Code Blues (28 page)

Now I looked like a sex maniac. I blushed
and covered it up by pretending to think. "I'm sure I can do both.
Okay, another topic. How wonderful you are."

"Yes!" he chortled and pressed another big
kiss on my lips. "You are so smart. You must be a doctor or
something."

This was more fun than
brooding. I kissed him back and murmured, "Which leads me to even
more appropriate, more intriguing subject: how wonderful
I
am."

"Yes!" A kiss with some tongue. "I'm always
interested in that subject." He reached down and pinched one of my
nipples. I squealed. He said, "Well, if that's the way it's going
to be, I may have to get back on to subject number one."

I cautiously reached down and touched him.
There was some evidence of life. "Already?"

"Give me a minute. Or better yet, give me
more than that." He pressed my hand down on him and kept it
there.

As we started to move again, I thought,
okay. I guess this is what happens when you have sex with someone
that you don't love yet. You don't have the emotional bond. You
don't talk about that part, even if you feel it. But you can still
talk. And you can laugh. And you can have great sex.

Chapter 15

I twisted around to check the clock radio
and was astonished to read 10:29 p.m. Night had fallen outside.
Alex had turned off the air conditioning while we snuggled under
the covers, but it had felt so natural and gradual, I hadn't
noticed time passing.

Alex said lazily, "Are you still
hungry?"

He'd grabbed a baguette and a jar of peanut
butter from the kitchen. We'd slathered smooth peanut butter on
torn-off chunks of bread. When I could no longer talk because my
throat was mortared shut, he'd grabbed me a glass of lukewarm tap
water. It was romantic in a grotty way, a 'jug of wine and thou'
sort of thing. I wasn't crazy about the crumbs now littering the
bed, but I liked nestling against Alex's warm chest, with his hand
on my hip and his legs woven between mine. I wanted to stay here
forever. Forget about the time. Forget about murder. Forget about
thinking.

When I raised my head again, it was
10:48.

I let my head fall back on the pillow with a
sigh. "I have to catch the last blue train. I have a day shift
tomorrow."

Alex slid his arms around my middle. "You
could stay here."

I lingered against him for a moment. I was
glad he'd offered. I didn't know single protocol very well, if I
was supposed to take off, wham-bam, or if it was okay for me to
spend the first night. But I shook my head. "Do you have any
contact solution? I have to take mine out." I flipped around to
stare in his eyes. There were no tell-tale circles around his
irises. He didn't wear contacts.

He frowned in thought. "I might have some. I
never cleaned out my bathroom."

I stiffened. Gross
and
thoughtless. If he
thought I was going to use Mireille's old crap—

"Relax. One of my buddies was staying here,
and he wore contacts." His face twisted with sarcasm. "Are you ever
going to let that go? What's the big deal, anyway?"

"The big deal?" I fought to lower my voice.
We'd had such a wonderful little interlude. Well, it was shattered
now. If he wanted a fight, I'd give it to him. "That you fucked her
and everyone thinks you're not over her, and you still work with
her every day? Oh, that's no big. Forget about it."

Secretly, I hoped he'd take me in his arms
and tell me I was the only one. He'd understand my jealousy and
insecurity and make me see there was no need for it. Instead, he
closed his eyes and sighed.

Tears pricked my eyelids. I slid down the
foot of the bed, taking the sheet with me. Alex sat up. I ignored
him, pawing through our wad of clothes on the floor. I yanked my
bra on, but my fingers fumbled on nubs of thread along my shirt. I
couldn't even get dressed. He'd ripped off all but three of my
shirt buttons. And he was just sitting there, watching me jerk on
my panties. They felt cold and icky, but I was too upset to care.
Did what we do mean nothing to him?

"Hope, you need a drink. Let me get you
one." He stood up, still naked, but I avoided looking at him.

"I don't really drink," I said. Little Miss
Muffet from Ontario again.

"Well, I do. Come on." He nudged me in the
ribs with his elbow. "We should celebrate, you know?"

I licked my lips and tried to cling on to my
anger.

