The World: According to Rachael (16 page)

When I exit the restroom, I don’t see Graham anywhere, so I sashay to the bar making it my first stop. A dirty martini is just what the doctor ordered. As I’m reaching into my wallet to pay, I hear Roan behind me. “Put her drink on my tab.”

I turn around and look at the devil himself. The smug grin on his face makes me want to punch him. “Private consulting pays much more than government jobs.” He winks. “Or teachers’ salaries.”

Oh Roan, right now is not the time.
I take a sip of my drink, savoring the bitterness. It matches my mood. “Has anyone ever told you you’re an asshole?”

“Dirty martini, for a dirty girl with a filthy mouth.” Then without missing a beat, he adds, “Where’s the good teacher?”

I slam my drink and then place the glass on the bar with too much force. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Graham is in the restroom.” Sounds better than
I have no idea.
“Furthermore, I’m not sure what else I can do but hire a delivery pigeon to present you with a note that reads
Rachael thinks you’re a pig
.” I fold my arms against my chest. “I’m willing to play nicely and not share my feelings with the President, for your sake as well as ours. However, the President thinks I’m the smartest and most capable person he knows. If you continue to fuck with me, I’ll mention in one of our late-night meetings how uncomfortable you make me. I’ll tell him the comments you whisper in my ear when we’re at work events. I guarantee you that he will fire your ass so fast that your head will spin. Am I clear?”

This was probably the first time in Roan’s life that he’d been insulted, or put in his place, or whatever it should be called. That makes me do a happy-dance inside my brain. His mouth goes from slightly hanging open to a thin straight line as I feel a large hand grab my hip, and an arm tucks me against its connecting body’s side. “Rachael, here you are. I’ve been looking all over.”

Graham is smooth. Real smooth. “Just stopped by the bar and ran into Roan here,” I say gesturing towards him. “He bought me a drink.” I add the last part strictly for my benefit. I want Graham to know that other men find me desirable.

In a flash, Graham reaches into his wallet and takes out a twenty-dollar bill, then hands it to Roan. “Thanks so much for helping me out, man. I appreciate it. Here’s your money back.”

It’s clear to all three of us what just happened. Graham was not letting Roan buy me the drink. Instead of Graham going crazy and beating him to a pulp, he took care of it like an adult. Damn you, Graham, for working your way off of my indifferent list.

Taking my hand, Graham says, “There’s someone that I would love for you to meet. We went to law school together.”

I allow him to escort me away from a very shocked Roan. When we’re out of earshot, he leans over and his lips brush the shell of my ear. “I want to make love to you seven ways to Sunday, but I’m not going to take you in an impersonal hotel like we’re some of my horny students. You deserve more than that, Rachael. You should expect more for yourself. Please forgive me for wanting you enough to treat you as you deserve to be.”

He steps back and places his hands on top of my shoulders. I look up at him, wondering what I’ve gotten myself into. Once again, my emotions are whipped in the other direction as I fall in love with his explanation of why he turned me down. In fact, it makes me want him more.

And just like that, Graham Jackson is forgiven, and I melt like one of the horny students that he just mentioned.

Surprisingly, Graham knows quite a few people at the event. Some he went to law school with. Others he knows from college. I meet a darling couple that he worked with when he was a lobbyist. They offer him a job at their startup firm, but he turns it down, citing his love for teaching and coaching. It’s so refreshing to see his ease in my world. It reassures me that maybe, just maybe, there is a future for us.

The evening was buzzing with talk about the election and speculation on who the Sons of Liberty are. Graham and I listened to Senator McCartright theorize that one of the radio hosts is Roan Perez. I almost spit the martini that I am sipping—my fourth of the night, I should add. I smile and say, “It’s a possibility.” But in my head, I think,
As if Roan is even close to that clever.
Although, the thought has crossed my mind. I go back and forth. He was awfully upset that they call him Captain Caveman.

The other bit of gossip that seemed to be circulating around the packed ballroom is that the Sons of Liberty are made up politically-minded actors. This idea was actually very interesting to me. Actors would have the clout to secure the radio show and the money to fund the private studio.

