Chapter 19
19
One semi-brief car ride later, we step through the doorway of Mustang Alley’s. I haven’t been here in years, but it looks unchanged. A mural of the cityscape trims the perimeter. Strips of navy light illuminate shiny wooden lanes, the ends of which are adorned with sports jersey renderings. There’s a dining area across from the lanes, where patrons are sipping from frosted glasses and shouting at the overhead televisions.
“Bowling?” Graham looks skeptical as he glances around the room.
“Not just bowling. Bowling, wings, and beer. All the ingredients needed to resurrect a crappy evening.”
A trace of the darkness on Graham’s face dissipates for the first time since I discovered him sulking in the dining room.
“Well. When you put it in those terms.”
We settle into a lane and Graham picks up a ball, palming it thoughtfully like he’s seeing it for the very first time.
“You don’t have bowling in the UK?” I ask.
Graham shrugs. “Impossible to know. I never once left my flat.”
“I’m sure you’ll pick it up quickly. It didn’t take you long to learn Kings.”
“And look how that turned out.”
I snort out a laugh. “Do you regret it?”
Graham raises his eyebrows.
“Regret learning a drinking game?”
“I mean, do you regret the entire night? Making a choice that’s led to the world’s most nightmare-inducing tattoo?”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I realize I’m afraid to hear the answer. I can’t help but consider that everything in Graham’s life would be easier if we’d never met all those years ago. Planning his fake wedding would be a lot less complicated, for one thing. And let’s not discount the fact that he wouldn’t be plagued with the world’s ugliest tattoo.
But then Graham fixes his gaze on me, his expression turning serious. “Ali,” he says softly. “When it comes to you, I’ll never regret anything.”
My chest pinches. There’s a hot, unexpected trickle behind my eyes and I avert my gaze to the end of the lane. If only I could convince myself that the pull I feel toward this man is nothing more than biological chemistry. Magnetism spawned from physical attraction and nothing more. But it’s getting harder and harder to lie to myself.
“You ready?” I ask with a labored smile. “No bets this time. I promise.”
A grin stretches across Graham’s face.
“Let’s do it.”
One frame of bowling, two Blue Moons, and an order of barbecue wings later, Graham leans back against his swivel chair, his body visibly less tense than it was an hour ago.
“You were right,” he says. “I do feel a bit better.”
“Of course you do. You’re out with me, the High Priestess of Diversion.”
Graham’s eyes hold mine.
“You are fun,” he concedes. “But it’s not your defining characteristic. You’re so much more than a good time, Ali. Distracting me with a fun night out was just the means. What makes you special is how much you care about people. The way you make everyone feel loved and cared for.”
A warm, fluttery sensation fills my chest. The sensation of being seen is equal parts exhilarating and terrifying.
“It’s what I love the most about what I do,” I admit. “Cooking and putting on events. Making things. It all comes from the same desire. I feel the happiest when I’m making other people happy.”
“Trust me, you make everyone around you feel happy,” Graham says.
A server arrives at our lane, carrying a tray with the next round of beer we ordered.
Graham hands one bottle to me before tapping the edge of his bottle against mine.
“A toast.”
“And what are we toasting to, Mr. Wyler?”
“To this evening’s success. I’ve been so busy wallowing that I’ve failed to properly thank you for your help. What you pulled off tonight exceeded anything I ever could have imagined.”
I shrug, but the compliment wraps itself around me like a warm embrace. “It was a joint effort. You came in strong with all those haunted mansion serving pieces. I imagine Casper’s uncles were none too pleased by the disturbance.”
Graham grins at me. “We make a good team.”
“We do.” He holds my gaze for a moment before the corners of his smile falter, and I know what he’s thinking. That with the wedding only weeks away, our time together is coming to an end. Not that it should matter. It’s not like Graham and I have a future together. We’ve both acknowledged this can never be more than a fling.
The overhead music switches to a slow song. Graham places the mostly full bottle on the tabletop and rises to standing. Bending forward, he reaches out a hand.
“May I have this dance?”
I glance around me skeptically. “We are in a bowling alley.”
Graham shrugs. “I never got to dance with you at the Bar Mitzvah.”
I stare at his outstretched palm for a long moment before placing my hand in his and standing.
“This is a bold move for you, Mr. Wyler.”
Graham presses a palm into the small of my back, pulling me flush against him. The feeling of his chest against mine steals the air from my lungs. He laughs softly, his warm breath tickling my cheek.
“What can I say? You have a knack for pushing me out of my comfort zone.”
We’re barely moving, just gently swaying against each other. There’s a pleasant tingling in my limbs at every point of contact, and a sense of peace washes over me.
“Who’d have thought that a Baltimore bowling alley would be such a romantic spot,” Graham muses.
“It’s different to see Baltimore through adult eyes,” I concede. “Growing up, I couldn’t wait to get out of here. Spending your entire childhood with the same group of people feels like a prison. Everyone has a set idea of who you are and there is no room for change. The reputation you curated in the third grade follows you for the rest of your life. I was thrilled to escape to New York. A place where you’re surrounded by people yet have the luxury of complete anonymity. There are endless possibilities for reinvention.”
