Part 56 (1/2)

Through the small crowd of patrons, I saw the guy take a seat at the bar and smile at me as Vanessa pulled her replacement chair over to our table. The smile seemed to say, I guess it wasn't taken after all, and then he turned his back to us.

The interior of the restaurant filled as the rain picked up, and I lost sight of the guy at the bar. The next time I had a clear view, he was gone.

Vanessa and I stayed out in the rain, drinking mineral water as she picked at her fruit and the rain found the back of my s.h.i.+rt and neck.

We'd reverted to harmless small talk when she returned from the bathroom-Tony T's fear, the Middles.e.x ADA with the ferret's head who was rumored to keep mothb.a.l.l.s and carefully folded women's underwear at the bottom of his attache case, how pathetic it felt to live in an alleged sports town that couldn't hold on to either Mo Vaughn or Curtis Martin.

But underneath the small talk was the constant hum of our shared want, the echoes of surf and sheets of rain in Bermuda, the hoa.r.s.e sounds of our voices in that room, the smell of grapes on skin.

”So,” Vanessa said after a particularly pregnant lull in the chitchat, ”Chardonnay and me, or what?”

I could have wept from l.u.s.t, but then I forced myself to conjure up the aftermath, the sterile walk down her stairs and back to my car, the empty reverberations of our approximated pa.s.sion ringing in my head.

”Not today,” I said.

”It might not be an open-ended offer.”

”I understand that.”

She sighed and handed her credit card over her shoulder as the waitress stepped out onto the patio.

”Find a girl, Patrick?” she asked as the waitress went back inside.

I said nothing.

”A good, low-maintenance woman of hardy stock who won't give you any trouble? Cook for you, clean for you, laugh at your jokes, and never look at another man?”

”Sure,” I said. ”That's it.”

”Ah.” Vanessa nodded and the waitress came back with her credit card and bill. Vanessa signed and handed the receipt copy to the waitress with a flick of the wrist that was, in itself, dismissal. ”But, Patrick, I'm curious.”

I resisted the urge to lean back from the carnal force of her. ”Pray tell.”

”Does your new woman do the real wicked things? You know, those things we've done with-”

”Vanessa.”

”Hmm?”

”There is no new woman. I'm just not interested.”

She placed a hand to her breast. ”In me?”

I nodded.

”Really?” She held her hand out to the rain, caught a few drops, and wiped them on her throat as she arched her head back. ”Let me hear you say it.”

”I just did.”