Like Jazz (17 page)

“It beats what I see from my apartment, at any rate,” I said, unable to conceal my smile as I worked fruitlessly to push away thoughts of what it might be like to wake up next to Sarah.

“What’s so amusing?” Sarah said, catching me.

“Uh…nothing. Sorry. Just…happy to be here.”

She gave me a curious look but let me off the hook. “Shall I open this?” She held up the Zinfandel I’d brought.

“Please.” I nearly choked on the word as I failed to will away thoughts of her skin against mine.

“Follow me to the kitchen. I’ve got some stuff to take care of. We’ll take the house tour when we’re done with dinner. For now, forgive me, but I’ve got to put you to work.”

Grateful for the opportunity to remove my eyes from Sarah’s body since I couldn’t very well explain my focus on her instead of the city below, I followed her, enjoying the delightful aroma emanating from the kitchen. Almost as soon as we entered it, Sarah put a wooden spoon in my hand and directed me to a pot on the stove. She told me that stirring rubbed the starch off arborio rice, which helped the starch dissolve in the stock. My work was creating the sauciness that would give our risotto its flavor and satisfying texture.

While I continued to stir the contents of the pot, Sarah flitted in and out of the kitchen to set the dining-room table, uncork and pour the wine, place some mixed greens and veggies onto salad plates, and carry them to the table. I was half pleased that she seemed to be going out of her way to make me comfortable and half bothered that it needed to be any kind of production, since I would have been willing to eat Pop-Tarts or dry toast to hang out with her.

Once the risotto had absorbed the liquid, Sarah directed me to turn off the burner. At her instruction, I stirred in some butter and Parmesan cheese to complete the dish. She grabbed two plates from a cabinet and spooned a mound of risotto onto each, then lifted a glass top from a large saucepan on the stove, puffs of steam rising from within. From a drawer of utensils, she removed a set of tongs, grasped some asparagus from the pot, and placed portions on both plates.

“Could you bring the wineglasses?” she asked as she took a plate in each hand and entered the dining room. I followed with our beverages.

Once we sat and placed our napkins in our laps, Sarah lifted her glass to me.

“A toast.”

I raised mine to hers in reply.

“To old friends,” she said.

“To old friends.” We clinked glasses and each took a sip. “Thanks for inviting me over, Sarah. This looks fantastic.”

“
You
look fantastic,” she said while swirling the wine in her goblet. She’d tilted her head as she said it and wore an expression that seemed laced with challenge.

I set my glass down and assessed her. I couldn’t read her expression. Either she was setting me up for something or testing me, but I’d worked hard at overcoming my issues with compliments and wasn’t inclined to fall back to my old habits.

“Thank you,” I said simply.

She smiled broadly, apparently pleased I didn’t make an issue of her comment. “Glad you could join me.” She lifted her fork and stabbed at some salad. “There are things I’ve been dying to ask you,” she said, waving her fork at me before taking a bite.

“Such as?” I picked up my fork and pierced some salad.

Sarah launched in. “How did you get over your discomfort at being touched and complimented?”

I chuckled, amused. “Guess we’re done with small talk already?”

She grinned and nodded. “If you don’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m over it. Just…more accepting.”

“How?” She took a bite of risotto.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to go down the path of the entirety of my modest love life with Sarah. “I met someone who kind of made a project out of me. Someone…” I bobbed my head right and left, searching for the right words. “Someone patient and loving.”

She appeared thoughtful and interested. “A lover?”

I nodded.

“And are the two of you still…” She raised an eyebrow that finished her sentence.

I shook my head.

“Tell me.” Sarah encouraged me gently, taking a sip of wine.

I set down my fork and glanced up at the ceiling, wondering where and how to begin. “We met through mutual friends when I was a junior at Columbia. We hit it off immediately and she fell for me pretty hard.”

“She?”

I nodded and studied her for a sign to continue, some indication she wouldn’t freak out or be uncomfortable.

“And?” She took another bite of risotto.

“And…we dated for about a year. She—Alex—was hugely affectionate and kind of…wore me down over time, I guess. She’d grab my hand out of my pocket and hold it in hers, she’d put her arm around me or link elbows when we’d walk, and she’d smile triumphantly when I’d sulk or groan about it. Then she’d further push my buttons by saying something complimentary, like, ‘You’re so cute when you crinkle your eyebrows at me like that’ or ‘I love how you get so serious when I hold your hand in public’ or ‘You can hide those pretty white teeth all you want, but I know they’re in there.’ It would drive me crazy.” I rolled my eyes, reliving the exasperation.

