“I want the leaf cutter when you’re done with it.”
“I’ve got a whole three pages left to go. Here, go with the pumpkin.”
“I can’t find that little sticker set with the baby baseball cap. I’m going to surprise Adrienne next week at her shower.”
“Your sister hasn’t had that big-headed boy yet, Em?”
“Taking her bloody long enough.”
“I so don’t want kids.”
“They love you, though. Ken wanted kids, didn’t he, Yukio?”
“Number one on my list of why we didn’t work out and we’re just fuck buddies. Pass me the dip.”
“You’re not done being a kid yourself,” Emma said bluntly. She nibbled a pretzel stick over the span of time it took a normal woman to eat a foot-long stalk of celery with peanut butter.
“Ix-nay on the rug rats. I’ll leave the breeding up to you, Miss Thang.” Emma beamed, resembling a Colgate ad. She was in her element.
“Scott and I are on the same page about that. He eventually wants kids, a boy and a girl.” Yukio made a face.
“I’m not even thinking about settling down yet,” Betsy said. Her last attempt ended badly; her ex was a boy billionaire, emphasis on the “boy.” Warren blew his way through his trust fund and had a short attention span. He didn’t get the memo that the girl he dumped Bets for wore nothing but platform sandals because she could barely tie her shoes. He needed to “spread his wings.” Betsy was more practical, and she needed someone more grounded who could appreciate her sharp style and quick wit.
Emma’s living room hosted a full house. Ororo came if only to see faces that she hadn’t in ages.
“That’s really cute,” Cecilia cut in, nodding to a border of rose-printed paper she’d scalloped and applied to her page.
“No-brainer Mother’s Day gift for Gram Munroe.”
“Definitely a grandma gift.”
These parties made gift-giving less complicated. Cookie Lee. Party Lite. Pampered Chef. ABC. Tupperware. Mary Kay. The rule of thumb? Bring a friend, buy one or two of the cheap items, and take a catalog on your way out.
Ali set down her tape cartridge and leaned back, folding her arms.
“All right, missy. Tell us about this new man.”
Every eye in the room swung to Ororo. Cecilia grinned with delight and socked her. Ororo cringed, then blushed.
“C’mon, woman, ‘fess up!”
“There’s nothing to tell-“
“Which means there’s plenty to tell.” Ali plowed a Wheat Thin through the dish of hummus.
“Yukio said he has money,” Kitty piped up.
“No, Newsweek says he has money,” Betsy corrected her. “Our Ororo had a date with Jonathan Silvercloud.”
“Forge?” Kitty squeaked. She fanned herself. “Oh. My gosh. He’s just…I love him. I love hearing magazines quote him. And he’s gorgeous.” Kitty had a thing for tech geeks. Kitty Pryde was a tech geek.
“For the record, she had two days with him,” Emma added smugly. “Therefore, it’s high time you brought him out to meet us.” Ororo was aghast.
“Oh, no. No, no, no. Too soon.”
“You’ll jinx it if it’s too soon,” Yukio chimed in.
“Sez who?” Kitty argued.
“It’s one of the rules. A big, fat, ugly, important rule. Don’t bring your new man to meet your friends, family of coworkers til you’re one hundred percent, absolutely sure you even want him to be your man.”
“When is that?” Ali asked.
“Could be a couple of months,” Cecilia mused.
“I refuse to wait that long. I’ll throw another dinner party, couples only. Then he’ll have to come.”
“Bitch,” Yukio muttered under her breath. Yukio’s non-couple status nonwithstanding, Emma was shallower than the kiddie pool at Water Works Park.
“Might not even have to wait that long. Fifth date. You’ll know by then if he’s worth your time, or if you’re worth his.”
“How do you figure?” Kitty had fallen for Piotr Rasputin, a burly artist, at first sight. She’d collided with him while glued to her Blackberry and wasn’t watching as she slipped on a slick of wet leaves. He’d caught her, so how couldn’t she fall for him?
