Boy in a Band (A Morgan Mallory story) (37 page)

             
“Bobby,” he said, slapping him on the back.

             
“Hey, man. How are you?”

             
They hugged each other.

             
“Good, good,” Mathew said.

He looked at me.

“Morgan,” he said, cocking his head, taking me in.

He reached out his hand for a handshake
. I looked down at his hand. Stunned, I put my hand out. When I did, he took my hand and pulled me to him, bear hugging me. He swung me around, my feet leaving the floor. When he set me down, I could feel the color rise in my face. Giving me no time to recover, he moved in and kissed me on the lips.

“You look great,” he said excitedly.

              “Not shabby yourself,” I said.

             
“Let’s get a table,” Bobby suggested, breaking the awkward moment.

We found one with open seats toward the back of the
room. Mathew sat down next to me and pulled my chair closer to his, resting his arm across the back of it. He’d cut his hair. Gone was the rock-and-roll-star look replaced by a cleaner cut, more grown-up Mathew. I couldn’t stop looking at him.
He still belonged on a damn magazine cover.

“So
tell me what’s been going on?” he asked, leaning toward me.

Wine was poured
, and I was relieved to have a distraction. I took a sip. We talked all through the toast and through dinner. People came and went, saying hello, catching up, and when they moved on, we would resume our conversation. I felt like I had stepped back in time, like these past few years hadn’t happened. Then after the bride and groom's first dance, the band invited everyone to the dance floor.

“Let’s dance
,” he said, taking my hand.

With all the music we
had been around together, we had never danced; now we danced song after song. I watched him watch me, smiling. When he touched my bare skin it almost felt like a burn. The music slowed and nervously I started to go back to the table. I didn’t know if I could stand his arms around me, feel him that close.

             
“Not so fast, kid,” he said.

              My heart pounded.
Kid? Who was that anymore? Not the same girl he had known.
When he put his arms around me, I forced myself to think about Max and wondered what he was doing back home. As I slid my arms around his neck I closed my eyes breathing him in. An old-fashioned picture show played it my head of us, a slow steady stream of silent pictures. When I opened my eyes he stared into them, like he could see into my soul. Mathew held me, running his hand slowly down my back.

             
“I like your dress,” he said.

             
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a suit before, handsome for sure.”

             
I had to break his gaze and put my chin on his shoulder.

             
“When did you cut your hair?”

“W
hen I needed to get a real job. Although I push it now and then.”

“That doesn’t surprise me
,” I said, smiling.

             
The dance floor was full. The band played another set of fast songs and then another slow one. When he took me in his arms this time, he pulled me closer to him. We were face-to-face, chest-to-chest, and I could feel my breasts pressing into him. I couldn’t help but remember. My heart was hammering and I was afraid he could probably feel it, know that he could still affect me. I tried to pull away a bit and in doing so air floated up my dress and made my nipples hard.
Good, god.
As he led me around the floor, his hand once again explored my back, this time running down over my hip and cupping my ass. I looked into his eyes. He grinned his lazy, sexy grin and I felt the tingling between my legs.

             
“Mathew, I have a boyfriend.”

Chapter 42

             
I think I was really trying to remind myself more than Mathew.

             
“I know,” he said, not moving his hand.

             
I danced with Bobby. I danced with my dad, but I would always end up back with Mathew. He made sure of it. Especially the slow dances, where he could touch me, send me; turn me into a wet noodle.

             
“Come with me?” he asked when the band took another break.

             
The wedding was slowing down. People had started to leave.

             
“Where?” I asked, thinking he meant here, in this room.

“I don’t know
. Let’s just get out of here.”

             
“Leave the wedding?”

             
“No one will miss us,” he encouraged.

             
I looked into his eyes. They told me nothing, and Max popped into my head.
Why had Max’s eyes never made me feel like this?

             
“I guess it’s okay. I need to let my folks know, though. They're expecting to take me back to Gayle’s.”

We made our way towards the table
where my parents were sitting. All the couples were talking and laughing the floral arrangement had been pushed in front of an empty chair, and wine glasses dotted the tablecloth. Mathew split off towards the exit as we got close, and I went to tell my mom. I put my hand on her shoulder and squatted down. She stopped talking and looked at me.

              “Mom, I’m leaving with Mathew. He’ll drop me back at Gayle’s,” I said.

