Chapter 18
22 September 2023
Corey:
You okay honey? Hilde just messaged and said something happened on your pet sitting job?
Brynn:
Did she say ‘something happened’ or ‘Brynn done fucked up?’
Corey:
Brynn:
Thought so. Just having a drink with my rescuer. Don’t wait up.
Lucas chooses a bar down a side street just around the corner from Dogue’s. The host seats us side by side on a small sofa with a coffee table in front of us and hands us a vintage hardcover picture book that’s been repurposed into a menu. The place smells like dark liquor and the smoke from the candles on the tables. It’s dimly lit and cosy; the perfect spot for a date.
‘This is my local,’ Lucas says. ‘Have you been here for long enough to discover that New Yorkers are creatures of habit?’
I laugh. ‘I mean, I’ve been here for almost two months and have my own local bar. So I guess, yes?’
So much has happened since Corey and I made the plan for me to invite Lucas for a coffee to chat about The Paris Review and now here I am, sitting opposite him in possibly the most romantic bar, trying to think of a way to turn the moment in the right direction, not the creepy ‘I want to date you to get a job’ direction.
I’m about to try ‘What do you do?’ as the universal ice-breaker question—but then we’re interrupted by the server. The bar has a ridiculously complicated cocktail menu that takes ages to explain and as long to choose from. By the time our drinks have arrived and I’ve taken a big, courage-inducing sip, there’s been a notable shift between us. Lucas has lifted his arm and placed it on the back of the sofa, in a move that is undeniably flirtation. Shit.
What is it with men in this city? Bridie always teased me for not being able to tell when guys were flirting with me, but it turns out that the problem all along was Australian men and their subtlety.
‘Is this okay?’ he asks, shifting his hand so it’s over my shoulder-and tucking me into him, the way he had back at the vet’s earlier. My body instantly buzzes in a way that is definitely okay. But fuck, I’ve got to tell him about my ambitions before this goes any further. I have to. Then I catch the scent of him: expensive, woodsy aftershave and gin ...
‘Yes, it’s okay,’ I say and then we’re kissing.
I don’t know how I got from The Baby-Sitters’ Club Jessi Ramsey, Pet - Sitter to making out with a non-fiction editor from The Paris Review in a bougie TriBeCa cocktail bar, but here we are. And it is a good kiss. While his mouth is locked on mine, his hands skate down my arms until he finds my waist and pulls me closer. He tastes of gin and there’s a slight prickle to his skin that grazes against my cheek, and I like how it feels so much that to my horror I hear myself make a little groan in the back of my throat.
‘What would you say to heading back to my place?’ Lucas whispers, his breath hot against my ear.
‘If it means you’re going to keep kissing me like that, I’d say: “Cheque, please”.’ I raise my hand to get the server’s attention and Lucas bursts out laughing.
‘Let’s get out of here then.’
It’s a good thing that Lucas’ apartment is just around the corner because otherwise I think we might have undressed each other on the street. We get in the lift and as soon as the doors shut behind us, he’s got me up against the wall, and I can barely feel my backpack digging into me as he slides his hands around the hem of my t-shirt, his fingers blazing a trail across my stomach. My nerves flutter. I think if the lift were to stop right now I wouldn’t be able to stop. I’ve never thought of myself as the type of person who would have sex in a public place, but right now, I understand the urge. No, the need to be with someone so badly that it doesn’t matter where or when. I am aching for more of him so much that my desire outweighs the voice in my head that’s trying to remind me who he is and why I wanted to get to know him.
Right now, as he grinds against me and I feel his own desire pressing into my thigh, my priorities have never been any further away from the internship.
We get inside his apartment and are greeted by Mulligan, who is excited to see us both. He jumps all over us and forces us to disconnect, which diffuses some of the heat and gives me a chance to glance around. It’s a massive loft studio with high ceilings. It’s very masculine: a beautiful tan leather sofa and matching recliner face a huge flatscreen TV in one corner of the room, a bar area off to the side with a well-stocked drinks cart. Behind the bar area is his home office, with a heavy black wooden desk and a big computer. Above the desk are framed covers of The Paris Review. In the bedroom corner, a bed that’s neatly made with a navy quilt cover and pillows. This is the apartment of a real, grown man. A man with a career. In writing. Everything about Lucas is a massive turn-on.