“I guess it depends on whether being anonymous feels like a good thing,” Graham says. “Whether it feels lonely.”
“New York can be lonely,” I concede. “But I don’t feel lonely here. I guess that’s the thing about coming home. When you’re a kid, you look around your hometown and feel like you don’t belong. But when you grow up, you realize it’s the only place you ever did.” I shrug. “These days, I think Baltimore is sort of magical.” Graham lifts one hand forward to cup my jaw, his thumb brushing my cheek.
“I think you’re magical,” he says softly. “A few hours ago, I was devastated, but being around you completely lifted my mood. There’s just something about you, Ali. You just make everything better.” He tilts my head toward him, cradling my face in his hands. A storm cloud of emotion looms behind his eyes, and I feel a tightness in my chest. It’s an emotion I do my best to avoid confronting and it takes a moment to identify it. Fear.
Graham seems to register that something’s off.
“What is it?” he asks softly.
“I’m scared,” I admit. It’s a level of vulnerability I rarely allow myself to expose, but the authenticity feels oddly natural.
Graham raises an eyebrow.
“Of what?” he asks. “You’re the most fearless person I’ve ever met.”
“I’m scared of you,” I admit quietly. “Of the way that I feel about you.”
Graham leans closer until his lips are hovering an inch from my own. “I never expected this,” he says softly, his breath warm against my mouth. “I never expected you.”
When he kisses me, it feels different than it has before, unflinching and reverent. Our bodies become one unit, merged by feelings that seem too big for words, and with a muted twinge of trepidation, I wonder how I ever let myself believe that this could be a fling.
“My grandmother left for the airport after dinner,” he whispers, his voice a low scape against my ear. “I’m meant to be watching Genevieve again through the weekend.”
“Well, then we’d better be getting home,” I murmur. “For the sake of the dog.”
“How many times do I have to tell you that Genevieve is not a dog?”
Graham smirks as he slips his hand through mine, and with that, we’re hurrying out the door and back into the darkness.
Graham doesn’t bother to flip on the lights when we stumble through the doorway of his grandmother’s house. The moment we cross the threshold, he’s twisting his fingers through my hair, molding his lips to mine. I’m not sure how much time passes as we stand there, exchanging frantic kisses like desperate, horny teenagers, before he grabs the hem of my dress, lifting it over my head. He tosses it on the floor behind him, and a muscle in his jaw twitches as his gaze caresses my newly exposed skin. Even in the darkness, I can see the fire igniting in his eyes.
A long beat passes as we stare at each other, drinking each other in, before he charges forward. He grabs my face, thumbs tracing over my cheekbones as he roughly captures my lips. Then he walks me backward until I’m flattened against the entryway wall. My hip bone bumps against the edge of a console table, sending the framed photos on top rattling.
He slides a finger through one bra strap and guides it down until it falls off my shoulder. I let out a shuddering breath when he drags his lips from my mouth to brush them across my exposed collarbone.
I slip a hand between us, stroking the bulge in his dress pants. He lets out a low growl as he bites down on the tender skin of my neck. Encouraged, I undo a button, slipping my fingers into the elastic of his boxers. He inhales sharply when my hand encircles him, the hardness of him sending a ripple of excitement through my chest.
Graham reaches behind me to unhook my bra. It drops to the floor, leaving me topless. I swallow a gasp as the cool air brushes over my nipples, but then Graham captures one in the heat of his mouth, closing a hand over the other. I tilt my head back, arching toward him as he continues his gentle assault, his thumb teasing one nipple to a hard peak while he sucks gently on the other before switching sides. Heat builds between my legs, and I let out a ragged exhale.
“Graham,” I croak. “I need you. Now.”
Wordlessly, Graham scoops me up in his arms, and begins carrying me up the staircase, which is blessedly illuminated by the moonlight pouring in through the windows. He deposits me into the guest room where he sleeps, lowering me down gently on the edge of his mattress.
His gaze locks on mine as he sinks to his knees. My heart pounds against my chest as his mouth traces up my thighs, planting kisses everywhere except where I want him most. When I let out an impatient whine, lifting my hips toward him in a less than subtle gesture, he lets out a low chuckle. Then, mercifully, he strokes his tongue over my panties, licking me straight up my center. I bite down on my lower lip, groaning.
“Graham, fuck. ” I pant. “Please.”
His lips curl upward.
“Always so impatient.”
He hooks his fingers into the edge of my panties, pulling them down slowly, torturously, before draping a leg over his shoulder. By the time he eases a finger inside of me, I’ve lost the ability to form a cohesive thought.
He studies me through hooded lids as his fingers stroke over me, like he’s mentally cataloging all the ways I want to be touched. A moan escapes my throat when his tongue brushes my most sensitive spot. Pleasure builds in my core as his tongue laps over me, rhythm building. I ball the sheets in my hands as my legs start to tremble. I rock my hips against him, my surroundings start to blur until I’m no longer aware of anything besides the sensation of Graham’s mouth and fingers, until it sends me over the edge with an orgasm so strong that the edges of my vision turn white.