She looked toward the door where Mathew stood waiting.
Her forehead wrinkled when she glanced back at me.

             
“Are you sure you want to leave already?”

“Yeah
. It’s almost over anyway. We’re going to get a drink or something someplace else, where it’s easier to talk.”

Her eyes searched mine.

“Be careful,” she said as I stood and then bent to kiss her cheek. “Morgan, remember who you are.”

She whispered the last part. Her comment was meant to remind me not to be foolish, not to rush in, not to forget what I had become, not to be sorry.
As Mathew and I walked to the parking lot, he reached for my hand. It felt warm and familiar and my heart skipped a beat.

“It’s so good to see you
,” he said, swinging our hands back and forth.

I smiled. This was the playful childlike side of him. I shivered as the air again came up my dress.

              “You nervous?” he asked, opening the car door for me.

“I am
,” I answered, getting in.

             
Who was this girl?
I suddenly wasn’t sure why I'd said
yes
.
Remember who you are
mom said.
Yes, remember
.

“New car
,” I stated.

             
“Not new, but new to me. Look—cassette deck, no eight-track.”

             
“Coming up in the world,” I joked.

             
“What do you want to hear?” he asked, leaning across me to the glove box. “I’ve got some John Denver, Barry Manilow.”

He continued to
rummage through the tapes as he partially lay across my lap.

             
“You do not, you liar,” I teased back.

             
“Look here, Journey. They all right?”

             
“Yes,” I said, smiling.

He started the car and pushed in the cassette
. Journey played as we drove. When he parked the car, I laughed out loud.

             
“What’s so funny?”

             
“I don’t know. It’s like
familiar
is safe. Don’t take me to a bar. Take me to the park. It just seems funny.”

             
We were at the park by my old elementary school. I took off my heels and stepped out of the car, feeling the slightly damp grass on my bare feet. When I stepped in the sand, it stuck to my feet, bringing back memories of the beach. I ran to the swings like a kid trying to get the last one. He followed me, his hands in his pockets, and then he stopped at the edge of the grass, watching me. I pumped my bare legs back and forth and started to swing.

             
“Take off your shoes and join me.”

             
He crossed the sand and leaned against the metal post to take his shoes and socks off. He bent down to roll up his suit pants, and I watched his hands as I had so many times. I had a flashback to his room, not the one at Jack’s, not the house on the hill, but the first house, that first night in the rain. When I met him, the first time I’d watched him play. He came over, sitting in the swing next to mine.

“
Mathew, it seems like yesterday that we were here. Just like this.”

He kicked at the sand with his toes.

“Does, doesn’t it? We’ve now graduated to formal wear,” he joked.

I laughed when he started to swing with me
. The swings were so low, we both had to kick our legs to the sides in order to not hit the sand. After a few minutes, I let my swing slow down and so did he. When we were almost stopped, he grabbed both chains of my swing and pulled me to face him, like he did the last time we were here. The summer he was shitty, the summer I’d gotten the bad Mathew. His knees pushed my dress up. He leaned toward me. I sucked in my breath.

             
“I can’t, Mathew.”

             
“I know,” he said as he covered my lips with his.

             
I leaned away throwing my head back, looking up at the stars. He reached over with one hand gently gripping my neck, pulling me towards him. I didn’t pull away, I didn’t resist. He kissed me tenderly, working his tongue into my mouth. I melted, feeling my tongue seeking his. Making out with him like a teenager.
Who are you, Morgan?
raced through my head again. I didn’t want him to stop. When we did, he smiled at me, waiting.

             
“Shit, Mathew. What am I doing?”

             
I searched for an answer in his face, in his eyes. He wanted me to answer the question myself. I stood up, smoothing down my dress, feeling the sheer material, knowing my body was on fire underneath it.

“Shit
,” I shouted into the dark.

             
“Let’s go,” he said, standing.

             
He grabbed his shoes. I pressed my thighs together and then followed him to the car.

             
“I really need a drink,” I said.

             
“Good idea.”

             
My sandy feet hit the moist grass and I shuffled them to get it off.

             
“Where we going?” I asked.

             
“The Hyatt.”

             
“The Hyatt downtown? No, we’re not,” I said stunned.

             
“Yes, we are.”