“The first date’s a fumbling mess. Small talk and nerves. You don’t remember tasting dinner or what the movie was about. You practically give yourself an anxiety attack wondering if you should kiss them goodnight. So on the second date, if you made a good impression on them, you beat yourself to death trying to make yourself exemplify those tings he said he liked about you on the first night out. If he said you have killer legs, you wear a skirt about up to here.”
“Or you wear the same pair of hot red pumps because he said they were sexy…once,” Ali sniffed.
“Sheesh,” Yukio muttered.
“You get my point. By the third and fourth dates, things are going well enough that you feel your façade crack a little. You can laugh a little louder at his jokes and stop worrying about which shade of lipstick he likes best. By the fifth date, if you like him, and mean ‘like him,’ he’ll be kissing it off you.” Betsy finished with a flourish. “Fifth date.”
“Or, things could suck so badly on the first date you just throw your purse in the closet, put on ugly PJ’s, and eat your weight in Chips Ahoy,” Ali concluded.
“I still want you to bring him over.” Emma pouted. “Logan was nice, but it’s time to bring in some new blood.”
“Some rich blood,” Yukio sing-songed. Ororo snorted.
“But he’s nice, and smart,” Betsy said.
“Logan was smart,” Ororo hedged.
“Earth to Ororo? Hello? The point of dating the new guy is to help forget the old.”
“You never forget the old,” Betsy told Ali. “Unfortunately…”
“Intelligence is useless if it doesn’t make you any money. I’d rather be rich and stupid.” Ali nodded to the glass cocktail dish of sweets. “Pass me a bon-bon.”
“No such thing. ‘A fool and his money are soon parted.’”
“A fool and his money are paying for his trophy girlfriend’s boobs.”
“Aw, Bets…”
The party was in full swing for another two hours. Ororo gently folded the thick album shut once her fingertips ached from pressing photos into place and cutting out Sizzix shapes. She stayed behind with Betsy and helped clear empty snack bowls and scrap paper from the table.
“This was fun,” Emma decided thoughtfully.
“I suck at scrapbooking,” Yukio admitted from the corner as she perused Emma’s stack of magazines.
“So why come?” Ororo pressed, raising a brow.
“To shoot the shit.”
“Mission accomplished.”
“C’mon, you know you enjoyed talking about him.”
“I guess.” She was wistful.
“I’m having other parties. We need to find you a nice hobby,” Emma insisted. “Might be a nice distraction.”
“Sure. So I’ll burn my fingers on a glue gun and get ink all over myself stamping cards when I can’t get a booty call. It’s so…girly.”
“Hey, don’t make Emma have to slap a bitch,” Ororo warned. “She might have to get all arts and crafts on your ass. She’s holding that paper cutter like she means it.” Ororo took the edge off her words by air-kissing her cheek. “I’m gonna bale.”
“Think about what I said, Ororo.”
“Okay. Fine.”
Emma watched Ororo from her kitchen window as she climbed into her little car.
“In one ear, and out the other,” she muttered as she nibbled another pretzel.
*
Emma was as good as her word. There was another save-the-date postcard in her mailbox two days later, this time on orange stock. Halloween was around the corner.
In the meantime, Ororo’s emotions toyed with her. Her phone’s digital display still featured a brightly lit red “1” in the message box. It was killing her.
One message in five days. Not that she was counting, or anything.
She’d be well within her rights to ignore it completely. Logan was the one who said he needed time and space. Right?
Right? Right.
Ororo sighed. She busied herself with tidying her apartment, but her eyes darted back to the answering machine every time she came back into the room. Why not just hit delete?
Obviously? Because it was his voice. He was looking for her. He was thinking about her. It silenced the nagging questions in her head that left her aching ever since she cried her way back to her car. She cringed at the memory of it. One more to add to the towering pile of never agains.
He left it open. She could call him, or she could let it go.
Let him go.
In the meantime, Ororo got email from Forge every day. Or texts to her phone; sometimes, he would sneak one in when he was in a meeting. The gesture was mischievous, in a little way. It suited him.
It was nice not to have to guess. He might as well have walked around with “I like you, Ororo Munroe” stamped across his forehead.
