Thought I Knew You (16 page)

“Where’s your friend?” she teased.

I shrugged, and we made our way back to the table.

“Let’s go,” I said, reaching into my purse for my cell phone.

She knitted her eyebrows. “Where?”

“Where else?” I replied, giving her a small shrug and a wry smile. “Float.”

We found Will and Owen right where they said they’d be. They looked happy to see us, and I studied Will with new eyes, with new purpose. I saw the evening for what it would be before it happened. Will appraised me, smiling, probably sensing a different attitude. I was not the reserved, nervous, distracted Claire he had met the previous night. I flirted, fingertips resting lightly on his arm, and laughed at his jokes. As I drank more, I became bolder and touched his thigh, then his cheek. I leaned in to whisper in his ear and played with his hair.

He responded by softly trailing a hand down my arm, then my back. He kissed my bare neck, his lips pausing in the soft hollow of my collarbone, and I shuddered with barely contained anticipation. My insides twisted momentarily with guilt, not about Greg as a person, but for the vow I was going to break. And I
was
going to break it; I was sure of that. I’d known that since I’d stood on the street, hurling accusations at a man who had turned out not to be my husband.
How am I different now?
I wasn’t. I would be an adulterer, too.

Sarah gave a little wave and secured a spot on one of the plush satin couches with Owen, curled around him like a kitten.

I paid the bill and took Will’s hand. I led him to our room, where I hung the Do Not Disturb tag on the door, hoping Sarah would notice. We lay on my bed, and I kissed him fully, hard and insistent. Backing up, I slowly pulled my shirt up over my head, then shimmied my jeans down over my hips until I stood nude in front of him, shivering slightly from both the frosty hotel room air and the electrifying need to be touched.

I reached out and paused, tentative for a moment, at his belt buckle. He pulled his shirt over his head, and I leaned over to kiss his neck and bare shoulders. Teasingly, I ran my hand along the front of his zipper, feeling his response and hearing his guttural groan. His eyes rolled skyward, and a small grin formed on his lips. I smiled, my confidence restored. He ran his hands up my sides, grazing my breasts and burning my skin. I attempted to push him back onto the bed.

He smiled slyly, grasping my hips with his hands. “You can’t be in charge all the time, Claire.” He held my arms out, tracing his fingertips in excruciatingly slow circles down my torso and across my breasts. He bent his head close in an almost kiss. I could feel his breath on my skin, but he kept his palm low and warm on my belly, forcing me upright.

When his lips finally met my flesh just beneath my breast bone, I gasped. He tilted his head slightly, and I could see his smile of satisfaction. I ran my hands through his hair, my nails clawing gently at the back of his neck, as his mouth trailed hot and wet down my stomach and thighs. He paused, giving me a raised eyebrow.

I laughed self-consciously. The sound of my laughter echoing in the dim room had a clarifying effect. Time seemed to stop. I felt on the precipice of something profound; I felt alive, something I hadn’t felt in six months.
Desired and desirable. How long had that been missing? Years, maybe?

When our lips met, his mouth tasted of vodka and peppermint. His lips moved in cadenced rhythm with mine, and I pulled him closer, needing the connection. I felt his nakedness under my palm, his light feathery chest hair so different than Greg’s, his smell, a woodsy, musky mixture that made my head spin. I kissed his neck, biting gently in the way Greg liked because I knew no other way to be with a man. He moaned softly, his breath coming in short bursts with a soft incantation, “Claire…”
and for a second, I opened my eyes, startled. Greg had never said my name during sex, had barely said anything at all most of the time. And I couldn’t stop comparing. The feel of Will’s thick dark wavy hair in my fingers was a stark dichotomy to Greg’s short, soft buzz. Will’s leanness felt alien, his kisses foreign.

When I reached down to grip him and heard his sharp intake of breath, I once again felt in control, almost
powerful.
With careful precision, I moved into him, gently pushing him back on the bed, and straddled his hips. The familiar pressure as I sank onto him, dizzyingly pleasurable, brought me to the edge, and I moaned softly.

“Shh,” Will whispered with a gentle smile.

We moved in a singular rhythm together, in tune, naturally synchronized. And as I watched Will’s face, unfamiliar as a stranger’s, it occurred to me that I could be my own person, anyone I wanted to be. I felt a liberating surge of power rise up, bringing with it a long buried heat of desire. Waves of pleasure thrummed from my core. Will’s visceral cries interwove with mine as we climaxed.

Sated, I lay in the crook of his arm, our flesh moist and sticky where it met. Silently blissful. Oddly comfortable with this stranger. I half-expected him to come up with an excuse to leave, but he surprised me. Having never had a one-night stand, I didn’t know what to expect. I anticipated more awkwardness. Maybe there would have been, if I’d not known the interlude for what it was, if I’d been thinking about a future with the man.
If I were single.

I realized that I had technically cheated on my husband. Mulling it over, I discovered that I no longer cared. The sex had been at least as good as the best sex Greg and I had ever had.

“What are you going through?” Will asked. His fingers traced patterns on my palm.

“What?” I looked up at him.
Was I that transparent?

“Last night, you said you’re kind of going through something. And then tonight, you show up, this… lioness on a hunt.” He laughed. “So, I wondered.”

I debated on what to tell him, if anything. “My husband left me.”

