MAGPIE (18 page)

While soaking, I was treated to a nice cup of herbal tea and a small tray of cheese and crackers—clearly not Kraft or Nabisco. Greg didn’t stay, however. He dropped the tray on the tub’s ledge and left to catch up on a few emails, his frosty demeanor annoying the hell out of me. All this fancy shit didn’t mean anything if a cold shoulder was the only flesh I’d experience for the rest of the trip.

Initially, memories of my first bath encounter with Greg flooded my mind, but were quickly doused with his acerbic demeanor. “Fuck it,” I said, as I sank deeper into the still steaming water, closing my eyes, hoping to close out the world—just for a while, anyway.

An hour later, I grudgingly pulled myself out of the water. I found a plush robe hanging on the back of the door and wrapped myself in it. Stepping out of the bathroom, I found Greg sitting on the bed in a t-shirt and gym shorts, reading something on his laptop that captured his entire attention.

“Thanks for the tea and snacks, they were very nice,” I said.

Not looking up, Greg said, “Sure, glad you enjoyed it.”

Pensively, I asked, “What are you reading?”

“Work stuff.”

“Oh,” I murmured, taking the clue that nothing of the carnal sort would be taking place in our extravagant penthouse bed. I quickly changed into a pretty nighty I picked up last minute and crawled under a delightful, lightweight duvet.

What a waste
.

I grabbed my readers and a book I’d packed for the trip, flipping to page one. I didn’t expect to be reading on our getaway, so I’d grabbed something in Katie’s stack of books that sort of looked interesting without fully vetting it. Nevertheless, I put on my engrossed face and slogged through a really bad novel.

About fifteen minutes later, Greg shut his laptop, placed it on the nightstand, turned to me and said, “Mags, I have something to say and I need you to just listen, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’ve been single a while, now. I’ve dated a lot, Mags. Some good, mostly not so good. My kids are very important to me, but they live in Chicago, near their mom. I don’t see them much, which saddens me, but life goes on.” Greg’s eyes brimmed with tears for just a moment, then he quickly blinked them away.

“The majority of women I meet want a sugar daddy. It’s pretty disgusting, really. You wouldn’t believe the women who crawl out of online dating sites. I’ve been approached by a seventy-four year old, for Christ’s sake! I considered signing up with one of those ‘million dollar matchmaker’ clubs because, Mags, I make a good deal of money. The romantic boy in me, though, wanted to find a sweet girl. I finally found her, and it’s you Mags. You didn’t even Google me, which would have revealed to you who I am and what I do. We’ve had a blast, and I’ve enjoyed every tender, sexy and simple moment together.”

Greg stopped to take a sip of water. Though he left an opening for me to say something, I didn’t; I wanted him to finish.

“You accepted me 100% until I showed up at your door this morning. In a fucking car, Mags, that’s all it was, a car. I wasn’t quizzed on the flight, so you must have enjoyed flying first class. And clearly, you loved your bath. I clocked you at fifty-three minutes. But you have this air about you now, like you are sitting in judgment, like you disapprove of the apparent overindulgence of this trip I planned just for you.”

Another sip of water and an even longer pause. Respecting his wishes, I said nothing, though it was becoming increasingly difficult not to interrupt and defend myself.

“I just wanted you to have a really nice time, stay at a wonderful hotel, eat great food and see a Broadway musical
on Broadway
. I’d hoped to take you away from your life, for just a few days, and maybe show you what your life could be like, not that it would be a continuous stream of five-star hotels and first-class flights, but it could be,
some of the time.
” He took a deep breath then, “I love you, Mags.”

I never knew why books and movies depicted shock as one’s jaw dropping, but mine did when Greg uttered those few words. I couldn’t come up with anything to say, so I bought a few seconds by taking a sip of sparkling water Greg had poured and left for me on my nightstand.

Gathering my thoughts, I began, “Greg, I don’t know where to start. First, I care about you, a great deal, actually.” Bypassing the obvious, I continued, “But what I can’t ignore is this need to defend myself. I do feel bad for giving you the third degree about the car. I’ve
never
been exposed to this kind of living, travel—whatever you call it. I was childish the way I handled my surprise and curiosity. I’m sorry. You’re right. I did enjoy and appreciate the ride to DIA and flying first class. And this hotel is spectacular, truly. I could
live
in this penthouse!”

