my head, angry at how transparent my feelings were. “It’s completely selfish.”
Ian rested his hand against my cheek. “It’s okay to be selfish, Candace. It’s okay to want you want.” A light smile played around his lips, and I knew he was thinking about my behavior in the bedroom, upstairs.
“Yeah, well, that’s hard when it comes to family,” I pointed out.
His jaw tightened. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“It’s just, I’m the oldest, you know? There’s an order to these things. That’s how it’s supposed to be.”
“Well, things don’t always go how they’re supposed to,” Ian pointed out.
“Yeah, no shit,” I said irritably. “Like my dates these days.”
Ian stepped back, his face hard. “Well, maybe we’ll cut this one short?”
I looked back into the dining room at my laughing, smiling family, and back to the glowering bad boy in front of me. Ian and I had nothing in common. I knew that. Why did I keep trying to force the issue? Because we had great sex? Wasn’t I ever going to have my parents had? What Donna now had?
“Yeah,” I said, feigning a nonchalance I didn’t feel. “Maybe we should get going. This is their moment, after all.”
For a moment, Ian’s face was terrible. I stepped back, frightened, as rage clouded his eyes and his nostrils flared. I looked down and saw that his balled fists were so tight the knuckles were white. My heart thudded as I looked back up again, wondering what, or who, he wanted to strike.
“Ian?”
He turned his head quickly to the side, then cocked it towards my voice with a sigh. “It’s not you, Candy,” he said, so low I had to strain to hear it.
I didn’t say anything, only held on to the doorframe as I watched him pull himself together again.
He seems to recall himself. The storm clouds that had gathered in his face lifted, and he gave me a rather wan smile. “Hey,” he exhaled.
“Hey,” I repeated, carefully.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I guess there’s a few things I should probably tell you about.”
I looked up at him and smiled, softening. I could see whatever it was he had to tell me was costing him quite an effort. “Okay, yeah, I want to get out of here. Let’s talk.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “My place?”
I smiled, skin already tingling at the thought of seeing Ian’s house, Ian’s bedroom— Ian’s bed…
It was a surprisingly short ride to his place. He opened the door to his apartment, a sprawling space, definitely postindustrial, and nearly bare of furnishings save for a gigantic couch, an oversized TV…
And one incongruously floral rug.
I looked at the rug and raised my eyebrows. He shook his head, “Long story. I didn’t pick it.”
A little shiver went through me. Ian had lived here with someone else. Not just any someone. Only a woman would have chosen that rug.
“Who did?” I asked. That shadow that had passed through him before, was it coming back again?
I didn’t have to wonder for long. He chose that moment to cup my chin in his fingers, tilt my face to his, and proceeded to kiss me so hard that any trace of curiosity I had about the woman who chose that rug was washed away.
He began to maneuver us both—our clothes falling in scattered piles over the floral rug—closer and closer to the bedroom.
“Well, hello.”
Ian stiffened, and didn’t look. But I did.
She sat up from the bed, long hair streaming and body tangled in the sheets. Completely and unashamedly naked.
She let the sheet slip downward, exposing the swell of her clearly augmented breasts. “She’s pretty, Ian,” the woman purred. “But I’m not really in the mood to share tonight.”
The rug, the woman, his cruelty when he answered the phone thinking I was someone else, his awkwardness as my sister had announced her engagement.
It all suddenly made sense now.
“You’re married?” I asked him.
His scowl was terrible. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
The naked woman stood up. “No, not
Ian rested his hand against my cheek. “It’s okay to be selfish, Candace. It’s okay to want you want.” A light smile played around his lips, and I knew he was thinking about my behavior in the bedroom, upstairs.
“Yeah, well, that’s hard when it comes to family,” I pointed out.
His jaw tightened. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“It’s just, I’m the oldest, you know? There’s an order to these things. That’s how it’s supposed to be.”
“Well, things don’t always go how they’re supposed to,” Ian pointed out.
“Yeah, no shit,” I said irritably. “Like my dates these days.”
Ian stepped back, his face hard. “Well, maybe we’ll cut this one short?”
I looked back into the dining room at my laughing, smiling family, and back to the glowering bad boy in front of me. Ian and I had nothing in common. I knew that. Why did I keep trying to force the issue? Because we had great sex? Wasn’t I ever going to have my parents had? What Donna now had?
“Yeah,” I said, feigning a nonchalance I didn’t feel. “Maybe we should get going. This is their moment, after all.”
For a moment, Ian’s face was terrible. I stepped back, frightened, as rage clouded his eyes and his nostrils flared. I looked down and saw that his balled fists were so tight the knuckles were white. My heart thudded as I looked back up again, wondering what, or who, he wanted to strike.
“Ian?”
He turned his head quickly to the side, then cocked it towards my voice with a sigh. “It’s not you, Candy,” he said, so low I had to strain to hear it.
I didn’t say anything, only held on to the doorframe as I watched him pull himself together again.
He seems to recall himself. The storm clouds that had gathered in his face lifted, and he gave me a rather wan smile. “Hey,” he exhaled.
“Hey,” I repeated, carefully.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I guess there’s a few things I should probably tell you about.”
I looked up at him and smiled, softening. I could see whatever it was he had to tell me was costing him quite an effort. “Okay, yeah, I want to get out of here. Let’s talk.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “My place?”
I smiled, skin already tingling at the thought of seeing Ian’s house, Ian’s bedroom— Ian’s bed…
It was a surprisingly short ride to his place. He opened the door to his apartment, a sprawling space, definitely postindustrial, and nearly bare of furnishings save for a gigantic couch, an oversized TV…
And one incongruously floral rug.
I looked at the rug and raised my eyebrows. He shook his head, “Long story. I didn’t pick it.”
A little shiver went through me. Ian had lived here with someone else. Not just any someone. Only a woman would have chosen that rug.
“Who did?” I asked. That shadow that had passed through him before, was it coming back again?
I didn’t have to wonder for long. He chose that moment to cup my chin in his fingers, tilt my face to his, and proceeded to kiss me so hard that any trace of curiosity I had about the woman who chose that rug was washed away.
He began to maneuver us both—our clothes falling in scattered piles over the floral rug—closer and closer to the bedroom.
“Well, hello.”
Ian stiffened, and didn’t look. But I did.
She sat up from the bed, long hair streaming and body tangled in the sheets. Completely and unashamedly naked.
She let the sheet slip downward, exposing the swell of her clearly augmented breasts. “She’s pretty, Ian,” the woman purred. “But I’m not really in the mood to share tonight.”
The rug, the woman, his cruelty when he answered the phone thinking I was someone else, his awkwardness as my sister had announced her engagement.
It all suddenly made sense now.
“You’re married?” I asked him.
His scowl was terrible. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
The naked woman stood up. “No, not
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