But in the meantime, he was just as busy as Logan. Their dinner date was set for Friday. Pay day. Ororo’s lunch out of the office had Nordstrom’s written all over it.
She didn’t just need to get back into the saddle. Ororo needed to feel confident. She wanted to feel pretty. She didn’t want to wallow in polite humility or fish for compliments by being self-deprecating. When she saw Forge again, she wanted to hit him with both barrels.
But…
Ororo set aside her small rolodex card with her stylist’s number on it and contemplated the answering machine again. A bitter kernel of an idea took root inside her.
She needed closure, and what better closure than to not just find a new man, but to show the old one that she wasn’t dying without him?
The battle within her was quickly won.
Her fingers didn’t forget his phone number. She opted for his cell. Ororo’s stomach did a little flip as she waited for the ring.
Two. Three. Four-
“This is Logan.” He sounded out of breath, and for a moment, she remembered other activities between them that left him out of breath. Darn it.
His voice still sounded deep and sexy, with that lazy, just rolled out of bed hoarseness.
But somehow, she didn’t hurt as much as she thought she would.
“H’lo?” he attempted, slightly impatient. Ororo broke out of her trance.
“Hi. Hey.”
“Oh…’Ro. Hey. I, uh, wondered what was goin’ on with ya, lately. How ya been?”
“Um. Good.” She knew she sounded like a moron, like she was reaching. Her heart was still beating too fast, and she felt a clammy flush.
Then her pride kicked in. Don’t be a wussy, Munroe…
“How’s life treating you?”
“Not bad, darlin’, not bad. Just…busy. Real busy. You know the deal.” She cleared her throat.
“Yeah. I do. Work. And I went to a party at Emma’s.”
“Oh, yeah? Sounds great, darlin’. She can throw a decent one, I’ll give her that.” He sounded a little less uneasy. She almost had mercy on him.
Almost…
“It was a girly party.”
“Strippers?”
“No!” The resulting laughter from them both loosened her up, and she remembered her purpose.
“No,” she repeated.
“Ya sorry it wasn’t?”
“Well, duh…” She heard the smile in his voice.
Again, he made her crave. She had a flash of his hard body, hot and supple against hers with low music playing in the background while they made love. The pause between them made her think he remembered it, too.
“So, um, ‘Ro…”
“The party wasn’t the only thing on my plate these past couple of weeks.”
“No?”
“Nope.”
“Spill.”
“Well, it just so happens I had a date.”
“Date.”
“Yup.” She held her breath.
“That’s…wow. Wow.” She felt a plume of satisfaction once she blurted it out, and it swelled as she heard the apprehension in his voice. “Ya met someone?”
“I interviewed him.”
“Whoa…what does he do ta rate that? We ain’t talkin’ twenty questions, huh?”
“Not this time,” she admitted. “Cassandra sent me out to see him. Things didn’t start off that smoothly, and we ran out of time. He emailed me to rebook.”
“Why didn’t they go smoothly before? Ya know what yer doin’ when it comes ta yer job.”
“Thanks,” she murmured. “But the second meeting gave me a better impression than my first, and I guess he thought the same. He took me out to lunch.”
“That sounds nice.”
“He took me out again for dinner.” Silence.
There. She said it.
“I’m glad yer gettin’ out and about, darlin’. Ya deserve ta have a good time.”
“Yeah. It’s nice when I have a little time. You know me. Busy. No life.”
“Baloney,” he almost snapped. “Ya’ve got a pretty nice life, the kind most people would die for, and…” Logan let out a deep breath. “And it’s nice…for ya ta find someone ya like ta share it with.”
“Logan…” Ororo picked at her thumbnail.
“I mean it.”
“It was just a couple of dates,” she hedged. Then it occurred to her: Why was she explaining herself?
She’d called to brag. All of the sudden, it felt like she was checking in.
“Just a couple, eh? Ya like him? It might end up meanin’ a few more dates. That’s usually how it works.”
Why didn’t WE work? “Usually.”
“Well, that’s good. It’s good.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“Not like MY opinion matters.”
“It does matter.” Her voice sounded wistful.
