Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
I grow more uneasy when Chris asks Ryan how his business dinner was tonight. I listen as Ryan recites some meaningless numbers to Chris but soon, I start tuning them out. Is Chris intentionally trying to exclude me from the conversation? Does he think I’ll start talking about my cam-girl business and start calling him WildCaptain in front of his brother? Is he embarrassed by me?
“Where are you from, Weaver?” Ryan asks me, snapping me back to the moment.
“I actually grew up not far from here. My mom still lives on Long Island. I live on the Upper West Side now.”
The bartender brings over our drinks and asks me and Chris whether we want something to eat.
“No, this’ll be fine. We aren’t staying long,” he tells the bartender.
As soon as he leaves the table, Ryan resumes his questions. “What kind of work do you do?”
“God, Ryan,” Chris interrupts. “What’s with the third degree?”
“Dude, I’m just making conversation. Relax,” Ryan replies.
I take a swig of my drink and look Chris straight in the eyes. “I have to agree with Ryan. Relax,” I say with steel in my voice. “I went to school for hotel management and I plan on opening a boutique youth hostel, a new spin on the budget concept. Now if you’ll excuse me for a minute, I have to find the ladies’ room.”
I walk toward the back of the bar, and when I get to the bathroom door, I hear Chris calling my name behind me. “Weaver,” he says, reaching out for me. “Hold up.”
I spin around but I don’t move from the door. It opens behind me and I step aside slightly to let a woman pass.
“I thought I’d give you a break from monitoring me,” I say icily.
“That’s not what I’m doing, I swear,” he says, contrition in his voice. He runs a hand through his hair, and his expression is pained. “I’m not trying to hide you from my brother, Weaver. I’m trying to shield you from him. This night was so perfect, and he just ruins everything. All I wanted was to take you upstairs and…be with you.” He reaches out and traces a finger down my jawline. “I’m sorry.”
“Tell me honestly: are you embarrassed by me?” I ask.
“How could I ever be?” he softly whispers, leaning down to plant a searing kiss on my lips. He pulls away from me, leaving me wanting more, and walks back out to the bar. My lips tingle from where he touched them and I stand there, staring after him.
I follow him back to the table and find a young woman has joined Ryan. Joined may not be the right word. Ryan practically has her trapped; his hand is positioned on the wall beside her head and her eyes dart from side to side, looking for an exit.
Chris is already trying to defuse the situation, trying to help the poor girl and simultaneously save face for his brother. “Hey Ryan, why don’t we all sit down to talk? Give her space, dude,” he says, placing his hand on his shoulder to guide him to the table. I’m not so inclined to spare Ryan’s dignity, and I do what I’ve been dying to do since I set eyes on the man.
“Oh shoot,” I say mildly, and toss what’s left of my drink at the back of Ryan’s head, dousing his hair so the remnants of whiskey and ice dribble down his neck and the back of his shirt. He spins around and raises his voice at me. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I tripped,” I say flatly. Ryan’s prey is grinning at me. She reaches for her purse and walks around the table. She leans over and whispers in my ear, “Thanks sis,” and sashays out of the bar.
“Always so clumsy, Weaver,” Chris says, throwing some bills down on the table and hardly suppressing his laughter. “She’s like a bull in a china shop, this one.”
I’m already halfway out the door when Chris catches up with me, and shouts back over his shoulder, “Send me the dry-cleaning bill, buddy.” By the time we arrive at the elevator bank, we’re both laughing through tears.
12
Weaver
Inside the elevator our laughter fades, and I look at Chris’s face and see a droplet of whiskey by the side of his mouth.
“Sorry about that,” I say, leaning in close and licking the drop from his mouth. “I guess I got you a little.”
“That’s okay,” he says, “but I think you missed another spot, here.” He points to the other side of his mouth, and I snake out my tongue and lick that imaginary drop too.
The mood has turned from lighthearted to serious, and the atmosphere in the elevator feels heavy with anticipation. The lights indicating passing floors seem to change too slowly, and it feels like Chris and I are suspended in time, eyes locked on each other, our breathing in synch. He catches my chin in his hand and lowers his head to me, resting his lips against mine. His lips feel warm and his breath feels hot. I feel his lips moving against mine and he says, “Thank you.”