Unsuitable Men (10 page)

“
Where’s your tennis shoes
?” Brendan called after her.

“Downstairs in the mud room. But I’m not wearing them. Tennis shoes are for tennis courts, running or the gym,” she called back.

“Okay, so these then,” Brendan emerged with her pewter ballet flats in hand, just as she’d shed the Stella McCartney, so she was standing in front of him in just her bra and underwear, the dress pooled at her feet.

After a reflexive urge to cover herself, she decided not to bother. This was a man who had come face to face with the most private parts of her body, so what was the point? Brendan seemed to sense that decision and a small smile crossed his lips.  He placed the shoes at her feet just as she pulled on the jeans and shrugged the top over her head.

“I wanted to dress up tonight,” she pouted one last time.

Brendan sat on the edge of the bed and looked at her.

“Tracy, you don’t have to dress up,” he said shaking his head.  “You could wear a sack-cloth and blow every other woman out of the water.”

She blushed, wondering why his compliments seemed to mean so much more than almost anyone else’s. She went to her dresser and grabbed a ponytail holder, reaching back to scoop her hair up, and was surprised when Brendan appeared behind her in the mirror. He put his hands over hers and raked his long fingers through her hair, pulling it all back into a high swing ponytail and taking the elastic from between her fingers, expertly fastening it.

Tracy almost hadn’t taken a breath while his hands were on her scalp. No matter where and how he touched her, it felt good. She turned to look at him but he was still standing so close that she had to look up to see his face.

“Am I ready?” she asked.

“Are you?” he asked.

Tracy’s heart thundered in her chest and she waited for him to kiss her. He was definitely looking at her like he wanted to. But he didn’t. Instead he put his hands on her shoulders and steered her out of the room, and toward the stairs. Tracy swallowed her disappointment.

At the curb he opened the door for her and let her into the car before getting in himself. As he walked around to the driver’s side, Tracy recalled that Brendan had always done this for her: opened doors, took her hand when she was in heels going down steps, and walked with his hand resting on her back when they entered a room together. Not too many other men she’d known did that kind of thing. And many of them who did, seemed to be forcing it just to impress her. With Brendan, it was effortless, it was just who he was.

They drove for awhile in silence and Tracy watched as he reached out to get some music going. His hands were large, his fingers long. When he’d kissed her in L.A., he put a hand at the back of her head, palming it, cradling it so she’d felt enveloped by him.

The music that resounded throughout the car surprised her; it was restful, smooth jazz and was an artist she had on her playlist as well. Tracy wondered what else she had failed to notice about Brendan. This evening alone, she was racking up quite a list.

“It’s not worth wasting the night driving around looking for a place to park so I’m going to park at my building and we’ll take the train,” Brendan said.

Tracy sat up. “What?”

“The train. You know. The subway?”

“I haven’t taken the subway in ages,” she said.

“Well good thing it’s like riding a bicycle,” Brendan said, unimpressed. “Once you get the hang of it you never forget how.”

An hour later, Tracy was still somewhat irritated as Brendan held her hand and led her out of the foul depths of the 72
nd
Street station and toward Broadway. When she saw that he was headed directly toward the iconic neon sign she stopped and looked at him.

“Are you serious?”

“What? Who doesn’t like hot dogs? And Gray’s Papaya has some of the most famous hot dogs in the western hemisphere.”

Tracy sighed. “This is so not what I had in mind for dinner tonight.”

“Sometimes you have to let go of your preconceptions,” Brendan said as he dragged her out into the street, dodging traffic so that Tracy was forced to stick close to his side or risk getting picked off by a yellow cab.

Brendan found an empty place at the counter and ordered two ‘Recession Specials’ which consisted of two dogs and a drink, giving Tracy the seat and standing just behind her so that she was shielded from the crush of native New Yorkers and tourists. He ate standing up, leaning over her shoulder and after a couple of exploratory sniffs, Tracy found her mouth watering. One bite of one of her dogs, smothered in sauerkraut and onions, and she was sold. Fine, she would eat the damn hot dogs. And anyway, they would help her get back to her preferred size four and restore her ass to its former glory.

“Good?” Brendan asked from behind her.

“Uh huh,” she admitted, her mouth full.

“I knew you’d come around,” he nudged her.

Tracy smiled in spite of herself and took a long swallow of the almost sickeningly sweet soda Brendan had ordered for her.

Afterwards, Brendan put a hand on her shoulder, leading her back out to the street and they walked aimlessly for awhile, neither of them speaking, but Tracy was comfortably full and content. The evening was warm and the sidewalks crowded with people enjoying the summer evening. As they got closer to Central Park, the crowds grew thicker and Brendan took her hand, pulling her closer to him and out of the fray.

“So
how’re you liking
being home a lot more?” she asked.

“
I’m liking
it more than I thought I would,” Brendan admitted. “I was getting sick of running to catch flights, fighting Shawn into going to every single appointment. This is a lot less stressful for sure.”

“But now you’re one of the decision-makers about who gets record deals, so that’s got to be exciting.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Who was in Philly?”

Brendan looked at her and smiled. “All of a sudden you’re interested in the music business?”

“I hope I was never that self-centered,” Tracy said, stung.

Brendan said nothing.

“I mean, I was always interested in what’s going on in your life, Brendan.”

