The Talk. Reestablish the ground rules she so desperately needed. Who would have guessed that little Tessa could be such a demon princess in bed? Gabe shook off the momentary lapse. “Tessa, we’re friends—”
Quickly she interrupted, obviously sensing where the conversation was headed. “Don’t worry about that. Can you turn around?” she asked primly.
Gabe nodded, obediently turning the other way. Not that she realized that the window reflection provided a crystal-clear vision of tawny flesh.
Gabe wisely opted not to tell her.
AFTER GABE LEFT TO set up the bar, Tessa showered, dressed, and then sat cross-legged on the floor contemplating the ramifications of last nights encounter with the dark stranger, which she categorized under “Erotic Fantasy” rather than “Sex With a Man that She Really Needed to Trust Because So Few Men Understood Her Desire for Independence After Denny Had Upended Her Life, and Gabe Was One of the Only Ones Who Treated Her Well.”
Before she let herself go gaga over the dark stranger, her first priority was moving out—muy pronto. One thing about sunlight: it shined a glaring laser beam on all the weaknesses that she was currently experiencing in her life. The D on her accounting test. Denny-gate—the scandalous turnabout on all his previously sacred vows of never wanting family and a life with a ball and chain. The apartment in Hudson Towers, just waiting for the occupancy of a mature, independent woman who could survive New York on her own. Most thrilling, the purple hickey on her stomach, which looked so much more decadent than the letters D-E-N-N-Y on her butt. And lastly but not leastly, the well-used ache between her legs.
Who knew the dark stranger was so…knowing in the mysteries of female sexuality? Tessa grinned. It was an experience well worth repeating. However, now wasn’t the time to drift from her life purpose. She pulled out her laptop and scoured the online listings for roommates wanted. When she found anything remotely suitable, she dashed off a response, before finally posting an ad of her own.
Eventually the calling of the listings took over, and Tessa did what she always did when she needed to escape: she browsed through the apartment rentals section, seeing what was what, all the while lamenting the high rents. So, a girl could dream. However, dreams were meaningless without the financial capital to achieve them, so she pulled out her accounting book and tried to study. For three hours she sat there, studying, but none of the concepts seemed to hold her attention.
The principles of accrued depreciation were losing out to the principles of last night. She could still feel his hands on her skin, hear the rush of his breath and smell the musky desire in the air. And the way he touched her down below…wow. Pretty soon her body was flushed all over again.
The book sat in front of her, the page on depreciation unturned, and the beginnings of a plan formed in her mind. Maybe there was a way to have it all. If she moved out, put the necessary distance between them, then maybe she could have her independence and her mystery lover, too. A nighttime diversion in the shadows to experience more of that expanding-of-her-life stuff, with none of the glaring laser beams of daylight to worry about. It just might work. Her decision made, she went back to studying because, yes, she had a real career to prepare for.
When her watch said five, she knew it was time to go earn a living, so she tugged on her T-shirt and jeans and took the subway in to work.
Tuesday nights were traditionally slow, a mix of old-time regulars and the spring-fever crowds who showed up early and clocked out early, as well.
Gabe was behind the bar, pulling a beer for Charlie, who had worked as a union boss since before the Eisenhower administration. Next to Charlie was Lloyd, who had worked as an ironworker for nearly sixty years before retiring five years ago. Next to Lloyd was EC, a tall stick of a man who had worked as an engineer for MTA for sixty years in order to keep his two ex-wives in blue fox furs. And finally there was Syd, a retired police detective who, at fifty-one, was the young one in the bunch. They all had been coming to Prime for longer than Tessa had worked there, longer than even Gabe.
Gabe.
He shouldn’t look any different from yesterday, because men don’t suddenly morph overnight, but everything about him was sharper, bigger, harder, possibly because she remembered in minute detail exactly what he felt like when he was on top of her.
Determined to act as if she wasn’t puddling giddiness on the inside, Tessa smoothed out her perpetually wrinkled T-shirt. Then casually she smiled and waved at them all, and Charlie patted the empty bar stool next to him.
“Tessa, come around and keep an old man company for a while. You know this ticker is going to give out any minute, and I want to die happy with a beautiful woman at my side.”
Tessa was used to Charlie’s banter and settled next to him. “Your eyesight is going bad, Charlie. Nobody’s called me beautiful since—actually, never.”
“We take a vote,” he announced. “Democracy in action. All who think Tessa is beautiful raise your hand.”
“Will it get me a whiskey on the house?” asked Lloyd, but he raised his hand anyway. Three other hands rose, and EC glared at Gabe, who eventually raised his hand, too, carefully not looking in Tessa’s direction and—jeez, was he blushing?
Lloyd laughed, a loud burst of noise that was half joy and half bronchitis. “See there. Never argue with a man who wants to pay you a compliment.”
“Well, thank you then. I think you’re only warming up for tonight. Who’s the lucky lady, gents?”
Charlie coughed, pushing at creaky silver spectacles. “There is one.”
Tessa looked at him because it was easier to flirt with the regulars than to do casual conversation with Gabe. She could feel his eyes on her, careful, watching, and she didn’t dare look at him. Charlie was the perfect diversion. She balanced her chin on her palm. “Tell me all about it.”
He took a long drink of beer, gathering his courage before speaking. “There was a woman in here Tuesday last. Sure enough, she looked familiar to me, but when you’re pushing eighty, a man has a lot of women in his past. She was my age and walked like the queen, but I felt this stirring, an old song playing in my head. She came in with what must have been her granddaughter. Young blonde with wide blue eyes. Either one of you remember their names? Driving me crazy trying to recall. Damned Alzheimer’s.
“Carrie tells me I’m starting to lose my memory, but I keep denying it. I mean, how many seniors do you know that can remember the last home game of the Brooklyn Dodgers or MacArthur’s ticker-tape parade in ’51? That was when New York meant something. That was history. Like the days when Paddy O’Sullivan refused to sell a whiskey to Spiro T. because Paddy didn’t like his politics.” Charlie sighed, lifting his beer to his mouth. “Those were the days.”
Gabe smiled, shook his head. “Sorry, Charlie. Wish I could help you out.”
“Well, buy me another beer to help me forget your transgression. Maybe they’ll come in tonight. I wore my best tie.” He looked down at the open-collar shirt. “Oops. Guess I forgot that, too.”
Tessa laughed. “You look mighty handsome, Charlie. Was the girl in a yellow sundress?”
Charlie snapped his fingers. “There you go! Remember her name?”
Tessa gave him an easy grin. “No, but I really liked the dress.” She looked up at the clock, casually dodging Gabe’s eye. “Gotta start busting my butt, Charlie. Boss
