Closer and Closer Read online

  “Sorry about that,” he said, nudging his boot against the gray, split wood.

  “It’s okay.” She brushed her hand across the bench, scattering spent rose petals to the ground. “Bet Lucy’s not let up on you since Monday morning.”

  “Not since.” Walt sat beside her, careful of the overloaded vines twisting over above their heads. “You know Lu.”

  Claire was quiet for a minute, watching him in that way of hers that made him feel too big and clumsy to be near her. “She’s not Holly.”

  “Erin? No.” So this talk was already happening. Walt settled back, stretching his arm along the creaky wood, ready for a long one. “It would be a hell of a trick if she was, since I don’t believe in ghosts.”

  “So stop acting like a haunted man.”

  “Claire…” He knew about his blind spots and the old, gimpy places in his head. “I know. Can y’all take it down a notch? I just met the girl.”

  Claire raised her shoulders, conceding. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Lucy and I got a little excited,” she said. “It’s been so long…”

  She had him there. “Has been. But a new girl…hell, I probably should’ve been more careful. I was staying away from new girls, remember?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Erin’s very smart. She’s been watching for a long time.”

  He looked out over the garden’s tangle of overgrown hedges and rosebushes, wishing he’d thought to bring a can of Tate’s beverage of choice along so he’d have something to do with his hands. Instead he studied them, remembering the sound she made when he pulled at her nipple, the way she asked for more. Someone like Erin asking for harder, heavier sensation from him could get very close to those old, gimpy places he’d kept blocked off since he was a kid, getting his first tastes of playing and doing it with someone he had feelings for.

  “Watching isn’t the same as doing. You know that, Claire.”

  “Reading and learning about the lifestyle and then getting into things is smarter than jumping in blind.” She tucked her arm through his. “I’ve spent some time with her, Walt. She’s smart. I thought you’d like her.”

  He couldn’t stop himself from chuckling a little at her. “Soon as I saw her, I knew you and Lu had something cooked up.”

  “We’ve been concerned.”

  “About me? Since when? I’m fine.” His voice sounded rushed, false to his own ears.

  “Since you got back from seeing Hailey last Christmas.” Her hand smoothed over the fist he’d made against his hip. “You’ve had a lot happen in the past two years, Wally. I think you needed a break after losing so much so fast.”

  Walt slumped a little against the wooden slats behind him. The feel of something solid behind him was good. He let out a long breath.

  “I was done, you know?”

  “I know,” she said, smoothing over his knuckles again.

  “Holly—after her, I said ‘nope, just going to keep it casual, nothing serious anymore.’ That was when I figured I wasn’t up for any more.”

  “Walt, even if Erin doesn’t become a long-term part of your life, you can’t just tell yourself you’re writing off relationships because you’ve lost people who were important to you.”

  “It’s not that.” Gritting his teeth, he looked around the garden, nearly dark in advance of nighttime. “I was starting to think I’d never have someone want me to stick around.” Claire made a small sound, but he coughed out a tired, disbelieving laugh at her. “You know, she said that to me Sunday night. She asked me to stay. It—I know she didn’t mean it like that, but it still got me a little.” He laughed again, easier and softer this time.

  “Just go slow,” Claire said, her voice a soft whisper over the night sounds coming on around them. “You know that, but I’m going to tell you anyway.”

  “Trying to. It’s going real fast.”

  Smiling a little, she sighed and tucked herself into his arm. “The only thing I miss about being actively poly is that first spark. The way you feel when you’ve just met someone and the sex is really hot and you could just talk for hours and then you want to do it again and it’s even hotter the next time.” He couldn’t stop the understanding nod—or the need to shift his legs. “Enjoy it. Enjoy her.”

  “Yeah,” he said, kissing the top of Claire’s deep red curls. “I’m gonna.”

  Chapter Eight

  MY PHONE CHIRPED, showing a short text from Walt.

  I’m out front. -W

  “I’m going to wrap up for tonight, Alan. We can pick up tomorrow morning. Seven thirty?”