“Ya probably don’t need me callin’ ya, then…”
“Wait…stick around. First, Logan…I returned your call because I wanted to talk to you. I LIKE talking to you. You said we could be friends. I thought I would take you up on that.” Suddenly she realized it was true.
Hearing his voice, talking with him, laughing with him, all of it didn’t hurt as much as she feared it would before.
“You called. I didn’t want to leave you hanging.”
“Yer a peach, kid,” he teased. She laughed, and it broke the ice again.
“Well, it’s true,” she whined, like a little girl.
“Yeah, yeah, likely story.”
“How’s work?” She steered the topic back into easy territory.
“It’s kickin’ my ass. But good. Lots of business right now at the shop, which I didn’t really expect with the change in season. Not all of it’s Happy Birthday bouquets, though. Got a bunch of orders for funeral arrangements. That’s what sucks about fall.”
“Wow. That’s awful.”
“Yeah. But in the meantime, I’m still working on the flip.”
“Oooo! Goody. What have you guys done on it so far?”
“Fall behind schedule,” he shrugged. “Not a surprise. But we’re still doing the demo. Took out a wall to open up the dining room to the living room. Space was originally too small.”
“Some people like it closed off, but I don’t blame you.”
“It’s airier.”
“I bet. Wish I could see it.”
“Trust me, darlin’, ya don’t.”
And so it went. Her brief call to him ended up lasting twenty minutes. It was so good to hear Logan’s voice, and Ororo felt a sense of relief that they weren’t “on the outs.”
He didn’t have to be her ex. He could be her friend.
“Logan…I just wanted to say, thanks for being honest with me. I know we were just in the wrong place together. Too much, too soon for you. I’m sorry I was such a drama queen, showing up at your place…”
“It’s okay. You weren’t. I don’t blame ya for bein’ mad at me.”
“I got loud. In front of your neighbors.”
“Darlin’, my neighbors are used ta drama, and we didn’t even register on their radar.”
“I understand now.”
“Okay. Good.”
“I’ll talk to you later.”
“Feel free.”
“Bye.”
“Bye, ‘Ro. It was good ta hear from ya.” Click. Reluctantly she hung up the receiver.
Part of her wanted to dance around the living room, pumping her fist and chanting “in your FACE!” The other side wanted to weep.
Instead, she called her stylist. She needed a trim and wanted to get her brows done.
*
“All right. Question of the day: What are you planning to wear?”
“I don’t have a clue. I hate this. Here I am, Ororo Munroe, serial shopaholic, and when it comes time to find the perfect little date outfit that doesn’t scream ‘I’m trying to hard,’ I run dry. What’s wrong with me?”
“You need chocolate,” Val replied.
“Okay,” Ororo agreed. “Besides that.”
“You’re not in the right place. Close that,” she nagged, nodding to the spreadsheet.
“I’m swamped…ugh,” she groaned. “I hate this, I hate this, I hate this.”
“You have the entire work day to fiddle with your log and your edits. We don’t have a meeting today, thank the good Lord.”
“Speaking of which, your piece on stress migraines is due tomorrow…”
“Put it on my tab,” Val said, diverting her. “C’mon. Early lunch.”
“Val-“
“Don’t ‘Val’ me. We can go early.”
“What if Cassandra breathes down my neck?”
“You have an hour to find a killer dress, shoes, and other paraphernalia. You have a man who could potentially spend obscene amounts of time and money on you, sends you flowers, and thus far sounds smitten. You have the remaining six hours to blast my article to pieces and leave it bleeding in red ink.”
“Woman has a point,” drawled a familiar male voice, thick with southern charm. Ororo spun around in her chair. Her face lit up.
“Remy!” she whooped, hopping up and clasping his shoulders. “I…have a hot date.”
“Hush yo’ mouth, chere.” I don’ recall tellin’ ya it was okay ta run around in de streets wi’ some boy ya haven’t brought out fo’ my inspection and critique.” His smile was warm and wicked. Val snorted. She felt respectful disdain for Ultimate Woman’s traveling columnist.
“Save the critique. He’s the whole package.”
