When It Hooks You (It #1) (24 page)

On Friday evening, Trish’s “thing” had been laundry and a few glasses of wine. With her head pleasantly buzzing, she felt like calling Lyssa to share a giggle over what she was about to do. But she wasn’t yet ready to have a conversation with that particular friend. Earlier in the week she’d returned one of Lyssa’s texts, telling her not to worry, she was fine, just very busy and would call her soon.

Trish truly was fine. She’d managed to relegate Adam to a small corner of her mind, which she studiously ignored. Every once in a while, a random thought of him pushed its way out of the holding cell, causing a dull ache. She had high hopes her evening with Cliff would subdue the ache altogether.

Before heading out the door, she grabbed a full bottle of Cabernet to bring to Cliff’s. The more she drank, the less awkward it would be to get it on with her friend. She couldn’t ignore the possibility of the evening turning into a prolonged version of that awful kiss they’d shared in college. But Cliff was a mature, caring, nurturing man now, she reflected. There was no way he’d be anything but tender and wonderful.

She took a cab to his contemporary building on Ohio Street. He buzzed her in after she called him from the lobby. When Trish stepped out of the elevator onto his floor, she was greeted by a melody of brass instruments and somebody crooning. She glanced down the hall to see Cliff leaning on the open door frame of his apartment, a nearly empty cocktail glass in his hand. Like the Pied Piper’s flute, the big band music lured her toward him.

Cliff wore a dressy pair of jeans and a dark button-down shirt with two buttons tastefully undone. His thick, nearly black hair was sculpted in purposeful disarray, and his deep brown eyes carried a mischievous glint. He had an air of cocky confidence that was perhaps inspired by what he’d already downed of his caramel-colored beverage.

He rolled a hand toward her. When she took it, he stepped gracefully back into the apartment, letting the door swing shut. He swigged what was left of his drink and took the bottle of wine from her, setting it and his glass on a high, granite countertop. Guiding Trish past the kitchen into the main room, he spun her once and then pulled her close, his hips swaying to the sultry, old-school rhythm.

She followed his lead, stepping in time to the beat—back, then forward, spinning out, around, and again to him. His fingers spread wide at the small of her back, effortlessly directing her moves. If his dexterity during the dance was any indication, this was going to be one hell of a night. Trish’s lips spread wide, enjoying this side of Cliff she’d not seen before.

The song ended and another began. The two of them moved together for a few more beats before Cliff touched a small kiss to the side of her neck and slowed his steps. “Can I get you a drink, m’lady?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re drinking. Where’d you learn to dance like that?”

“All kinds of nerdy things go on at law school.” He broke away from her and headed to the kitchen.

“There’s not one nerdy thing about your dancing, sir. That console and tower of video games in the corner, however…”

“Hey, don’t knock RPGs until you’ve tried one.”

“RPGs?” Trish asked, joining him at the counter.

He tilted his head, studying her for a moment. “You seriously don’t know what that is? I’ll have you know that gaming is an area in which I do get freaky, so maybe if you stick around after, I can teach you a few things.” He filled his glass plus another with ice and poured from an expensive-looking bottle of scotch.

Trish felt oh-so-sophisticated sipping scotch on the rocks while classy tunes played in the background. She lost several levels of hoity-toity when her face puckered in reaction to the taste of the thick, combustible liquid. Setting the glass onto the countertop, she slid it toward Cliff.

“What’s this?” He feigned shock, his eyes opening wide. “You’re offering
me
your shitty drink? And you’re calling my best scotch shitty?”

She nodded as she swallowed, recalling the scene with Kurt and his new girlfriend.
My love life’s one laugh riot after another.

As the last drop burned down her throat, Cliff swept forward, curving an arm around her back to pull her against him. He took her hand, and they were dancing again. This time to a slow, moody melody. Cliff’s cheek brushed against the side of her face. He bent his head, placing his lips next to her ear. Quietly, he sang to her in a surprisingly smooth, almost mesmerizing voice. Trish closed her eyes, shutting off her brain and immersing herself in the sensations surrounding her—his gentle baritone, the sensuous blend of instruments, the masculine spice of his cologne.

