Chapter 32 Jack
D ESPITE C LARA’S BLESSING , I DON’T have tacos and backseat sex on the agenda tonight.
I pull up at the back of the B I didn’t realize how much I wanted to hear it.
I feel like I spend so much energy not wanting to let people down that I forget to look at all the times I do show up.
It’s like Clara knows that without my ever needing to tell her. “I appreciate you saying that.”
“And most of all,” she continues, “I really, really like it when you’re naked.”
“Good to know.” I pull up in front of the school and Clara looks confused, then concerned. “Don’t worry, nobody will see us.”
“Good,” she says firmly. “I can’t let Flo see me in this dress. I think she’s finally starting to like me.”
I round the hood and open her door, kissing her as she slides out. Her warm body presses against mine. “You should go inside before I change my mind and take you home.”
I can hear Clara laughing to herself as she carefully walks toward the entrance. The thought of her slipping in those shoes is enough to stop all the blood rushing south. I grab the bag of snacks from behind her seat and jog to catch up with her.
“Wow, such a gentleman,” she says teasingly when I hold the door open for her.
“Have guys in New York set the bar that low?” I ask.
“The bar doesn’t exist in New York. It’s already in hell.” Her fingers work each large blue button of her coat. “I can hear music!”
I unbutton my own jacket and hold open another door, this time the one into the theater. “Wilhelmina said we’re not allowed to make any noise.”
Clara’s hand slowly rises to her mouth, pressing into her lips. She looks at me quickly, then back to the stage. “Oh my, they’re so cute.”
I guide Clara to our chairs at the back of the room. The corner bathed in darkness is the only thing I could get Wilhelmina to agree to. She doesn’t want us making her young dancers nervous so they’re not supposed to know we’re here.
“I’m named after the girl in The Nutcracker ,” she whispers to me when we take our seat.
“Seriously?”
She nods, leans in, and hooks her arms around my arm. “My parents were on their way to watch the New York City Ballet’s performance when my mom went into labor. Maybe if they’d watched the show, they’d know she’s called Marie.”
“You’re kidding. When’s your birthday?”
Clara shakes her head enthusiastically. “Shock of my life when I watched it at Lincoln Center for the first time. It’s December twenty-seventh. Shhh, they’re moving!”
A child in a too-long skirt darts across the stage, trailing a ribbon of gold tinsel that detaches halfway across the stage. Behind her, a cluster of Sugar Plum Fairies twirl and flutter, some more successfully than others. Their glittery tutus sparkle under the bright stage lights.
One fairy is wearing light-up sneakers that flash with pink and purple strobe lights every time her feet hit the stage. Another has a tiara made from pipe cleaners. Another’s wings are bent at a suspicious angle and I suspect they may have been sat on.
Clara squeezes my arm tight. Her eyes are wide and her grin is stretched across her face.
In the wings, Wilhelmina mouths a silent count, tapping her finger on her clipboard like a metronome.
The sequined snowflakes on her black cardigan sparkle as she conducts the mayhem onstage.
The music falters on a tinny Bluetooth speaker; “Waltz of the Flowers” skips, then restarts as Wilhelmina calls, “From the top, please!”
A boy dressed as the nutcracker prince fumbles his sword (a spray-painted wooden spoon) and mutters a soft “Sorry” in Wilhelmina’s direction, before scooping it up and stumbling back into place just in time to be chased offstage by a trio of candy cane dancers.
One of the younger girls, a tiny soldier with one sock up and one sock down, comes to an abrupt stop in the middle of the stage and salutes enthusiastically before collapsing in a dramatic faint, her eyes squeezed shut and arms crossed over her chest. It might’ve actually been convincing if she hadn’t lifted her head, opened her eyes, and looked around to make sure someone was watching.
“My God,” Clara whispers, grinning so hard it looks like it hurts. “This is the best thing I’ve ever seen.”
When the snowflake dance begins, a dozen kids in paper crowns and white dresses flurry onto the stage.
One forgets the choreography completely and starts twirling on the spot, faster and faster, arms out like airplane wings.
She collides with a tree, which is made of green paper and tape, but it remains upright and she just keeps on spinning.
I pass Clara a gingerbread snowman without taking my eyes off the stage. “Your namesake would be proud,” I murmur.
She leans her head on my shoulder. “She really would.”
“D O YOU THINK I’ M TOO old to take up ballet?”