He arched his eyebrows at me. “You’re married?”

“Sort of. Well, technically, yes.” I tried to stifle a giggle, which had to be from the martinis, but mortifyingly, I couldn’t. I coughed to cover it up.

He propped himself up on his elbows. “Are you laughing? At me?” He looked mildly annoyed.

“Oh, God, Will, no! Listen, here’s the whole crazy story. Six months ago, my husband went on a business trip and never came home. I have no idea what happened to him. He could have run away, or he could be dead. I found out later that he’d been having an affair, and he wasn’t really the person I thought he was anyway.” Oh, God. Information overload.

Will looked half-astonished, half-ready to run out the door, his mouth slack with disbelief.

I put my hand on his arm. “I was laughing because I feel bad for you. You didn’t know you were going to end up with me and all my… baggage.” I started laughing so hard, tears streamed out of my eyes.

Will smiled nervously, not quite getting the joke, but he had yet to make a break for it, so I took that as a good sign. I hiccupped and finally calmed.

“So, he what? Never came home?” he asked.

“Nope. Gone without a trace. New Jersey’s finest can’t even find him.”

“That’s crazy.” He stared at me for a moment. “So what am I then? An angry screw? A way to get back at him?”

“No, not really. You would think so, I guess. And I
am
angry. But this… this doesn’t
feel
angry. I don’t feel like I’m using you to get back at anyone. And I’ve discovered things, you know? Things that he’s kept a secret that a man shouldn’t keep from his wife. It makes me think that maybe he never loved me the right way.” I was rambling. I didn’t know Will well enough to explain how Greg may or may not have loved me.

Will resumed tracing patterns into my palm. “So, you didn’t answer me. What was this to you? What
is
this to you?”

“An awakening,” I replied, kissing him gently. “This is an awakening of the senses. A welcome back party.”

His arms went around me as he hungrily returned my kiss. I pulled him on top of me, wrapping my legs around him.

“Well, it’s a great party,” he murmured.

When I woke up several hours later, sun streamed in through the windows. I sat up and looked around. I was alone in the room. I stretched languidly under the six-hundred-thread-count sheets, enjoying my first post-coital morning in a long time. I was startled by a soft knock on the door, followed by a quiet, “Hello?”

“Come in!” I called to Sarah. “I’m alone.”

She came in carrying her black strappy sandals.

I giggled. “Oh, that must have been some walk of shame, girl. What are we, twenty-five?”

“Owen drove me here,” she retorted. “I told him no way was I walking back at nine in the morning, holding my shoes and wearing the same clothes from the night before. I am past that point in my life.”

“How was your night?” I asked, eyebrows wiggling suggestively.

“Uh-uh, you first. How was yours?”

“Oh, pretty wonderful. I can’t believe you get to do this all the time!” I flopped back onto the pillows. “I’ve never had a one-night stand before!”

“When did he leave?”

“I have no clue.”

She reached over and plucked something off the pillow next to my head. “Oh, my God. What an amateur. He left a note!”

Holding the sheet over me, I reached up for it. “Give me that! That might say something personal!” I grabbed it out of her hand.

Claire,

I had a wonderful time. Hope you get through your “something.” Your husband has no idea what he left behind. Next time you’re on the west coast, call me day or night. I still have your cell # and I’ll call you next time I’m in New York. I’d love to meet up. And I really hope I see you again. I mean that. Love, Will.

“Well, that’s about the sweetest Dear Jane letter I ever read,” Sarah said.

“It’s not a Dear Jane letter. That would imply that I’m being dumped, which implies that I wanted more than this one night. Which I don’t.”

Sarah stretched her arms wide, grinning and turning in a slow circle. “So how does it feel to be me?”

“It’s a great party,” I replied.

We spent our last day in San Diego doing a vineyard tour of southern California. Sarah deemed it “No Napa Valley. But pretty damn good.” And that was okay by me. It was the happiest day I’d had in a long time. We were giggly, surely obnoxious to some. I thought of Greg barely at all, Will frequently, and Drew once when our vintner pompously instructed us to swirl and sniff the glass prior to tasting. I remembered Drew doing something similar, mockingly, and declaring the wine, “Woodsy. Or is it Woody?” and us breaking into laughter.
Where were we?
A wine festival, years ago somewhere in New York state.
Greg was with us, but I had no memories of that trip that included him. I made a mental note to call Drew as soon as I got home and apologize for avoiding him the past few weeks.

That night, we ordered Chinese take-out and laid off the booze. I was too old to drink for two consecutive nights, and my digestive system was not thrilled with my recent tear. We rented girly movies about finding true love and happily ever after and talked about what a bunch of shit they were.

“Not all men are scum, Claire,” Sarah amended.

“Not Owen?” I asked, realizing she had successfully evaded the “How was your night” question.

“Actually, no. To tell the truth, Owen is the first guy I’ve been genuinely interested in for a very long time.”

“Really?” I was flabbergasted. Sarah, the queen of giving out a fake phone number
after
the one-night stand.

“Really. And I think he might feel the same way.” She was quick to add, “But who knows? You can’t tell with vacation flings.”

I nodded, playing along. “Yeah, I mean they never go anywhere.”

We fell asleep with the TV still on, knowing that we would part the next day and go back to reality. That was okay; I was ready for it.