“Nope. Not doing it. That poor girl does not need us both creeping out on her. I’ll take your word for it.”
That seemed to settle the matter. He dropped it.
His phone rang; he checked the screen and started cursing. “I’ve got to run. Same time next week?”
I nodded, and he left. I didn’t move and still didn’t turn around. I had that feeling, a tingle on my neck, like I was being watched from behind, and I was again talking myself out of obsessing about Iris.
But burned in my brain was the image of the back of that woman, and in spite of myself, I was comparing.
And a small part of me was enjoying the torture of imagining it could be her, that she would find me again.
Finally, I cracked, turning to look, thinking that the woman must have left, so I should just get it over with, like pulling off a Band-Aid.
And there she was.
There was Iris, standing only feet away, holding a cup of coffee and watching me, her expression very blank. She was wearing sexy librarian glasses, her hair in a tight bun, just like Benji had said.
And it really was her, in the flesh.
She wore white, and her clothes were fitted enough to show off every lush curve. Her mouthwatering br**sts were clearly outlined, the buttons of her blouse open enough to show an extravagant amount of cle**age.
How had I forgotten just how stunning she was? How captivating?
Her large br**sts were even more exceptional than I remembered, as though I’d dreamt her up as a comic book version of herself.
Iris squared.
The moment our eyes met, she began to move, walking with easy grace to sit across from me.
She looked cold, so icy blonde and beautiful, like some mix of Marilyn Monroe and Grace Kelly.
Terrible and beautiful.
It felt like fatal voltage to my chest just to look at her like that.
It was Iris, but Iris as a stranger. No, it was worse than that. It was like she was a curious, wild, imaginary creature, with the pieces of her just now put together, invented for my eyes, not how I remembered at all, because even when she’d been angry, she had never been cold.
Then she smiled, and it was her again, all traces of the cold stranger gone.
Which one was the real Iris?
“Hello, Dair.”
I swallowed hard and saw her eyes dart to my throat.
“Hello, Iris.”
“God, I missed the sound of your voice.”
“The sound of my voice?” My voice caught on the question awkwardly, breaking slightly on the last word.
She had such a talent for catching me off guard.
“Yes. You have the best voice, like a stern school teacher.”
My brain short-circuited for a bit before I could respond. “You say the most outrageous things.”
She laughed, and its tinkling sound felt like velvet across the back of my neck. “Is that all you have to say to me, after all this time?” she asked quietly.
“I’m sorry for all the things—”
“I don’t want you to take those things back, if you still believe them, and besides, that’s not what I meant. Don’t you have anything else to say to me?”
I took a few deep breaths. “Where have you been? And why are you back now?”
“That’s not what I meant, either. And I don’t want to talk about that. Didn’t you miss me?”
She reached a hand across the table, and I found one of mine grasping it, lacing our fingers tightly together.
My eyes squeezed shut. It felt very good to touch her again, even just her hand. “Yes, Iris, I missed you very much.”
“There you go. Was that so hard? I missed you, too. You look good.” She tugged her hand away, and my eyes opened to follow its retreat.
“Why are you dressed like that?”
She looked like she was trying not to smile. “Like what?”
“Like a professional. Why are you wearing glasses? What are you doing? Where did you go? Where have you been?”
She glanced around, and the way she did it struck me as more than a little paranoid. “Want to go for a walk?”
My heart started pounding hard.
I didn’t hesitate.
“Of course I do,” I said, absolutely no thought required.
I’d take a walk with her anytime, anywhere.
She smiled, taking off those sexy glasses. “Well, then, let’s get out of here.”
CHAPTER TWO
Much to my chagrin, she actually meant it about wanting to go for a walk.
I’d so been hoping she’d intended that more loosely, like, say, a walk to my car, where we would promptly drive to my house, to do the things I needed to do, and soon.
The gym and coffee shop were in a large, busy strip mall. I followed Iris out onto the sidewalk, then walked beside her as she strolled along the storefronts, glancing at her out of the corner of my eye.
She faced straight ahead, her arms swinging lightly at her sides, making no effort to touch me, or even to look at me.
I didn’t last long like that, stopping abruptly, and grabbing her hand.
She didn’t react with even the slightest bit of surprise by my movements, in fact accommodated me by shifting to lean against the wall, letting me study, letting me take in the sight of her.
And I did.
It was both torment and solace to look at her again.
An agonizing comfort.
Me, I was simple. I was order. A very neat, efficient machine that ran on nothing but air.
Me plus anyone else, well, that was another matter.
And me plus Iris, that was a monster of a machine, with all gears going at different speeds, some spinning off their hinges, just going mad, but it was a wonderful madness, at full throttle, misfiring in all directions.
It felt wonderful and dreadful.
I was breaking down, and it felt amazing.
And terrifying.
What did she have planned for me this time? What ways would she find to coil me up and let me loose? Where would it end? And when?
And also:
Why did she have to wear white?
I was trying to be civilized, but I couldn’t stand not to touch her for even a second when she looked so touchable, every bit of her skin outlined just perfectly by the thin, light material of her skirt and blouse.
My hands went to her waist, and I stepped very close, still drinking her in, my thirst working its way up to her tender lips.
“You really aren’t going to tell me where you’ve been?” I asked her, my hands running from her waist up her sides to play along her ribs, then down again, all the way to her hips, then up again, rubbing, feeling at the soft material of her clothes, craving the supple skin beneath.
“I’m not. I missed you, though. I wanted to come back and see you sooner.”