Sarah smiled. “I imagine.”

“I didn’t really have much choice but to kind of deal with it.”

“So what happened?” She sliced off a section of asparagus.

“To us?”

She nodded.

I briefly bit the inside of my lower lip. “I couldn’t give her what she needed. What she deserved.” Recalling my failure, I focused on my napkin. “I wanted to return her feelings, to fall in love with her as she’d done with me. I mean, she was such a great person. Smart, kind, cute, loving…Everything you could ever want, really. I don’t know what was wrong with me, but…” Meeting Sarah’s gaze, I shook my head and lifted my wineglass. “I wasn’t in love with her.” I sipped my Zinfandel.

“You were honest with her about how you felt?”

I set my glass down. “Yeah, of course. From the beginning. It wouldn’t have lasted as long as it did, but she kept hoping my feelings would change. Thought I was worth waiting for.” I half-shrugged in embarrassment.

“The silly girl.” She gave me a smirk that told me she was teasing.

Sarah acted as if she wanted to ask something further but would twist her fork amid the mound of risotto on her plate, look at me, raise an eyebrow, then drop her eyes and repeat the process.

After watching her do this three times, I was curious. “What are you thinking?”

“Have you ever been in love?” Sarah blurted out the question before taking a bite.

“Are you going to grill me all night?” I didn’t want to answer.

She finished chewing and swallowed. “Sorry.” She wiped her lips with her napkin. “I’m being impolite. But you’ve piqued my curiosity, Cazz.” She shrugged. “You called me nosy once. Guess it still applies.”

I picked up my wineglass and watched the red flash in the light as I swirled its contents. “Once,” I said truthfully, keeping my eyes on the liquid. “A long time ago.” I set my glass down without taking a sip and peered at Sarah. “You?”

She eyed me coolly and her mood darkened. She sat back in her chair and focused on her plate. “Twice.” Based on the cloud that suddenly hung over her features, whatever happened with number two couldn’t have been good. Or was it number one?

“Does that include Dirk?”

After several moments, she lifted her eyes to me and a smile lightened her mood. “No,” she said with a secretive look.

I didn’t know what that look meant, but I was surprised Dirk hadn’t made the cut. They’d seemed pretty together when I knew them.

Sarah picked up her fork and stabbed at her salad. “Don’t tell me third time’s the charm, because I don’t intend to make that mistake again.” She took a bite.

“Yikes.”

“Yikes is right,” she said after swallowing. “I think maybe we’ve switched places, Cazz. Now I’m the one who doesn’t trust so easily.” Sarah dropped her gaze back to her plate and cut a thin piece of asparagus into smaller pieces.

I was eager to ask her to clarify her remark, since I’d never thought of Sarah as overly trusting nor had I thought of her as cynical. But as curious as I was, I didn’t want to press her into revealing any part of herself that would make her feel uncomfortable—defensive or vulnerable—around me. I wanted to soak up our nearness, hold onto the decade-old bond she alluded to when she mentioned we’d switched places, cling to the kinship those old memories invoked. It pleased me she’d acknowledged our history because it meant she’d been contemplating a past—an affiliation—we shared.

Yet without further prompting, she looked up at me and continued her line of thought. “Single guys, even women, see me in fancy restaurants, elegant ballrooms, and exclusive country clubs, wearing stylish clothes, approaching all manner of extremely wealthy guests with friendliness and ease, and they see a mirage. They’re lured to the idea of me, of some trophy or stepping-stone they think I can be for them because of how I live and who’s in my network. They’re not interested in knowing me, really knowing me, and I’ve stopped wanting to know them. I allow myself occasional distractions when I want them, always on my terms, and it’s satisfying enough and uncomplicated.”

“Distractions?” I didn’t like the direction this conversation seemed headed.

“Distractions. One-night stands. Casual sex. Whatever you want to call it.”

“That seems like an extreme reaction to getting hurt,” I said, making the obvious leap that someone had deeply wounded her.

