1. Walter #4
He pulled back, wondering if this was a fever dream. Since when did Hildy let him hold her like this, all loose and flushed in his arms with her hair mussed and her dress askew?
She flicked him in the shoulder. “Did I tell you to stop? You used to be better at taking direction.”
There she is, he thought as Hildy tilted her head to give him access to her neck. It was a pleasure to do her bidding.
“Walter,” she asked, breathless.
“Mmm?”
“Are we really doing this?”
“Probably not a good idea.” But he didn’t stop.
“Because we hate each other?”
“Hate” was a strong word. Maybe their decade of sparring had been more like a scrimmage than a war.
“I was thinking about the public setting,” he said. “And we could be drunk.”
“But if we don’t do it now, we might never get another chance.”
“Why?” They were both young and healthy. Walter felt like he could run a marathon, though that wouldn’t have been his top choice of aerobic activity.
“We can’t go on like this forever.”
He tried to frown, but it was hard to focus with his mouth against her throat. A future without Hildy was not something he’d ever contemplated.
“Eventually one of us is going to come out on top. Not like that,” she chided, when he hummed his approval. “For real.”
This isn’t real? Walter didn’t give voice to the question, for fear she’d say no.
“I’m talking about settling this for good.” Her palms traveled slowly down his chest, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “Winner take all.”
Finally something clicked. “You mean tonight. The award?”
“Maybe.” Her eyes slid sideways, and a distant corner of his brain catalogued her brief hesitation as suspicious. “Watch this space, as they say.”
“I’m always watching.” Apparently it was his night to blurt out things he should have kept to himself.
“Not for long, creeper. You’ll be off licking your wounds after I wipe the floor with you.”
He captured her mouth again. “I’d rather lick yours.”
“Except I won’t have any,” she said, breathless.
“Somebody’s feeling confident.”
“I have every reason to be.”
Walter fully intended to ask why, until Hildy started undoing the middle buttons of his shirt.
“Guess we better strike while the iron’s hot.” She suited action to words, slipping her hand inside.
His eyes flickered shut as her fingers skimmed his pecs. “You always did like a good hard deadline.”
“Oh yeah. It really gets me going.” She gave his nipple a pinch. “This wouldn’t even count. It’s like a do-over.”
“Is that how it works?” He liked this rule—a hall pass for unfinished business—especially when Hildy pulled her hand out of his shirt and reached for the buckle of his belt.
Fuck me, Walter thought. Please.
The hangers on the garment rack rattled. The reality of the situation came crashing down on him a second before Corinne shoved a pair of raincoats aside.
“Do I need to get a hose?” She gave them her most withering stare. “I was gone for five minutes.”
“At least we weren’t arguing.” Hildy had already stepped away from him to yank her dress back into place.
“You know what you also weren’t doing?” Corinne crossed her arms like a disappointed teacher. “Showing up for the awards announcement. As in, the entire reason we’re here.”
“It’s happening now?” Hildy frantically removed her barrette, sweeping stray tendrils behind her ear before fastening it again. “Can I borrow your lipstick?” she asked Corinne, barely glancing at Walter, who was probably wearing most of Hildy’s.
“Too late,” Corinne informed her. “They already called it.”
Hildy sucked in a breath, like she’d had the wind knocked out of her. She flashed Walter a look heavy with accusation, as if he’d done this on purpose.
Did she really think he’d hatched an evil plot to waylay her with a scorching make-out session? She seemed to have forgotten that Walter had also blown off a career-making milestone to be with her.
And I’d do it again, he realized. If Hildy showed the slightest interest in picking up where they’d left off, Walter would follow her right off that ledge. If he was pissed at anything, it was his own idiocy.
“Who won?” Hildy asked.
Corinne’s grimace said it all.
Walter braced for Hildy’s reaction. He was ready for her to breathe fire, but she had gone perfectly still—a statue of herself. A second later, she stooped to pick up her shoes.
“Hildy!” he yelled when she slipped past him without so much as a parting glance.
“Whatever,” she snapped. “It doesn’t matter.”
His mouth opened, ready to throw questions after her like grappling hooks. Surely she wasn’t going to just leave. That would be …
Exactly her MO, Walter reminded himself, watching Hildy’s curls sway. Was she shaking her head or shuddering?
Even after she turned the corner, her parting salvo rang in his ears. She had to be bluffing. What the hell was all that talk about victory and defeat if the award didn’t matter to her?
Unless she meant Walter didn’t matter. In which case everything that had just happened between them was a nonevent, of negligible importance.
Amazing how she could make him feel like a massive loser even when he “won.”
He really should have been used to it by now.