He said nothing, but with his fingers still laced through hers, the silence that fell between them was companionable. Even in the crowd and with the aroma of roasted peanuts and of street food permeating the sidewalks, Tracy believed she could detect a scent that was uniquely Brendan; woodsy and masculine. It made her
want
to take his shirt off and press her face against his chest. It was a scent she associated with safety, but also, paradoxically, with sex. Paradoxical because she had never considered sex to be ‘safe.’ And right now, she didn’t even care where he was taking her as they walked because she trusted him implicitly.

“I want to go back with you to your place,” she said.

Brendan stopped walking and for a moment she wondered whether she’d made a mistake. He was being nice to her and that was all. She’d practically forced this little ‘date’ and he was being gracious about it, but maybe this last bit was assuming too much. And he was involved with Meghan for heaven’s sake; a fact he had never tried to hide.

If she thought about it, he’d never done anything with her that was inconsistent with him seeing someone else. So he’d let her stay at his place when she was scared to go home; so what? It wasn’t as though he’d touched her in anything other than a brotherly way that whole time. And even now, he held her hand because he was gentlemanly, not because he was feeling anything approaching the feelings she had.

Maybe, she thought, he didn’t even want her? Maybe the vibes she thought she was picking up at her house were all wishful thinking.

Brendan turned her to face him, and letting go of her hand tipped her chin up so she was looking at him. His eyes were questioning, like he was trying to figure her out. Around them, pedestrians muttered impatiently as they blocked part of the sidewalk. Tracy’s eyes met his and she took a deep breath.

“I just want to be with you,” she said, before he could speak. “I don’t want to examine it, or label it, or think about what happens later or tomorrow or next week. And I don’t want to mess up anything else you might have going on with . . . with anyone. All I know is, I like being with you.”

Brendan’s brow was furrowed and he pursed his lips as though concentrating very hard on something.

Tracy waited.

If he rejected her, she would be humiliated. What she’d just said was the most honest thing she had ever said to a
man,
the most naked and vulnerable she had ever allowed herself to be. But every word of it was true. Brendan might not be her future, but she didn’t care. She had never known a man who was so completely himself, who made her feel like it might be possible for her to do the same. Everything he did, everything he said to her called out for her to open up and let him in and she wanted to. Even if just for a little while.

This could only end badly.

For the second time in less than a week, Tracy was sleeping in his bed, and he’d shut off his phone to avoid interruptions, not wanting to wake her and—this part was much more difficult for him to admit—not wanting anyone to burst the little bubble they had formed around themselves. Like last time, there was no sex.
Not that he didn’t want it,
but the memory of her last encounter was too fresh in his memory and probably in hers too. He couldn’t imagine entering her body, knowing that not too long ago, some other guy had been there; someone who scared her enough to make her cry. If they had sex—and damn, he hoped they eventually would—she needed to make the first move.

Tonight, same as last weekend, they lay in bed together and watched television and Tracy had moved over and pressed into him, wrapping her legs about his. And when Brendan turned to look at her, she’d kissed him, her lips exerting light pressure, the tip of her tongue tentatively pushing its way towards his. He held back, taking it slowly, not wanting to alarm her, exploring her lips and mouth but
being careful not to touch her too intimately otherwise. When the kiss deepened and became more urgent, it was because Tracy initiated it, opening further to him, capturing his tongue between her lips, gently sucking on it.

Then just as suddenly she seemed to decide to get a hold on herself and pulled back, sighing—he couldn’t tell if it was in contentment or frustration—and rested her head once again on his chest. Brendan tried to ignore his almost painful erection and when that didn’t work, thought about everything under the sun that could possibly derail sexual arousal, like the road-kill he and Shawn spotted on their drive back from Philly. That helped it go down for a minute but soon enough, she was kissing him again and he was a willing and enthusiastic participant.

He couldn’t even remember what he and Tracy watched before she drifted off to sleep because every once in awhile she would turn and raise her chin once again, and they would share more slow, sweet kisses as he inhaled her coconut-scented hair. Sometime in the middle of all the kissing, he didn’t even recall when, he reached up and pulled her hair free of the ponytail he’d fastened earlier, just so he could lace his fingers in it, his nails lightly raking her scalp. She’d moaned against his mouth that time and he was the one to pull back because that sound alone tested his resolve not to initiate anything until she let him know she wanted to.

So now she was asleep on his chest; but it was past midnight on a weekday and if he wanted to get her home before morning he would have to wake her. But he didn’t want to.

In Philly he’d spent a restless couple of nights remembering what it had been like sleeping with her in his bed. In sleep as when she was awake, Tracy was an enigma. She liked holding him, but she didn’t want to be held. When he wrapped his arms around her, she murmured and swatted him away, but if he gave her too much space, she turned and draped a leg over his, an arm across his
pecs
, resting her head on his chest. He liked sleeping with her. Almost as much as he’d liked making
lov
. . . fuck . . . no, that didn’t sound right either. That was the problem. He didn’t know what to call what they did, didn’t know what they were.

But one thing he did know was that it could only end badly.

Brendan took a deep breath and shook her gently, waiting until her eyes fluttered open. Apart from the beautiful eyes, he was greeted with a sweet-Tracy smile.

“Am I being evicted?” she
asked,
her voice soft.

“
No
,” he said quickly. “It’s just that I figured you have work tomorrow, right? So I don’t know if you need to get home, or . . .”

“I’ll go in the morning.” She shut her eyes again, holding him tighter, and then after a moment they sprung open again. “Unless  . . . would you prefer that I go now?”

Yes! Now, man
, Brendan told himself.
Do it now. Draw the line.
It’s
one thing to spend time together but this is different. Tell her
right
now.

“No,” he said. “I would prefer it if you didn’t.”