Home.
He continues, “It’s not an event ticket that’s one and done. I suspect security will be worse in the morning, but you might be able to—” he pauses, biting the inside of his lip. “Don’t take this wrong, because I like it, but you tend to present an image that I’m betting you would prefer to have when you land.”
“What are you saying?” I lift my chin getting closer.
“Baby.” The tone is placating, but the word zips through me. “You’re wearing my shirt and mismatched shoes.”
What? I refused to look down but scrunching my toes in my socks proves he’s right. They’re not close. How did I miss that?
“And you like that?”
“Not the mismatched shoes.” His beard twitches as I get riled up.
I turn on a heel, not exactly limping but with a gait that I would’ve noticed had I not been all up in my head, and stomp off to the escalators.
The sound of his laughter is the soundtrack until I’m almost to the train.
We’re home. Ish. We always park in his garage. I don’t know why. There’s room in mine, and we wouldn’t have to do the gate-to-gate thing.
“Your place or mine?” I ask as I hop out of the Tahoe. “That sounded very barfly, didn’t it?”
I’d swear he repeats the wordbarfly, but I can’t be sure.
“Yours.” He says, holding open the gate for me.
I cock my head. “That surprises me.”
“Why?”
“I guess I figure you’d always rather be at your house.”
His voice is very near me as he says, “You’ve had a rough week and a shit day. I figure you’d like as much normal as you can have.”
I shiver at his nearness. And his kindness.
“And your other two shoes are here.”
Grrrr.
“Ah, another growl. That makes it five. What shall I do with you? What shall I do with you?” he mutters as if to himself but the humor in his voice is for me.
I whirl on him. But before I can say anything, he says, “Maybe you need a good spanking.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
He leans close to my face. “Oh, Wifey, Iwould dare.” His voice drops to a hint above a whisper, and his eyes dip to my lips. “And you would love it.”
A shiver runs through me, ruining the conviction in my voice. “I would not.” I fight not to look at his mouth, at the bottom lip Iwant to suck on, at the beard that caresses his collar bone that twitches when he smiles.
“You would. And you’d beg me for more.” His voice is gravel as his eyes roam my face.
“I’m not into that,” my voice is breathy. “I’m into plain vanilla stuff.” I don’t have enough air to finish the words with how he’s looking at me.
He reaches up, cupping my chin and turning me so he’s the only thing filling my vision. “Is that because you like vanilla or because you’ve never been brave enough to try the thirty-one flavors?”
I close my eyes, fighting to break the thread that stretches between us. Fighting to stop the wetness pooling between my legs, fighting the burning in my belly that has bad decision written all over it. “I’m brave.” My voice is quiet. “I’m brave.”
I move closer, though I don’t know how much closer I can get.
