“Fine!” then quieter, “Absolutely fine. I need to leave.”
“I’ll take you home.”
“No!” She grabbed a coat and turned, blinking in what he assumed was annoyance that he was still here. “I’ll grab an Uber.”
Because he stood in her way, she turned her back and struggled into her coat. The collar was folded in on itself so he unflipped it, leaving him to think on what it would be like to have access to her collar every day. To be able to do that one little thing for her as she got ready in the morning, heading into work, as they kissed their goodbyes at the door.
The yearning almost made him buckle.
She pivoted quickly.
“We’re going to forget that ever happened.”
“Nope.”
She stared at him. “Nope?”
“You can’t police my thoughts. If I want to remember it, think about it, fantasize about it when I get off, then I’ll do so. And you know something, Casey?” He leaned in close enough to see her blue eyes wide and fired up. “You won’t be forgetting about this anytime soon, either.”
She shook her head, though not in denial. She couldn’t deny that she would be remembering this forever. No, she was mad as hell. “I need to leave.”
“Sure. I’ll be in touch.”
Those eyes went even wider. “You will not!”
He stepped aside but the space was tight and he was big. It wasn’t his fault she had to brush by him, her hip glancing off his erection, the one that was in no danger of subsiding. Perhaps it was better she was leaving—he really needed to do something about this hard-on.
“Good night, Coco.”
“What—oh, forget it.”
She left and he let her, knowing they weren’t finished.
Knowing they had barely begun.
7
Casey awoke to the sound of a jet engine coming in for a landing close to her ear.
“Keanu, what have I told you about waking me up?”
Her black cat—her fat black cat—left off his noisy purr to sniff, then sneeze in her face.
“Happy Christmas Eve to you, too.”
She checked her phone. Her parents had already texted to say they would be out of range during the cruise today but they would check in tomorrow to wish her a great holiday. They also advised her that the Wi-Fi was spotty and they were really quite busy, so if they didn’t call, don’t be surprised.
Her parents exhausted her.
It was a little unsettling to be spending Christmas alone. Last year, they’d made more of an effort to include her because she had just broken up with Andrew. Unfortunately they had loved her ex and there was always a hint of censure about her reaction to his betrayal. She should have done more, as if putting the man through law school and working her ass off to support him on her salary wasn’t enough.
Finding text messages between your boyfriend of eight years and his co-worker, expressing how Casey had “outlived her usefulness” had been unexpected. She had always known that Andrew never thought of her as his equal, but it still surprised her to see it laid out so callously. She wasn’t polished or driven enough. What was it he had said to Melanie in one of those exchanges?
I could never be serious about a woman who lets me walk all over her.
Like their eight years together had merely been a stopgap, with Casey as the placeholder. Her emotional and financial support of him, her efforts to be the woman behind the great man, had been a tick in the con column. He despised her for her kindness.
Usually at this point in the mental self-flagellation she would be checking his Facebook feed to see what he was up to. This morning? She had no desire to go down that thorny path.
Was it possible she had pushed through to the other side and was finally numb to the pain? Some sort of grieving process was at work here.
New me jumpstarted by orgasms.
She sat up in bed, an image of Erik on his knees before her in that closet returning unbidden—okay, bidden, very much bidden—to her mind. Was this the answer? Losing herself in bone-melting sex?
From the moment she entered that elevator to the moment she awoke ten minutes ago, she had only thought of that glorious Swede. (No doubt he figured substantially in her dreams even if she couldn’t remember the exact details.)
His ridiculously handsome jaw, dusted with facial hair that had felt like a dream against her thighs.
His Arctic-blue eyes that had shown genuine remorse on hearing her painful recounting of how much that night had meant to her.
His tongue as it made all the sorrow vanish, if only for a few moments.
Andrew had left her brain because Erik was there to replace him, a conclusion she did not enjoy nearly as much as she should have. She didn’t want to substitute one selfish man for another, not even one so generous in the oral department. (Andrew was never a fan, which should have told her all she needed to know.)
Erik had definitely served a purpose. She wouldn’t say he’d made up for his failings exactly, more like her heart had softened toward him. Not quite ready to forgive, she might have graduated to understanding his behavior all those years ago and then again, when they “reunited.” Some of the blame could be on her side: she never gave her real name, she had been a redhead that one night, and maybe he had lost her number on that napkin. She recalled now that she’d offered it after he asked, even though his initial request had been to put his number in her phone contacts. But she had resisted that. It placed the burden on her to call him and she didn’t think she’d ever be brave enough.
A perfect storm of puzzle pieces that might explain away his behavior. Or perhaps she was reaching for a tidy explanation to make herself feel better about getting busy with the guy again.
Forgiveness shouldn’t come so easily, but the next time she saw him, she would be less standoffish. Besides they had renewed history. It was pretty hard to act like a raging bitch when a man had made you come twice in a closet at your boss’s house during a team holiday party.
She clapped her hand over her mouth.
She had done that! Left him hard and aching, too—she’d definitely encountered his “problem” on the way out of the closet and she wasn’t sorry for it. Not one bit.
Score one for the sisterhood. Or maybe two because it had happened twice.
“Well, Keanu,” she said to her suspicious kitty, “maybe your human is back.”
An hour later, Casey was second-guessing her go girl talk as she stared at the delivery that graced her coffee table.
A poinsettia.
A man had delivered it about five minutes ago, and despite Casey’s love of poinsettias, she was now viewing it like it was a Venus flytrap.
The card with it read: Thanks for coming at the party last night. God Jul, Erik.
Hmm. She looked up “God Jul”: it meant Good Yule or Merry Christmas in Swedish.
But that wasn’t why she was staring at the plant like it had offended her ancestors. Oh, no. It was the “at” in that sentence. Not “thanks for coming to the party” but “thanks for coming at the party.”
Erik’s English was fine and that preposition choice was no mistake. He was thanking her for … coming!
How could she enjoy her victory for the sisterhood when he was undermining it with his perfect English, cheery holiday plant, and well wishes for her sexual health? Thanks for coming, indeed!