“What’s on tap the rest of the night? More work?”
“I’m calling it a night on the work front. No more email, no more reports. I’m just kicking back on my couch talking to this girl with my cell phone pressed against my head. I’m probably getting a brain tumor, but c’est la vie.”
“You’re not one of those Bluetooth people? You haven’t been walking around with the headset in your ear all evening?”
“God no. I can’t stand the Bluetooth people.”
“They do that constantly in New York. On buses, on subways. Even in stores. They leave those damn things on all the time.”
“Maybe they are waiting to receive messages from the Bluetooth Uni-mind.”
“Oh, I can so picture that.”
“So, you’ve finagled my Bluetooth secret, Kat. What else do you want to know?”
I shifted to my side, and played with the tassel on one of my purple pillows. What did I want to know about Bryan? “I got it. Shoes on airplanes. On or off?”
“On, of course. As if I would ever take shoes off on a plane.”
“Totally agree. Why do people do that? Stretch their big stinky feet out in front of them and even walk up and down the aisles without their shoes.”
“I’m telling you, that’s another thing that would be abolished should I become president. You would be forbidden from removing shoes on planes. And from clipping your nails in public.”
“You have my vote.”
“You know what I like to do on planes?”
“No. What?”
“Sometimes, I go a little wild and I leave my cell phone on.”
“It doesn’t work up there.”
“Right, but instead of turning it off when we take off, I just go crazy and leave it on silent. And then I like to see how far up we can go before it stops getting messages, and then I like to see how high we are when it starts picking them up again on the way down.”
“You renegade.”
“I know, Kat. I’m not afraid to be a bad boy like that.”
“Are you though? A bad boy?”
He didn’t answer right away. He must have been weighing the question and what I really meant. I wasn’t sure what I really meant. “Do you want me to be a bad boy?”
I rested my head on the pile of pillows. “I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “I just want you to be yourself.”
“I am myself. With you, I am definitely myself.” If we were at a club, the music would have just shifted from a fast, poppy song to a slower number, the kind of tune that made you want to dim the lights. “If I were with you right now, I’d be myself too.”
“What would you do?”
“If I were with you right now?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you?”
“On my bed.”
He was quiet, but I could hear him breathing, and I pictured his chest rising and falling as he stared up at the ceiling of his brownstone on Sixtieth and Park, closing his eyes, imagining me so many blocks away. “What are you wearing?”
“Jeans. Black cami with a Hello Kitty design.”
“Ah, of course. I believe you once said it was a life-long love, you and Hello Kitty.”
“We’re still going strong.”
“And underneath?”
“Black bikini briefs with a light blue stripe.”
“So you want to know what I’d do if I were with you right now?”
“Yes.”
“I wouldn’t kiss you yet. I’d touch your naked skin. I’d run my fingers down your arms, and watch as you shivered at my touch.”
I closed my eyes and listened.
“I’d kiss your belly through your shirt, and you’d wriggle a little bit, trying to tell me with your body that you wanted more.”
I murmured something about wanting more.
“Then I’d come up for a kiss, hovering over you, my arms on each side of you.”
I longed to touch his arms, to trace how toned and strong they were.
“I’d kiss you for the longest time, and you’d be pressing your hands against my back, wanting more.”
“I would,” I managed to say, as I started to unbutton my jeans.
“And when I was sure, absolutely, totally, completely sure that you were turned on beyond a shadow of a doubt —”
“—Which I would be.”
“Which you would be. I’d return to your stomach, and I’d start to lift up your cami thing. And I’d run my tongue across your belly, and I’d take off your top. And I’d finally be able to see those gorgeous br**sts of yours in the flesh.”
“And touch them.”
“God yes. I’d cup them in my hands and lick them, and I’d run my tongue from between your br**sts down to your jeans, and at that point you’d be unzipping them.”
“I already have.”
“Are your pants off?”
I skimmed off my jeans, pushing them to the foot of my bed. “Yes.”
“Is your shirt off too?”
“No.”
“Take it off.”
I put the phone on the bedcover and pulled off my tank top. Then I pressed the phone to my ear. “I’m back.”
“And are you just in your underwear now?”
“Yes.”
“Touch yourself, Kat.”
I did as instructed.