her condo because he wanted her , not because he was trying to escape his own life. It was the difference between a dream and a nightmare.
*
Where Cassie had gotten the gumption to go from mildly suggestive comments to asking Doug back to her room was a mystery. She must have pulled the how-to memory out from her college years somewhere, from before she’d met Tom and gone from girlfriend to wife to mother in the blink of an eye. Back to her freshman year, when she’d gone to parties and taken guys back to her dorm room, not like this past year when she’d only said yes to men who didn’t scare her.
Just like riding a bike.
Whoever had come up with that cliché clearly hadn’t gotten back on a bicycle after a decade of not riding and felt the moment of fear before their balance kicked in. If their balance kicked in.
The March sun set early, and a chill settled over them on the short walk from the plaza to the condo building. She shivered once, hard. Was it from the chill or the anticipation? More likely the disbelief that she had invited a virtual stranger back to her room. Though, for being a stranger, she felt she knew him well enough. He was funny, nice, and she sensed a depth to his soul buried under that curly hair and ski-bum tan.
They walked into the heated lobby of the building and her shoulders relaxed. His tightened up noticeably. Embarrassed to be walking past the front desk and be seen going into a guest’s room, maybe? Embarrassed to be going into her room?
Cassie dismissed both those thoughts before they could plant a pole in her mind. Yesterday, he’d been pretty upfront about his ability to politely turn students down; an excuse not to come over for dinner would have been easy. He wanted to be here with her, and she wanted him here. She was going to take advantage of the quiet condo, a little alcohol, and her hot ski instructor.
The doors to the elevator shut behind them, and they stood, staring at their reflections, her skis in his hand and her poles in hers, a unique caricature of American Gothic . They both looked so serious.
“How old are you?” Despite her determination to please herself, even if only for this week, she wasn’t sure she could take off her clothes not knowing. Hell, she still wasn’t sure she’d be able to take her clothes off, period.
The elevator beeped, and the doors opened on her floor. The elevator lobbies were windowless, dark and oppressive, matching Doug’s tone as he answered her. “Does it matter?”
“I guess not. If it did, I could have asked before inviting you for dinner.” Though the courage she would have mustered to ask that question would probably have pushed the courage required to ask him back to the condo right out the window.
He had to cock his head to look at her past the skis he was holding. Whatever expression was on her face must have convinced him she was sincere because he nodded and said, “Thirty-two.”
She shouldn’t have said anything, because when he asked, “How old are you?” panic flurried in her breast before she answered honestly. “Thirty-nine.” It was true for one more day.
Her panic was quashed when he stopped in front of her condo door and looked at her with wide, honest surprise. “I had you pegged as thirty-five.”
“Well, thank you, but no. Definitely thirty-nine . . . with a twenty-year-old daughter.” The last part wasn’t anything Doug needed to know, but her nerves had started to dance on the silent walk from the plaza. She was lucky her worry didn’t push her entire life history out of her lips and onto the floor in front of them.
She went to open the door, but the lock stuck and she had to jimmy the handle to get the door open. Inside, she set her poles against the wall and moved aside so he could rest her skies next to them. She took off her boots, and he hung his coat next to hers on a peg, sticking his gloves, hat, and goggles into the cubby like he belonged here. Maybe he visited the
*
Where Cassie had gotten the gumption to go from mildly suggestive comments to asking Doug back to her room was a mystery. She must have pulled the how-to memory out from her college years somewhere, from before she’d met Tom and gone from girlfriend to wife to mother in the blink of an eye. Back to her freshman year, when she’d gone to parties and taken guys back to her dorm room, not like this past year when she’d only said yes to men who didn’t scare her.
Just like riding a bike.
Whoever had come up with that cliché clearly hadn’t gotten back on a bicycle after a decade of not riding and felt the moment of fear before their balance kicked in. If their balance kicked in.
The March sun set early, and a chill settled over them on the short walk from the plaza to the condo building. She shivered once, hard. Was it from the chill or the anticipation? More likely the disbelief that she had invited a virtual stranger back to her room. Though, for being a stranger, she felt she knew him well enough. He was funny, nice, and she sensed a depth to his soul buried under that curly hair and ski-bum tan.
They walked into the heated lobby of the building and her shoulders relaxed. His tightened up noticeably. Embarrassed to be walking past the front desk and be seen going into a guest’s room, maybe? Embarrassed to be going into her room?
Cassie dismissed both those thoughts before they could plant a pole in her mind. Yesterday, he’d been pretty upfront about his ability to politely turn students down; an excuse not to come over for dinner would have been easy. He wanted to be here with her, and she wanted him here. She was going to take advantage of the quiet condo, a little alcohol, and her hot ski instructor.
The doors to the elevator shut behind them, and they stood, staring at their reflections, her skis in his hand and her poles in hers, a unique caricature of American Gothic . They both looked so serious.
“How old are you?” Despite her determination to please herself, even if only for this week, she wasn’t sure she could take off her clothes not knowing. Hell, she still wasn’t sure she’d be able to take her clothes off, period.
The elevator beeped, and the doors opened on her floor. The elevator lobbies were windowless, dark and oppressive, matching Doug’s tone as he answered her. “Does it matter?”
“I guess not. If it did, I could have asked before inviting you for dinner.” Though the courage she would have mustered to ask that question would probably have pushed the courage required to ask him back to the condo right out the window.
He had to cock his head to look at her past the skis he was holding. Whatever expression was on her face must have convinced him she was sincere because he nodded and said, “Thirty-two.”
She shouldn’t have said anything, because when he asked, “How old are you?” panic flurried in her breast before she answered honestly. “Thirty-nine.” It was true for one more day.
Her panic was quashed when he stopped in front of her condo door and looked at her with wide, honest surprise. “I had you pegged as thirty-five.”
“Well, thank you, but no. Definitely thirty-nine . . . with a twenty-year-old daughter.” The last part wasn’t anything Doug needed to know, but her nerves had started to dance on the silent walk from the plaza. She was lucky her worry didn’t push her entire life history out of her lips and onto the floor in front of them.
She went to open the door, but the lock stuck and she had to jimmy the handle to get the door open. Inside, she set her poles against the wall and moved aside so he could rest her skies next to them. She took off her boots, and he hung his coat next to hers on a peg, sticking his gloves, hat, and goggles into the cubby like he belonged here. Maybe he visited the
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