  “Fine. Fine with me, Erin.”

  I hated the sound of my own name on his voice. Mercifully, he was gone without another word. I gathered my things, resolutely reciting neutral…neutral…neutral. Alan wouldn’t spoil my date.

  Date. Dinner. Or date for dinner?

  It was more than a thanks for the sex dinner, because he’d called more than once, and Claire also called, sounding so smug in a kind way but definitely smug over something, and when Walt called, he asked about my day and how Dirtbag was behaving, and…

  “Okay, enough.” I forced myself to sit. Walt would wait an extra sixty seconds. I, however, needed to catch my racing, panicky pulse. He wouldn’t go away over an extra minute. “And,” I said, whispering, “if he does, he does.”

  Around me, the data center had stilled to the even, smooth hum that took over when most of our people had gone home. This was often my favorite time at the Callahan House, when I did my most concentrated work. I caught my reflection in the dark screen of my monitor, and then the scene beyond me. Past my shoulder, the late spring afternoon light threaded through the trees, throwing bright shafts of sun across the stretch of new grass, reflecting its deep green at the old forest beyond. There was so much random and unpredictable out there. No even gradients of gray paint and carpet and temporary walls in easily manageable right angles.

  There was something more interesting than the rigid, methodical environment I controlled, after all. Walt was out there too.

  I gathered my things and headed to the front entrance.

  I didn’t see him right away. Not sure what sort of car to look for, my eyes glided past the red convertible. But then the door opened, drawing back in time to see Walt’s broad shoulders clearing the windshield. His hand came up as he smiled, hovering for a moment until it went to his pocket.

  He met me at the end of the front walk, his fingers under my elbow as I stepped from concrete to asphalt, lingering as he walked beside me to the passenger side of the car.

  “This is your loaner?” I smiled at it, a little disbelieving and charmed. “Who keeps a vintage Mercedes as their spare car?”

  “Luce, who else?” Stepping aside, he opened the door for me. “Feel like I hear the Miami Vice soundtrack playing every time I get in it.”

  I set my messenger bag and purse inside, turning so I could follow. “I like it. It’s…well, it’s nearly summer and it’s a convertible. But it’s…”

  “It’s what?” His hand still hadn’t left my elbow.

  “It’s not very…you. No offense, just—”

  “No offense taken. You’re right,” he said, laughing. “I feel like a bear on a tightrope driving it.”

  “I haven’t been in a convertible in years.”

  “You’re kidding me. Re—” His face shifted, drew in tight around his eyes. “Come here,” he said, suddenly gruff, fingers sliding down my waist.

  I stumbled into him, graceless and more than a little shocked at his change. Before I could steady myself, Walt kissed me. His mouth was surprising again after four days, making me reach for his arm as his tongue passed over my lips. One long, muscled thigh nudged over mine and my hips settled against his. In the distance, I heard voices, then a round of male laughter, and I stumbled over Walt’s foot as my head canted toward them.

  And of course, Alan passed us, clapping his hand to Steve Gomez’s shoulder as they passed. He turned his head, over his shoulder, toward
me, with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

  “Oh God.”

  Walt’s arm circled my waist as he chuckled. “Whoa. All right there?”

  “Fine,” I said, shuddering. The wave of horror was instant and hard. No, no, no…That laughter, they weren’t…no, not they, just Alan, because Steve was my management mentor, and he was looking away, pointing his key fob toward his waiting car. “I’m fine. Can I just get in, please?”

  The seatbelt fumbled through my fingers, catching across my breasts. I lost it, and it slid back, tightening over my neck. Under me, hot leather scorched my legs and I pushed myself up, hissing.

  Walt was back at my side. “Hey, you okay?”

  Huffing and blinded by the late afternoon sun, I pointed at the seatbelt, now dug hard into the crevice between my neck and shoulder. I was pinned, struggling to shimmy from the webbing. Intent on helping, Walt touched my arm, and my eyes clenched with humiliated frustration. “No, thank you. No, just…oh, darn it—no, let me!”

