My mind flashed, briefly, on that acting class parking lot. Cassandra at the door. Was it possible that the only reason Hugowas still interested in me was that we hadn’t yet had sex? And that once we did, the spell would be broken? I thought about Stuart, all those years ago.
He dug his fingers into the small of my back and I exhaled out against him. Who could care.
Hugo moved his mouth from my neck to my collarbone. He dipped his lips into the space there, threading his tongue along the bone. I swallowed.
“Here, sit up,” he said.
I did, and he reached down to the hem of my sweater. I helped him take it off, the shirt underneath came with it.
I had worn one of my best bras—a hot-pink lace affair with a middle clasp, but Hugo didn’t even seem to notice. His fingers trailed lightly down my chest then, hovering at the spot right over my left breast. His fingers were cold, I shimmied away from him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “What is that?”
I shook my head. “Nothing, just cold.”
Hugo lifted the duvet from where it was tucked into the sides of the bed and held it up. While I got inside, he took his shirt and jeans off.
The blankets were crisp and cool, and I could feel the warmth of my skin against them. Hugo climbed in beside me and then took my body into his arms. “You’re freezing,” he said.
I could feel the goose bumps prick up like needles.
He started running his hands down my arms. First gently, and then more firmly. I turned so my chest was pressed up against his—skin on skin on skin. I could feel his breathe on my neck. He was warm—not just warm, hot. I moved myself even closer to him. He felt like a heat lamp. I wanted to be underneath him. No,more than that. I wanted him to take off his skin, and I wanted to breathe beneath it, that’s how close I wanted to be.
He wrapped his hands tightly around my back.
“Better?” he asked.
“Much.”
I pulled back just enough to see his face. His eyes were open—big pools of liquid gold. I felt like if I fell into them, I’d be trapped in lava.
I reached my fingertips up and touched his cheeks. And then I leaned my face up and kissed him. His lips were cool and soft and buttery. Hugo pulled me back and looked at me.
“You’re really special to me,” he said. He traced a hand over my cheek. “Really special.”
I wanted to believe it. I wanted so much to believe it. Because it felt so good being there with him, right up against him, that close.
But I also knew I shouldn’t.Three months. I saw the number in my head, like a serpent.
“I bet you tell everyone that,” I said.
He smiled a slow, languid smile. “Not even close.”
Chapter Eighteen
Irina returns from New York Wednesday late morning, complaining about travel bloat and insisting on a water cleanse that’s supposed to last twenty-four hours. Around four she asks me if I want to order pad thai, extra spicy, extra vegetables.
“Do you have plans?” she says, standing in her kitchen, silk robe–clad, opening a bottle of merlot.
“No,” I say honestly. Jake and I had lunch yesterday, Kendra is home with her husband, and Hugo is in New York until Friday. This makes me pause. I used to have friends, but now, if it’s not for a wedding, bachelorette party, or birthday, I rarely see anyone. Part of it is that by the time we made it to thirty most of my friends moved away—to New York, San Francisco, Seattle, DC. Wednesday night drinks were replaced with weekly texts. Some of them—most of them—have babies, now. It’s hard to hold on to people the older we get. Life looks different for everyone, and you have to keep choosing one another. You have to make a consciouseffort to say, over and over again, “You.” Not everyone makes that choice. Not everyone can.
Irina gestures toward a stool at the counter. “You want to stay?”
Hanging out with Irina is like hanging out with a very glamorous, very self-serving therapist. She wants to buy you dinner, a designer bag, and listen to your problems, which she will cast as gossip from across the couch.
“Sure.”
She takes down another wineglass and pours, then sets the drink in front of me.