"One drink," he said. "And then I'll take
you home if you want. Or you can stay here and I'll buy you contact
lens whatever."

I realized that I'd been clenching my jaw
and slowly relaxed it.

"Red wine?" he said.

"White?" I said finally.

"I'll see what I can do." He smiled. He
pulled open a drawer and dragged a pair of jeans on to his hips
without bothering with underwear.

I watched him. I wanted him again.

His smile turned lazy and he eyed me up and
down. "After the wine."

"If you can hold out that long," I said. One
of my friends once told me about a study on couples that she read
in the newspaper. If there's going to be an imbalance, i.e. one of
them loves more than the other, it's better if the man's the one
who loves the woman more.

Sounds plausible. Harder to implement.

"I can hold out. Barely," he said, and
kissed me again, this time exploring my mouth like he was asking me
a question. I leaned into it, but when I felt him pause, I pulled
away first.

"Good. I hope you can find a good vintage,"
I said. I smoothed out my collar, which felt semi-ridiculous, when
I was still mostly naked and wearing a ruined shirt. But I
straightened my back and eyed him, waiting for him to do my
bidding.

He laughed.

Not the reaction I had planned for, but I
held my pose.

He ran his hand down my cheek. "You're
funny."

My heart sank. Not exactly
the
femme fatale
I was going for.

"I'll be back in a minute. Don't move."

I glanced down at my naked thighs. The bed
sheet lay crumpled on the ground.

"Don't even," he drawled. "I want you just
like this. Only more so."

My turn to laugh. I shook my head.

He pointed his index finger and thumb at me
like a gun. "Seriously. No wine if you make a wrong move."

"What if I get cold?"

He half-snorted, half-laughed, and flicked
off the air conditioning. "There you go." He sauntered out of the
room. The jeans almost did justice to his ass.

Then I heard a door close and a toilet ring
clank. I turned the air conditioning back on so I wouldn't have to
hear any more. There is such a thing as too much information.

I perched on the bed, but the cold air made
me shiver. I felt slightly ridiculous, not sexy, waiting for him to
come back, and thought of Ryan again. Often we fell asleep with our
legs braided together and my head on his chest. If he had to go
off, I might lie under the blanket and stare at the ceiling in a
pleasant post-coital haze.

Well. Love the one you're with.

I buttoned the three remaining buttons on my
blouse. Of course they were the bottom ones, so my breasts still
hung out. I'd have to borrow a shirt to go home in. I smiled at the
thought.

My smile slipped. Did he have any clean
ones?

I slipped off the bed in search of four
small, clear buttons. Like I said, I liked this shirt and I might
have to wear it home.

I turned on the light and found one in the
middle of the floor, but I ended up peering under the bed in search
of the rest.

I expected a bunch of dust bunnies and old
clothes, but not the long blue box of aluminum foil.

Who keeps tin foil under their bed?

I pulled it toward me and opened it to see
your average roll of aluminum foil getting near the end of the
roll. I closed the box, but it still bothered me. I could
understand used tin foil in your bedroom garbage, like if you were
eating leftover pizza and felt too lazy to go back to the kitchen
to recycle the packaging. I glanced at his open-mouthed wicker
wastebasket and saw a few crumpled balls of blackened aluminum
foil.

I frowned. Pizza doesn't turn foil black.
And why would he have—let's see—at least four separate black tin
foil balls in his garbage?

I hovered around the wastebasket, unwilling
to poke through it. Alex was a pretty grotty guy. But maybe I could
sift through the rest of his room. Or at least the bathroom,
because then I could lock the door. I didn't know what exactly what
I was looking for, but—

"What are you doing?"

My head jerked up to see Alex framed in the
doorway, two wine glass stems and a corkscrew in one hand and a
wine bottle in the other before he slammed everything down on his
desk and came at me with both hands open.

"I, uh—I just had to throw something away,"
I said. "And I was looking for my buttons."

He didn't touch me. His eyes darted past me
and fell on the box of aluminum foil now in the middle of the
floor. He scooped it up and said, "You find everything you needed
to know?"

"Uh..."

"You come here and fuck me so that you can
look around here and get evidence against me?"

