About Last Night

“You need my help.”

“I do.”

“I’ll help you, darling.”

He did.

She wasn’t quiet. Neither was he. While it lasted, they were as close as two people could be. But afterward, she didn’t stay the night.

Chapter Nine

Cath got off the train at Canary Wharf, impulsively deciding just before the doors closed that she needed cookies. The Marks & Spencer at the mall attached to the station had these chocolate-orange ones she loved, and it had been a cookies-for-dinner kind of day.

It was all City’s fault. She couldn’t get him out of her head. Bad enough that she’d gone over there last night, but this morning she’d looked for him at the park on her run and had been disappointed when she didn’t see him. She’d thought about him in the shower, and things had steamed up so fast in there, she’d had to use her fingers to get some relief.

She’d lingered over her breakfast, telling herself she needed extra cereal and orange juice for what was bound to be a long day when really she was stalling so that she’d be on the train City always took.

Then he wasn’t at the station.

All day at work, she’d been distracted by thoughts of how his eyes crinkled up when he smiled, the feel of his hands on her hips, gripping her tight as he moved between her thighs.

She recognized the signs. This was Classic Cath Mooning Behavior, and she knew she’d suffer for it like she always did. Sure, Nev seemed wonderful now, but he’d turn out to be a jerk or boring or stupid or mean. He’d turn out to have a secret drug habit or to need a quick loan. He’d turn out to have a thing for blondes with big tits or two women at a time. He’d turn out to have a thing for guys.

He’d turn out not to have a thing for her.

She’d done this before, over and over and over again. She had no judgment when it came to men. Mom had considered her a bit of a hoochie, but the truth was that Cath always opened her heart when she opened her legs. She just had this unfortunate tendency to fall for guys too soon—long before she knew their secret flaws or had any reason to trust them. No doubt some women had one-night stands simply because they loved sex. Cath had them because she loved men. Two beers and two hours with some dark-eyed, lyrical stranger, and she was ready to be his good-time gal for the long haul. Until she woke up the next morning and discovered his apartment smelled like overripe kitty litter and there was a note on the fridge from his mother reminding him to buy groceries.

It was why she’d told herself to be glad when she left Nev’s place Saturday morning, the reason she’d congratulated herself for turning down his lunch offer and his dinner offer and his offer to walk her home yesterday afternoon and his request for her phone number. Finally, she’d learned something from her mistakes.

Not so much.

Because even knowing better, she’d gone and rationalized her way into sleeping with him again, convincing herself in the wee hours of the night that sex was sex, and she could totally have sex with City without letting it affect any other aspect of her life. She would compartmentalize him. Work would be work, City would be City, and never the twain would meet. They wouldn’t date. They wouldn’t share their feelings. They’d just have lots of really fabulous sex.

Rationalizing the sex was Stage Two of the Classic Cath Mooning Pattern. What she always managed to forget was that Stage Three immediately followed: infatuation. And she was in Stage Three now, big time.

Cath found the cookies and plucked a package off the shelf with a sigh. Maybe it was just her destiny to make bad choices about men. She wanted to be different. She was trying. But it was written in the stars.

Or not. Either way, even she couldn’t kid herself into believing she’d be spending tonight alone. Wild horses couldn’t keep her from knocking on Nev’s door in a few hours.

She was standing by the checkout, trying to decide whether Hello! or OK! magazine would make a better accompaniment to the cookies in the meantime, when she heard him.

“Tell me that’s not your dinner, Mary Catherine.”

Her arms broke out in goose bumps at the sound of his voice. Seriously, goose bumps. She was a junkie for this guy. It was humiliating.

“You want me to lie to you, City?”

Because she so badly wanted to look at him, she made herself wait. She placed her cookies on the checkout belt and started digging through her purse for a few pound coins. In her peripheral vision, she peeked at what he was buying. His basket was full of vegetables, eggs, bread, tomatoes. He was going to make something healthy.

She wondered if this was where he usually bought his groceries. It was the most convenient option for commuters—a quick hop off the train and then back on again—but too expensive for Cath. She used it strictly as a cookie stop and made the trip to the dodgy Tesco in Lewisham once a week for her real food.

“No, I want you to eat properly.”

“Don’t worry, I’m going to have some milk with them.” She did look at him then, just a glance over her shoulder. Enough to see the dimple, the green eyes, the charcoal pin-striped suit with a red tie. Her favorite banker.

She started running her mouth so she wouldn’t have to deal with her runaway emotions. “The best part is, they won’t even make me fat.” She handed her money to the cashier. “We Talaricos are a short, scrawny crowd, genetically incapable of gaining weight. My dad was pint-sized. It worked for him, though. He looked like a young Frank Sinatra, with these big blue eyes and a smile that had the ladies practically throwing their panties at him. At least, that’s what Mom always said. It’s kind of hard to imagine anyone throwing panties at your own father.” After accepting her change, she tossed her purchase in a bag and finally turned around to face him.

It really wasn’t fair. He had to be the only man alive who was always more attractive in the flesh than in the imagination, and he was giving her a look. She’d seen that look before. They’d both been naked at the time and he’d been … mmm. Her goose bumps got goose bumps.