“Yeah.” When he names it, I’m off the hook.
“Why?”
“Because he was a nice person.”
“Just because he was nice doesn’t mean he gets to be shielded from consequences.”
“Consequences?”
“Right.”
“Explain.”
Andrew’s head dips down, and as he moves his chin glides along the top of my breasts. A fireball of want replaces whatever silly little bit of guilt was there a second ago.
“People don’t live with a rope tied between you and them emotionally. Not people you aren’t attached to, I mean.”
I frown, tilting my head as if the physical shift will give me a different perspective on his words. “Explain again.”
“I see you doing this. Shannon, too.”
My ears perk up at the mention of Shannon. Although she’s about to become his sister-in-law, I’ve rarely heard him mention her. This is definitely new territory.
“You both,” he continues, “act like you owe some debt to people you aren’t attached to. As if you have to take care of everyone else’s feelings, even when you’re not asked.”
My cheeks begin to blaze. It’s not from arousal.
“I don’t understand,” I admit.
He swallows, and I feel the tension in his neck. “Ah, maybe I’m getting too serious here.”
“No,” I whisper. “You’re not. This is interesting. I’m really trying to understand. I think you’re on to something. Please,” I urge him.
What I don’t say is that there’s a deep intimacy to his words, to this discussion, that I don’t get from him elsewhere. Not in restaurants, not in the boardroom—not even in the bedroom.
I feel his shrug. “Maybe it’s a male/female difference. Maybe it’s personality. I don’t know. That guy back there—”
“Chris. His name is Chris.”
“Who cares. Anyhow, that guy is walking home right now, probably a little pissed that I sniped his date, but he certainly doesn’t feel an attachment to you. There’s no connection. No mutuality. You don’t owe him a thing and he doesn’t owe you a thing. He’s a separate person who has autonomy over his behaviors and emotions.”
“Still not getting you.” And yet, something deep inside me is stirring. I can feel it. A dawning recognition that Andrew has zeroed in on an essential part of who I am, a piece of me that I know subconsciously is there, but that lurks within the subterranean mess of my chaotic soul. The fact that he intuitively sees this part of me is both thrilling and terrifying, because it involves being more real than I’ve ever been with anyone.
“Amanda, you have a loyalty and a need to fix problems for other people. You do this not because you want the accolades, but because you deeply enjoy being the person who solves problems.” He tightens his grasp of me, touching my elbow with a stroke. “You connect ideas with solutions and implement them. You’re the perfect operations person.”
Coming from the former VP of Operations at Anterdec and now CEO, that’s high praise.
“If you’re just saying that to get into my pants,” I tease, “I’m a sure thing tonight.”
His laugh makes my body lift and bounce slightly as I burrow into the embrace. “I don’t say anything I don’t mean. Take the compliment.”
“Then...thank you. I’m still not sure I understand everything you said, but I find it fascinating.”
“My middle name is Freud.”
“I thought your middle name was James.”
“Don’t ruin a witty comeback,” he says, crushing my mouth with his so that, indeed, I cannot say another word.
Five minutes later we come up for air. Oxygen deprivation is the only explanation for why I reach for his face, caress his cheek, look him square in the eyes and murmur, “I’ve never felt this way about any man before.”
He smiles, then reaches up to brush my unruly hair from my forehead, the movement profound and fleeting.
“What do you feel? For me?” he asks, head tipped slightly down, eyes lifting up.
“Attachment.”
Love, I want to say, but the word is like a fire starter, inert until it gets close to a flame.
And then it ignites.
I don’t say it. Can’t. Not yet.
His face breaks into a wide smile at the word I do use.
“Good.”
“I thought you just told me I attach to people too easily!” My heart is pounding. My skin feels exquisitely sensitive. What I’m saying and what I’m thinking are wildly divergent, and yet totally integrated.
“You attach emotional outcomes to the wrong people too readily.” As he nuzzles my neck, a whiff of his cologne takes over the tiny space.
“Semantics,” I scoff, trying to pretend that this is banter. It’s not. This is a kind of truth I’m trying so hard to be ready for.
I get a long, hot kiss as an answer.
Before I can turn the tables and ask him what he feels for me, the limo slows and motors into the garage at his building.
And then we’re out, walking to the elevator, hand in hand, Andrew pushing the button and like magic, the doors float open.
“Nice trick,” I say as we walk on, my heart bouncing like popcorn on a stove.
“I have lots of them.”
The stakes tonight feel higher. The question of whether to sleep with Andrew isn’t part of this experience. And the aroused speculation of what it’s like to be naked with him in bed is gone. I know what that is like.