The Ground Rules Part 17

His mouth travels down to my neck. "I want you."

"Have me," I whisper in his ear.

He reaches for my panties. I feel him hard against me.

This is really happening.

He pulls them down. His hands are soft and gentle against my skin. I close my eyes, enjoying his touch. I am so ready for this.

But then...

Knock. Knock.

We stop. We don't make a peep. We don't move. Weston's face is buried in my neck, his hand still wrapped up in my panties.

We hear another knock. Louder, this time.

The handle jiggles.

We stay completely motionless, buried in each other.

The handle jiggles more loudly.

"Uh...one...moment," I say, my voice shaky. "I...I'll be right out."

f.u.c.k.

I pull my panties back up. Weston looks absolutely mortified.

What have I got us into?

"There's no way out," I whisper. "This woman outside will see us. She'll know what we were up to."

My hearts pounds in my chest. And suddenly, I can't breathe.

I really can't breathe.

I'm familiar with this sensation-I'm having a full-blown panic attack.

"Are you all right?" Weston asks, genuine concern on his face. He rests his hands on my shoulders. "Breathe."

"I...I can...can't." I can barely get the words out. I kneel and bend my head down. I close my eyes and I hug myself tightly. I focus on my breathing. This will pa.s.s. It always does. It's been ages since I've had an attack, and I can't believe it's happening now. I'm sure I'm real attractive-Weston must wonder what the h.e.l.l he's got himself into.

He grabs my clutch off the floor. "Will you be all right?" he asks. His voice is so soft, it calms me. And his eyes are so kind, full of concern.

He kneels down next to me and stays by my side until I can breathe again.

How did I ever think this man was cold?

Finally, I stand slowly, my breathing not quite normal, but good enough to undertake my "walk of shame."

"Let's do this."

I turn the door handle slowly and open the door to a very annoyed, tiny, middle-aged woman. I'm not saying a word, I decide. I don't owe this stranger any explanations. Weston walks out behind me, and I spot the look of shock on the woman's face.

"We're very sorry," he offers. "My girlfriend was having a panic attack."

Well, it's true. He didn't lie.

Except for the "girlfriend" part.

The tiny woman scowls. "Oh...is that what we're calling it these days." She's clearly annoyed, but she doesn't seem too scandalized.

It's not the end of the world, after all.

No, the end of the world comes shortly after, when Weston and I take our seats again. It is so uncomfortable-I will remember this moment for the rest of my life, the most excruciating minutes of my existence.

Such a situation would be uneasy for any normal couple on a first date, but this is Weston and I-we're already socially awkward in the best of circ.u.mstances.

He pulls out the familiar bottle of hand disinfectant.

"Can I have some," I ask. We both disinfect our hands. I smile at the sight of us-we make quite the odd couple.

"That bathroom wasn't super clean." I point out.

"It wasn't the worst I've seen."

"I'm sorry," I say, "for making you do that."

He smiles at me-a sly smile. "You didn't make me do anything. I admit it...I'm generally quite preoccupied with the billion or so microscopic creatures lurking on the surface of everything we see, but trust me...they didn't enter my mind for a second when I followed you into that washroom."

His words arouse me.

I'm curious. "What was on your mind?"

He pauses for a beat, his eyes thoughtful. "Touching you," he says, his words soft. "Kissing you."

And suddenly, I want to be in that washroom again-touching him, kissing him.

I spot the tiny woman returning from the washroom. She shoots me the evil eye. I'm mortified-I want to bury my face in my pasta.

And to add insult to injury, this one's a gossip. As soon as she sits down, I hear her whisper to her girlfriends. And they all turn to look at us.

"Don't look," she snaps.

But it's too late.

"I'm sorry, Weston," I say, head down. "But...can we leave?"

He looks at me, fork over his half-finished veal. "Sure, Mirella. If that's what you want."

I'm surprised by his reaction. If I pulled this kind of thing with Gabe, he'd tell me to shape up and finish my meal.

