Going Down: The Elevator Series (4 page)

“Cici,” he repeated, almost as if he were trying out the name with his mouth.

I can think of some other things I’d like him to try with his mouth.

“Is he your only brother?”

“Yes, it’s just Zach and me. Our parents still live in Nebraska, so we try to look out for each other. His wife, Elaine, keeps him in check now, so I don’t have to worry as much.”

“Nebraska to the NYC? That had to be a culture shock.”

“It was. Zach is two years older than me, and we both managed to get scholarships to New York schools. I went to Fordham and had my face buried in books for six years until I graduated with my master’s in business and a minor in history. Not your typical business college, but I started out with a less practical major. My brother, on the other hand, went to various SUNY campuses and spent his eight undergrad years setting records for the Longest Game of Beer Pong and Most Goats Herded into the Dean’s Office.”

Cole barked out a laugh. “Those sound like stories worth hearing! Please tell me more.”

“There’s not much to tell about the beer pong game. Zach’s just really competitive and has a superhuman tolerance for alcohol. The goat story is pretty funny now, but I wasn’t laughing then when I had to call my parents for bail money. Zach’s in-laws raise these angora goats on their land not too far outside of the city. He had just started dating his wife during his third senior year—and it’s a wonder she married him. He and his frat brothers decided it would be a smart idea to
borrow
several of the goats to keep as pets. Not surprisingly, the goats rampaged through their frat house. Zach was shotgunning beer so he could feed the empty cans to the goats. He more than surpassed his superhuman limit and decided the best way to prevent further destruction of their house was to lead the animals over to the dean’s office. He might have gotten away with it if he hadn’t passed out in front of the door.”

“That is a riot!” Cole thundered, holding his stomach.

“Well, Dean Fitzhugh didn’t think so. The goats consumed some
fifteen-century manuscript and gnawed the corner off a desk belonging to one of the framers of the Constitution. I had to bail him out that morning. Fitzhugh wanted him tarred and feathered, but he somehow managed to plea bargain down to a million hours of community service, or something, and agreed to finish the last three hours required to graduate.”

“It sounds like your brother should never ever meet my brother. The have the same dangerous sense of humor. My dad is a professor at a local university in Connecticut, so that’s where John and I went. I majored in marketing and John in kinesiology, with a minor in binge drinking. Felicity was smart enough to know she shouldn’t spend her college years under my dad’s watchful eye, so she went to school in Paris. John, on the other hand, thought it a good idea to streak across the football field during the homecoming game his junior year wearing nothing but a smile and a showgirl’s headdress. My father only kept his job because he’s tenured. John got kicked out of school—in the academic sense and the literal sense—and became a dot-com millionaire within a year after.”

“You’re right.” Our brothers can never meet. I don’t think the world would survive.” It was fun to talk to someone who could understand the perils of having a wildcard sibling. Maggie was an only child, so she couldn’t relate, no matter how funny she found the stories.

“It would be like crossing the streams in
Ghostbusters
,” he said.

“Didn’t crossing the streams actually save the world?”

“Hmm. I think you’re right. It’s been a while since I’ve seen it. I do love that movie, though.”

“It’s a classic, for sure.” I said. “I think I have it on my phone if you want to watch it. We’ve had dinner, so a movie seems apropos.”

“You have
Ghostbusters
on your phone?” It might have been my selective whore hearing, but I swear he followed that with, “This is too perfect.”

I fished my phone out of my bag and opened the videos. My mobile downloads were solely comedies. Dramas and chick flics were reserved for nights alone with my cat, a pint of ice cream, and ratty yoga pants.

We watched the movie together and yelled, “Jinx!” each time we recited the same lines. We took turns holding the phone, and I couldn’t be certain, but it felt like he was intentionally grazing the back of my hand each time one of us relinquished control. I would never admit it out loud, but this elevator entrapment was the best part of my day.

I must have nodded off sometime in the wee hours of the morning. I awoke groggy and stiff, with my head in Cole’s lap. My phone was on the floor next to us. I pushed the button to see the time. It was almost five. That meant our rescue was at least a couple of hours away. The last thing I remembered about the night before was laughing about our crazy families and telling horror stories of girlfriends and boyfriends past.