“Believe it when I see ‘im.”
“I’m the one seeing him. He’s taking me out tonight.”
“Guess it’s about time, sweet pea. Gotta wash de taste of Vic outta yer mouth.”
“Already spit him out. Don’t worry.”
“That’s askin’ a lot of poor Remy,” he chided her.
He was the second person to offer her his “condolences” in the wake of kicking Vic out of her place. His pep talks helped draw her out of her funk, in the form of bringing her pizza and humoring her that she was still hot stuff, even though she was lagging around the house in beat-up sweats with no makeup and hair that resembled a tumbleweed and porcupine’s love child.
“I’m fine.”
“No,” Val corrected her. “HE’S fine.”
“Who is he?”
“Jonathan. Silvercloud.”
“Okaaaay…”
“Forge,” Val told him. “Sheesh. Show some enthusiasm and crack open a paper. Better yet, read the blueline draft of this month’s issue.” Remy’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Damn,” he muttered. “Movin’ up in de world, neh?”
“I need to find something to wear that shows that.”
“Ya’ve got plenty of clothes. Go shoppin’ in de back of yer closet, ‘Ro.”
“Philistine,” Val claimed, aghast.
“Why go through de trouble?”
“You wouldn’t understand.” And he wouldn’t. Remy fell out of bed looking perfect everyday and he was built like an Abercrombie and Fitch model. Even in his most beat-up pair of jeans that he only wore for household repairs and painting, woman still approached him first. His black eyes examined her carefully as he folded his arms and leaned back against her desk.
“De window dressing ain’t what’s important, it’s de view from inside de house, chere.”
“Letting him inside the house comes later. This is only the third date,” she informed him snugly. Val was already jacking her coat from her hook and fanning it open.”
“Go. Now.”
“Onward.”
“Don’ do too much damage at de store, petit. Still gotta eat this month,” he reminded her.
“Forge can feed her,” Val sniffed as they took off. Remy stared after them and shook his head.
Valerie turned out to be a great shopping partner, almost on par with Yukio. She told Ororo what worked and what didn’t before she even lifted a hanger off the rack.
“How about the red-“
“No.”
“This one has a nice hem…”
“Put that back.”
“What about a beige-“
“Don’t even think about it.”
The nights were getting a lot cooler already. Ororo vacillated between whether to go with slacks or her earlier desire for a dress.
Ororo grew frustrated. “It would help if I even really knew what I want.”
“You want to dazzle him.”
“Yes,” she sighed.
“You want his mouth to drop open when he opens the door, correct?”
“Yes,” she repeated with a roll of her blue eyes.
“Then you’re thinking too small. See all this over here? This is all ‘safe.’” She hooked Ororo by the elbow. “C’mon.”
“Where are we going…Oh. Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes.”
BCBG Without even touching anything, Ororo was already going into sticker shock.
“If you’re going to do the perfect sexy dress, do it right.” Val marched over to the closest rack, running her hand over rows of hangers until she found a size ten. Ororo reeled back at the sight of frothy white ruffles and a ridiculously short hem.
“I’ll catch a cold in that.”
“He might offer you his coat.”
“It’s not even really me,” Ororo hedged, but automatically she took the hanger from her, found a column in the middle of the section with mirrored panels, and took a long, appraising look. Val’s mouth quirked as she watched her managing editor smooth the fabric over herself experimentally.
“Try it on.”
“This isn’t something I’d wear, usually. It’s not me. It’s too…runway.”
“What’s your point? You’ve got the bod.”
“He doesn’t just have to like me for my body!”
“Why the hell not?”
Ororo’s misgivings were dismissed. She was shoved into the dressing room and nagged to come back out.
“Show me.”
“I still don’t know about this…”
“Oh, don’t be such a…” Her words died away.
She’d been about to say “noodge.”
“…I mean, what kind of shoe should I even put with this?” Ororo stood to her full height and gave a little turn. Almost a twirl. “Pump? High?”
“Guh,” Valerie said, agog.
“Is that a yes?”
“No. That’s a ‘take the damned thing off and run it to the cash register NOW.”
