Shine Your Love on Me (10 page)

“Yes. I’m wishing on one now.” She pulled
away from him and sat on a bench. The realization that she might
not be able to get hired again in advertising weighed heavily. She
couldn’t get out from under the impending collapse of her carefully
constructed life. Worry floated around inside her like a black
vapor. She chewed a nail.

He joined her. “What’s up?”

“What? Me? Oh. Nothing.” She fiddled with the
ends of her shawl, braiding and unbraiding them.

“Not nothing.” His glanced at her hands and
then up.

“What do you mean?” She looked into his
eyes.

“You’re quiet, almost sullen. I can see
you’re worried about something. Tell me.”

She shook her head. “It’s lovely out here, so
peaceful. I don’t want to wreck the mood.”

“You’ve already wrecked it, so tell me.”

She lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t
mean to be a downer.”

“So, what’s up?” He bent over, peering into
her face.

Before she could stop herself, the whole
story poured out. Pres listened, never looking away. Rapid blinking
kept her tears at bay.

“My entire career may be gone, washed away by
this man’s lies.”

“Why that fucking bastard! I’d like to smash
his face.” His cheeks reddened. “I’m so sorry. What are you going
to do?”

“I called my cousin, Frank. He’s a lawyer.
But he’s too busy to help me.”

“What kind of work are you going to look
for?”

“I don’t know. I can’t do anything else.”

“You don’t deserve this. I’d like to teach
him a lesson.” He pounded his fist into this palm.

“I don’t. I’ve always worked hard, put in
one-hundred and fifty percent.”

“If I can help, just ask. You’re strong.
You’ll make it through.” After glancing at his watch, he pushed to
his feet.

Brooke followed. “I’ve been on my own and
found my way before.”

“Didn’t you move in with Ruth and Carl after
you lost your parents?”

“I did. I was ten. Nan was destroyed when my
mom died. She was depressed for months. She did what she could.
Grandpa Carl? He never wanted me there. Was always grumbling about
how his parenting days were over. I tried to stay out of his
way.”

“How long has he been gone?”

“Grandpa Carl? About eight years now. He
keeled over with a heart attack in his office.”

“You’re very independent,” he said, taking
her hand. They strolled toward the restaurant.

“I’ve had to be. Don’t think I wouldn’t have
welcomed a strong shoulder to lean on.”

Pres stopped to slip his arm around her. “You
have one now.” He eased her closer.

Brooke didn’t resist.
Maybe he’s what I
need.
She hid her face his chest.

Pres kissed her hair. “You’re not alone.”

“Thanks,” she said, stepping back. “I’m a bit
shaky.”

“Understandable.”

They continued on their way. Suddenly, a wave
of weakness hit her, making her lightheaded. She grabbed his arm
and slumped against him.

Pres propped her up. “You’re pale, are you
okay?”

“I didn’t eat much today. Just some yogurt.”
She rested, leaning on him for a moment, until her strength
returned.

Pres tightened his grip and looked at her
with concerned eyes. “Let’s get you fed.”

Shadows cast by light from the street lamps
emphasized the handsome planes of his face. Moonlight on his brown
hair made it shine. She touched his smooth cheek. Peeking up at
him, his lips were a whisper away. They looked so kissable,
inviting her to taste him.

“Food, first,” he whispered.

She fell in step with him as they covered the
last bit of path to The Boathouse. Once they were seated, menus in
hand, Pres addressed the waiter.

“My friend isn’t feeling well and needs to
eat something. Could you please bring some bread and a Coke right
away?” The young man nodded and was off.

“Thank you,” she said then opened the menu.
Hunger gripped her, sending pain through her belly. “God, I’m
starving.”

“Then eat.”

“What’s good here?”

“I always have a steak. But that’s not girl
food.”

“It is for this girl. A steak sandwich would
be perfect.”

“Wine?” he asked.

She winced. “I don’t think so. Coke is fine
for me tonight.”

“Ah, hair of the dog, eh?”

“Yeah. My Dinner Club group and I kinda tied
one on last night.”

“That explains no food today. What’s a dinner
club?”

Brooke explained.

