The Job (22 page)

“I’ll
keep that in mind,” I tell him, shooting for inscrutable.

“What
about your parents?” he asks clumsily.

“What
about them?” I return.

“Are
they still together? I don’t know, that’s really none of
my
business. I just thought I’d—”

“They’re
still together,” I tell him. I plan to stop there, but the juxtaposition of the
cancer comment with his direct question regarding my parents is hitting me
pretty hard. “My mom just found out that she has cancer and, to tell you the
truth, I’m pretty freaked out about it.”

“I’m
sorry,” he says. “What kind does she have?”

“Chondrosarcoma,”
I answer. “It affects bones and joints. From what I know, they didn’t exactly
catch it as early as they would have liked, but it looks like her chances are
pretty good.”

“I’m
glad to hear that,” he says.

“What
kind did your mom have?” I ask. “Really, if you don’t want to talk about it, we
can change the—”

“Cervical
cancer,” he says. “When it happened, I was too young to know what that meant,
but she never had a chance. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through. If
you ever want someone to talk to about your mom—not that she’s…you know,” he
stammers, and I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol or the conversation.

So
far, my search for clarity hasn’t provided very much in return.

“Thanks,”
I tell him. “I might take you up on that. So, how about that drink?”

“You
know what?” he starts. “I think I will have another one if you don’t mind. Not
as strong as that last one, though.”

“I’m
on it,” I tell him. While I’m fixing up his third drink in the last fifteen
minutes, I start again, “You know, I really think that one of the things that’s
most important in a new relationship is chemistry.”

“Yeah?”
he asks.

I’m
still pouring orange juice, so I don’t turn around, but I can hear the
confusion in his voice.

“Yeah,”
I tell him. “It’s weird how it can happen, too. You never know who’s going to
end up giving off that spark, you know?”

“Yeah,”
he says, leaning against the wall for support.

“I
know when you and I started working together, I was almost sure something was
going to happen between us,” I tell him.

Not
really. I thought he was good looking but I knew better than to sleep with my
contractor.

“Really?”
he asks. “It’s funny, I thought the same thing.”

“Yeah?”
I say, turning around and handing him his drink, this one with only a single
shot in it.

“Yeah,”
he says and takes a sip. “This one’s perfect, thanks.”

“What
made you think that?” I ask.

“That
something was going to happen with you and me?” he asks.

“Yeah,”
I answer.

“Well,
I was attracted to you physically for starters,” he says. “More importantly,
though, when we started talking, it became very clear very fast that you seem
to know what you want and what you have to do to get it. I guess I fantasized
that, at some point, I might be one of the things that you’d want.”

His
large pupils hold steady eye contact and I don’t know what to say. My hands
feel clammy and my heart picks up speed.

 
“I see.”

“What
about you?”

“I
don’t know,” I answer. “I just thought you were hot.”

Truth.
Really hot.

We
both laugh.

“Come
on,” he says, “there’s got to be more to it than that.”

“Well,”
I tell him, “you’re difficult.”

“That’s
attractive?” he asks, smiling.

“Yeah,”
I answer, “not really. It’s not that in and of itself, I guess, but it’s more
the fact that you’re willing to stand up for what you feel is right, but you’re
also willing to compromise when it really comes down to it. Not always,
though,” I add. “You
can
be pretty
pigheaded.”

“So,”
he says, “does that mean the infatuation has already worn off?”

“I
don’t know,” I answer, looking him up and down. “I’d say the attraction’s there;
I’m just trying to figure you out.”

“What
do you want to know?” he asks.

“If
you could have the one thing you want most in life, would you give up
everything else to get it?” I ask.

He
looks at me and takes a drink.

As
far as he’s concerned, this is just a question that I ask people. I doubt he
knows that I know.

“I
don’t know,” he says. “I used to want to say yes to that question, but I think
there’s just always more to want. How would I know that one single thing would
be enough? Maybe the things I’d be giving up would be necessary in order to
have a full life. I guess it would come down to a case by case basis.”

He’s
testing me.

A
lot of his answer is new, but he came pretty close to quoting my response to
the question directly, too.

“What
about you?” he asks, searching for any sign that I’ve got it figured out yet.

“I
don’t know about that,” I tell him. “I think that if you really want something,
you’ve got to go for it. Consequences be damned.”

Now
I’m testing him. That’s nowhere near the answer I gave him last time and I’m
kind of hoping that he’s going to call me on it so we can move past this whole
charade.

“I
guess I can see that,” he says. “Although, in my experience, you never really
know until you’re already there. Life is a series of choices. We try to make
our choices, planning ahead, but there’s never any guarantee that the outcome
is going to be what we’re anticipating. Doing something that seems like it’s
the healthiest thing in the world might turn out to be one of the worst
decisions you’ve ever made. Doing something that seems stupid or impulsive on
the other hand, well that’s just a mixed bag like everything else.”

“If
I didn’t know any better, Eric,” I say, “I’d think you were hitting on me.”

“Oh,
we wouldn’t want that,” he says. “After all, you are the big boss lady.”

He’s
moving toward me slowly, that look in his eyes that has me ready to melt, but I
stay in character.

“So
you’re basically saying that no matter what we do, we can never expect an
outcome?” I ask.

“Kind
of,” he says, “yeah.”

“Wouldn’t
that mean that it doesn’t really matter what a person chooses to do?” I ask as
he gets within a couple inches of me.