Ugh, you know better than that, Cici. Rule Number One: Never talk about past relationships on a first date.

Was this a date, though? We’re stuck in an elevator together and making the best of it. I was about to move to a new building, so I likely wouldn’t see this Adonis of a man again.

That thought stung. I would like to see him again. And again. On the other hand, it was sort of freeing to know it didn’t matter what kind of impression I made.

It wasn’t until I started to sit up that I realized his jacket was draped across my torso and his hand rested on my arm. He sat propped up against the wall of the elevator, which looked less than comfortable. I nestled back into his lap since this was the best vantage point to molest him with my eyes. His hair was a mess, but somehow still sexy. He had a jaw that could cut glass and a day’s worth of stubble that begged to be touched. Or licked. The moisture pooling in my mouth was unbelievable. The moisture pooling south of the equator was a whole other story. He looked so peaceful and relaxed, despite his awkward position. Nothing on film or television had ever held my attention like watching this near stranger sleep.

Stop being creepy, Cici.

Cole hummed and started to stir. I looked away and checked my mouth for escaping drool.

That’s sexy, Cici.

He reached up to rub his neck and opened his eyes.

“Good morning, sleepy head.” He smiled then yawned. I was still curled up in his lap like a cat in a sunbeam. “What time is it?”

I reluctantly surrendered my position and joined him against the wall. “It’s about five. Are you all right? You’ve been sitting up all night.”

He groaned, stretched his neck, and mumbled, “I’ll be fine. It’s nothing a muscle relaxer cocktail and a steady rotation of masseuses and acupuncturists can’t cure.”

I’ll be happy to volunteer for massage duty.

“Well, I appreciate you letting me use you as a pillow. It was very chivalrous.” I adjusted my blouse so it was no longer twisted and attempted to straighten out my ruined skirt.

“Feel free to use me as a pillow anytime. I can think of a lot of worse ways to spend my time.”

Was he flirting? I was a little rusty, but I thought he was definitely flirting. Probably.

Play it cool, Cici. You can do this.

“Well, if I had to get trapped in a decrepit elevator with anyone, I’m glad it was with you.” I smiled sweetly and brushed the hair out of my face, only to get my fingers stuck in a veritable rat’s nest. “Ugh, I must look horrible.” I tried to tame my chaotic tendrils, but I only managed to make it worse. My hair could’ve been its own eighties band.

A thousand damn items in my purse, but not a brush or breath mint in sight. I can kick my own ass.

Cole helped extract my hand from my hair with no small effort. “The feeling is mutual, and I think you look quite stunning.”

Did all of the air just leave this elevator?

“Say what you will about the poor sleeping accommodations—and I will be filing a formal complaint with the management company”—he paused—“but I can’t imagine a better view.”

All of the air is undeniably gone.

The many years of my education failed me as I regarded the intense look in his eyes and muttered a quiet, “Oh.”

He didn’t look away, but it was somehow not uncomfortable. I liked the way he looked at me, despite my disheveled state. With some minor upgrades, I wouldn’t mind staying in this elevator for the rest of my life. Put in a bathroom, a Starbucks, and drop Leroy down to me, and I could be quite content.

He still held my hand, a sensation that was at the forefront of my mind. It hadn’t escaped the notice that other areas of my body couldn’t stop reacting to him, as well. His hands were every bit as strong as they looked, and my mind couldn’t help but wander to earlier thoughts about what they would feel like on the rest of my body. Cole smiled and I did what could officially be deemed a
swoon
. I was one step closer to becoming a Disney princess.

Cole looked me in the eyes with an intensity that made me feel naked. “I was wondering, since we’ve technically spent the night together, if it would be too forward of me to kiss you?”

Did I just swoon again?
This was going to be a problem. I would sell my soul to the devil himself for a mint and the gift of eloquent speech
.

“Um, no. I don’t think that would be too forward at all.” My voice that was a mix of hopeful and nervous.

