6. say yes I want to see what happens
CHAPTER 6
SAY YES; I WANT TO SEE WHAT HAPPENS
LINCOLN
Manny’s eyebrows take up residence near his hairline. “Lionel?” he says, “I’d say he’s more of a Cecily.” Great. What started as a guessing game I played with Darcy and Ivy’s best friend when they were kids is now going to be Manny’s latest way of taking the piss out of me.
“Choose your words carefully, Emmanuel Kofi.”
He’s still smiling, but he promptly shuts up.
Admittedly, the game is something I haven’t thought about in years. Ivy’s willingness to play only makes me surer of her curiosity about me.
A curiosity I intend to use.
“You like that I have secrets,” I say, confident. I’ve a knack for knowing what women want, and I’d bet on being right. Despite her sharp edges, both now and last time, there’s a reason she asked about me.
It’s easy to hook my foot around the leg of her stool and pull her closer. Watch her eyes darken. “Does it make you want to peer into my dark corners? Strip me down until you know me?” It’s what I’d like to do to her.
She swallows before speaking, and I wonder if she’d deny the blush on her cheeks if I pointed it out.
“I forgot you were like this,” she says, breaking eye contact but not moving away from me.
It’s clear she’s at ease here, even without her current sartorial choices. The gray joggers and black T-shirt are a far cry from the cocktail dress and heels I remember her in, but as I imagine every piece of material gifted with gracing her body must do, it flatters her toned arms, the strong curve of her hips and arse, and the firm plain traversing the area between.
She looks grab-able. Like she can handle being tossed around. Like she’d like it.
Manny slides her a fresh drink, and as soon as it’s within reach, Ivy downs half of it in one go. A classic case of “it’s all gone tits up” if ever I saw one.
“All right, what’s the story, then?” I ask. “The one that explains why a beautiful woman is trying to drown her sorrows.”
“There’s no story,” Ivy says, but her gaze hasn’t left the half-empty glass in front of her, the glass gripped tightly in her hand. “I got fired this week and wanted to soak my sorrows at the nearest bar. Since I live upstairs, you do the math.”
Does she now? “Good to know.”
Sharing a flat with the wanker for ten years means I can read everything Manny’s not saying from a yard away. Right now, his expression says don’t mess around where you live , and when I smile back, it’s followed quickly by fine, but you better not mess it up.
“And I know there’s a million more important things I should be doing,” Ivy continues, unaware of our silent conversation. “Like updating the résumé I haven’t opened since college, but I just… It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Do you know I started working at Helix as an intern?” I shake my head. “Well, I did. I hadn’t even graduated yet, but they offered me the position, and I thought, why not? It’s just for a little while. Then one year led into the next, until eight years had gone by and now, I’m being booed off the stage.” She pushes the empty glass away, frowning down at her hands.
“Why the rush to jump back in, then?” I ask. “You’re allowed to take some time for yourself.”
She looks incredulous. “Oh, you know how landlords are, always expecting the rent to be paid.”
Farther down the bar, Manny coughs to hide his laugh, but he can keep his flappy ears to himself.
I change tack, turning on the stool to face her directly. “All right, then. Eight years. Why did you stay?”
Ivy rolls her shoulders, pulling her straight black hair up into a bun, exposing the bird tattoo that’s been teasing me. Turtle doves. How sweet. Somewhere in there hides a romantic.
Then she’s turning her big brown eyes on me, and the need to press my lips to her skin, to taste her, claim her, runs like a rapid in my veins. But I meant what I said to Manny. I want more than a night.
“I didn’t survive years of my mother’s exhaustive lectures to throw away a paycheck for no reason,” she says. Ah, money. I should have guessed.
“Unhappiness is a reason.”
Frustration twists Ivy’s mouth, but I have the sense she’s arguing with herself, not me. “Everyone’s unhappy at work. What makes me so special?” She raises a finger at me. A tiny wrinkle dimples her nose as she pouts. It’s adorable. “Don’t answer that.”
There’s a story here. One she’s practically tripping over herself to tell, even as she holds herself back.Beneath her soft clothes and natural suspicion, there’s an ache for adventure.
Christ, I want to undo her.
“What am I saying?” She slides the empty glass away from her. “From what I’ve heard, you avoid work like the plague.”
It’s an old wound. One she cannot know is regularly poked at by my own kin. But it stings, nonetheless, knowing she sees me that way. On instinct, I find myself staring back down at the invitation I’ve been ignoring. “I know enough,” I say. “What are you searching for?”
