly to accentuate the taper of his waist, and a black linen shirt that drapes across his powerful body. My hand goes to the neckline of my plum-colored wrap dress. It’s not that revealing, but I feel exposed before his knowing gaze.
“I wasn’t sure you’d show,” Jonah says.
Hello to you too. If he can cut to the chase, so can I. “Nearly bolted for the door a couple of times. But here I am.”
That wins me his fierce version of a smile.
Jonah sits down beside me—but a couple of feet away, as though I were a business colleague instead of the woman he wants to fuck. Then again, this isn’t foreplay. Nothing’s going to happen tonight. If we’re going to go ahead, we need boundaries. Definitions. I might be crazy enough to do this, but I’m not crazy enough to do it without any rules.
“How was your day?” I say.
He gives me a look. Like he said at Carmen’s, the less we know about each other’s lives, the better. This is not a first date.
“Sorry.” I take another sip of wine, then put down the glass. If I drink a little more every time I feel on edge tonight, I’ll get plastered. “No details. No chitchat. We shouldn’t go there.”
“It’s okay. This is difficult.” He pauses a moment before adding, “Are you scared?”
Deep breath. Honest answer. “Yes and no. I believe you aren’t going to do anything without my permission. But what we’re doing feels a little like jumping off a cliff. I’ve had this fantasy since—since always, but I never thought I’d act it out with a stranger—”
At that moment, a waiter appears by our sofa. Why do bar waiters only show up when you least want them around? Offhandedly Jonah says, “Bring me whatever she’s having.”
I don’t think he’s even looked at my glass. What if I had some ridiculous tropical drink, the kind of thing served in a pineapple with pink straws and paper umbrellas? The thought of someone as serious as Jonah sipping one of those makes me smile. Finally I’m able to relax a little—but not much.
As soon as the waiter hurries off, Jonah turns to me. “What would it take to make you feel safe?”
I like that he asked this. But how do I answer?
Cut to the chase, I remind myself. Jonah’s blunt honesty is the only way to go. “I’d need you to wear condoms. Unless you want to show me your medical records.”
Jonah nods. “I can get those for you. Can you show me test results too?”
It hadn’t even occurred to me that Jonah also might be concerned about that. “Um. Yeah, sure.”
“No rush,” he says. “I don’t mind wearing a condom at first. Makes it last longer.”
My cheeks flush as I envision Jonah inside me, pounding me, going on and on and on without mercy—
Jonah must know what I’m thinking, because he tilts his head as if he’s relishing the effect he has on me. He murmurs, “What else?”
Another sip of wine steadies me enough to answer. “I wouldn’t want you to tie me up. Not the first time, anyway.”