She deflected the comment. “Does my shallowness offend your sensibilities?”

“I would never think of you as shallow.”

“Guess you have a lot to learn about me then.”

I wanted the opportunity to take lessons, if that was the case. I contemplated how to respond.

“You don’t strike me as a ‘distractions’ kind of woman,” Sarah said, scooping some risotto, cocking her head to the side, and studying me as she chewed.

“I’m not.” I had a sudden loss of conviction, second-guessing myself in light of Sarah’s revelation and wondering if I could turn on a dime.

“Guess you won’t be staying the night then?” Sarah posed the question with a provocative set to her slightly open, lovely mouth, resting her tongue against the inside of her upper teeth.

My gaze dropped inadvertently to those magnificent lips. I was being challenged, only I wasn’t sure if she was testing me on my ability to read between the lines or my ability to engage her with some clever riposte. Unfortunately for my wit, I was overcome by the thought—however impossible—of staying the night. Of putting my mouth along every delicious curve and in every delightful crevice Sarah’s body offered. Of being one of her
distractions
. My cheeks grew hot and my stomach trembled at the prospect. I met her eyes and blinked. She let me linger in my flustered state, watching my reaction with obvious pleasure, the cat that had cornered the mouse.

After an endless stretch of silence, I finally managed to swallow before offering a bland response. “Guess not.”

“Besides, I care about you, which ruins everything.” Her voice held a tinge of regret, and her smile morphed into a slight frown.

Her flirtatiousness abruptly halted after that, and I sensed in her a desire to keep me physically and emotionally out of reach. Conversation turned to current events, movies we’d seen, and other impersonal subjects. After dessert, I offered to scrape the plates and put the dishes in the dishwasher, but Sarah refused. She continued to be polite, but became more reserved, less openly friendly the way she’d been throughout dinner. When I said I should go, she didn’t try to delay me and walked me to the door.

After stepping onto the front porch, I turned around. “Sarah, I’m not sure if I said something to upset you, but if I did, I’m sorry.”

She held the door and gave me a sad smile. “You didn’t do anything to upset me, Cazz. You were wonderful company.”

It was driving me crazy not knowing what switch had been thrown, or how to flip it back, because she was clearly erecting a wall between us no matter the polite veneer she was putting on. I decided to play ignorant, pretending not to notice the physical distance she’d been placing between us since dessert. I stepped forward and drew her to me in a tight embrace. I felt and heard her gasp in surprise and noticed she didn’t return my hug. Undaunted, I held her and spoke softly into her ear.

“Thanks for tonight. Dinner was delicious and it was great to see you.”

She sighed, her body relaxed slightly, and finally her arms wrapped themselves around my shoulders. I let myself linger, taking in the scent of her hair and the warmth of her neck.

Holding Sarah felt so right. The only time someone felt so right in my arms was ten years ago. I’d only known her for a few months then, and only for a week now. Yet the odd sense of belonging was quickly dovetailing with arousal. Under the influence of her scent and the heat of her body against mine, I was overcome with a desire to push her inside and take her right on the floor. She wasn’t helping things, as the fingers of one hand lightly played with the hair at the back of my neck while she tightened her hold on me with the other. She seemed to be allowing herself a similar reconnection to me that I was feeling toward her. It felt…amazing. Perfect. Impossible. I stifled a moan.

Summoning all my willpower, I pulled away and held her upper arms, physically holding myself back from her. We stared at each other. I couldn’t speak for her, but lust was raging through every cell in my body, and my breathing was more pronounced even though we hadn’t even kissed. When her eyes dipped to my mouth and her lips parted just enough to reveal the tip of her tongue, I had all the evidence I needed that I wasn’t alone in wanting more. She swayed almost imperceptibly toward me before closing her mouth and slowly raising her eyes to mine.

I removed my hands from her, cleared my throat, and smiled sheepishly. “Good night, Sarah,” I said, shoving my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching out to her again. I turned around and started walking to my car.

“’Night, Cazz,” I heard Sarah say before she closed the door.

I longed to hear her whisper those and other soft words in a more intimate setting. But as much as I dreaded leaving, staying wasn’t an option, even if I’d been welcome. If I had to choose between having Sarah in my arms for only one night versus clinging to the faintest of possibilities of one day having more, hope would triumph.