With a sigh, I push it all from my mind. I haven’t even been offered the job and I’m not sure I will be. If I am, well… I’ll figure this all out then.
“Your brother looks so much like you,” I say, changing the subject. I’d stumbled across some family photo albums at the cabin, and I couldn’t keep my cool when Michael let me look through them. These two boys with dark hair and cheeky grins, playing down at the lake, rolling in orange leaves, opening Christmas presents together… It was adorable. And even though Michael is five years older, they were clearly the best of friends. How could I not fall for him after that?
“Yeah, we still look pretty similar.”
“He must be one good-looking guy.”
Michael glances at me sideways, his lip twitching. “You think you might like the look of him, then?”
I know he’s winding me up and I’m relieved to feel the atmosphere in the car lighten, so I play along. “Well… does he have a beard?”
Michael strokes a hand over his short beard, lines of amusement fanning around his eyes. “He doesn’t. You like the beard, huh?”
I bite my lip and lean forward to run my fingertips over the coarse bristles. I never knew I would like a beard, but I can’t deny how much it turns me on. “It’s pretty hot.”
“Oh yeah?” He sends me another glance, one eyebrow raised. I love this playful side to him.
“Well, it’s alright,” I tease.
He pretends to look hurt. “Only alright?”
I lean over so my lips are on his ear, and slide a hand slowly up his thigh. “No. Not only alright. It’s fucking sexy. You’re fucking sexy. Why do you think I was forced to write all those dirty things in my novel? I couldn’t stand how much I wanted you, how much I wanted to do dirty things to you.” I squeeze his upper thigh, tempted to take my hand higher.
He groans, his eyelids briefly fluttering closed and his knuckles whitening as his grip on the steering wheel tightens. I hear his breathing get heavy and a quick glance down at his lap tells me I’ve got to him. My whole body feels hot at the sight and I want nothing more than to tell him to pull over into a rest stop so I can have him again. I can’t help myself; I kiss his neck and nibble his ear, palming the bulge in his jeans until he tells me to stop or he’s going to unwittingly drive us into a ditch.
I grin and lean back against my seat, watching his flushed face as he tries to concentrate on the road, feeling deliriously happy.
We ride the rest of the trip in comfortable silence. And when I think about my writing I get a strange sense of peace, knowing that whatever happens, I’ll be able to make it work.
As we finally head back over the George Washington Bridge, the city comes into view; the unmistakable, iconic Empire State Building, the classic silhouette of the Chrysler Building, and further downtown, the proud outline of the Freedom Tower. I lean forward in my seat, trying to take it all in, this postcard image above our dashboard. A thrill runs through me as the city unfolds, revealing more of itself the closer we get. This place, as huge and impersonal and overwhelming as it is—it also feels like home, now. It feels like it knows me, like it’s always known me, and in that sense I’m coming to truly know myself.
Michael manages to pull into a spot right in front of our stoop and shuts off the engine. We step out into the cold air and he takes my bags from the back seat, setting them down on the sidewalk.
“Alex—” His eyes search mine, then he reaches forward, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. I close my eyes and rest my cheek against his palm. In the freezing air, the warmth from his hand is enough to send heat coursing through my entire body.
He steps forward, slipping his arms around me and pressing a kiss to my mouth. His forehead rests against mine as he murmurs, “I think I’m really falling for you.”
My heart trips, stumbles, then takes off on a running leap in my chest. I stare at him, disbelieving and breathless, trying to contain my huge, euphoric grin. “Yeah, I think… I am too.”
My grin is mirrored on his face, and he pulls me tight into his arms. And I know then, I have nothing to worry about.
37
I climb the stairs and give a light knock on Michael’s door. When he dropped me home earlier, he invited me to come up and join him and Henry for dinner tonight. I’ve been so excited all day that I could hardly sit still. I was hoping Cat would be home so I could gush about my amazing week with him, but she’s been at work.
And now, as I wait in front of Michael’s door, I feel a flutter of nerves. Maybe it’s because Henry will be there. I like Henry, and I think he likes me. But now that Michael and I are a couple, I realize it’s essential he likes me if things are going to work.
The door swings open and Michael stands there, breathless.
“Uh, hi.” My gaze locks on his strange expression, trying to read it. His eyes are wide, his face ashen.
“Something is wrong with Henry.”
My stomach drops. “What?”
“His face is swollen and he can’t breathe.”
I push past Michael into the apartment, searching for Henry. He’s at the kitchen table, doubled over, struggling for breath.
Michael appears beside me. He wrings his hands, jittery with panic.
I glance around. “What happened?”
“Nothing! He was just having some dinner and—”
“Is he allergic to anything?”
“No, I—well, I’ve been waiting on some test results…” Michael turns and paces across the living
