“Now, tell me,” he said. “Did we totally fuck up by throwing that party? Did you hate everything about it?”
I placed my hand on his knee. “No. Not everything. Getting stuff was cool.”
He opened the champagne bottle effortlessly, without a drop of it spilling. He handed the bottle to me and I took a swig from it. It was cold and sweet, and the bubbles seemed to explode in my mouth. “Mmm, good. Sure nobody will mind that you took this?”
“I didn’t take it. I bought it a couple of days ago, but kept it in the fridge in the house so you wouldn’t see it in this one and get suspicious.” I handed the bottle to him and he took a drink. “Okay, so, you gonna tell me why you hate your birthday so much?”
It was casual and he was handing me the bottle as he said it, but I knew he’d picked up on something. I wasn’t about to ruin being alone with Stick and a bottle of good champagne by retelling the stories of the excruciating visits by Caro and her kids for my younger birthdays. “I could,” I said, and took a small sip, keeping the champagne in my mouth. I leaned over, pressing my boobs against Stick’s chest. He’d taken his suit jacket off long ago, and the tie was discarded while we were cleaning up. I kissed him and let the champagne flow from my mouth to his, our tongues tangling amidst the sweet nectar. “Or,” I said, pulling away, “we could spend our time licking this champagne off of each other’s bodies.”
He studied me, seeing my diversionary tactic for what it was. He wanted to call me on it, I could tell. But then…he also wanted to do wicked things to my body.
“Fuck it. Tell me about your childhood scars some other time,” he said, making me laugh. The gurgle of laughter had barely escaped my mouth when he’d started kissing me again.
It was different this time, because we had all night, not just some rushed time at the end of our afternoon visits. We slowly undressed each other, instead of tearing our clothes off, or even just working around them as we’d done on several occasions.
The champagne was used…creatively.
After the first time, we kept the lights on and explored each other’s bodies slowly, languidly.
“I was shocked that first day, when you didn’t have any tattoos. I would have thought for sure you’d have a bunch,” I said as I ran my hands down his lean body.
“My dad said he’d kill me if I got one.”
“Why didn’t you get one after he died?”
“I didn’t seem to need one then.”
“Hmm,” I said as I kissed my way down that ink-free torso. “Seems complicated.”
“Isn’t it always?” It seemed like he was going to say more, but I took him in my mouth and all he could do was groan.
Later, he returned the favor after he’d spent an inordinate amount of time kissing, sucking and playing with my breasts. It seemed as if he never got enough of them.
I totally got it, because it seemed as if I never got enough of him.
Chapter27
Jane
Amanda Teller was supposedto be the next Diane Sawyer. She was looking for that big interview that would catapult her into Katie/Diane/Barbara status, and so Grayson gave her our interview. I was guessing that he assumed she would be…manageablebecause she’d be grateful to get the gig.
She was, and it was pretty much a puff-piece interview, but I still felt incredibly uncomfortable.
Because, after trying not to my entire life, I was totally selling out.
We were shooting it in Caro’s living room, with as small a crew as possible, and they’d all had to hand their cell phones to Elliot so there would be no photos of Caro—and her obvious decline—leaked before the interview aired.
At first they interviewed Joe alone. Caro and I sat in chairs along the far side of the living room. Stick and Grayson stood behind us, Stick leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, his dislike of my father obvious.
I was okay with that.
Grayson stood behind Caro, and occasionally she would wave him down and whisper something to him about whatever Joe had just said, or Amanda had just asked. Grayson would nod his agreement.
Much as I assumed they had in years past, they put their personal power struggle aside for Joe’s benefit.
And my father had pissed all that away all those years ago by falling prey to my flighty, yet incredibly calculating, mother.
As if thinking about my mother had some kind of physical effect on me, Caro looked over at me like I’d twitched or something. Who knows, maybe I had.