I was trying to lighten things up, but the look on Greg’s face said I was failing miserably.

“Greg, you and I live completely different lives. I feel guilty when I spend over two hundred dollars at Home Depot on annuals that will last maybe four months. I don’t buy anything full price and get excited when spring comes around so I can peruse yard sales. I live a tidy life, and you know that, you’ve seen my place and me in it. I’ve grown accustomed to my routine, which, I must say, is more comforting these days than constricting.”

I paused for more water, gulping this time.

“I’m sorry that I came off as critical. I’ve relished every moment, really. Please know you’re dealing with a small town girl. Denver’s not really small though, is it? Let’s say a ‘cow town girl.’”

He added, “I’m a Colorado native, too, Mags.”

“Yeah, but how much time have you really spent in Colorado?”

More interrogation, Mags?

“I didn’t mean it that way, Greg, what I meant was you’re
worldly
, I’m not. It’s that simple.”

Fuck I want this to be over!

Defensively, Greg said, “I see, so I don’t have what it takes to understand anything outside of my
grandiose lifestyle
?”

Greg’s earlier treatise didn’t pack the punch that his cutting rhetorical question did.

“I want to say something now, and please just listen.” It was my turn, and I wanted the entire floor. “I don’t want to argue about lifestyle, income, career choice, family status or anything that will draw a line between you and me. All I want to say is that you and I have known each other just a couple of months. Really, really good months, Greg. But like anything that comes my way that’s different, I need time to adjust. I just need time to get used to all this.” I underscored my point by glancing around the lavishly adorned bedroom, returning to meet his icy blue stare.

“When you meet my sister Katie, she’ll tell you how giddy I was when we went shopping for a dress for
Wicked
tomorrow night…”

“You went shopping for a new dress?” Greg’s eyes lit up when I shared this small fact.

Smiling, I insisted, “Don’t interrupt! Yes, I did because I wanted to look and feel fantastic—for me
and
for you. I’ve never experienced anything like this, and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all of it, Greg.” I reached over to kiss him, and he met me with an even more eager one.

Taking in a deep breath, I continued, “I’m tired and I’m sure you are, too. Can we just agree that we got off to a bad start, but it’s over and tomorrow—er today, is a new day?” More questions swirled around my mind’s periphery, like the leaves scattered by a spiffy coupe traveling down a country road at ninety miles an hour. In the end, I brushed them off, wanting to absorb every ounce of our upper-crust jaunt.

“Agreed, Mags, and I’m sorry for the lecture. My feelings were hurt, if you can believe a man like me has feelings,” he ended, jokingly.

Make-up sex can be ridiculously mind-blowing. That night, it was even better. Our heightened emotions manifested in primal maneuvers, competing for the dominant position. I rolled on top of him and began to fuck him hard, my ass slapping against his balls while his engorged cock filled my drenched pussy perfectly. In a flash, Greg flipped me over and pulled my ass into the air and slammed his cock deep into me while groping my tits and biting my back. Our power fuck lasted only a few minutes; Greg cumming first, letting me take his still-rock-hard cock in my hand and rubbing it angrily against my clit, sending a subliminal message that I am still a fiercely independent woman.

***

A text buzzed several hours later. My phone was plugged into an outlet imbedded in the bedside lamp, close enough for Greg to hear it. I quickly picked it up and saw Daniel’s name.

“Who’s Daniel?” The tone had apparently woken Greg, who was now leaning over looking at my phone.

Squirming just a little, I answered, “Oh, just a friend.”

“A friend who texts at—what time is it? Five in the morning?” Greg sounded suspicious, and I was too groggy to get into it with him. This trip was, indeed, off to a bad start.

“He works weird hours.” I had no idea how I came up with that, and I felt foolish saying it.

“What does that have to do with texting you at the crack of dawn, which would be three o’clock in Denver, by the way.” Greg got up and went to the bathroom to pee.

“Oh fuck,” I said into my pillow.

When Greg came out, he fetched a pair of boxers out of the dresser and moved into the kitchen, presumably to make coffee. Clearing my head of irrational crap, I threw on my robe, and met him in the kitchen.

He’d put the coffee on, and I said, “Wow, that smells terrific!”

