Nights With Him(62)
He hadn’t even known how she felt about him. Julia had been the one to figure it out. That had made it all the more embarrassing.
Julia set down the drink for him, whispered something in his ear, then laughed, and gave the drink to Jill instead, who promptly declared it delicious.
“And what will you be serving me tonight?” Clay asked his wife.
She leaned in closer, and mouthed the word myself.
He raised an eyebrow appreciatively. “My favorite drink.”
“But for now, a scotch,” she said and poured the amber liquid in a glass for her husband.
Michelle waited for that familiar stabbing pain that came from watching them and their innuendo. A wince inside. An ache in her chest that hurt. But none of those feelings arrived on the scene. She felt nothing at all. Thankfully. That realization—of the lack of pain their interaction caused—was a rather lovely one.
Julia turned to Michelle, holding up the bottle in question. “Scotch for you, Michelle?”
“That’d be great,” she said. Julia remembered her favorite drink too. She shouldn’t be surprised. The woman was a bartender. It was her job to remember drinks. Still, Michelle was touched.
Julia handed her the drink, and said in a voice just for her, “I’m glad you’re here. And incidentally, you have some kind of glow about you, so if you’re using some new moisturizer, I need to know what it is. Your skin looks gorgeous.”
Michelle smiled, then blushed. “Thank you,” she said, and even though she hadn’t seen Jack yet today, she knew exactly what Julia was referring to. Sex—great sex—was good for the complexion.
As she took her first drink, savoring the familiar burn of the scotch, she pictured Jack here with her. Would he fit in with her brother and his wife, with Clay and Julia? Would she even want him to? They’d only spent time alone together, never with anyone else. Their relationship—if you could even call it that—existed in a bubble of privacy and secrets. Of nights together and days apart. Would they even play well together with friends? With family? What did he wear on a Saturday afternoon? She imagined Jack sitting casually on the stool next to her, looking sexy as sin in a pullover shirt that showed off the slightest bit of his strong arms and jeans that fit him delectably. He’d drape an arm around her, unable to resist touching her, because he was like that. He’d chat with her brother about the theater and musical composers, he’d talk with Clay about his latest deal, he’d ask Jill if she’d always wanted to play Blanche, he’d ask Julia for a drink recommendation, and then he’d happily take what she served, his eyes on Michelle the entire time.
He’d fit in, she decided, and he’d be with her. Only her.
As she looked at her friends, she could see him there—part of the crew, but yet entirely hers.
A few minutes later, her phone buzzed.
J: How’s your Saturday? Are you having a good day?
M: Great. Just hanging out with friends and family, having a drink.
J: Enjoy yourself, beautiful. Missing you. Will I see you soon?
M: Yes. Very soon.
She tucked her phone back into her purse.
“What have you been up to lately?” Jill asked her. “We haven’t seen you around much.”
The corner of Michelle’s lips quirked up, but she tried to rein in her secret grin. “Oh, this and that,” she said, and then the conversation turned again to London, and to Jill’s show, and that was fine with Michelle as she listened to them chat.
When her eyes landed briefly on Clay, she saw him anew. She saw him as he was when she’d first met him. A friend. While she could certainly recognize he was good-looking, empirically so, he was no longer the man she pined after. She was seeing him, but she wasn’t seeing only him anymore.
Somewhere inside of her, a heavy brick had been moved. A weight had been shifted. Her heart was no longer pinned down and foolishly handed over to someone who didn’t care for all she had to give. It felt like hers again. And she could do with it what she wanted.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Peaches and Lace
The words dissolved on his tongue the second he saw her.
Page Six and the snarky comments were erased from his brain when he spotted her walking up Madison, big sunglasses over her eyes, a few strands of her brown hair whipping across her cheek from the late afternoon breeze. She moved her hand to brush them away, and the sight of her was breathtaking. She wasn’t wearing a sexy outfit like yesterday at his office, when she’d arrived in heels, a pencil skirt, and a tight shirt. No, today she simply wore jeans, and a short-sleeved shirt, but she stunned him nonetheless. Everyone around him could have vanished—she was all he saw.