I’m
looking up at him as he’s looking down at me and he answers, “I don’t know if
it’s that simple. I think there are some choices that will almost always end
badly and some choices that will almost always end positively. What I’m really talking
about are the leaps of faith,” he says. “Sometimes it takes just that extra
inch of courage to take a leap that you might not otherwise be prepared to
take.”

“It
sounds like you have something specific in mind,” I smile.

“Yeah,”
he says. “I’m wondering what would happen if I kissed you right now.”

He’s
already bending down and, despite the fact that I’ve hardly made any progress
in my fact-finding mission, there isn’t a single part of me that wants to turn
my head or walk away.

Our
lips meet, the salty tang of his skin mixed with the orange juice and liquor
fills my senses and I put my arms over his shoulders.

We
kiss deeply, our tongues timid, but playful as we test his personal chaos
theory.

He
pulls away and I stare into his deep green eyes.

“So,
was that a mistake?” I ask.

“I
don’t know,” he says. “It didn’t feel like a mistake to me.”

“Yeah,
that felt rather nice,” I assent.

As
much as I’d like to think through all of this, it’s all I can do to keep my
feet on the floor.

I
know I’m attracted to him and, for now at least, that’s enough for me to tilt
my head back again and welcome the taste and touch of his lips on mine.

My
hands move on their own over his firm upper body, and I can taste the
adrenaline that’s surging through my body.

With
a simple motion, he lifts my shirt up and off, and I respond in kind, feeling
his warm skin pressing into mine.

I’m
not ready to take this all the way just yet, but I have a feeling that
inclination isn’t going to take very long to land.

“You’re
beautiful,” he whispers before kissing my lips again and wrapping his strong
arms around me.

My
eyes are closed now as we continue to kiss and I can feel myself sinking into
him, my knees barely capable of keeping me upright.

He
pulls away again, and I push him backward lightly, giving myself enough room to
reach behind my back and unhook my bra.

“We
should probably go somewhere a little more comfortable,” I breathe. “I don’t
know how much longer I’m going to be able to stand, and I’d like to have a nice
soft place to land.”

He
smiles and takes my hand, leading me out to the living room, but as he goes to
release my hand, I only grasp his tighter and lead him through the apartment to
my bedroom.

I
don’t know where this is going to go after tonight, but for now at least, tonight
is enough to know that I want to do this.

“Lie
down,” he tells me and I do.

He
bends down and unbuttons my pants, kissing just below my navel as he slides the
fabric off of my legs and onto the floor.

I’d
anticipated that I’d meet the man on the other end of the phone and, although I
didn’t know where it would go or how far it would go, I’m the kind of woman who
likes to be prepared for all eventualities.

His
fingers slip between my thin, black
tanga
and my skin
and slide them off of me easily.

Eric
runs his hands up my legs and over my thighs, kissing my knees and all the way
up toward my center.

“Take
your pants off,” I tell him.

He
stops what he’s doing and smiles.

“What?”
I ask. “I thought you said you liked a woman who knows how to get what she
wants.”

He
chuckles and undoes his pants, pulling them and his dark boxers down and steps
out of them.

Irene
wasn’t lying. Eric is—let’s just say he’s a big boy.

His
hands move back up my thighs and over my stomach while his mouth kisses the
inside of my legs, staying just far enough away from my core to tantalize me,
make me want it even more.

When
his lips finally graze my folds, that electricity that I’ve so long forgotten
returns and I gasp deeply as he flicks his tongue over my clit.

His
hands move back down my body and wrap around my thighs, holding me in place as
his lips and tongue speak silent, breathless verses that flow throughout my
entire body, and I writhe in sweet anguish as I can feel myself growing ever
wetter with his touch.

He
moves one hand up to grasp mine while with the other he punctuates his ode, at
first playing with my wetness and then plunging two fingers inside of me.

I’m
gritting my teeth to keep from wailing in ecstasy as I marvel that it can feel
so intense, my hips responding to his every touch, inviting him to come closer,
feel every part of me.

With
my free hand, I run my fingers through his hair and then up my own body,
grasping my breast and delighting in the rigidity of my nipples as his tongue
traces forgotten shapes over my most sensitive skin.

“That’s
it,” I whisper, “right there.”

With
his fingers inside of me, he’s rubbing my g-spot with a deftness I know I’ve
never felt.

He
moves his mouth away to kiss the angle between my thigh and my pussy, softly
sucking my skin and filling me with the sweetest drug.

“I
want you inside me,” I tell him as my legs begin to quiver on their own.

“Not
yet,” he says, sensing my proximity to a place I could only dream of these past
few years.

My
free hand leaves my own body and slithers again through his thick hair, and I
lightly pull him toward me, the pressure of his mouth and fingers increasing at
my command.

“Oh
my god,” I whisper, feeling myself catapulting upward into a thick, warm
something, and the only thought left on my mind as my whole body shakes is that
I’ve been without this feeling far too long.

I
moan with alternating heavy breaths, a hint of hyperventilation only giving
rise to more pleasure as my mind is blotted out, and I grit my teeth again,
unable to keep my mouth closed as a cry escapes my lips.

My
body is hot and cold, rigid and loose as he guides me through the most powerful
orgasm of my life.

My
body jerks and releases with tiny movements as the crescendo dies down, and I
can’t wait another moment.