Graham handles himself beautifully. He visits with the people that I introduce him to and listens to the mindless political dribble like a pro. Each time a new theory was tossed about, he nodded his head and made a generic reply like, “I can see that.” I was truly proud of the man that I brought as my date.

After dinner and the political speeches had wrapped up, they open the floor up to dancing. A big band takes the stage and begins playing an eclectic mix of oldies, classics, and a few contemporary songs.

Graham and I are visiting with Evan and his date, Skylar. She’s a stunning redhead. When I’m introduced to her, my first thought is that she really looks just like Jessica Rabbit, and wonder if the Sons Of Liberty have ever seen her. If so, I think they would change the First Lady’s nickname.

Skylar seems like she is a good match for Evan’s quick wit. Through our conversation, I discover that she’s an advertising executive, and that they were set up by mutual friends. Skylar yawns and strokes Evan’s knee. The very perceptive guy catches the signal, and they say their goodbyes. Before they leave, I tell Evan that on Monday we need to discuss some of the speculation as to who the Sons of Liberty are. His face lights up. He likes this mystery.

“Care to dance?” Graham asks as they walk away from our table.

Do I want to dance? Unlike my best friend, I have two left feet. My natural rhythm has been compared to that of a slug. But do I love to dance? Yes, in the privacy of my living room, with the curtains drawn and the front door locked.

“Only slow songs for me. I wouldn’t want to show you up with my dancing skills and all.” I flick a piece of ice at him and laugh.

As if the bandleader has our table bugged, the song “Wonderful Tonight” by Eric Clapton begins to play. This, I can dance to.

Graham rises to his full height of more than six feet and offers me his hand. I grasp it and allow him to help me out of my chair. We make our way to the dance floor. The eyes of my peers are locked on us. They’ve probably never seen me dance before.
Yes! The Wicked Witch of the West can put on her red dancing shoes, just like the rest of you.

Graham seems to be oblivious to the extra attention that we’re getting. He pulls me tightly to him, and I rest my head against his chest as he artfully glides us across the floor. Fortunately, the band has chosen the long version of the song, so I have seven minutes to get lost in his strong arms, sure gait, and confident air. Expertly, he makes me look good as we waltz across the dance floor.

As the singer belts out the last lines of the song, I wish that I could put a quarter in the jukebox and play it again. We end our dance with a dip, and there’s a twinkle in Graham’s eye.

“Ready to leave?” His mischievous grin tells me that I should answer yes.

“Let’s go.”

We stop off at our table so I can collect my purse. I pull out my phone and text Lou, letting him know that we’re ready to leave. I didn’t wear a coat. It would have clashed with the dress so I don’t want to linger in the chilly night air too long.

Once we’ve exited the ballroom, Graham pulls me to him and whispers into my hair, “Back to your place?” His tone is suggestive, and I know exactly what he means.

Panic squeezes my heart. This is why I like hotel rooms. I’m embarrassed about how my home looks. Yes, last Sunday I was ready to let Graham inside, but I was caught in a fog of lustfulness. Now, I’m thinking properly. “What’s wrong with yours?”

He looks sheepish as I step out of his embrace. “Well, my friends are crashing at my place. I was kind of hoping that we could be alone tonight.”

“Then let’s get a hotel room. My treat.”

This is so damn awkward.

He reaches up and tucks a strand of my straight blond hair behind my ear, and tilts my chin up so I’m staring into his eyes. “It’s not about the money, Rach. I want to see where you sleep, and where you watch movies with me while we talk on the phone for hours on end. I don’t care if it’s messy. It’s where you live, and that means it’s where I want to be.”

As he’s talking, I chew on the inside of my lip. I look down at the carpet like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. If I want a relationship, I’m going to have to literally let him in. “Okay,” I sigh. “But you have to understand that the only other person that’s been inside my place is my housekeeper. I’m not much of a decorator, and I only sleep there, so it isn’t really a home.”

He pulls me against his chest and feathers kisses in my hair. “Thank you. Now, let’s go to your home.”

His hand is wrapped around mine as we sit quietly in the back of the black town car. The peacefulness of the ride is the polar opposite of what is going on in my head. It feels like tonight is the night. I haven’t had relationship sex, or anything that remotely feels like it since Aiden and I separated. All of the emotions swirling through me are daunting. But the biggest question that I am struggling with is, do I want to open myself up again to the possibility of another man that I fall deeply for who wants things from me that I can’t give?