The waiter returned. They placed their
orders, and Brooke stuffed a piece of buttered bread in her mouth
then followed it with a healthy gulp of Coke. The server brought a
beer for Pres.

The sugar traveled quickly through her
system. She buttered a second piece and munched. The
lightheadedness cleared like haze in the sunshine.

“Let’s talk about you. You left your parents
place to become a super in the brownstone where you live now?
What’s that about?”

“Long story. My father’s a successful
investment banker. They have a huge place on Park Avenue. I got
tired of them bugging me to go into finance. I’ve always wanted to
be a writer, and they’ve always put it down.” He took a mouthful of
beer.

“So, you went your own way?”

“I started selling a few magazine articles in
college.”

“Oh? On what?”

He blushed. “Nothing I can repeat to
you.”

Brooke burst out laughing. “You were writing
about sex?”

“Why’s that funny?”

“Because you’re so shy. Did you use a
pseudonym?”

“I’m not as shy as you think.” He snickered.
“Of course I used a pen name. My parents would have gone
ballistic.”

“Sold a few pieces and got bitten by the
bug.” She chuckled.

“I had no idea I’d ever sell anything.
Stories about a boy’s sexual adventures in college were an easy
sell, and sell they did.”

“Were those real stories or made up?” She
cast a flirtatious look his way.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He leaned in
closer.

She feigned innocence. “That’s why I’m
asking.”

“Maybe you’ll find out first hand, one of
these days.” A look of lust flashed in his eyes.

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

Pres laughed. “She gives as good as she
gets.”

“Continue with your story.” Brooke prepared
her third piece of bread.

“My parents were on my case night and day.
I’m pretty handy with a screwdriver, so I applied for the super’s
job and got it. My folks were appalled. I thought my dad was going
to keel over.”

“I’ll bet. College educated son moves into
the basement and fixes leaky toilets.”

“You got it. They went nuts. Threatened to
cut me off. Everything.”

“They didn’t get it, did they?” She sipped
her drink.

“Nope. But you do, don’t you?” He leaned in a
little closer.

“Yeah. I do.” Her gaze met his.

“I hate the corporate world and everything it
stands for.” He took a gulp of beer.

She chuckled. “And I’m the poster girl for
corporate America. What are we doing here together?”

“Looking for a middle ground?”

“Or united by lust?”

Pres smiled then frowned. “It’s not only
about sex for me.”

“Oh? Exactly how much of it
is
about
sex?”

He laughed. “You’re a pisser, you know
that?”

“Spitfire is a more polite term. And, yeah. I
know it. That’s what my dad used to call me.”

“His little spitfire?”

“Bingo.”

The waiter arrived with their food. Brooke
dug in as if she hadn’t eaten for a week. The tender, sweet meat
tasted delicious.

“This is the best steak sandwich ever.”

“Their steak here is excellent.” Pres’s gaze
was warm and friendly, calming her nerves.

They spent a few moments eating and staring.
She watched his gaze move down to her cleavage then up to her mouth
and stay there. She licked her lips.
Tease him a little.

As she chewed, she studied his face. There
was a hunger in his eyes for something beyond food. He licked a
drop of juice off his bottom lip, and Brooke could swear she felt
his tongue on her own. A shiver shot through her. Desire welled up
inside, making her want to kiss him.

Brooke wiped her mouth with her napkin and
sat back, her stomach full.
Calm down, girl.

“Now that you’ve sold your screenplay, do
your folks have more respect?”

“They’re still ‘suggesting’ that I leave
writing and go into finance. My dad even said that I’d done it,
accomplished what I wanted, so now it was time to get serious.”

“I mean, it’s not like you’ve become a
professional clown or something.”

He snorted. “It is to them.”

“Foolish people. Can I read some of your
stuff?”

“You mean the articles on sex? No.”

“Damn! I was hoping…”

His laugh cut her off. Gazing at him, she saw
his smile light up his whole face.
Something kind of joyful
about him.
It made her grin.

“I’ve done a few articles you can read. Or
one of my treatments.”

“What’s a ‘treatment’?”