She bows out of whatever internal fight she’s having, letting out a sigh. “Do you ever think about all the versions of yourself that you never became and wonder if they’re out there somewhere?” she asks, twisting the glass this way and that under unadorned fingers. “All these lives unlived, unknown to us. What if I chose the wrong one? I just keep thinking about all the choices I didn’t make. What if I’d never taken the job? Maybe I’ve spent eight years doing the wrong thing and I never realized it. Maybe I would have met the love of my life by now instead of living on autopilot and rationing my free time like a chipmunk during winter.”
It’s as clear to me as the dove tattoo on her shoulder that Ivy is yearning to take flight. Here is a woman who has grown used to reining herself in, and that, I cannot accept. The good news is I’m inclined to help her.
“If you can’t find yourself inside of work, find yourself outside of it. You wouldn’t be the first person who suffered for a paycheck. What matters is that you have free will to make the life of your choosing, so choose wisely.”
“I know that,” she huffs, then pauses, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. When she exhales, the fight leaves her, softening her posture and the crease of her mouth. “I guess I’m just feeling lost, is all.”
“Ivy, stop second guessing yourself. You’re driven, but you’re bored, because what you’ve been doing hasn’t been enough. It’s exhausting but not rewarding. And you want more. You should go for it.”
“That’s some party trick.”
I shrug. “A lucky guess,” I say, but it doesn’t look like she believes me.
When she looks at me, the longing in her brown eyes threatens to tilt my reality. “Sometimes I want to stop being Sensible Me and try someone else on for a night.”
There’s so much hope— in her eyes, in her voice— I’d be a fool to not move mountains for her.
“Sorry,” she quickly adds. “I talk a lot. I’m working on it.”
“Don’t,” I demand, ready to find and correct anyone who has ever said differently. “I enjoy listening to you.”
Perhaps it’s arrogant, but when I know what I want, I’m not easily distracted. It made me reckless in my youth, enough to make awful choices that Reed still won’t let me live down, but it also helped me rebuild my life into one I’m proud of.
“What’s that?” she asks.
I follow her gaze to the invitation. Ah.
I slide it toward her. “A disaster, most likely.”
The light in her eyes intensifies, as if I’ve said the magic word. That’s got her attention. “Tell me more.”
“I’ll do you one better. Are you free Saturday night?”
“Hmm, I’m pretty sure that’s the night I’m having an existential panic about how I’ll spend the next fifty years stuck in a career that will suck the life out of me before I get to retire. But I can probably push that to Sunday.”
I laugh. Christ, she’s a surprise. I want to spend a week doing nothing but getting to the bottom of her. Discovering what makes her tick.
Ivy picks the card up, reading the details. “A masquerade, huh?”
“My brother hosts an annual fundraiser to support the arts college. Invite only, student exhibit, with a silent auction for the pieces on display.”
Like a hound caught on a scent, she reads the invite again. “That sounds amazing. Why don’t you want to go?”
Manny cuts in, sliding two fresh drinks in front of us. “He’s being a coward.”
Sod off , I say, silently, but it works.
Ivy traces the gilded lettering with reverence, and I throw out my original intentions to go alone. “Join me. A room full of strangers, a mask; you’re free to be anyone you like.” I shift closer, trailing my fingers around the curve of her elbow. “It’ll be fun.”
Fun is a word that’s never been used to describe Reed, but for Ivy, I’ll make sure of it.
“Oh, I’m sure it would be. That’s the problem.”
She’s beautiful, from her thick eyebrows to the straight slope of her nose and pillowed lips that are currently set in a wicked pout that I’m aching to see in all manner of positions.
“What’s wrong with fun?” I ask. “It’s the bar all other experiences must live up to. Life doesn’t mean more because it hurts. Fun is as important as anything else. Don’t run from it. Chase it.” Brushing my fingers along the tail of the doves on her shoulder, I watch the goose bumps rush to her skin. “Soak in it.”
She lets out a shaky breath. Licks her lips. She’s so close to saying yes, I can taste it.
“Will you let me show you?” I ask.
Her eyes lift, catching mine.
“One night,” I promise. “Say yes.”
I swear her eyes glimmer as she smiles, and I scold my heart for picking up its pace. She hasn’t agreed yet.
It attempts a weak protest as she makes me wait, picking up her glass and taking a slow sip, teasing me with the elegant line of her throat. The long drag of her tongue across her bottom lip is akin to torture.
I really need her to say yes.
Her breath hitches. “Now?”
“Now, later, always … take your pick.”
The fill of her lips calls to me. All I want is to reach up and discover them. Their warmth, the way her breath would catch if I slipped my thumb between them. My tongue.
“Say yes, Ivy. Leave the rest up to me.”