She was full of assurances as they made their way to the counter. Ororo didn’t want to let go of her Visa after the bag was tucked lovingly into the bag.
Two. Hundred. Dollars. Yukio would have stopped her. She would have wrestled her to the ground, returned the hanger to the rack and dragged her to Wet Seal’s clearance sale.
But Val knew how to power date, and, Ororo admitted, how to social climb. That wasn’t what she was doing, though, Ororo mused. Not her.
She wanted to prove Yukio wrong. She wasn’t going to bend to suit Forge. He could take her or leave her, couldn’t he? She just wanted to re-wrap the package. Sure. Why not.
***
The butterflies from the first date were a thing of the past; now Ororo just felt happy anticipation. She hummed along to the music piping out from her bedroom, Mary Jane Girls and Rick James, of all things. She felt naughty.
She knew her sheer nude pantyhose were no protection at all from the drafty night, but if she had her way, they wouldn’t be outside long. She decided on her black, short trench coat, but she left it hanging on the kitchen chair. She wanted Forge to have the full effect when she let him inside.
Knock, knock, knock…
“Show time.”
She clicked over to the door at a slow pace, even though it was killing her. And yes, the shoes were killing her. But they were hot. Red-hot.
He looked amused as he stood outside; she treated herself to a long look through the peek hole.
Flawless. No surprise.
She undid the dead bolt and cracked the door open. Her smile was bright.
“Hi. You’re early.”
“I don’t keep a beautiful woman…waiting.” The door swung open. He stood agape. Ororo slowly backed up to let him in.
Her stomach dipped. Yes, this was the effect she was trying to make.
Misgivings about her apartment being too humble gave way to the delicious feeling of being admired. The dress, such as it was, served its purpose.
White. Val said they needed to move away from the cliché of the little black dress. The dress was cut for a fit model of about five-foot-eight. Ororo stood closer to six feet, made even taller by her scarlet pumps, so the short hemline was nearly indecent on her frame. It was sleeveless with crisp, pleated ruffles that ran down the bodice and edged the high collar. It had a nipped-in waist and tapered skirt. The color and cut ensured nothing else about her appearance competed with her curvy figure and smooth skin.
Nothing except for her mouth. She glossed it in high-wattage red. She left her hair down, after she scrunched some conditioner and a dab of gel into it and combed it with her fingers. Her only jewelry was her wristwatch, but she doubted she would need to check the time.
Forge reached for her hand and raised it to his lips. His eyes never left hers. The kiss was feather-light and it lingered.
“You won’t be warm enough in that.” Ororo remembered her talk with Val.
“I’ll manage. What did you have planned?”
“A reservation by the pier. Now you’ve changed my mind. I won’t have you freeze to death.”
He turned up the heat in the Porsche once she was tucked inside. Ororo was tempted to tell him that she wouldn’t mind just taking a ride somewhere scenic. The road felt smooth beneath them.
They ended up at Café Claude, another restaurant on Ororo’s short list of places to try. The ambiance was perfect, soft lighting and low jazz playing in the background. More importantly, the front lobby was warm.
They chatted over steak tartare and ahi tuna.
“How’s work? How’s Cassandra?”
I feel like a raw piece of meat thrown to a piranha. “She’s doing well.”
“Good.”
“We have a few different features coming up that I’m excited about.” She paused for a sip of chardonnay. “And your interview is due to go to press.”
“I might have to pick up an issue to show to my mom,” he chuckled.
“Sounds like the businessman’s equivalent of giving her a drawing to tape on the fridge.”
“Something like that. My mother saves them, particularly the covers. She keeps them in a scrapbook.”
“That’s sweet.”
“The way you laugh reminds me of her.”
“Um.”
“Bet your mother’s a knockout.” Her answering smile was sad. She couldn’t stop it.
“She passed away three years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s hard to lose a parent.” She remembered that he’d lost both and stopped her pity party.
“When you’re a woman, your mom’s kinda like a lifeline. She understood me. And she was funny.”
“What did she do to make you laugh?”
