Long Ball(52)

He presses his leg harder into mine, stealing my breath as he leans in and lowers his voice. “The boxes are not going to be what have my attention. I promise.”

I must tell the cab driver the address, as we pull out and begin the longest cab ride of my life, but I can only focus on Dylan. Every jostle of the car rubs his leg against mine, causing heat in another part of me at my core, and I’m dazed with want and desire.

He’s quiet, but I know he’s looking at me because my skin is burning with awareness like a deer in a forest with a predator about to pounce. I want him to pounce, just not in front of the cab driver. Or maybe that would be all right now that I think about it. In fact, the idea is somewhat of a turn on. The driver wouldn’t really be able to see if our hands started wandering. I wonder if he’d try to watch us in the rear view mirror…

And that’s totally not like me—usually I avoid Public Displays of Affection. Now I’m getting hot imagining our cab driver watching me get it on in the back seat.

Lord, help me.

I shouldn’t be doing this. I should not…

Dylan’s hand squeezes my thigh and begins sliding up.

Just like that, I forget why this is a bad idea and lean closer. He puts his arm around me and I melt and sizzle like oil on a hot grill.

Then he takes my hand and strokes the sensitive flesh of the inside of my wrist, and that’s when I get really scared. Because if I feel this crazy, this out-of-my-mind bewildered from just his this, how will I ever handle him touching me anywhere else?

It’s a fear that I eagerly want to face.

But somewhere after pulling up to my building and taking his hand as we get out of the cab, my courage starts draining out of me, awkwardness slowly replacing the certainty. How the hell do I do this? I’ve never had a one-night stand before. I don’t know the protocol. Is there foreplay? Or do I just let him in and start taking off my clothes? Or do I let him take off my clothes? Do we talk about it first? Will he want me to tell him what I want? Because I have no idea what I want.

Oh, God. I’m in so much trouble.

Dropping his hand, I slide the key into the lock and lead him up the three flights of stairs in silence. Each step, my nervousness grows. Each step, my need grows in equal proportion.

By the time I unlock my door I’m so keyed up all I want to do is lay my forehead against the cool metal and stand still for a few minutes to formulate a plan—I do well with plans, but I push it open and head inside.

I dodge the box I know is there and flip on the light just as he barks his shin on it and swears.

“Oh my God. I’m sorry! I’m so used to stepping around the cardboard landmines around here, I didn’t even think to warn you.”

“It’s fine,” he laughs, his laid back demeanour in total contrast to my flustered one. His eyes sparkle with naughtiness and I think I have my answer—he’s going to pounce.

But then he says, ““It’s fine. You going to give me the tour?”

“Sure. Wait.” I throw my hand out for him to stop.

“What?”

I kick off my heels. “Shoes off. I want my damage deposit back.” I cringe inwardly as soon as I say it. That’s my anal self talking, and that’s not who I want to be tonight. But I’m not sure I know how to be who I want to be.

And Dylan doesn’t seem to mind who I am. He tilts his head with a funny little smirk on his lips, but does what I say.

When I start leading him further in the apartment, though, he murmurs behind me, “Better get it all out of your system now.”

I turn back to him, my eyebrow raised in question.

“Just, pretty soon, I’m the one who’s going to be giving the orders.”

I swear I can’t walk as a new wave of excitement and anticipation and holy-f*ck-what-am-I-doing fear sweeps over me.

But he smiles again. “Don’t worry so much, Rachel. I might not be nice, but you’re going to like it. I promise.”

I’m not sure if that was meant to be reassuring. Strangely, it is.

“Now, show me your place before I get too distracted to care.”

He has me twisted up inside. I’m already too distracted to care about a tour of the apartment. But I’m also nervous and anxious and glad to have something else to focus on.

I push open the door to the spare room. “I used this as the library/storage room, hence the mountain of boxes.”

“You a big reader or are they all school-related?”

“Bit of both? But most of these are records.”

His eyes light up. “You’re a vinyl hound too?”

“If that means do I like records, then yes.”

“I’m impressed, Cello Chick. Then again, the music you like probably isn’t popular enough yet to be made into cd’s.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to suppress my grin. “Though I do hear that they’re working on 8 tracks for next year.” I flick off the light switch and step past him into the hallway. “Living room’s this way.”

“That you know what 8 tracks are is so sexy.”

I want him so much it stuns me into silence and I can’t react to his words, can’t stop walking to the living room, turning lights on as I go because I don’t know what to say. I’ve been trapped inside the rules of appropriate behavior for so long I’m frozen solid inside myself. In this short time of knowing Dylan, I already feel the ice melting away.