Insensible shoes just made a tense night out even longer.
Ororo’s face ached from smiling and brushing air kisses on random cheeks since she walked in through the entry way of the Sea Crest. She tried in vain to wiggle her toes inside the silver lame pumps as she sipped the glass of wine that Pietro dutifully fetched for her.
“I can’t get over how great you look tonight,” he marveled, eying her appreciatively. “You stand out in the crowd.”
“Like a sore thumb?” she kidded, peering at him over the rim of her drink. To his own credit, the man was born to wear a tux. To anyone passing by, they were compatible and equally stunning.
“No. You must make everyone else disappear.”
“That’s sweet of you; thank you.” She wasn’t in the mood to preen or fish for more compliments. “You clean up nicely yourself.” He grinned at her choice of words. She mentally inserted What? This old thing? as he smoothed back his hair. Several women gave him lingering glances as they swarmed toward the appetizers.
He was attentive enough. Ororo devoted her time to him, chatting pleasantly and asking him questions that seemed to strike the right chord. He played racquetball; she would have bet on it, anyway, even if he hadn’t mentioned it. He graduated from Brandeis, attending college on a track scholarship. He was single and didn’t have an ex-wife, babies, or a baby’s momma giving him drama, which was a plus. Once Ororo crossed the threshold of her mid-thirties, she’d become jaded. First dates no longer consisted of “I’m just looking for the right girl, when I’m ready to settle down.” More typical was “I wish she hadn’t taken the truck.” Fair enough, she figured. Except for a few gifts that they exchanged while they were together, Forge pretty much left with nothing else than he came with when they broke up.
He was an excellent dancer; before her feet could throb from standing in one place too long, he’d pull her out onto the floor. She was still fantasizing about kicking off her shoes when she got home and burying them in her house slippers.
The best thing about the ball was the chance to people watch. Ororo took mental snapshots of several guests who caught her eye. Gestures, facial expressions, walks, postures, hairstyles and other more minute details spoke to her. She was a born people watcher. A short scene wrote itself in her head as she watched two women across the room going through the motions of a drive-by wave, two minutes of polite chatter, and the inevitable excuses of “I have to get back to my table, they’re seating everybody. It was nice to see you!” before they rushed off. Noncommittal. No promises to call each other or to catch up on the dance floor, just shallow, perfunctory goodness.
Parties like these were meant for just that sort of thing, really.
“I asked if you were all right,” Pietro repeated.
“Oh! Sorry.”
“You were a million miles away. Wanna take me with you next time?”
“Only if you bring a map. And some crossword books and gum.”
“Would you kill me if we talked shop?”
“That depends.” She watched him warily.
“Are you working on any new books?” It was safe enough.
“One in progress right now. Ali already pitched it, but it needs to go through the gauntlet of edits, revisions, and all-around bullshit. That part doesn’t really end til its got a glossy cover slapped on the front of it and it shows up in Borders.”
“Get a lot of fan mail?”
“On the Web site. I keep myself unlisted.”
“Smart choice.” Then “Where do you live?”
“Vineyard. I like the privacy.”
“On the beach?”
“Only way to go. Just me and my cat.” She watched for his reaction. Yup. His eyes glazed over. Not a cat person, she thought, mentally scratching a point in the “cons” column for Pietro. The overall package, otherwise, wasn’t too bad. He recovered quickly.
“I like Atlantic beaches. The Pacific is too cold. Ever been to the Florida Keys?”
“No,” she admitted, curious.
“You’d love it. I’m due to meet with a client this spring. I usually make side trips to play tourist.”
“Must be nice.”
“It’s better when you have someone to share it with.” He took her empty glass from her and set it on a nearby table. “I can’t keep you off the floor. You look fantastic, and I feel like showing you off.” She felt that funny little tickle of excitement in her stomach as he swept them back out into the maze of couples, planting them dead center. Whether it was to show off or to hinder an easy escape, she couldn’t distinguish.
He smelled good, felt firm and fluid as he pressed her against his body, and had devil-may-care eyes, but she still felt a million miles away.
~0~
Ororo left the Sea Crest tired, foot sore, and starved. The chicken entrée was unremarkable and too small, obviously geared toward getting people to get up from their tables to mingle. Ororo was all mingled out.
She hummed to her Vivian Green disc as she navigated the surprisingly busy street. Lots of people were going out for Christmas drinks and to see the lighting displays downtown. She seldom decorated the outside of her house, but she could see other people’s efforts from the shore. She didn’t envy them their electric bill.
At the next intersection, she plugged in her Bluetooth and checked her voice mail messages on her home machine, keying in her passcode.
