Thank You for Listening(63)

Just make sure there’s some kind of sex by the midpoint. A reader will only trust you for so long.

–June French in Cosmopolitan





Chapter Ten


“Snowed In”

NICK AND SEWANEE DIDN’T STAY IN THE SUITE.

She was content at first, enjoying their conversation in their little snow globe. Then she’d decided to give him a tour, Nick following her so closely she could hear his breathing. But when they’d entered her bedroom and he’d placed both of his palms on the bed and pushed deeply into it, as if testing its buoyancy, she turned heel and beelined back to the safety of the living room.

When he rejoined her, hands thrust casually in his pockets, not a care in the world, she announced that she wanted to go down to the club, which was news to her.

She did her best to package her butterflies in the festive wrapping of a good idea. There was a table, with bottle service, waiting for them. She hadn’t been to a club in years. She was, you know, dressed for it. Why waste the opportunity? After some confusion about whether Nick was invited to join her (of course he was; oh, because it had sounded like she’d wanted to go by herself; oh, had it, she hadn’t meant it that way), they silently left the suite, silently waited for the elevator, got on the elevator silently, got off on the wrong floor, got back on the elevator, laughed to break the silence, got off on the right floor, found the club’s nondescript entrance, spoke with the host, and were led through the three-story warehouse-style venue to a low-slung silver velvet horseshoe banquette with a bottle of vodka in an ice bucket on the glass table surrounded by various mixers.

They sat on opposite sides of the U.

The condensation rolling down the ice bucket mirrored the sweat she felt rolling down her lower back. The lights were low and vaguely purple. The occasional strobe. It was still early by club standards and the dance floor beyond the table was only half-full. Sewanee wouldn’t call what was booming through the room music so much as a succession of beats with some occasional screeching. But it entered her body and pounded inside her chest cavity.

She realized she hadn’t looked at Nick once since they sat down. She glanced up and he was looking at her. He smiled and raised an eyebrow, like, well? She couldn’t help it; she chuckled a little and shrugged, butterflies still fluttering.

He gestured at the vodka bottle and she enthusiastically nodded. He got to work, filling one of the glasses with ice, splashing vodka in, and pointing to the different mixers. He seemed relieved to have something to do. Sewanee gestured at the club soda. He obliged and squeezed a wedge of lime for good measure. He handed it to her and she mouthed “thanks.” He made himself the same drink and then slung his arm over the back of the banquet, crossed an ankle over the opposite knee, and gazed out into the crowd.

What. The hell. Are we doing here? she thought.

She took a significant gulp, was about to set it down, caught his eye, smiled tightly, brought the drink back to her mouth, and finished it. Then she set it down. He’d looked back out into the crowd so she matched him. Whatever he wasn’t looking at, she could not look at, too.

A server appeared next to Nick. She put her hand on his shoulder and leaned down to his ear, her corset overflowing.

Sewanee clocked this, thinking, really? I am literally right here. But then she took stock of just how much space was between them, even though they were directly opposite each other. She was as far away from him as the banquette would physically allow.

Nick pulled his head back and looked at Sewanee. He held up a hand, beckoned her toward him.

God, that hand. Those fingers.

She began scootching around the U, but her dress twisted around her thighs. She changed tactics, making small hops, an inelegant frog attempting to move laterally between lily pads. Eventually, she arrived.

He dipped his head so close to her ear she couldn’t tell if it was his breath or his lips that touched it. Either way, a shiver ran through her. “She’s saying we can have a bottle of champagne, if we want. That it’s included.”

They pulled back and she looked into his eyes. His focus racked to her mouth. All she said was, “oooh,” because it was a word that pushed her lips into a pout. He turned back to the now-standing server and nodded. She left and they were alone. Glued to each other’s side. He pivoted back to her ear. “I think I’m too old for this.”

She laughed and yelled back, “Same.”

His eyes were bright. She watched him take her in, her mouth, her chin and cheeks and neck and chest. Like he was memorizing her. Mapping her for future exploration. He sat forward, picked up his drink and took a sip, never taking his eyes off her. Then he was back at her ear. “You going to dance?”

She shook her head and brought her lips to his ear, enjoying the rush of gratification she felt when she saw goosebumps appear on the side of his neck. “Are you asking me to?”

“Yes.”

“Are you joining me?”

“No.”

“Oh, I’m supposed to dance alone?”

“Well, if you insist.”

“I would take you up on that generous offer, but I can’t dance to this noise. Are these actual songs?”

As if the DJ had heard her, the music morphed into a clubby remix of Phil Collins’s “In the Air Tonight.” Nick cocked his head: You were saying?