I return to my body slowly, as Graham lowers his body onto the mattress beside me, his body flush against mine. He leans forward, cupping my cheeks, and despite the urgency we felt for each other downstairs, the way he’s kissing me now is slow and unexpectedly tender. Emotion wells in my chest as I feel his heartbeat against my own chest and a single word echoes inside my head. Mine, mine, mine.
“Ali,” he breathes, and there is so much emotion infused into that one word that it brings tears to my eyes. There’s so much that needs to be said, but I don’t want to spoil this perfect moment. So instead, I hook my fingers inside his undone pants, sliding them the rest of the way down his legs.
“I need you,” I repeat, vaguely aware that at some point, my ache for this man has stopped being purely physical. Graham climbs off the bed, removing his wallet from his pants and extracting a condom. I watch as he rolls it over his length before lowering himself on top of me.
He lowers his mouth to kiss me again as he pushes himself inside of me, and then we are moving together, slowly finding our rhythm. I dig my nails into his back as he increases the speed of his thrusts, until I’m hurling over the edge of a cliff, this orgasm even stronger than the last, the aftershocks rippling through my core.
I collapse back against the pillow as I slowly come back down to earth. The cool fabric carries his musky scent, and I take a gratuitous inhale. Then Graham drops onto the mattress beside me. He wraps an arm around my waist, tucking my head beneath his chin and pulling me flush against him. My eyes travel over the length of his body, the thin sheen of sweat that coats his chest as it rises and falls with ragged breath. My gaze lowers to the tattoo on his hip bone, and I trail my fingers over it slowly, reverently.
Graham’s palm covers mine as I continue tracing my fingers over the familiar pattern.
“Do you ever wonder,” I ask, “if the tattoos have some sort of magical properties that propelled us back together?”
“Like two magnetic poles,” he says sleepily. “A pair of opposite forces powerless to fight the attraction that draws them together.” He’s quiet for a moment and then his breath grows slow and steady, and I know he’s fallen asleep.
I awaken to a glimmer of sunshine peeking through the blinds and the sound of my phone buzzing on the bedside table. I reach over to grab it, squinting at the name on the screen.
Babs Cell: CALL ME.
“Why do boomers have such an affinity for ‘Call Me’ texts?” I muse sleepily. “If they’re so hell-bent on speaking by phone, why don’t they just call us and forgo the theatrics?”
Graham rolls over and plants a kiss on my shoulder. “And miss the opportunity to terrify the recipient? What would be the fun in that?”
“I can assure you there’s nothing terrifying about this. Odds are she wants to know which flavor of Mandel bread I want her to make for Passover so she can bake and freeze it four months in advance of the holiday. Which is obviously a trick question, since the answer is no freezer-burnt Mandel bread, thank you very much.”
“I don’t know what that is, but I suspect I’ll live out my days in blissful ignorance.”
I grin as I lean back against Graham’s warm, bare chest and dial my mom. But the second she picks up the phone and I hear her shaky exhale on the other end of the line, I know I’ve made a grave misjudgment. Dread pools in my belly.
“What is it? What happened?” I ask before she even says a word. Beneath me, Graham’s body stiffens.
“It’s Bubbie,” my mom replies, and I can tell by the thickness of her voice that she’s been crying. I shoot up straight in bed, faintly aware of Graham’s intense stare on the back of my head but unable to look back at him.
“She was having chest pains in the middle of the night,” my mom continues. “We rushed her to the hospital. The doctors… they think it’s her heart. Wait, hang on.”
I hear my mom’s muffled voice speaking to someone in the background and then another voice comes on the line.
“Hey, Al. It’s me,” Sarah says. A new feeling blooms in my chest, one that’s hot and sour. Because of course my mom called Sarah first. Of course I’m the very last call.
Sarah’s voice shakes me out of my bitter inner monologue. “We’re at Sinai Hospital. How soon can you get here?” I close my eyes and let out a shaky breath. Now is not the time to get emotional about my family dynamics. My grandmother needs me. “I can be there in fifteen minutes. I’m already downtown.”
The weight of the bed shifts as Graham stands up. I stare at his bare back as he rummages through a dresser drawer before extracting a navy sweater and pulling it over his head. Part of me deflates, a feeling that’s followed by a rush of guilt. I wasn’t ready for our time together to come to such an abrupt end. But nothing cools off a steamy evening faster than a family emergency.
I disconnect the call and begin fishing for my own clothes, which are still strewn across the floor. Already, I can feel my heartbeat start to escalate.
“My grandma is in the hospital,” I tell Graham, doing my best to keep my voice steady. “I have to go.”
“I’ll drive you,” Graham says as he drags a belt through the loops of his jeans.
“That’s sweet, but you don’t have to do that,” I say. I give him a reassuring smile as I focus on keeping my voice steady. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s to not expect men to provide me with anything other than orgasms. Well, that and to reach something on a high shelf.
But then Graham is kneeling beside me, placing a warm hand over mine. It isn’t until our skin makes contact that I realize my own hands are shaking. The reassuring pressure of his touch slows my heart rate immediately, and I feel my breathing start to regulate.
“I’ll drive you,” he says again, softly. “Just tell me where we’re going.”