In the kitchen, he scoops dog food into a bowl and Mulligan settles in to eat.
‘Wine?’ he asks when he sees me watching him.
I want to say yes because I know it’ll give me a second to think a bit more, and it will also lubricate my inhibitions. Being with Michael a few weeks ago helped me loosen up a little, but one night with a new person can’t undo years of being with someone who didn’t make me feel good about myself.
I shake my head to rid my brain of thoughts of Scott because I don’t need a rerun of the ‘pinkcident’ right now. But Lucas takes this as an answer to the wine and strides across the room. He collects me in his arms and walks me towards the bed until my legs hit the mattress and I topple backwards, pulling him down on top of me. A laugh bubbles up inside me but when I look at Lucas and see his green eyes practically blazing, the hilarity of the situation disappears and the intensity is back.
His fingers tug at the hem of my t-shirt, pulling it up as he dips his head to trace kisses across my belly, working his way up until his mouth is between my boobs and I have to raise my arms to help. His mouth never breaks contact with my skin as he pulls the shirt off and I see it tossed somewhere to the right of the bed before I’m distracted by his hands at my back, unclasping my bra.
‘These are incredible,’ he says, sitting back and taking me in. I fight the urge to cover myself. For some reason it’s Sienna who pops into my head at this moment. A vision of her breasts, perfectly proportioned with the sparkling tassels over her nipples. I’m on my back so mine look the best they can, I suppose. Light brown skin, big, dark areola, and nipples hard. But there are silvery lines streaking across them, charting the path of stretched skin. Even as Lucas admires them, bending his head and capturing a nipple in his mouth, sending pleasure rippling through me, once again there’s a part of me that wishes there wasn’t so much attention paid to them.
I fumble for his shirt, and it gives me some reprieve to get myself back into the moment before I reach out to touch his chest. He’s slender with pale skin and a smattering of hair across his torso that thickens as it leads to a trail down his waist. My fingers trace towards the bulge in his jeans but before I get there, he’s got the button undone on my own pants and is working the zipper down. The man moves fast, and I lift my hips to help him as he pulls them off. Then my knickers are off and he’s standing again, pulling his jeans and undies off in one quick motion.
This is fast, really fast and there’s a moment where I think maybe it’s too fast, but then as he settles over me, body pressed against mine, he dips his head to kiss me softly. ‘Is this still okay?’ he asks and I relax against him.
‘Yes,’ I breathe. ‘But have you got a condom?’
He smiles. ‘Of course, but we’re not there yet, are we?’
He doesn’t wait for an answer but slides his fingers in between us, up my thigh and then slowly traces them upwards until I feel them skating over my clit. I let out a moan and my body arches against his, looking for more. He increases the pressure little by little until I am only feeling desire and want, and not any of the hang-ups about my body. It feels like I’ve properly moved on: the night with Michael helped, so did sending the email to Jacq. I breathe into the feeling of this moment. It’s good. This is good.
And then his bodyweight is gone from mine and I open my eyes, burning with need. It’s only a second before the pressure is back, but this time it’s joined by his tongue, tracing its way over my core while he slides a finger inside. I push against him and cry out again as his finger finds a sensitive spot inside as he sucks at my clit. I claw at the quilt as the pressure builds and builds until finally, deliciously, waves of pleasure overtake me.
He moves back up the bed and takes me in his arms, pulling me against him.
‘That was fun,’ he says and I laugh.
‘It was? You like doing that?’
‘Brynn, are you kidding me? I have wanted to do that since the first day I saw you at daycare and then I heard that accent. And believe me, the real thing is much, much better than it was in my imagination.’
I laugh and tuck myself into him, wanting to feel closer to him. ‘So, about that condom ...’