Between bites of steak and broccoli, Pres
explained what a treatment was and how it related to a screenplay.
Brooke was fascinated. She knew nothing about writing or
screenplays, just that she loved romantic movies. Pres’s face
became animated when he talked about his story ideas. He stopped
staring at her chest and made eye contact. His knowledge and
enthusiasm mesmerized her.
How wonderful—to do something you
love so much.

Unable to finish the huge steak sandwich,
Brooke had the leftovers wrapped to go.

“How about ice cream?” Pres asked.

“I’m stuffed.”

“A walk, then?”

“A walk in the moonlight with a guy who
writes sex stories? I dunno. Am I safe?”

Even in the dim light, she saw him blush. “I
never should have told you.” He shook his head.

Pres paid the check and offered her his hand.
They strolled toward Bethesda Fountain. A dozen orange, Japanese
lanterns hanging on trees put out a warm glow, lighting the way. At
the fountain, Pres whipped out his smartphone and put on some
music. Turning up the sound, he faced her.

The Mamas and Papas sang “California
Dreamin’.”

He held out his arms, and Brooke stepped into
his embrace. Pres closed his fingers around her hand and folded it
into his chest. He pulled her close with an arm around her waist.
Brooke cupped her hand over his shoulder and rested her cheek on
his shirt. She closed her eyes and flowed with him. As they swayed
to the beat, a measure of peace crept into her heart.
If I could
stay like this forever.

Pres slid his hand down a bit until it rested
on her hip. The smell of his freshly ironed shirt and his scent
teased her nose.
God, he smells good.
Her lips brushed his
neck accidentally. She smiled when he shivered, feeling her
power.

The song ended, and a new one began. They
simply kept dancing. Pres let go of her hand and placed his on her
waist. She flattened her palm on his pecs and closed her eyes. A
few people strolled by, but she never saw them, only heard
occasional footsteps. Darkness fell gently, gradually, as it does
in summer, and the air cooled.

Pres’s breath warmed her ear as his head
rested on hers. Brooke glided with him. She didn’t care who walked
by or what anyone thought. She drifted along, totally in sync with
his body and the tune. Nothing else existed but the comfort and
growing desire coursing through her veins.

When the song finished, she stayed in his
arms. If she refused to leave the security of Pres Carpenter, maybe
her life would stop crashing and burning around her. He stroked her
hair and kissed it. A deep sigh expanded his chest, waking her from
her reverie.

“Music’s over, kitten,” he whispered.

“Do we have to stop?” She looked up into his
eyes, and he closed his mouth over hers. A light kiss, and then he
moved back.
What did you stop for?
Her body chilled when he
removed the warmth of his. She was separate and alone again.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, taking her hand
in his then pocketing his phone. “Come on, I promised you ice
cream.”

She tugged on his hand. “How about coffee? At
my place?”

He stopped short. “Seriously?” He raised his
eyebrows, and his eyes glowed.

“Maybe just coffee?”

His face fell for a second then he recovered.
“Okay.”

She took his hand as they headed out of the
park. Brooke wrapped her shawl tighter and hugged herself.

“Cold?” he asked.

“A little.”

Pres took off his jacket and rested it across
her shoulders. She smiled. The garment, which hung down below her
rear end, was pre-heated from his body. It shut out the colder air
immediately.

“What about you?”

“I’m fine.”

She sidled up to him and snaked her arm
around his waist. He took the hint and draped his around her. They
walked in silence to her place. Pres filled her thoughts, pushing
out anxiety about joblessness and any remnants of feelings she
might have had for Lloyd. She quivered as her body bumped up
against his.

She led him up the two flights to her small
apartment. Once inside, Brooke returned his jacket and slipped off
her shoes. “Regular coffee? I have some mocha, if you prefer.”

“Either is fine.” Pres hung his jacket on a
hook on the door and spread out on the sofa. With his legs far
apart, he took up two thirds of the space. Brooke turned on the
machine and set out a sugar bowl and milk on the coffee table. As
the hot water began to drip, she eased herself down next to
him.

“So, do you have any brothers and sisters?”
she asked.

“Nope. Only child. You?”

“Same. My parents believed in population
control.”