“Who is he, Mags? You’ve never mentioned Daniel before.” He fussed with the creamer, sugar and mugs as he asked me about Daniel, avoiding my eyes.

“Greg, Daniel is a friend. He lives in Atlanta, so there is nothing to worry about. Seriously!” Guilt seeped between my words, and Greg sensed it.

Still futzing in the kitchen, Greg asked, “How’d you meet? Is he an old college buddy or something?”

There were times when I could pull off a lie pretty darn well; this wasn’t one of them. I hadn’t planned on building a relationship on a foundation of lies, but I’d already fibbed about being a nervous flier. Still, I didn’t want white lies—or any kind for that matter—to become the norm. Could I somehow soften the blow?
Probably.

“I met Daniel online. Geez, Greg, you and I met online. When I found out he lived in Atlanta, I realized it wasn’t going to amount to anything; we agreed to stay friends. It’s no big deal.”
Hell,
I
was convinced!

“I have lots of female friends, Mags. It’s not about that. None of them text me in the middle of the night.” Greg’s eyes landed on mine. They burned like daggers, and I looked away.

“Greg, he’s a friend. That’s all.” My stomach churned; I didn’t know where this was going, until his next question.

“Can I see your phone, Mags?”

“No, Greg, you can’t. But not for the reason you are thinking. I won’t stoop to this. You either trust me, or you don’t. It’s that simple.” I stomped off to the bathroom, feeling bile rise with each step.

Daniel was a friend, dammit! We’d never had
real
sex. We’d never been on a
real
date. I don’t know what he smells like, what his cock feels like or what he eats for breakfast, for fuck’s sake! I hadn’t been unfaithful to Greg. Daniel was like porn—couples from all walks mess around with smut. Still, if all of that was true, why did I feel so guilty? Strangely, I felt equally as bad for Daniel as I did for Greg; I’d shoved him into my box of sex toys to justify dating other men—local men, who I could see, touch and fuck.

How the hell could anyone be in love with a phantom?

I walked to my phone and unlocked the screen,

Today, 5:04 AM

DANIEL: You fuck him yet?

MAGS: We have to talk, not now, when I get home

DANIEL: Uh oh

MAGS: Please don’t

DANIEL: U ok?

MAGS: Ya, just need a couple days then we can talk

DANIEL: Mad at me?

MAGS: No

DANIEL: Ok take care

MAGS: Will try

Greg walked in just as I put the phone back down on the nightstand. Ignoring my movements, he said with a hint of contempt, “Let’s go get breakfast, Maggie...just the two of us, please.”

***

Greg and I moved past the Daniel fiasco fairly well. The instant we walked outside, the soul of New York City grabbed our attention and refused to let go. We had breakfast at
Bubby’s,
an eclectic, out-of-the-way place that served everything from scratch. Because our breakfast was so filling, we passed on lunch and snacked back at the hotel. Lying back to back, we napped for a little over an hour.

Reservations for dinner had been made well in advance at
Gramercy Tavern,
not far from the Theatre District. Our table was in the Dining Room, not the Tavern, and I wondered if Greg knew someone to get into a place like this with such short notice. Our server announced that the menus were seasonal as he expertly handed them to us, along with a massive wine list. I expected higher prices—I’d paid more in some of Denver’s fine-dining establishments. In the end, I kept all my observations to myself and enjoyed an evening of great food and wine, enjoyable conversation, and lots of people watching.

After dinner, Greg and I jumped into our car, which swept us along the
“Great White Way”
and dropped us at the Gershwin Theatre. Ticket holders eagerly made their way inside while paparazzi buzzed about, waiting for the perfect shot of somebody famous—they never seemed to care who as long as the subject was drunk, stumbling, or kissing someone other than their spouse. We found our seats just in the nick of time; the music started as Greg helped me with my wrap.

“Wicked” was electric, to put it mildly. I sat at the edge of my seat the entire show and giggled with delight after every musical number. I caught Greg’s glance several times, and he seemed pleased I was so enthralled. After the third encore, I kissed Greg passionately and whispered a very sincere, “Thank you.”

We made love more tenderly that night, lingering on sweet kisses and gentle touches. I fell asleep in Greg’s arms and woke to his hand exploring between my legs. I rolled over and let him kiss and lick every square inch of my body.