What is he thinking?
Finally, I said, Screw it. I darted across the street and rang the buzzer to his apartment.
He answered quickly. “Who is it?”
“It’s Grace.” My nerves were terrorizing my stomach.
“Come up.”
When the elevator doors opened, he was standing there, waiting. I looked down at his bare feet and up to his black jeans, his belt and white T-shirt, up farther to his mouth, his neck, his long, yummy hair, tied back. I shivered. “Hello.” I held the paper bag out to him and he took it.
He pulled the bottle from the bag, laughed, and then looked up at me with a wry smile, “Thank you, Grace. I’ve never been given an almost completely empty bottle of wine before.”
My face was expressionless. “It’s really good. I saved you a glass.”
He looked at me carefully, probably to gauge my level of inebriation. “Where’s Ash tonight?”
“With Tati. Oh shoot, I need to find out when they’ll be home.”
He removed his cell phone from his back pocket and handed it to me. I dialed Tati’s number. The movie was probably over by now, and I didn’t want Ash to come home to an empty house.
“Hello?” Her voice sounded strange, and then I realized that she wouldn’t recognize the number.
“Tati, it’s me. Where are you?”
“We’re getting ice cream. Everything okay? Whose number is this?”
“It’s Matt’s.”
Without responding, I heard Tati pull the phone away from her ear and say to Ash, “Hey let’s rent movies and get a bunch of junk food and hang out at my house? Your mom says it’s okay.”
“Okay,” I heard Ash say.
Tati came back on and whispered, “You’re covered. See you in the morning.”
I hit end and handed the phone back to Matt. “What did she say?”
“They’re fine. Ash is staying over at Tati’s tonight.”
“Is Tati a good influence?” he asked, looking at me sideways.
“We’re not twenty-one anymore, Matt; she doesn’t sit around smoking pot all day. She’s a world-class musician and an independent, educated woman. What do you think?”
“Yeah, you’re right,” he conceded immediately. I felt guilty for a second, realizing he was just trying to do what he thought dads should do. “So, to what do I owe this visit?”
Things were not going as I planned. “I don’t know . . . I just need . . .”
“What?” He set the bottle down and moved toward me. “What do you need?” I couldn’t tell yet if he was seductive or annoyed or both.
When he stepped closer, I could feel his warmth and smell the cardamom-and-sandalwood scent of his body wash. “Did you just shower?”
He blinked. “Why?” He wasn’t budging, wasn’t giving me any clues with his body language as to how he felt about me, but I thought I could still detect a quiet anger or resentment beneath the surface.
And I was just drunk enough to call him on it.
“Who are you angry with, Matt?”
He didn’t hesitate. “You. Elizabeth. Dan . . . Myself.”
“Why on earth would you be angry at Dan?”
His voice was restrained. “I’m jealous of him.” He looked into my eyes. “He got everything I wanted. He got what was mine.”
“But it wasn’t his fault. I’ve accepted that, and you should, too.”
He moved a fraction of an inch closer and looked farther into my eyes. “Maybe. How much wine have you had?”
“I feel sober.”
“You want me to walk you home?”
“That’s not why I stopped here.”
“What do you need, Grace?”
I leaned up on my toes and kissed him. The kiss felt fragile at first, like we would break into a million pieces if we went too fast, too hard. But it only took seconds before we were removing each other’s clothes, our hands in each other’s hair.
We collapsed onto the bed naked, kissing and tugging at each other. When he sat up, I crawled into his lap and guided him inside of me. He moaned from his chest and gripped my waist, my back arching involuntarily, my breasts rising up to meet his mouth. “So beautiful,” he whispered between kissing and sucking and twirling his tongue around my nipple. He was patient but urgent, and he somehow knew where to put his hands, where I needed pressure, where I needed to be kissed.
He had ruined me for all other men. He was ruining me now.
He turned me around on my hands and knees, yanked my hips toward his body, and thrust into me. I felt like he was taking his anger out on me, but for some reason I wanted him to.
“Am I hurting you?”
“No. Don’t stop.”
I wanted to feel it. I wanted to feel like he was sending all the bad stuff far away.