I’ll bet.
I made myself meet his eyes, despite the obvious peril, and saw the panty-dropping smirk he was aiming full-force at me. I tried to convince myself we weren’t actually doing anything wrong even though said panties had pretty much melted clean off my body and disintegrated into thin air.
“So, you’re frustrated?” I asked.
“Very.”
He continued devouring me with his lazy grin, his sensual tone, and his smoldering blue eyes. Obviously, he was unsatisfied about more than just a decent movie role.
“Yeah. Me too.”
Our eyes locked, each of us burning for the other, wanting so badly to bridge the gap, but waiting for the other one to make the first move. I could have had him right then, could have crooked my finger in his direction or taken half a step toward his beautifully obliging form and had him respond accordingly. And had I received any sort of invitation from him, I would have done the same.
But neither one of us took that chance.
Fact was, we were both promised to other people. No matter how much I thought the underwear model was wrong for him, no matter how peeved I was at Devin at that moment, no matter how much history Trip and I had between us... we both knew damn well the difference between right and wrong.
Sharing some memories? Fine. Flirting just a little? No problem. I’d already written off our kiss at the hotel as an involuntary reaction. A habit. Like smoking. A sense-memory long forgotten, brought back to the surface once we found ourselves in the same room together after so many years. Cigs were made to be sucked into my lungs; Trip’s mouth was made to suck my lips.
Both were equally as dangerous to my heart.
After the hotel, we’d just needed a few extra days to break out of the pattern, and now we were simply testing the limits of our resistance, pushing ourselves to see just how far we could bend without breaking. It wasn’t easy, but we both knew that going out of our way to wind up back in each other’s arms would be taking things too far. Feeding the addiction.
Because this time it would be intentional.
I dropped the cigarette to the sidewalk and smothered it with my shoe. Trip threw his in the street, and then I hailed a cab.
Chapter 18
FINAL DESTINATION
Trip had insisted that he escort me home, even though the TRU was right down the street from the diner. He wouldn’t take no for an answer, explaining that he only had a couple more nights in town and wanted to spend some of that limited time with me. On the ride back to my apartment, we’d gotten caught up in a conversation about his family, so we sent the cab driver on his way and stood out on the sidewalk to continue talking. I wasn’t surprised to find that his mother still lived in that great big mansion up in Norman Hills. I was surprised to find that most of her time was being consumed with the task of caring for her sick husband.
Apparently, Terrence Chester Wilmington II had spent the better part of the past decade in and out of the hospital, dealing with a slew of medical problems due to all that heavy drinking over the years.
Trip tried to impart the news to me casually, but I’m sure it had to be tearing him up inside. I knew all too well how difficult it was to love someone who’d made your life so hard. Believe me, with a mother like mine, I knew.
Sometimes, you get to thinking that it would be easier for everyone if that someone was just gone—poof!—vanished from the Earth, so you could just go on with your life, perfectly fine without them. Out of sight, out of mind. But it doesn’t work as cleanly as that. Because then comes the guilt of even thinking such a thing about someone whom you’re supposed to love. And then you get angry all over again that they can’t seem to find it in themselves to love you unconditionally back.
When do you quit wishing for things to be different? Months? Years? Decades? You think that if a sufficient amount of time goes by, it should be enough to help you stop caring anymore. But it doesn’t. Ever.
I changed the subject, trying to wind things down, hating the idea of ending our evening, knowing it was well past time to do so. There was just so much catching up to do and nine years was a long time to cover within a few, stolen hours.
We considered going for a walk around Washington Square Park, but nearly abandoned parks in the middle of the night weren’t normally the safest place to be in the city, even though we knew that in all probability, the most dangerous people we’d run into would be the drunken frat boys walking home from the bars. The jazz club at the street level of my building would be too loud, we’d already been to a diner, and the coffee shop around the corner wasn’t even open yet, so I figured we’d just have to do our talking right there on the sidewalk in front of my apartment.