I know a trap when I hear one. “I don’t think you’re too old for anything. I’d bet they do adult classes somewhere.”
“Where are you taking me now?” Clara has had a dreamy look on her face the whole evening. When she spotted Sailor on the stage I thought she was going to start crying.
“For food. Although, are you even hungry after you ate all that gingerbread?”
There’s still a lingering smell of ginger and cinnamon in the cab. “Yep. You impressed?”
“By you? All the time.”
Clara tunes the radio to her preferred station and keeps it low until a song I don’t recognize comes on and she turns it right up to sing along.
She uses my hand on her thigh as a microphone until she tries to bend it at an angle it will not go to.
“Sorry,” she whispers into the dark, leaning over to kiss me on the cheek.
The roads are clear so it doesn’t take long for us to reach Jade, the best Chinese restaurant I know. The dark building is the first red flag and the Closed sign on the door is the second. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I didn’t check, I just assumed it’d be open. Why wouldn’t it be open during the week?”
“Oh well,” Clara says cheerfully, squeezing my thigh. “Tacos and backseat sex it is.”
“You’re not mad I’ve ruined our date?” I’m mad at myself. I should’ve checked.
“Of course I’m not. We’ve passed like ten places that are open; let’s just eat somewhere else. But like, if it could be somewhere that serves tacos, that’d be great, because I’ve made the joke a couple of times and now I’m craving them.”
“You got it.”
T URNS OUT, THE TACOS WITH the other thing is kind of a package deal.
My truck’s parked up on an unlit dirt track far enough away from the road that passing cars aren’t getting a front-row show.
I have handfuls of Clara’s dress bunched up by her hips while she grinds on top of me on the backseat. I move the thin straps of her dress off her shoulders and pull the dress down at the front. She throws her head back when I cup one of her breasts and suck her nipple.
“I need you now,” she pants, fumbling beneath her for my zipper. “No teasing.”
I work my belt quickly and undo the top button while she pulls the zipper down. This isn’t the sweet, romantic end to our date that I imagined. It might be better.
“I’m so hard for you,” I whisper beneath her ear. Her hand slips under the elastic band of my boxers and grips me tight. My eyes roll into the back of my head. “ Fuck , Clara.”
I lift my hips so I can pull my underwear down enough for her to comfortably pull my dick out. I slip my hand beneath her dress, feel the hot fabric of her panties when I pull them to the side. “Is this for me?” I run my finger across her, and feeling how wet she is makes my dick throb.
Clara’s hands hold my face; her forehead presses into mine when I run the head over her clit, making her shudder. She kisses me hard, her lips and tongue moving perfectly with mine while I roll a condom on. “It’s for you,” she moans when I line myself up with her.
She sinks down torturously slow. Every single nerve in my body comes to life. My hands grip her ass, guiding her as she makes testing movements with her hips. I can hardly see her in the low light of the dash, but I can feel her soft skin and hear her wispy moans. “You’re so good at riding me.”
Clara likes praise, I’ve learned in these moments together. She whimpers, picks up her pace. I kiss and suck every inch of her I can get my mouth onto. It’s quick and desperate and so fucking good.
I slip my hand between her legs, find her clit with my thumb, and rub in a fast, circular motion. Her thighs grip me tighter, hands find my knees as she leans back to give me more space. “I need… I need…,” she pants.
“What do you need, baby?”
“More.”
“Put your feet on the seat,” I tell her. I help maneuver each foot onto the seat on either side of me. I slouch in the seat and plant my feet wide on the floor. Clara rests her arms on the back of the front seats and lets me guide her legs open.
I keep my thumb the same and thrust my hips up as she brings hers down. “Yes,” she moans. I do it again, and again, and again until I’m so close I can taste it.
Clara falls out of rhythm; her breathing deepens and her thighs start to shake. I keep pushing, thrusting into her until she’s tightening around me and crying my name.
Her arms reach out for me in the dark so I pull her close, supporting her weight while she bounces up and down, her arms wrapped tight around my neck.
One, two more and she’s dragging me over, swallowing each moan with her mouth.
After what feels like forever I finish coming.
There’s a thick sheen of sweat on the back of my neck and my limbs feel heavy.
Clara rests her head on my collarbone, spent.
I pull her dress up at the front and reinstate her straps, kiss her on her temple.
“I couldn’t have done that after Chinese food,” she says, so I mentally cross Jade off the list.