A soft purr of satisfaction bubbled up her throat at the final chords of the song. Only a few precious vibrations into the next tune, Cliff dropped her hand, touching his fingertips to her chin and lifting it. She kept her tranquil eyelids closed as his full lips pressed onto her mouth. There was nothing tentative about his kiss. It was deliberate, strong. Determined.

Threading her fingers through the thick hair at the back of his head, Trish went with the flow, parting her lips enough for him to swipe a taste of her. Emboldened by the encouragement, he cupped one hand at her jaw and the other over the curve of her hip. His mouth swiveled against hers, prying it all the way open to more fully take command.

Without realizing they’d moved, Trish felt the sofa push into her calves and bent at the knees. Cliff’s hands swiftly repositioned to support her downward motion. Within milliseconds they’d be lying down, writhing against each other. An image flashed across Trish’s mind—of Adam on the porch of the treehouse…falling off the hammock…abandoning themselves to each other.

Before her butt could touch down, she launched upward, shoving Cliff away. Her breath came in rapid huffs. “I’m sorry. I…I’m sorry.”

He pressed his lips into a tight line, his breath gusting out through his nose as his eyes flashed. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing. It was happening so fast. Guess I need a moment to catch my breath.” In demonstration, she took a deep inhale, and let it out slowly. “There, that’s better.”

“You sure?”

“Mhmm. Are we…were you planning on doing the deed out here?”

“Seeing as this is a studio apartment, yeah. Would you like me to pull out the bed?”

“Now? Oh, duh, of course now. Yes, sure. Bed.”

Cliff went to the couch and lifted the cushions. While he worked on the pullout, Trish returned to the kitchen and took a gulp of her leftover scotch, plugging her nose as she swallowed. There was no way she’d bail on Cliff, though she wondered if she’d been off on the timing. Maybe it was too soon.

Noticing the seductive saxophone in the smooth jazz music that now played, Trish asked, “Is this a sex mix?”

“What? No. It’s mood music.”

“To encourage a sexy mood.”

“If that’s what it inspires, I generally don’t complain. It seems to be having the opposite effect on you, however.” Cliff’s lips pinched into what started as a smirk but ended up as a lopsided pout.

“No boo-boo face.” Trish swigged one last mouthful of the scotch, finally inebriated enough to hardly shudder at the taste. She danced her way across the apartment toward Cliff, hoping her swaying hips and suggestive eyebrow raises came off as flirtatious rather than mentally disturbed. His small, reluctant smile told her she’d succeeded.

She pulled his hands to settle aside her swiveling hips. Resting her forearms on his shoulders, her fingertips played with the ends of his hair. Their gazes knotted together as she pressed ever closer. All traces of humor slipped from the atmosphere, giving way to something weightier. They rocked gently together, both of them seeming to know better than to say anything and risk breaking the newly charged trance.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against her cheek before he rested the side of his face there. His warm breath tickled the sensitive skin at the curve of her neck. She slid her hands down from his shoulders to his chest and began unbuttoning his shirt. Cheek-to-cheek, they continued to sway with the provocative pulse of the music. His hands dropped to the hem of her short dress, inching it up. A sharp gasp caught in Trish’s throat when he ducked his fingers under the fabric to sink into the bare flesh of her hips.

Rather than let herself be scared away again, she ground into him, peeling his button-down out of her way and running her fingers under his T-shirt into the abundant thicket of hair on his chest.
So different from the smooth, firm flatness of Adam’s.

Jerking her mind back to Cliff, she tugged at his T-shirt. He pulled his hands off of her and stepped back to shrug out of his button-down and help her pull off his T-shirt. She dove into work at his belt buckle and unfastened his jeans, unzipping them to give a teasing stroke to the stiffening shaft under his boxer briefs. Lowering her eyelids, she peered seductively through her lashes and moved slowly backward, away from him.

Watching him watch her, she swept her hands up her thighs, raising the bottom of her dress to expose her subtly gyrating hips as she moved with the music. His entranced eyes roved over her body. Slowly turning while she continued her striptease, she lifted the dress higher and higher until it was up, over her shoulders, and off of her. She rotated to face him again, taking in his reaction to her bared form in only the pink and black panties and push-up bra she’d bought for the occasion.

“God, Trish,” he breathed in a shaky voice. He stepped out of his jeans and reached for her.