  “Okay.” The sense of him beside me evaporated, and a moment later the driver’s door opened.

  “I’m sorry.” Freed, finally, I adjusted the seatbelt and clicked it into place.

  Walt started the car. We drove in silence across the parking lot. Finally, when we had cleared sight of the building, he pulled into the deep shade of a tall evergreen.

  “That was Alan,” I said. “Um, Dirtbag?”

  “Yeah, I know.” He shrugged casually.

  “How—”

  “I saw him watching us. Well, you. When you said you were working late with him, I had a feeling he’d be around about the same time you left. And wouldn’t you know it? There he was.”

  “Watching us—me? He hates me.”

  “No, he hates himself because he can’t have you,” he said. “Guys like him, they’re used to women falling all over themselves to get his attention. He’s used to it, and he uses it. I’d imagine you treat him like you treat everybody else on your team.”

  I looked over at him, my throat tightening. “Well, yes, of course. I give everyone I work with the same respect and…”

  “And he thinks he’s better than pretty much everyone, except the guys he thinks will give him power. And he probably thinks they’re nothing but a stepping stone anyway.”

  “I don’t think he’s interested in me,” I said, giving the seat belt a tug away from my neck. “Not sexually.”

  “You’re kidding me.” Walt cocked his head toward me. “You’re beautiful, Erin. And smart, and a decent gir—woman. And you have power over him, and doesn’t it just piss him off that he can’t fuck you out of your power?”

  “Beautiful?” I winced a little, but turned back to him, slanting my head in his direction. I smiled. “That’s some speech. How do you know all of this?”

  “One, I’ve got eyes and you are beautiful.” He shifted, looping his arm over my seat. His other hand wrapped around mine. “Two, I’m a man who was raised by an old-fashioned granddad, played sports, was a military cadet for three years, and have been in the lifestyle for near-eighteen.”

  I pursed my lips, stunting a giggle. “Oh, the man’s man thing. That’s why you kissed me?”

  “No, not really. I’ve seen my share of pissing contests. But I was going to kiss you anyway.” His thumb swept over my wrist as he’d taken to doing, and my shoulders dropped a little as I exhaled. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes.” Yes, Sir. Beside my head on the headrest, his fingertips skimmed my cheek. It hummed between us, this unnamed thing that happened when I was aware of him like that. Like what I was beginning to understand as Dominant. Distantly, I noted a car pass. And another. Walt didn’t look away either. “You are too, you know.”

  “Am what?” His thumb tipped across my bottom lip.

  “Beautiful.” He rolled his eyes, laughing toward the heavy green branches over us. “No, you are. Walt, stop laughing.” I dug my fingers into his exposed side, tickling. He laughed harder, but growled and caught my arm, stilling it against his ribs.

  “No tickling,” he said, eyebrow rising. I opened my mouth to protest, but he shook his head. “I said no tickling. Okay?”

  I let out a long breath and nodded, unable to look away. “Okay.”

  After a silent second, he let my hand go. “You like Italian, right?”

  “Sure.” I resisted the urge to compile low-carb alternatives to pasta in my head. “Love it.”

  “Let’s go eat,” he said, leaning against my forehead for a quick kiss.

  I watched him for a few minutes as he guided the car along the road into Callahan. It was about power: Alan’s sudden interest in our site director, questioning my solutions. Going his own way when he installed the upgrades I wrote for our servers’ operating system. And his territory: a manager’s seat by the windows, his because he thought he was entitled to it.

  Without a second thought, Walt made it clear, in a male language I now had no doubt was real, that I was under his protection. I should have bristled over it or dismissed it. The surprise, though, was I liked being someone Walt concerned himself about. I liked that the problem of how to handle Alan seemed smaller, and how much less villainous he’d become.

  “Does it always break down to that?”

  “To what?”

  “Power. Is that how men always relate to each other?”

  He glanced at me as the car hummed forward. “Women do it too.”