“We used to go underwear shopping when I was a teenager. We took turns showing each other really embarrassing underwear, waving them high in the air from across the department sometimes. She’d tell me “this is you, this is YOU!”
“That must have been embarrassing.” He looked aghast. Ororo chuckled.
“We had fun. I miss that. I get a little of that from Yukio. She’s my best friend.”
“Then she’s a friend of mine.” It was presumptuous. Ororo was willing to forgive him, for the moment. “I’m having a good time.”
“So am I.”
“Dessert?”
“I shouldn’t. I couldn’t.”
“You can,” he shrugged. He had a twinkle in his eye.
“What’s the best one that they have?”
“Chocolate. Mousse.”
Oh, she was so there…
It was all she could do not to scrape the dish when it was finished. Easy, killer.
He pulled out her chair again and helped her into her coat, smoothing it over her shoulders. She felt his heat at her back.
The drive back to her place was leisurely. He’d read her mind, taking the long way back.
The butterflies were back. Ororo’s cheeks felt hot.
Had she poured it on too thick? What would he expect, this soon?
His music was relatively conservative, a classical piano mix that lulled her so gently that she almost didn’t notice when they pulled into her lot.
She argued with herself the whole way upstairs. He walked behind her. She knew he had a clear view of her legs in the tiny skirt.
“I had such a good time.” She was poised at the door, not even leaning back against it or with her hand on the knob. She resisted the urge to touch him, somehow, even smoothing his lapel or pretending to pick something off him.
What was next, she mused, asking him in for a night cap? Hell, no.
“Up to doing it again?”
“Yes, please.”
“I have something not as low-key, but it would be a great chance to show you off again.” He looked smug. “You look fabulous.” She didn’t get tired of hearing it. It amused her that he considered their dinner tonight “low-key.”
“Thank you. What kind of dinner is it?”
“A corporate dinner and ball.” She reeled from shock.
A ball.
“That…that sounds nice.” She knew her voice sounded silly, too high and junior high.
“It’s set for Halloween.”
“I might be able to mark it on my calendar.”
“Good.” He closed the gap between them, and Ororo already felt the current of energy drawing her in.
“In the meantime,” he said, taking her hands in his, stroking her knuckles with his thumbs, “would I be taking too much of a liberty if I gave you a kiss goodnight?”
Ororo’s voice failed her. She gave her head a small shake.
She leaned in, grateful that she didn’t have to bend low or crane her head; he was just the right height. Her face shifted by slow degrees, angling to suit him before his lips descended over hers.
Logan who?
His lips stroked hers, barely tasting her, and she sighed at how right he already felt. His grip on her hands tightened, tugging her closer, and she freed them to let her palms skim up the lapels of his coat. One small brush of his lips, then two, then three, before he slanted his mouth over hers for a hard, consuming kiss that made her heart pound. His arms looped around her waist, fingers exploring the curve of her lower back.
She couldn’t stop her own from creeping into his hair, from clinging to him. She drank in the scent of his cologne and his warm skin, the masculine tang of his lips.
Her knees went weak; or maybe it was the high heels she teetered on that made her gently bump back against the door. She disengaged. He smiled at her little gasp as she came up for air.
“So…Halloween. I’d…like to see you before then, too.”
“We’ll see. I’m meeting with clients soon. But we’ll see.”
“I understand if your schedule’s swamped.”
“I’ll make room in it. What’s the point of being the boss if you can’t make the rules?”
His words made her feel heady.
“Would you…” She licked her lips as she stared at him. Her gaze held longing.
“I’ll call you.”
“You will.” He’d saved her from jumping over the boundary she’d promised to set for herself, and she was glad. Her body had other ideas…
Another tiny kiss and he released her, taking his warmth with him.
“Good night, Ororo.”
“Good night, Forge.” It took her a while to find her keys and to fit the right one into the lock.
Once inside, she collapsed back against the door.
“Oh. My. Goodness.” What a rush.
She floated on a happy cloud as she kicked off her killer heels and went into the kitchen.
Something orange diverted her gaze.
Emma’s save-the-date card.
Halloween.
Shit.
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