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"Hey," he says. "Where are you?"
"Huh? Oh, I was just thinking. "
"About what?"
"Where I should take you," I lie.
"Come on," he says, taking my hand. "Let's get out of here. "
We walk along the streets, looking in the windows of the shops and people-watching as couples and friends gather around the entrances to bars and restaurants that line the sidewalks, smoking and drinking while they wait. And we talk, non-stop, for a while, about life and our families. I tell Gaige about my absentee mother, and how she wants me to return to Manhattan.
"Does she hate that you came to live with your father?" he asks.
"Totally. She can't stand him. "
I ask Gaige about his father. "You never talk about him. "
Gaige shrugs. "He never wanted anything to do with us," he says. "Anja raised me. Or, well, a nanny raised me. And then boarding school. I don't know how your father ended up with her, you know?"
"He definitely has a type. My mother isn't so different from Anja, I don't think. " I pause as we stop at a little shop, looking in the window but not actually looking. "I don't want to end up like them. "
Gaige stares into the window, but he takes my hand in his. "I'm not my father's only child," he says. "According to Anja, he's a total philanderer – woman after woman, you know? I always swore I'd never end up like him. "
"Well, unless you've got a bunch of little Gaiges running around, I don't think you're in danger of that," I say, my voice light, trying to force a casualness I definitely don't feel. Why is it that I do that?
Why do I feel so vulnerable when I'm with him?
Gaige tugs at my hand and pulls me close to him, runs his hand through my hair. "There are no mini-Gaiges running around," he says. "I don't want to end up like him. Honestly. "
"Then don't," I say, my voice casual. He looks at me intently for a second, and it's too much. I turn and clear my throat. "You don't have to, you know. It's not like, written in your DNA or something. "
He's walking beside me and I have no idea where we're going. "You've seen our parents," he says. "You still believe in happy ever after? They're not happy. "
"I think you make your own happiness," I say, sounding surer of it than I feel. "God, since when did you get so freaking philosophical?"
Gaige laughs. "It's the beer and the weather and shit," he says. "Warm summer night, the city, I don't know. I'm a little buzzed, but I'm a total buzzkill, yeah?"
I punch him on the arm, and he gropes my ass over my dress, but I squeal and jump away. "I just didn't know you were so damn sappy," I say. "One minute you're telling me to drop my panties and the next you're talking about fairy tales and shit. "
Gaige takes me by the hand and pulls me down the nearest side street, deserted and dimly lit except for one entrance to a hotel that I recognize as a love hotel. I giggle. "Are you going to take me to a love hotel?"
He pushes me up against the wall of one of the buildings, his hand running up my thigh. "Sappy, huh? Is that what I am now?" he asks. "No idea what a love hotel is, but I've got half a mind to put my cock into that smart mouth of yours right out here. "
"It's – " I'm about to tell him it's a sex hotel, but he stops me by covering my mouth with his. My body responds immediately to his touch, and I moan as he runs his hands up my hips and underneath my skirt.
A Japanese couple enters the street, a few yards away, and a woman giggles when she sees us. I push Gaige back, smoothing my skirt. "Shit, let's get out of here. "
As we walk back in the direction of the hotel, Gaige grabs my hand and I don't push it away or let it go. It feels nice. It feels comfortable. When we pass a sign outside the entrance to one of the hotels that advertises a bar on one of the upper floors with live jazz and a view of the city, Gaige pulls at my arm. "Let's go inside. "
"Don't you want to go back to the hotel?"
He slides his hand over my lower back, and navigates me inside. His touch, at once comforting and possessive, sends a shiver up my spine. Behind me, he speaks low into my ear. "Not yet," he says.