  “No, not…okay, they do.” I watched the suburb of Callahan passing us. All those new homes, possibly one of them belonging to Alan or another one of my team members. Their wives at home? Working too? Settled into traditional expectations or bucking them, like his friend Lucy, or even Claire and Dr. Paul Saldino, DDS. Or Walt. “Do you think you’re always a Dominant?”

  His eyebrows rose over his sunglasses. “Dominant? No. And no, I don’t think about playing all the time.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know,” he said, grinning. “I’m a Top. I don’t call myself a Dominant, Erin.”

  I pushed my hair away from my face. “But you are. I mean, that’s how it feels.” There was so much more in me and seemingly between us, feelings and instincts so base and chemical I didn’t know how to name them. I hushed myself. Too much.

  “It does.” His hand left the gearshift and picked up mine. “Let’s take this a step at a time, okay?”

  Silently I nodded, and focused on the road.

  “Don’t,” he said as we braked for a couple in the crosswalk.

  I shook my head. “Not doing anything.”

  He parked the car along a row of refurbished brick storefronts, evidence that Callahan’s center was coming back to life.

  “It’s not a little thing, Erin. Not the way it feels like it could be with you. The way I think about us together. That’s a lot to say for me, but it seems like this—” He moved his hand in the air between us. “We’re moving pretty fast.”

  “Yeah,” I said. This wasn’t going to fall apart. I liked him. I should hold it together, and just not need him so soon, even though there was so much about Walt that felt good. Right. “I’m having pasta.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Pointing to the restaurant, Trattoria Stella, I repeated, “Pasta. I’m going to have pasta.”

  He gave me his half-grin, the one mimicked in the crescent lines around his eyes. “All right, then. Me too. Hope they’ve got enough. I skipped lunch again.”

  He had pasta. Spaghettini tossed with tomato, crispy, glistening pancetta, and peppers. A big salad of arugula, roasted beets, and goat cheese. When he held out a bite for me, I leaned forward for it without question, humming over the balsamic-sage dressing. And I ate. Chicken piccata. With the fettuccine.

  “I’m glad you like your dinner.” He chuckled as I sighed at another forkful of lemony-bright chicken. “You skip lunch too?”

  “Um…no. I brought my lunch. Salad.” I sat my fork aside and sipped at the glass of Sauvigno
n Blanc suggested by our waiter. “I don’t think I’ve been out to dinner since I’ve been here. A sit-down dinner, with wine.” I certainly knew more than a couple of the evening crews at Crusts, a local sandwich shop.

  “You haven’t dated since you’ve been here?”

  “No.”

  Walt swirled the Malbec in his glass, his eyes narrowing a little. “You’re kidding.”

  “No. Not for a while.” I cut a triangle of chicken. “Do you want to try this?”

  “No, thanks. I can’t believe that.”

  “I can’t believe it either. This is the best chicken piccata I’ve ever had. You should have a bite.”

  His eyes skipped to my plate and back to me. “I don’t care for capers, and I don’t mean the chicken.”

  I popped the chicken I’d cut for him into my mouth. “’S really good,” I said behind my hand, nodding.

  “How long?” He was on the scent of it now, and wouldn’t stop.

  “Close to five years. Regularly.” I swirled my wine and drank again. “I’ve…there was a guy in California, but it was convenience for both of us, I think. We’re really just good friends. He transferred back to our data center in Mumbai last spring. Since then, no one.”

  “Huh.” He shrugged and looked at me with considered silence for a moment. “You like tiramisu, right?”

  “Tiramisu?” I cleared my throat with a sound that, again, was not mine but was mine. It was coming from my mouth and the words were coming from my brain. It was impossible to follow him when he spoke in that voice, and he made it so difficult to draw together what I needed and wanted to tell him, when he was so close and smiling at me like I was an appealing, amusing girl. Who would never lose twenty-five pounds if she kept eating cream and fettuccine and tiramisu. But why lie? “Yes.”

  “Good. So, you have anything against dating?”

  “Um, no. As a concept, no.”

  The corner of his mouth lifted. “But in practice?”

  “It’s never seemed to be an important part of the logic chain.”