You’ve kissed plenty of men before. Okay, not plenty, but several. Why are you nervous? Maybe it’s because I’ve never kissed anyone like Cole before. He’s easy to talk to and easy on the eyes. There’s a lot riding on this. Do not screw this up, Cici. Keep it together; he’s on the move.

Cole leaned forward and moved his hand to the back of my neck. Time slowed to a snail’s pace. It was not without great restraint that I stifled a moan when our lips connected. I wanted to change my forwarding address to those lips. They were soft and yielding, yet commanding at the same time. He could teach a workshop on kissing, and I would buy every ticket. The way his lips moved across mine was nothing short of its own art form.

Needing air and fearing it wouldn’t be sexy to black out on him, I reluctantly broke the connection. I sucked in a breath. “Wow.”

When did I turn into a monosyllabic simpleton? Oh yeah. The second I set foot on this elevator.

I took in some more oxygen and gathered my thoughts. “That was, um, more than adequate.”
Okay, not all my thoughts have been gathered.

“More than adequate?” He clutched his chest in a dramatic fashion. “I’ll have you know I’m a perfectionist, Cici, and I don’t do anything in just an
adequate
manner.”

Pantless Good Luck Cat, help me. I think I’m in over my head.

I made an effort to recover. “Technically, I said
more
than adequate. I mean, I guess it was nice if you like that kind of toe-curling kiss thing. I might need more than one sample to be sure.” I batted my eyes in the most convincing way I could muster.

“Do you now? I suppose I could submit to your request. Strictly for scientific purposes.” He moved toward me at a glacial pace. The sexual tension was more than this tiny space could handle.

“I love science.” It took me a minute to realize the breathy voice saying stupid things was my own.
I’ve lost total control of what comes out of my mouth.

He leaned forward again, and I met him halfway this time. My hands had their own agenda and went straight to his hair. His hair was thick and soft. Like everything else about Cole, his hair could have its own fan club. I would be the president, naturally.

This kiss was more aggressive and needy. My hands fisted in his perfect hair without any direction from my brain. His tongue slipped inside my mouth and my moan couldn’t be contained this time.

When did I start moaning like a porn star? Oh yeah. The second I set foot on this elevator.

I hiked up my skirt and maneuvered my leg over his lap so I could get a better angle. I wanted to climb him like a tree, but I didn’t want to come across like a tramp. The very best I could hope for at this point was to look like a classy lady of the night, like those escorts who cater to traveling businessmen; the ones where you have to schedule an appointment.

He stopped kissing me abruptly and my lips started going through the five stages of grief. “I think I’m doing this backward.”

“Backward is good. I’m okay with backward.” I pressed my mouth against his again to stop my own self from talking.

When our lips disconnected again, Cole closed his eyes and shook his head. “What I mean is that usually the man asks a beautiful woman out on a date, then they have dinner, and then a kiss. I’m not being very much of a gentleman. I ate a smashed breakfast bar from your purse and then tried to suck out your tonsils.”

“I don’t think you’re that skilled.” I scoffed.

“Are you mocking me?” He clutched his chest again in an over-the-top manner.

“No, it’s just that I had my tonsils removed when I was nine, so sucking them out now would be unlikely. And gross.”

Cole chuckled. “You’re really not helping.”

“Don’t forget we already slept together, too,” I added.

He blew out a long breath of air. “I guess the traditional order of things has already been blown to bits, huh?”

“Indeed.”

“So what now?” He took both of my hands in his and rubbed his thumbs across the knuckles. “I don’t think there’s a manual for meeting in confined spaces. Would you be interested in going on a real date if we’re ever rescued? Don’t feel pressured to say yes just because we’re probably going to die in here, and you don’t want to emotionally devastate the last human you’ll ever see on this earth.” The Cheshire cat had nothing on Cole. The pantless Good Luck Cat, on the other hand, had all but abandoned me.

“I would love to go on a date with you.”

I’d also love to have your babies and do that kissing thing again. Soon.

“Whew.” He exhaled. “I was going to make you sit on the other side of this elevator if you turned me down.” He smiled at me, and it was as if we’d engaged in this playful banter for years.