She hesitated. “Security.”
“I would have chosen freedom.”
“I think rich and poor people would answer that one differently.”
“Probably. The red pill or the blue pill?”
She shrugged. “Blue.”
“Give or take?”
“Give of course.”
“Of course.” He looked out the window again. They had stopped, and the arena was just up the block. “Half-empty or half full?” She paused, considering the question and then just said, “Yes.”
He wagged a finger at her, shaking his head. “That’s cheating. Has to be one or the other.”
“Then… half-empty.”
He looked at her speculatively. “A pessimist then.”
“Just lately, yes.” She shrugged.
“On or off?”
She glanced at him, at the light in his eyes, and wondered what he was thinking.
“Off.”
“On.” He disagreed, grinning.
“Wait… was that lights or clothes?”
He laughed and asked, “Top or bottom?”
She flushed and was glad the lighting in the limo was so dim. “Top.”
“Looks like we’ll have to pick this game up later.”
The driver was opening the door and Rachel was glad. The seats were just a little to the left of the blue-line-section 101. And they were only a few rows from the glass.
“I can see them sweating,” Rachel exclaimed, turning to Jake with wide eyes.
They were right behind the Red Wings' bench.
“Is that sexy or gross?”
She laughed. “A little of both.”
“I thought so.”
He bought her cotton candy from a vendor even though she said she didn’t want any.
He told her, “I want to watch you eat it.”
The pink stuff was sticky and melted on her fingers and tongue and he really did seem to enjoy watching her. And she enjoyed him enjoying it.
He bought himself a water and her a Coke Zero—with lemon.
“Where did you get the lemon?”
He shrugged. “I raided the Long John Silver’s stand.” The little gesture almost made her cry and she chided herself and drank her lemony Coke through a straw, giving herself another mental lecture about their non-date status.
When the Red Wings scored the first goal, Rachel stood up and danced in the aisle and the cameraman found her and put her on the big screen in her Red Wings jersey. By the second period, she had screamed herself hoarse and the score was tied three-to-three. When the Wings scored the winning goal-in overtime-Rachel jumped up and hugged Jake, who was pumping his fist in the air and yelling as loudly as she was. Then he pointed up, grinning. They were on the big screen again-probably the only two Red Wings fans in the whole place. The rest of the crowd was grumbling, if not outright booing the Blackhawks’ loss.
“Bet me we’re on the news tonight. Emma’s gonna be psyched.” Jake had called their driver and had him meet them up front. It was a madhouse trying to get out of there, people pressed together like cattle being herded to slaughter, and Jake held fast to her hand so they wouldn’t get separated. She liked feeling him against her, solid as a wall, when they stopped.
“You mean… we’ll be on TV?” The idea might have thrilled Jake’s sixteen-year-old daughter, but the thought made Rachel go cold.
“Sure, the game was televised.”
She paled. “I hope your wife doesn’t watch hockey.”
“Nina watches the home shopping network and the Lifetime channel.”
“But does she watch the news?”
He gave her a steady look. “Who cares if she does?”
He was braver than she was, Rachel thought.
They found the limo parked half a block away and Jake held her hand as he helped her into the car. He slid in after, not across this time, but next to her. They couldn’t stop talking about the game, reliving every goal. Jake poured more liquor and they drank it as the limo idled in traffic. The fifteen minute ride in to the arena was going to take them an hour to get out but neither of them noticed the time.
What Rachel did notice was the lightheaded feeling the alcohol was giving her, although she wasn’t sure it was just the scotch. It might have been the way Jake’s jean-clad thigh flexed against hers every time he reached for the bottle, or the way his hand brushed hers when he took her glass. She felt too warm, confined.
“You have really lovely hair.”
The comment made her breath catch and Rachel touched her wig, suddenly self-conscious. “Thank you.”
She felt his hand moving, brushing the hair over her shoulder, and glanced at him. He wasn’t looking at her face. His gaze followed the line of her jaw, her throat. She knew it was an opening-she could have said something, told him about her illness, but she didn’t. What she really wanted to do was to erase the thought entirely from her mind and she could only think of one way to do it.
“Hey there…” He accepted the weight of her, surprised, when she turned and put her arms around his neck.
“Do you want to kiss me?” She could smell her own breath, thick with alcohol, her mouth so close to his. The liquor had given her courage, a boldness she didn’t normally possess, but it had opened up something else too, an empty space inside of her, a fierce hunger, a need demanding to be filled.
“Desperately,” he admitted. “Haven’t thought about anything else all night.” She pressed her mouth to his, trying to recall…was this how you did it? It didn’t take long for her body to remember and Jake helped her along, his tongue parting her lips, exploring the soft recesses of her mouth, the taste of scotch and brandy together making her heady.
“I take that back,” Jake breathed as they parted, breathless. “A few other things have crossed my mind tonight.”
“Like what?” As if she didn’t know. She was turned toward him, stretched across the seat, half in his lap, and his cock was a hard bulge against her hip through his jeans.
Her intended distraction had turned from boldness to lust in an instant.
“I’d rather show you.” His hand moved up under her shirt, touching bare skin at her waist. She felt like a teenager in the backseat of her date’s car.
“I think you should.” Was she really doing this? Oh god, yes, yes she was.
He groaned at her assent, his mouth capturing hers again, hand moving up higher to cup her breast through her bra. She had forgotten about their non-date status when she’d chosen her underwear-black silk bra and panties and lace-topped sheer black thigh highs. Now she’d forgotten any agreement or non-agreement between them altogether, letting him feel her up and returning the attention, her hand moving against the swollen crotch of his jeans, making him shift and press up against her effort.
“Oh Rachel,” he whispered her name, his hand moving through her hair, and she cringed, aware of how long it was, how it spread out over them like a curtain, too much of it, as if it had a life of its own, eager to give away her secret.
She moved away from his hands, finding herself sliding to the floor of the limo between his thighs. His eyes lit up as she knelt and peeled her jersey off, revealing the black bra underneath.
“And I didn’t even pull out my harmonica,” he remarked, referring to her comment about blues music earlier in the night and she laughed, blushing. He had an incredible memory. And incredible hands, she noted, when they suddenly found more interesting things to do as he fondled her breasts, thumbing her nipples through the material. The sensation made her shiver and they kissed again, tongues entwined.
Jake let one hand wander around to the zipper on her skirt, easing it down. She helped him wiggle her out of it, feeling exposed. She glanced over her shoulder at the tinted glass where the driver sat. They could see him, but he couldn’t see them. At least, she hoped. Jake turned her attention back to him when his hand slipped down between her legs, cupping her mound. She rocked, moaning softly against his mouth as they kissed.