Chapter 23 #3
“Please, Bea? Just for tonight. Just long enough for Lena to get the picture and Vlad to shoot his shot.”
I like hearing Mike beg. I also like the weight of his hand against mine. I shift back just enough to create a little tug on our entwined fingers. “It’s going to cost you.”
“Don’t I know it.” His gaze falls from my face to our hands. “You want to talk terms?”
“Oh, Mike. You could at least buy me a drink first.”
Mike taps the bar. “Pellegrino and a ginger ale for the lady.” He turns to me. “Unless you want something stronger.”
“No, I’m driving home after this.”
The bartender opens our bottles, and Mike hands him a twenty.
“This is strictly to help out Vlad.” He takes a pull of his sparkling water.
“Of course.” I bump my knee against Mike’s as I lean closer. “This is what’s going to happen. I’m going to get you to talk. And if I like what I hear, I’ll move closer.”
“What about me? Will I like what I hear?”
“Oh, there’s no doubt. They teach classes in law school about how to tell people what they want to hear.”
Mike grins before taking another pull of his sparkling water. I do the same. “But you’re not a lawyer anymore.”
“True. But my lips taste like ginger now. So it doesn’t really matter, does it?” I rest my hand on top of Mike’s before hopping off my stool.
“That’s a cheap shot, Beatrice.” He pulls me into his lap. It’s not at all awkward. The bar is crowded. I was getting up anyway. “They teach you that in law school too.”
“They teach cheap shots everywhere.” I slide my hands up Mike’s chest until they’re dangling behind his neck. He’s holding me at the waist, his thumbs making little circles against the sliver of exposed skin at my middle. “Say something, Mike.”
“When was the last time you saw Twelfth Night?”
“Do we count DVDs of student productions?”
I’m expecting him to smile, but instead his expression turns pensive. “You watched it?”
“I watched all of them.”
His hands still at my waist. “Which was your favorite?”
I stare at him for a beat. His hair is pulled back in a bun, the psycho makeup gone. Sure, the white shirt and loose suspenders feel a little out of place for a rowdy pub in PB, but compared to my ensemble, he completely wins the normal card.
“Romeo and Juliet. You completely stole the show. But that’s easy when you’re Mercutio. Now.” I tilt Mike’s chin up so he can meet my gaze. “I’m going to smile and lean in close. I may even giggle. And then I’m leaving. You want a ride home? Or is my 1977 still a sore spot with you?”
“The sorest, but I think we owe it to Vlad to see this through.” I thought his eyes were intense back at the escape room, but that was nothing to how he’s looking at me now.
“If you want Lena to really leave you alone, it’s not going to be because I fall all over you. She’ll only see it as a challenge. It really comes down to you.”
I flip my hair before leaning in closer. Gosh, how does this man still smell delicious after the night we’ve had?
He slides a hand up to rest on my shoulder blade. “Go on.”
“I walk out that door, without looking back, and you watch me leave like I’m a winning lottery ticket, and she’ll get the message. Particularly if you get up moments after I’m gone, like you’ve just realized you’ve forgotten to plug in Grandma’s oxygen tank.”
“Could we leave Grandma and her oxygen out of this?”
I giggle before taking another sip of my ginger ale.
Mike brings a gentle hand to my face. “And my idea of kissing you now for ten minutes before finding a quieter corner where we kiss for thirty wouldn’t be as effective because…”
“Because Lena might be the only one here who is willing to participate in that scheme.”
“But say you were?”
“I’m not.”
“Why not?”
Yes, why the heck not? Mike is gorgeous, brilliant, and I’ve never been more attracted to him.
No defense I argue would have a prayer of standing up in any court.
I know there have to be reasons, good reasons, but my mind is too distracted to find them.
So I obfuscate. “Because I’m prickly and covered in spines. Remember?”
His hand squeezes my back before he sighs. “You have no idea how much I regret calling you a cactus.”
“Embrace it, Mike. I have.”
The corner of his mouth tugs into a smile. “I drove myself. I won’t need a ride.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“But even if I did…” He inhales a shaky breath. “I’d probably be better off walking home,” he says bitterly before drinking the rest of his Pellegrino. “Ah well. ‘Present mirth hath present laughter.’”
He had to quote the play. I’m sitting in his lap with his arms around me, and he had to quote the darn play. He probably has a marked-up copy somewhere, annotated with all kinds of clever, sexy insights. Just like his volume of sonnets. Just like every last book in his bedroom.
I can hardly breathe. “Close your eyes,” I say softly.
He does immediately.
I gently take his face in my hands and slowly kiss each of his eyelids.
And while Mike stays very still, I can feel him melting underneath me.
I lean in to brush a kiss against his lips, but I stop.
I want this…but not like this. I want to be me when I kiss him.
I want it to be for real, not a game because I’m in cosplay or part of some impromptu play for someone else’s benefit. I pull back.
Mike’s chin dips. His eyes are open, and I can feel his grip on my waist easing, but he doesn’t look up.
I leave without saying goodbye. I walk out of the crowded bar without turning around.
The night air feels like a gentle hug, even if the nightlife in PB is rowdy.
I’m a few paces down the street when I hear the door of the pub swing open, and I see Mike, who for a minute looks at me like I’m not just a winning lottery ticket, but the sunset over a calm ocean.
I watch, expecting him to stumble or shrug out of character with a laugh, but he just stands there, staring at me.
I turn and walk off into the night. It’s only when I’m in my car, driving home, that I remember the first part of the couplet from Twelfth Night.
What is love? ’Tis not hereafter.