The Social Affair — Spicy + Unhinged

I should take her home before she finishes telling me why I’m right.

We have been discussing Dickens. Discussing is generous. I have been discussing Dickens. Izzy has been looking at my mouth.

She holds the book against her stomach, one finger tucked between the pages. Every so often she asks a question. She’s read enough to ask the right kind. A little uncertainty, a little room for me to explain myself. Then her face changes as though I’ve given her something she’ll keep.

I know this expression. I spend my working life receiving it.

I finish explaining before I take the next turn. She has another question ready. I let her hold it for a moment.

Then I take the longer way.

✦

With the top down, she has to lean closer to hear me. Her hair blows across her mouth. She tucks it back and laughs when it escapes again.

I give her my coat.

She asks whether I’ll be cold. It’s such a small thing, her concern. I’m the one who lowered the roof. I’m perfectly capable of raising it. She looks at me as though I’ve chosen to suffer on her behalf.

I leave the roof where it is. She can keep thanking me for the coat.

I tell her about the operating room.

She listens. She actually listens, her fingers closing around the coat at her throat.

I look back at the road.

At work I can hold my hands steady for hours. Here, I have to remind myself to leave them on the wheel.

I want to push her hair back. I want to feel her turn into my palm. She keeps glancing at me when she thinks I’m watching traffic, and I want to catch her doing it. Hold her there. Find out whether she’ll blush or finally stop pretending she’s interested in the book.

The book was a nice touch, though.

When I ask whether she likes to go fast, her answer makes me smile before I hear it. I can see it all over her face.

I press the accelerator.

Her head falls back. She laughs, louder this time, and I like that I’ve done it. I like that no one else gets to hear.

For a few seconds, I don’t think about the time.

✦

I pull over where the lights won’t spoil the view.

“Look up.”

She does. Her lips part. She stays that way for a moment, and I find myself watching her instead of the sky.

I’ve seen these stars before.

I haven’t seen her like this.

The coat slips from one shoulder. She catches it, settles back, and takes a breath so deep I can hear it. She seems perfectly content to stay like this.

I didn’t drive her out here to sit beside her while she looks at something else.

Then she turns her head toward me, and I smile.

I want her closer.

I get out and open her door. The hood is warm. I tell her that, offer my hand, and help her up. She sits with my coat around her shoulders. I stand in front of her.

There’s room for me to step back.

I don’t.

“Mr. Dunn—”

I stop her. Grant. She can call me Grant. Doctor, if she wants to make a joke of it.

Anything but that.

Mr. Dunn is the name people use when they’re looking past me for my wife. I don’t want her looking anywhere else.

She thanks me. Uses the name I asked for. That wasn’t difficult.

She rests back on an elbow and tips her face toward the sky. I watch the movement of her throat. Her hair has fallen away from it, and I want to touch her there. I keep my hands where they are. She can wonder for a little longer.

She makes a joke about how easily I could kill her out here.

“I’d never hurt you, Izzy.”

She doesn’t believe me. For once, the disbelief is right there on her face.

“Oh, I don’t know about that.”

I could ask what she means. Have a conversation neither of us came here for.

I move closer.

✦

She lifts her head to meet me.

I feel the small distance disappear, feel her mouth against mine, and for a moment I forget how carefully I’ve been holding myself.

Her fingers close on my shirt.

I should care about my shirt. In a few hours I’ll have to go home wearing it.

Izzy catches the fabric as though she doesn’t care what shape she leaves it in.

I like it more than I should.

I touch her jaw. My thumb rests beneath her chin. She tilts her face, and I kiss her again, slowly enough to feel her fingers tighten.

When I pull back, she follows a fraction before stopping herself.

I leave the space between us. She looks from my mouth to my eyes, waiting.

If I stepped away now, she’d spend the ride home wondering what she’d done wrong. I could be perfectly pleasant. Hold the door. Tell her I’d had a good time. Let her stay awake working it out.

I want her.

She glances at my hand.

My ring catches the light.

I leave it where it is.

She knew about Josie before tonight. She admired her. She told me so. I haven’t hidden the marriage, haven’t offered a divorce, haven’t promised her a room in my house.

Izzy looks back at my mouth.

I touch her face again. She leans into my hand, and I think about how she’ll look at me tomorrow. Across that counter. Trying to get me alone. Waiting for the smallest indication that I’m thinking about her.

I could walk in, order my coffee, and leave.

She’d have to finish her shift.

The thought pleases me.

I spend my days being useful. This is for me.

I take her hand and help her stand. The coat slips as she moves, and I catch it. I spread it over the hood. She watches, quiet now.

I want to hear her say it.

“Is this all right with you?”

Her eyes go to the stars, then return to mine.

“Yes. This is perfect.”

I believe her. I want her to remember saying it, too. If she starts telling me later what she thought tonight meant, I would like us both to be clear about what I actually asked.

She reaches for me again.

I draw her close. Her fingers work their way beneath my collar, and I lower my mouth to the warm place just below her ear.

She has no idea how little of tonight I intend to take home with me.

My watch brushes her shoulder.

I turn my wrist enough to see it.