“Mathew
—” I started.

I hurried to catch up with him and hooked my arm in his.

“I know. You can’t, and that’s okay with me. I want to go someplace nice to talk. Swinging in the dark with you yelling
shit
isn’t doing it for me.”

I
had to laugh. When we got in the car, Mathew dug through the tapes again, pulling out a new one—Bad Company. I listened to the music, the words: “
Bad company I can’t deny, bad company, till the day I die”
. I shouldn’t be here. It was like I was watching an accident and couldn’t look away. I thought about his kiss on the swing. I had envisioned going to the bar, and instead he went to the front desk. While I stood in the lobby not knowing what to do with my hands, I had the familiar urge to run.

“Don’t look so guilty
. You haven’t done anything,” he said, taking my arm, holding up the key.

“Mathew
, this is wrong,” I said as we walked.

             
“Doesn’t feel wrong,” he said as he smiled at me and pushed the elevator button.

             
“Of course it doesn’t,” I said softly.

             
I stared at the elevator lights as we went up and then stopped at eight. Exiting he took my hand. The room was large and had a small sitting area, which made me happy. I walked over and settled myself in a chair. Mathew loosened his tie and took it off.

“Now about that drink, champagne ok
ay? I think this is sort of a celebration,” he said.

             
“That’s fine.”

             
He picked up the phone and ordered a bottle from room service while he unbuttoned his shirt halfway down. I smiled
so Mathew
. He hung up, walked over, and sat down in the other chair. He kicked his shoes off. He hadn’t bothered to put the socks back on. His feet still had sand on them. His belt came off next.

             
“That’s better,” he said, sitting back. “Is there anything you want to take off?”

             
I smiled; he was teasing me. I had already removed my shoes while he was on the phone. The only thing left was my dress.

             
“Room service,” a deep male voice came with a sharp knock on the door.

             
Mathew went to the door and collected the champagne and glasses and signed the check. I watched him move and I felt myself shake almost like I was cold.

             
“Thanks. Keep another one on ice, would you? We’ll probably need it,” he said to the bellman.

             
He set the glasses down on the table between us and popped the cork, then filled the glasses, running the liquid down the side, and set the bottle down. He handed me a glass.

             
“Here’s to you. It’s been awhile,” he touched my glass and we both took a sip. “Can you forget about Tom or Harry or whoever tonight for me?”

             
I looked at him and frowned.

             
“You know it’s Max.”

             
“Max,” he repeated. “What’s Max like? I’m curious. What kind of guy finally got your heart?”

             
He settled back in his chair, looking casual and comfortable. “Finally got my heart” shot around in my head like a pinball.
Did he not know he’d had my heart? Forever,
Gayle’s words rushed at me.

             
“I don’t want to talk about Max. And yes, I’ll try to forget about him,” I said as I took another sip of champagne.

             
I looked over my glass at him.

             
“Try hard,” he said.

             
I felt a tinge of jealousy from him. I’d only felt that one other time, when he’d come to my bed at the O’Conner’s, about Ben.

“Mathew
, I haven’t ever cheated on Max,” I blurted out. “We’re coming up on almost four years.”

I
was blabbing on trying to explain myself. He got a look of amusement on his face. I could feel myself blush.

             
“You still haven’t. I’m not going to force you. Anything or nothing that happens is entirely up to you.”

             
He leaned forward and set his glass on the table. He reached over, taking my glass out of my hand, setting it next to his. The butterflies swarmed and filled my throat.

             
“You’ve already kissed me once tonight, so a second time is not going to make it any worse,” he said, pulling me slowly to a standing position, taking me gingerly in his arms, kissing me softly.

My mouth went dry and I found it hard to breath.
I was shocked by how fast it came flooding back. The emotions overwhelmed me—I wasn’t supposed to feel this. I could feel his heart beating against my chest and I blinked hard. I wrapped my arms around him as I gazed into his eyes.

             
“You planned this, didn’t you?” I asked.

“No
, I didn’t.”

His eyes were so intense I had to look away.

              “Mathew, you know—” I said, pushing back from him abruptly.

             
He grabbed me, pulling me tight to him, interrupting me.

“Listen
, Morgan, I don’t want the regrets. I don’t want the guilt. You’re here for a reason, and I hope it’s me. Whatever happens stays here.”