She came into his arms and they fell onto the bed, kissing, licking, and stroking. He unfastened her bra, sliding his hand underneath to cup and pinch her stiff nipples. Pushing the garment out of the way, he suckled at her breasts. She wrapped her long legs around him, closing her eyes and tossing her head back. Reveling in the tender sensations, she lost herself. She wasn’t on a pullout couch in her good friend’s apartment. She was floating in a dreamland…in a secluded booth at a blues club…on a boat underneath an exploding sky.

Giving Cliff a nudge and then shoving him onto his back, she attacked his neck with her teeth, lips, and tongue, determined to keep blues clubs and fireworks out of her head. Kissing her way down to his hairy chest, she reached into his boxers and grasped him, pumping until he was as hard as a thick, steel pole. She wouldn’t confuse him with Adam, anymore. Everything about Cliff was so different. His smell, the shape of him, the noises that rumbled deep within his throat. Her heart lurched, yearning for Adam’s scent. His voice. For everything Adam.

She clamped her eyes shut and halted all motion. With her forehead pressed against Cliff’s wildly thumping chest, she had a choice to make. She could either give in to the ache or charge onward. It took her only a few brief seconds to resume her way down Cliff’s torso. She’d take his aroused organ into her mouth and do something for him she’d never done for Adam. Her friend deserved that much. By now she realized she couldn’t take things all the way with Cliff—because as much as she didn’t want to be, she was still in love with Adam.

Her earlier phone conversation with Cliff had forced her to consider that there might be much more to Adam’s story than he’d let her know. He’d said he’d planned to tell her about his marriage—if that was true, what did it mean? Was the marriage on the verge of ending regardless of Trish’s involvement? It was entirely possible Adam had never been playing her at all and had truly fallen in as deeply she had. He might be limping through the world at this very moment, bruised and battered just like her.

Somewhere between Cliff’s navel and the elastic waistband of his briefs, Trish broke. Exhausted by the effort of containing her sadness, she let out a sob as her face smooshed into his belly. Her shoulders convulsed and her voice was reduced to involuntary squeaks and whimpers.

“Hey, hey,” Cliff said, stroking the back of her head. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

She lifted her head enough to shake it back and forth, her tears spilling onto his stomach. In a series of agonized chirps, she pushed out, “That’s not it,” before her face fell back onto him.

His hand moved to rub her back. “Okay. That’s…okay. Do you want to tell me what it is?”

She inhaled a shuddering breath, recovering some of her composure. Pushing herself up to sit back on her legs, she swiped at her eyes, but it was no use. Fresh tears immediately replaced any she’d dried. “I’m s-s-sorry.”

He reached a hand to her face, rubbing his thumb across the steady stream pouring down her cheek.

“You’re s-so nice, Cliff. As soon as I g-get back under control, I’m going to s-s-suck you off.”

He barked out a quick, biting laugh and sat up straight. “That’s okay. Not sure I’d feel right letting you do that. Besides…” Hooking a finger under his waistband, he pulled it away from his body and assessed what was underneath. “Forget cold showers. Crying’s a way more effective anti-aphrodisiac, even if I do have a rockin’, nearly naked woman right next to me.”

A new fluid joined the downward parade on Trish’s face. She wiped the back of her wrist underneath her nose.

“The snot helps, too,” Cliff said.

Trish let out a small laugh…and then dissolved into tears again. It was a few moments before she could speak again. “I think I knew. In the shadowy recesses of my brain, I knew he was married or was at least in a serious relationship. It’s like I told you about Kurt and the slutbag—the other woman always knows. That’s why I was so stubborn about not digging into Adam’s background. It wasn’t because I trusted him. It was because I didn’t want to know.”

“Let me get you some tissues.” Cliff rose from the bed and clicked off the sex mix before opening a cabinet and returning with a box of Kleenex. Climbing back onto the mattress, he handed her the box and sat silently, leaning against the sofa back, poised to listen.

“I should’ve known something was strange about the way he seemed almost afraid to let things get physical,” Trish said. “Instead of considering what that might be about, I took it up as a challenge. I seduced him like it was some kind of game. Idiot me fell hard along the way. We both ended up losers.” Her face crumpled as she gave herself over to a new wave of regret.