Page 121 of Backslide
In my mind, I remember fevered make-out sessions, stolen kisses, urgent pawing when we could find the space. I remember pining for him, missing him even before he lumbered out of sight, a lingering want that sat equally in my heart and between my thighs and could never be satiated. Never enough.
But this is something different—something I didn’t think was in the cards. This is all of that plus time. Plus lost years. Plus experience and knowledge and evenskill. Confidence. Swagger. This is a deep résumé, a strong, banging CV.
Noah is my ideal candidate. And I think maybe, finally, I am looking to fill the position. All the positions.
Including the one we’re in right now, his pants around his ankles, my skirt pushed up high, him pressed against me, rock solid.
“Okay,” I say, breathless. “Now, we’re even.”
He lets his gaze travel down me, raises an eyebrow, his chest rising and falling quickly against my own. “Okay,” he says. “Now what?”
“Now,” I say, “you fuck me.”
He is happy to oblige.
My hands come to his muscular back, and he kisses me hard and then harder as I wheeze his name.
I lose all sense of time and place. I’m outside on a vineyard estate in wine country, yes, but I am everywhere else too. Against a stone wall in Riverside Park. Against a bathroom door, precariously pushed shut. On my childhood twin bed when no one is home.
And, afterward, we are breathless, collapsing into each other and laughing lightly.
And we are still chest to chest, when he murmurs, “I want to change the rules.”
“I thought there were no rules.”
“The new is rule is that there are rules.”
I tip my head back against the wall, so I can better see his adorable face shadowed in the darkness. “Who is making these rules?”
“Me,” he says. “And only me.”
“That seems fair,” I laugh.
“Fair is overrated.”
He is kidding, but he is not kidding. I can see it in the intensity of his eyes, glowing like their own moons, inches from my own.
Even a day ago, I would have been afraid of what he was about to say. Afraid that he was about to set boundaries that would hurt my pride, that he was backing slowly away, having scratched some kind of childhood itch.
But I know better now. I know Noahnow. Adult Noah. Who is kind and funny and thoughtful and a little bit irritable when other men hit on me.
I know Noah—who knowsme.
“Alright,” I say. “I’ll bite.”
He raises an eyebrow. “That I know.”
I roll my eyes but also smile. Rotate my hand, to suggest he should say the thing.
“The first new rule is that this isn’t over.”
“I see.”
“The second rule is that you don’t get to freak out about it and run for the hills.”
“Hmm. Which hills exactly?”
“The third rule is that you are open to the idea of coming back to LA. Of trying to transition to art directing for movies or TV because you have a skill set that could transfer even though it’s not totally the same. To see if maybe it’s for you. Because your job in New York is ending. And you love LA and you wanted to try something different anyway. And Sabrina lives there. And Rita does. And also, as it happens, so do I.”