“Whatcha thinking about?” Graham asks as he raises our locked hands and kisses my knuckles.

“Thoughts that I wouldn’t even share with a therapist,” I quip.

His chuckle is not a sincere one, and I cringe. “Don’t over-think this, Rachael. I like you. I like spending time, or should I say, talking on the phone with you. I’m not asking you to marry me.”

The word “marry” makes my heart speed up.

He unhooks our hands and turns my shoulders so I’m staring at his dear face as it passes in and out of the shadows from the street lamps overhead. “This next year is very important to you. Let’s just take this one day at a time, and see where it leads us.”

“One day at a time,” I repeat like a parrot.

“Yes, Rach. One day at a time.”

He leans down and plants a sweet kiss on the tip of my nose. That simple gesture, along with his words, help settle my rapidly beating heart. He wraps his arm around me and tucks me closer against him. This feels nice. I’m cocooned in Graham, and I feel protected, comforted, and cherished—all emotions that I’m not particularly familiar with.

He whispers into my hair, “We don’t have to do this if you aren’t ready. I’d be content with just holding you all night.”

A smile spreads across my cheeks, even though he can’t see it. I’ve been ready to fuck him since our first evening together, but am I ready to make love? That’s what scares me to death.

I don’t respond out loud. Instead, I nuzzle his chest with my cheek and place my hand on his upper thigh, feeling the sinew of his muscle under my palm.

He gives my hip a squeeze that reassures me that we’re on the same page. I close my eyes and relish this moment of contentment.

His warm minty breath tickles my ear. “We’re here.”

I open my eyes, shocked that I had drifted to sleep. I shake my head in disbelief, and dip my chin and smile at Graham. “Wow. I’m terrible company.” I sigh.

He opens the car door and slides out, offering me his hand. “Gave me a chance to watch you still. You’re very serene when you stop moving for two seconds.”

“Serene,” I repeat as I step out and clutch Graham’s hand. “I like that word. I don’t think I’ve ever been referred to as serene. Hell on wheels—yes. I hear that one frequently. Dragon Lady—that one’s been whispered behind my back. But, serene? No.” I shake my head. “I know for a fact you are the first person to ever call me serene.”

As Graham and I wait for Lou to sweep my house, he draws me to him so I’m pressed with my back to his front. “I like Lou,” he says.

I look up at him. His eyebrows are drawn together, and his lips are thin. “I like Lou also. He’s been assigned to me since I accepted the job. As you can imagine, the first woman to hold this title gets some interesting threats made against her.”

He pulls me tighter against him and gives my shoulders a protective squeeze. No words are exchanged, but the message is loud and clear—Graham clearly cares about my personal safety.

Once Lou gives us the all clear, I reluctantly follow Graham inside. I drop my evening bag on the overstuffed, tired chair by the door. I watch him look around before finally turning to me. “What’s to be ashamed of?”

Poor guy is so perplexed. “Notice no pictures on the walls, the couch and this chair left by the previous renter.” I gesture toward the one holding my purse, then one on the other side of the room. “And this chair was from college.” Graham approaches me, and uses his thumb to extract my lip from between my teeth. “I had every intention of making this place my own, but I got busy and well, I guess I really don’t care, if I’m honest with myself.”

“It’s not like you’ve had a ton of free time to furniture shop. I. Don’t. Care,” he says pronouncing each word. “I care about you. I like you. Not your house, and certainly not your home furnishings.” His eyebrow rises and a half-smile says that he’s teasing me.

I melt, literally melt into him. This guy knows all the right words to say. Our lips and tongues begin a passionate dance. His reassuring arms around me tell me that he wants this as much as I do.

Before I can stop myself, my legs wrap around his waist, and his hands are firmly cupping my behind. This feels a bit like déjà vu. I pray that I’m not denied a third time.

His erection presses against my lace thong. What an erotic feeling it is. I grind my pelvis against his, picking up where we left off.

“You want this?” he asks in a deep voice that cracks a little at the end of his question.