Part 18 (1/2)
”No chance of that as long as I'm with you.” Nick gave her a slow smile and cupped her cheek before kissing her, an easy brush of lips that had her reaching up and wrapping her arms around his neck. Never one to resist a willing woman, he pulled her closer and kissed her again and again. ”Hi, yourself.”
He stepped back before he forgot his plan to take her out. ”Are you still up for Chinatown? If not, we can go someplace around here.”
”Oh, no, you're not skipping out on our date.”
Nick picked up her coat, held it out for her, and wrapped a colorful scarf around her neck. ”Do you have your gloves?”
”Nick, one conversation with my mother a day is my limit. I've been a grown-up for a long time.”
”Point taken. Are you feeling up to taking the subway in, or should we drive?”
”Subway works for me.”
There was something about riding a subway with a guy that was so high school. The whole experience made Rosalie feel young and pretty. Especially when that guy was holding the overhead handle with one hand and had the other wrapped around her waist, her back pressed against his front. His bedroom voice whispered in her ear. His breath fanned her cheek, and naughty thoughts ran through her mind. She wished they were in an empty car instead of a standing room only tin can during rush hour.
Nick growled at a man who b.u.mped into her when the train lurched forward. She had nothing to hold onto and didn't want to touch the guy in front of her, so she turned and held onto Nick.
Rosalie had never ridden the subway without holding onto either a pole or the overhead strap. No, that wasn't true. She had when she was a little kid, and she'd gone into the city with her father. He'd let her stand and hold onto his leg. She remembered feeling as if nothing bad could ever happen when she was with her dad. She was getting that same feeling with Nick.
All of a sudden, the train felt too crowded, the temperature too hot, and Nick's arm around her too stifling. At the next stop, when she tried to move away, he tightened his hold. She pushed his arm away, stepped back, and grabbed a pole as people shuffled out.
She didn't know if it was the crowd, the heat, or what. She did know she wanted off the train. Nick's stare burned through her. Intense. Demanding. She felt it as sure as the cool metal she was clinging to. She studied the signs above the windows and then glanced outside. Finally, Ca.n.a.l Street. She caught her breath and waited for the doors to open. Nick's hand slid across the nape of her neck. His thumb caressed her skin.
”You okay?”
She swallowed hard. ”Fine.”
And like that morning when she'd asked him the same question, they both knew the answer was a lie.
In temporary relations.h.i.+ps, while you might be unable to hide that something was bothering you, you had the option to ignore it entirely. The lie was tantamount to an unanimous vote to adopt the ”Don't ask, don't tell” policy.
If Nick had wanted to tell her why he was near panic that morning after they'd made love, she'd have been glad to listen. Rosalie asked once, but it would be against the rules to bring it up again. She knew he was fighting the urge to break the rule, but he knew d.a.m.n well if he did, it would leave him open to having to answer her question from that morning.
Rosalie climbed the stairs to Ca.n.a.l Street, and the comforting smell of Chinatown wrapped around her like a Polar fleece blanket, soft and warm. The sound of a mother scolding her daughter in Chinese, kids playing stickball in an alley, and the squawk of live chickens floated over the hum of street traffic. She took a deep breath. The smell of Chinese food made her mouth water, and the cold air erased the last of her unease. Nick held her hand and stuffed their joined hands into the pocket of his jacket.
They walked down Ca.n.a.l toward Bowery, checking out the shops that carried everything from Chinese herbs and live chickens to knockoff purses and top-of-the-line electronics. When they came to Mulberry Street, Nick stopped.
”What do you feel like eating, Chinese or Italian?”
Now as an Italian, Rosalie ate Italian food all the time, but it was also her absolute favorite comfort food. She'd been in Michigan for over a week, and they wouldn't know good Italian food if it sat on a plate and served itself. She felt as if she was going through withdrawal.
”Italian.”
Nick smiled. ”A girl after my own heart. Come on, I know this great little place down off Prince Street. You'll love it.”
He was right. The place was great. There were six or eight tables, and the owner sat at a corner table, drinking coffee and chatting with the clientele. A wall of old brick ran the length of the restaurant on one side, a golden painted plaster wall on the other. Ornate artwork hung everywhere, giving the room a relaxed, cluttered, homey look. Rosalie sank into the chair Nick held, took the menu from the waiter, and perused it while Nick ordered wine.
The food was exceptional, the atmosphere relaxed, and before she knew it, two hours had pa.s.sed.
They were sipping their second cup of demita.s.se when she asked, ”What exactly do you do with Dave when you're at work?”
Nick laughed and sat back in his chair, rocking on two legs. ”Lois bought him a bed, so most of the day he sleeps. He's got Lois conned. She keeps dog biscuits in her drawer, and every once in awhile, he walks into her office and puts his head on her desk and does that eyebrow thing that turns her into putty.”
”He can spot a sucker a mile away.”
'Ty comes by after school and walks him, or maybe it's the other way around. They hang out at the park or run parts down to the body shop and pretty much wear each other out. By the time we get home, Dave is so tired, he eats, does his thing, and then crashes.”
”Does his thing?”
”Yeah, you know, his thing. The thing the law requires us to pick up.”
She laughed. ”Oh, that thing.”
Nick's eyes twinkled. He leaned forward to say something under his breath. When he did, the man two tables away came into view, kissing his girlfriend. They were so caught up in each other, they were oblivious to anyone else in the room.
Papa?
The shock must have shown on her face, because Nick turned to see what she was staring at. ”Lee? What's wrong?”
Jesus, she felt like Cher in a bad remake of Moonstruck. Moonstruck. It was not a great feeling. Part of her wanted to flee out the back door and forget she'd ever seen him. Another part of her wanted to stop by their table, take the bottle of champagne he'd ordered, and crack him upside the head with it. It was not a great feeling. Part of her wanted to flee out the back door and forget she'd ever seen him. Another part of her wanted to stop by their table, take the bottle of champagne he'd ordered, and crack him upside the head with it.
Rosalie knew her mother could be difficult. But she'd been there for him day in and day out, no matter how he'd treated her, no matter how he'd ignored her. She'd cooked for him, cleaned for him, and had done whatever he'd told her to do. She didn't deserve a lying, stinking, cheat for a husband.
”Nothing. Look, Nick, I see someone I know. Would you mind getting the bill? I'll go talk to them and meet you outside. Okay?”
She moved to stand, but Nick grabbed her hand, holding her in place.
”Oh, no, you don't. Who is that guy?”
”No one worth knowing. I'll see you outside.” She pulled her hand away and picked up her purse. Nick was out of his chair and holding her coat for her before she could pick it up herself. She slid into it and started toward Pop, but Nick wrapped his arm around her, effectively s.h.i.+elding Pop from her, or her from Pop, she wasn't sure which.
”Nick, the bill.”
”It's covered. Come on.”
They walked right past her father and his girlfriend and out the door. A waiter ran after them.
”Sir, your change.”
Nick waved him off. ”Keep it.”
Nick didn't ask questions, and he didn't expect explanations. He tucked her under his arm, walked down the street to a nearby pub, and led her to a booth.
”Here, sit. I'll be right back.”
A minute later, he set a scotch down and squeezed into the booth beside her.