“Ororo, Pietro’s meeting you in the main lobby. Get there early enough so you don’t have to park in BFE.” That was Ali, calling ten minutes after she’d left. She wasn’t too pleased when she left early, but it couldn’t be helped. She was running out of small talk and even “safe talk” and was tired of flash bulbs. She knew she’d end up in someone’s entertainment pages, photo snapped of her mouth open, blinking, or with her stomach sticking out. She hated candid shots.
There was a call from another bookstore in Hyannis, confirming her next signing date.
There was a hangup. When she tried to see who it was from, it said “blocked call.” That was the third one this week. “It’s called a wrong number, genius; get a clue,” she carped under her breath as she deleted it and turned right when the light turned green.
One call left…from Logan. She turned down the volume on her stereo and hit “get message”.
Hey, Ororo. It’s Logan. Felt like talkin’ with ya again. Bet yer busy. Finished yer book, and I ain’t disappointed.
I’ve been in and out tonight, and I’m still up. Call me if ya want, when ya get back in.
‘Bye, darlin’. Her phone chirped as she hit ‘save’ and added his number to her contacts menu. Then she autodialed it and waited patiently, sparing a glance at a gaudy Santa snow globe on someone’s lawn and candy canes laddering up the front walk. They hadn’t missed an inch of the house or the shrubs with miniature lights; all they needed was a casino sign and an Elvis impersonator on the porch.
She checked the timestamp on his call. Ten minutes ago.
“Then maybe you’re still awake,” she concluded out loud. She felt herself grinning as his phone finally picked up.
“H’lo?” He sounded relaxed, with a hint of sleep in his voice.
“Shoot. I didn’t wake you, did I? It’s me, ‘Ro. Ororo,” she corrected, trying to jog his memory.”
“Just restin’ my eyes,” he chuckled. It was a yummy chuckle, the kind that lets you in on the joke, and it didn’t hurt that he had a rich, deep voice that seemed to stroke you.
“That’s what my mom always said when she’d fall asleep on the couch in front of the TV.”
“Sometimes I end up watchin’ my own eyeballs and wake up ta infomercials, but I still stay up late.”
“I just wanted to return your call.”
“What’re ya doin’ tonight? I hear music. Are ya home?”
“No. I just got back from a party. I’m thinking about picking up some food.”
“Ya didn’t eat?”
“They didn’t serve enough to fill a hollow tooth.”
“I hate that. Sounds like any convention I’ve ever gone to or some of the go-sees I’ve had where they order in.”
“The ones where they throw sandwiches and cookies at you and call it real food.”
“And the rest of the office spends the rest of the day swarmin’ over the leftovers like locusts.”
“Bingo. So I’m off to forage.”
“Fer what?”
“Crazy as it sounds, ice cream.”
“Yer kiddin’!” She heard him stifle a yawn, and again, it was a sexy sound, coming from him. “It’s ten degrees outside.”
“I like ice cream in the winter. And right now I’d knock down anyone who got between me and some hot fudgey goodness.”
“Where ya gonna get ice cream at this hour?”
“Denny’s. It’ll have to be good enough. They stay open almost all night.”
“Damn. Ice cream.”
“Yup,” she grinned.
“Which one?”
“The one downtown.” She peered around the neighborhood. “Three blocks down and one street over from the brown two-level house that’s trying to be Caesar’s Palace.”
“The one with the snow globe?”
“Right again.”
“Still can’t sell me on ice cream when it’s like this out, but I have a hankerin’ for chicken strips.” She waited expectantly before biting the bullet.
“After you eat those salty things, you might think my sweet stuff is a good idea. It’s fun to have one and then the other.” She turned into the driveway of the restaurant. “Are you headed to bed?”
“I’m not as tired now.”
“Are you hungry?”
“I could eat.” As if on cue, his stomach rumbled. “And I’ll get my coat.”
“I’ll get us a booth.”
On the one hand, it was late. She’d woke him. She probably thought she was nuts.
On the other hand, she was already dressed to kill. His voice brought to mind crumpled blankets. And suddenly she wasn’t quite as ready to go home.
She left behind a trail of round eyes and gaping mouths when she entered the lobby and asked for a booth. The restaurant was about half-full, and she was one of the only people not digging into an appetizer plate to stave off a hangover the next day.
Logan parked close to the front of the lot and still wondered why she picked this place at this time of night.
He decided not to argue with good fortune.
“I’m meeting someone,” he explained to the hostess. “Her,” he nodded toward the back of a woman with white hair struggling out of a heavy wool coat. The restaurant was almost overheated to combat the weather, combined with the heat coming from the kitchen.
She turned around just as he approached, and his pulse beat in double time. The first thing that caught his attention was her scent. Her heartbeat picked up as they met eyes.