What? I wasn't the one who'd made advances
at the bicycle stand.

But this wasn't the time to stand here and
defend my honour. Every instinct screamed at me to get out.

I didn't want to run. Something told me to
treat him like a mad dog and just calmly, quietly move away. "You
know what? I'm beat. I'll take a raincheck on the wine, okay?"

I took three steps and scooped my skirt off
the floor. I zipped it up while trying to keep my eyes on him. I
refused to turn my back on him. "It sounds really fun, but I've got
to—"

Alex's hand shot forward and grabbed my
shoulder.

I tried not to scream. His fingers dug into
my skin, but not hard enough to hurt. "Hey. Alex."

He didn't speak. His hot breath stank of
peanut butter. His eyes were like black holes.

I glanced at the phone lying face-down on
the bedside table. No way I could get to it. I still hadn't gotten
a cell phone and my pager was in my mini-backpack by the
doorway.

I cleared my throat. "Alex. Dude." My voice
broke, but got stronger. "I'm just going to head home. The whole
contact lens thing, you know?"

He scowled. Slowly, the pressure of his
fingers eased, but he didn't remove them.

I backed away, easing off his fingers.
"Right on."

His hands fell to his sides, but he didn't
blink. His eyes bore into mine.

I took a cautious step back.

He bent down toward my feet. I stifled a
scream, but he was scooping his khaki pants off the floor, the ones
he'd worn to work, and rooting in the pocket. Without looking at
me, he said, "You just crossed the line." He palmed a pack of
cigarettes and pinched a lighter between his index finger and
thumb.

"Okay." I continued to back out the room
door, still keeping my eyes trained on him. "That's fine. I'll
leave. See you around."

I hurried to the front hall, jammed my feet
in my sandals, and shouldered my bag. We outta here.

As I opened the door, cool air hit my
midriff. I kept going anyway and slammed the door behind me.

Once I hit the sidewalk, I looked down at
myself. My shirt was hanging open, showing off my bra. I tied the
shirt in a quick knot, covering most of my lingerie. I wished I'd
kept the white coat on.

I looped my backpack straps backwards over
my shoulders, wearing the pack on my front, to cover myself. I did
not want to get on the subway like this. But I was alive. I'd take
it.

"Wait! Alex's voice echoed down the
street.

I waved a cheery goodbye. I would not
revisit the apartment of a madman. I started down the street. "See
you later!"

A student couple passed me. The woman
glanced me up and down. They both looked from me to Alex, and then
soldiered up the hill, blank-faced.

"Don't go like this," said Alex, more
quietly. He pressed his lips together. I thought maybe his eyes
glistened, but it might have been a trick of the light.

"Gotta go," I said, still walking, but
slower now.

His lips quirked in a slight smile. "Well,
at least take this." He lobbed a plain white T-shirt at me. It fell
about four feet short, but I scooped it up. It looked and smelled
clean.

"Thanks," I muttered. The couple was now
half a block away, so I held my bag between my legs while I
twitched the shirt on. It was too big. It hung nearly as long as my
skirt. I probably looked like a girl playing dress-up. But I was
decent and minorly grateful for it. I turned my back to him.
"Thanks. 'Bye."

"Wait. Hope." His hand extended, a $20 bill
curved over his index finger.

Did he think I was a prostitute or
something? Confused and angry, I shook my head.

"For the taxi," he said roughly.

Oh. Just like that, a kernel of tenderness
bloomed in my chest. I tamped it down, but it was there. Alex was
my Achilles heel.

He met my gaze. "I don't want you taking the
metro."

I hesitated. I have to say, it hadn't even
occurred to me to take a taxi. My parents raised me to save and
save and save and save. But I kept an emergency $20 in my bag

Alex shook the bill at me. "It's the least—I
mean, Hope—"
His Adam's apple bobbed up and down before he said, more softly,
"Please."

I hardly recognized myself when I was with
Alex, bouncing into bed, running into the street half-dressed,
oscillating between seduction and terror.

"No, thank you," I said. "I have money."

Alex said, "Let me call the taxi for you, at
least. Please."