“There’s a trick to it,” I said, as I gave a sharp smack with my palm against the lower right-hand corner, then slid it up with ease.
The beautiful man in my bedroom nodded his head at me, impressed.
I felt that familiar stirring in my heart, while my brain chastised me for giving such a damn. I never knew why it always meant so much to win his approval. Even for the smallest of things.
He stuck his head outside and looked up, asking, “Hey. Can we go up there?”
“To the roof? Yeah. I do it all the time.”
His head reappeared, the most adorable smile on his face, like a kid who’d just found a hidden stash of candy. “Ya wanna?”
I couldn’t help but smile back.
Chapter 19
PICKING UP THE PIECES
I sashayed into the kitchen, grabbed a couple glasses and an opened bottle of wine from my fridge, then met Trip back in my bedroom. Jesus. He was just sitting there, waiting for me, on my bed.
He stood, took the stuff from my hands, and offered, “Ladies first.”
The “yeah, okay” look I shot him was rewarded with a flash of his white teeth. “What?”
It was so like him. He was still such a boy, trying to arrange a peek up my skirt. “Trip. I’m wearing a dress, for godsakes. I’m quite sure that hasn’t escaped your notice.”
“Well, then, take it off.”
I punched his arm, causing him to bobble the glassware in his grasp as I said, “I am not going first. And the dress is staying on. Go.”
He laughed his ass off as he ducked out to the landing and negotiated the rusty stairwell up to the roof of my building. Pretty impressive that he was able to climb a rickety staircase while holding all that stuff in his good hand, with only his bad arm to steady himself against the railing.
“Hey, easy on that fire escape there, Mr. I-Do-My-Own-Stunts,” I called up to him, climbing out the window as well, almost knocking one of my dead plants off the ledge as I followed suit. “We don’t want you to fall and break your other arm.”
I loved the roof of my building for sunbathing, but at night, the spot took on a magical glow from the neon of the surrounding restaurants and bars. Years ago, someone had strung white Christmas lights around the perimeter of the low brick wall and woven them through the two potted trees in the corners. Between them sat a wooden double chaise, and it was there that Trip had set up shop, sitting on the edge as he poured us our wine.
Despite the mild evening, a chill ran along my skin as I flashed back to that magical summer of ‘91, when I recalled exactly how much better white wine tasted when licked from Trip’s back…
…and that’s why my fingers were shaking as I accepted the glass from his outstretched hand.
I took a sip, leaned against the low wall, and assessed the situation: I was sharing a glass of wine on the roof of my apartment building with, quite possibly, the hottest man this world has ever seen. That same man was lounging out on the double chaise, without a care to be had, as if there were no other place on Earth he’d rather be.
I knew the feeling.
He tipped his head up to the sky, patted the space next to him, and said, “Lay. My God. Will you look at this night? Come sit here with me and watch the stars.”
I’d lived in the city for close to a decade, and I knew damn well how near-impossible it was to see any stars at night. There was the briefest hesitation as I stood there considering the implications of accepting such a contrived invitation. Dangerous? Yes. Stupid? Probably. But I did it anyway.
I balanced my glass on the pebbly tar under the seat and stretched out next to Trip, adjusting my side of the lounger to recline, my arms crossed against my chest to avoid any inadvertent elbow kisses. I was looking up, registering the beautiful night and feeling the slight breeze blowing across my skin. So I felt, rather than saw, Trip turn his head to face me. The sound of his voice at my ear caused me to practically melt through the slats of the chaise. “Hey. Do you remember that day you left for school? The day after The Tent?”
Holy Jesus, he used the T word.
Do I remember? How could I forget? It was mere hours after the night—the only night—he and I had ever slept together.
This was perilous territory, but I answered anyway. “Yes, of course.”
Out of the corner of my eye I caught him swiping a hand through his hair. The move was so familiar, so very Trip, that the small gesture actually caused a physical pain deep within my heart. I didn’t want it to, but it did.