As we leave the restaurant, I'm still a little uneasy.

"I'm so sorry, Weston. You didn't even get to finish your meal."

"I understand. It was a painfully embarra.s.sing situation. I wanted to leave as well. And besides, my veal was kind of cold."

"I've completely messed up our entire date."

He takes my hand. "No you didn't," he argues, pulling me to him. "You've made it wonderful."

"Are you sure you want to do this with me?" I ask, not quite able to look at him.

"Positive."

I look up at him. His gaze is fixed to mine. He still holds my hand in his, his thumb traces soft circles on the flesh of my palm.

"Can I take you to my place?" he asks. I can tell he wants to finish what we've started. And I want to.

But I'm just too frazzled. My breathing's not quite right. My nerves are shot. And I desperately want to retreat to a quiet place.

I realize I need a little more time.

"I want to, Weston. Believe me. But tonight doesn't feel right."

"You're not ready," he says. And I see unmistakable disappointment in his eyes. "I can wait for you." His expression is gentle.

He's so sweet...I feel something for him. Something I know I'm not supposed to feel. I try not to think about it...to not even go there.

I reach up and wrap my arms around him. He stiffens a bit and hesitates.

But I don't let go.

His arms wrap slowly around me and tighten. A wonderful heat spreads through my core...this is one amazing hug.

We hold each other for the longest time, standing on the street, and he doesn't let go. I'm shocked he doesn't let go. And it feels so intimate, even more intimate than our washroom tryst...and I tear myself away at the realization.

"I'm sorry Weston," I say, das.h.i.+ng to the sidewalk. "I know I'm not supposed to-"

He runs after me. "It's fine, Mirella."

He stills me with his hand. "Hugs are," he pauses for a beat, "acceptable."

I laugh a little.

"Really?" I tease. "Are hugs acceptable? You don't seem too sure."

He c.o.c.ks his head with a playful expression. "Well, let me check the manual when I get home."

My jaw drops. "There's a manual?"

He laughs. "I'm jesting, Mirella," he tells me, with a gentle poke on the tip of my nose. "You're very gullible."

He's being playful, and I like this version of him. Very much.

Well, what do you know...perhaps there is a man under the suit of armor after all.

Weston sends me home in his car. Edward is courteous and discreet as always.

In the refuge of Weston's car, I can finally breathe. I close my eyes and relive the events of the night-the good parts-Weston's face, his smile, his hand on the inside of my thigh, his lips on mine, the taste of red wine, his arms tight around me.

I chide myself.

I'm already doing it...I'm already falling for him.

Why can't I do this? It's not that complicated...just have s.e.x with the man and go on with my life, no strings attached. Just enjoy a good f.u.c.k. Why can't I just do that?

This was a colossal mistake, I can't help but think, tears running down my cheeks. I reach for a tissue.

I am so glad to be alone.

My thoughts drift to Gabe and Bridget. I shouldn't think about them, but I can't help myself. They are probably going to town on each other at this exact moment. My husband is b.a.l.l.s deep in another woman right now. And then, I officially start to blubber like a small child. I don't think Edward sees me-he's trained to be discreet.

I don't even care if he sees me-I'm just that far gone.

Just a few weeks ago, I was a normal happy suburban wife and mother.

"And now, look at me," I mutter as I grab another tissue and blow my nose. "I'm a complete disaster."

When I get home, Caroline is playing a princess board game with the girls. She seems surprised to see me back home so early.

"I wasn't expecting you till much later. You're early."

"Yes," I say, knowing full well I probably look like something the cat dragged in. "I'm sorry. I'll pay you for the full night."

"You don't need to do that," she says, a concerned look on her face. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine," I a.s.sure her. "Here. I insist." I give her the full amount.

"You sure?"

I just want her to leave. "Yes."

Claire is attached to my leg. She seems glad to have me back home. "But, Mommy, we weren't finished with our game."

"I'll take Caroline's place." I think this might just be the distraction I need.