question of first dates: to kiss or not to kiss?
“I have company,” I said.
He nodded. “Would you like me to come by and take you to class tomorrow?”
“How very college of you, Jones. Does this mean we’re going steady?”
“Now who’s old-fashioned? And yes. Say, around five?” he asked.
I thought about it. I hadn’t told Maeve when I would stop by her place, but if she could do something about my dad in my head, then the sooner, the better. I pulled my journal out of my pocket and made a note.
“Make it one o’clock,” I said. I tucked the journal back in my pocket.
“I will.” He held both my hands in his. “So, this is good night, then.”
I switched my hold, my fingers around each of his, and leaned against my door. I tugged him close, until our bodies were almost touching. I didn’t let go of his hands.
“This,” I said, “maybe this doesn’t have to be good night.”
But Zayvion, damn him, eased back. He let go, took a step, out of sheer willpower or the knowledge that I would have gladly dragged him back, kissed him, taken him into my apartment and into my bed.
“Good night, Allie,” he said evenly.
I swallowed, finally found my voice. Maybe I was acting like an idiot. Pushing him away and trying to pull him close at the same time. “Night.”
He moved off a couple paces, walked toward the stairs, silent and sexy as always. Halfway down the hall, he paused. “Lose the key?”
Right. I was supposed to be going home. Not watching his very fine ass.
“No, no,” I said. “Found it.” I dug it out of my coat pocket and unlocked the door. Zayvion waited until I opened the door.
“See you tomorrow,” he said.
I didn’t trust my voice, so I opted to wave and just shut the door.
I glanced into the living room and guessed that Nola was on my couch, since her luggage was still leaning against one side of it.
I unzipped my boots, wanting to be out of the heels, and then padded off toward my bedroom.
“You should have invited him in,” Nola’s sleepy voice said from across the room.
“Trust me,” I said. “I tried.”
“You make falling in love look hard,” she muttered as she rolled over.
“Give it a whirl again one of these days,” I said. “Show me how easy it is.”
Nola snorted. “I already did it once. The right way. I don’t have to prove anything to you.”
I smiled. She couldn’t fool me. She and John had been crazy in love all through high school, and through the few years they had together before cancer took him. And even though I knew she loved her husband with unwavering devotion, it had been years since his death, and Nola was my age. She had plenty of life ahead of her.
Her answer, I noted, was not a no. Maybe she was ready to open her heart again, to love again. For no reason I could put my finger on, that made me really happy. After all, if I had to trust, love, and be vulnerable with someone, she could do it too. Misery loved a crowd, and all that.
I yawned my way into the bedroom, stripped, and fell asleep almost before I could pull the covers over me.
I drifted, not dreaming, aware of the warmth of my blankets, the curve of my pillows, the rhythm of my breath.
“Allison?” My father stood just outside my open bedroom door, one hand on the doorjamb. Something was wrong about this. I was in my old bedroom, the one I used to have when I lived with him in the condo, but I was not a little girl, I was an adult.
A part of my mind realized this was just a dream. Nightmare, more like it, since my father was a part of it. The rest of me was too tired to care.
I put the book I’d been reading aside, and my dad took that as an invitation to come into my room.
He rubbed his hand over his hair, grayer than I remembered, messing it up in a way I’d never seen him do in real life. Dream . . . my mind whispered. Right. Got it.
He sat on the bed next to me.
“I need your help.” He looked uncomfortable saying it. As well he should. Because he’d been mean . . . treated me badly . . . done something bad to me recently. I couldn’t remember what, but I knew I was angry