“Ya can’t be warm in that get-up,” he chided her, but he looked his fill. Her hair was cornrowed and pulled back from her face into an elegant upsweep that revealed high cheekbones and the line of her slender neck. He knew why the other patrons were staring at her as his eyes roamed over the red satin crepe dress, a slim sheath that flared at the hem, swishing when she walked. The neckline bared her shoulders and showcased perfect cleavage. It draped her body lovingly. His fingers itched to feel her skin through the slick texture of the fabric.
“I’ll manage for the moment.”
“And yer gonna eat ice cream. Glutton for punishment.” He shucked his coat and laid it on the seat beside him. He watched her staring at him. “What?”
“I’m sorry I woke you.”
“I’m not.” The waitress came back to offer them the menus.
“I already know what I want,” Ororo announced. “The small hot fudge sundae. And a cup of cocoa to start.”
“I’ll just have the chicken strips, since she’s already orderin’,” he decided easily. “And a cocoa, too.” Ororo gave him a slow smile.
“Makes my job easy,” the waitress agreed before she dashed off.
“So what kinda party was it that ya got all dolled up for?”
“A ball. Publishers’ shindig at the Sea Crest.” He whistled.
“That wasn’t cheap.”
“They spent the money on the ambience and the view, not on the food. I wasn’t even sure I was going.”
“Why not?”
“I always feel like I’m playing dress-up and dipping into my mother’s makeup for stuff like this. And people never come up with anything new to say.”
“Ya think ya’ve heard it all. Who knows, ya probably have. Guess ya’ve probably answered this question enough times ta wanna smack somebody, but when did ya know ya first wanted ta write?”
“It just jumped up and bit me. My brother’s comics were a big culprit. My C.S. Lewis books. Some of the book report projects I had in junior high. I went through the whole routine of listening to depressing music and writing depressing poetry for while, and I always had a journal to doodle in during study hall. My brothers used to have me tell the scary stories when we went camping. My mom said I had a twisted mind.”
“I never had much of a knack for words.”
“You don’t have to. You just have to have a vision of something in your head and put it on paper.” She toyed with the sugar packets. “I’m no good with numbers.”
“Numbers are just ideas. Easy ta work with ‘em and understand ‘em if ya remember that.”
“That’s how I feel about words. I just hate it when people say they’re afraid to write. That’s like being good at something like art and having people tell you all day “I can’t even draw stick figures.”
“Shit. Sounds like me,” he admitted guiltily, shooting her a mischievous look. “Don’t hate me for this, but ‘I can’t even draw stick figures.’” He imitated her inflections. She twisted her lips and made a face.
“Balance my checkbook, and all might be forgiven. Better yet, keep me company and have some ice cream.” Their server arrived with their cocoa first. Logan burned his mouth when he took too quick a sip before scooping off the whipped cream.
“The cream insulates it. You should eat that first,” she explained patiently.
“Might help if they weren’t servin’ hot lava underneath.” He reached for the spoon and dug into the cream. Cheap restaurant, he realized. Stainless steel utensils. Lucky break.
“Poor baby.”
“Yer merciless.” She demurely sipped her cocoa, blowing it liberally to show him how it was done.
He liked watching her do that with her mouth, which was painted a luscious crimson. He wanted to taste the chocolate from her lips.
He focused on her scent and noticed that something was…different. Something was interfering with it.
Someone else’s. His nostrils flared as he drank it in.
Male. She’d made contact with someone male. Close contact. He felt his hackles go up, and a strange, overwhelming sense of envy burned in his gut. His skin felt itchy and too tight.
“What’s the matter? Burnt yourself that bad, huh? You were scowling for a second.”
“Oh. No. Nothin’.” Her smile returned and she continued to stare at him.
“You have neat eyes,” she said out of the blue. He felt himself flush slightly. Her pronouncement tickled him. And he couldn’t stop staring at hers. A blue you could drown in, and sultry.
“Don’t hear that every day.”
“Then you should. I like them.”
“Likewise, darlin’.” Their food came, and just as she promised, her sundae tempted him more than his own order. A glob of the thick fudge oozed down the side of the glass.
“Second thoughts?” she offered as she gleaned the excess sauce from the side and lapped it up, sucking on her finger to get the last bit.
He grew hard. The change rippled over his features; she paused in spooning up the ice cream and reacted just as strongly. Her nipples suddenly tingled, hardening into stiff buds beneath the shining scarlet crepe. She hoped he didn’t see the goosebumps that erupted over her bare arms.
For a few seconds, the noisy clamor of the diner went away. Logan heard his own heartbeat, and hers, surrounding him. Eating him up.
“Um, Logan?” He shook himself back to reality at the sound of her voice, sounding just as dazed as he felt.
“Yeah?” She pointed at one of his chicken fingers.
“Are you gonna eat that?”
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