Living Proof, стр. 26
“I’m sorry,” Arianna said. “That must have been so painful.”
“Yeah, it was,” Jed replied, nodding across the room at Trent, who was returning to their table.
“You guys look sad,” Trent said, sitting down. “Don’t tell me you missed me that much.”
“I was just telling her about Ashley,” Jed said.
Trent frowned. “That’s ancient history.”
“So what happened to her?” Arianna asked.
Trent and Jed exchanged a look that she could not read: Had she stumbled on forbidden territory?
“Well, I obviously broke up with her,” Jed said, clutching his glass. There was a silence, pregnant with tension, and Arianna wished she had not probed further.
“Thank God for this guy,” Jed said, nudging Trent. “I don’t know how I would have gotten through it otherwise.”
She smiled. “Sounds like you’re pretty solid.” She looked at Trent and felt some sort of tacit understanding pass in his glance, like acknowledgment of her compliment and perhaps something more. He looked away first, at that old-fashioned watch on his wrist. “What do you guys say we call it a night?”
Outside, they waved good night to Jed as he walked away. Arianna tightened her coat and took a deep breath, inhaling the cold night. The breeze was like an atmospheric cocktail shaker, mixing the scents of alcohol, cigarettes, and pizza. MacDougal Street was in its prime, with drunken revelers laughing loudly and crossing the street from one bar to the next. Ahead in the park, several shadowy figures moved close to one another, and then scattered.
“Let me walk you home,” Trent said. Vodka floated on his breath, the culprit of his slightly messy enunciation. “Please.”
It’s only three blocks, she thought, but did not protest.
“It’s only three blocks,” he said. “It’s no problem.”
“All right, thanks.”
They fell into step along the edge of the park. She walked quickly, out of habit, but soon realized she was in no rush.
“So when can I read your novel?” she asked, moving closer to him in the darkness. The hair on her arms prickled, sensing his body heat.
He was a beat slow in responding—the alcohol, she thought. “It’s not gonna be done for a while.” Then he blurted: “But you know what I really wanna do sometimes? It may be silly, but I wanna travel the world and write about it. That’d be so cool. Have you been to Italy? I wanna go there first.”
She chuckled at his drunken ramble, recognizing an unguarded confession of his dreams. “That’s not silly. It’s beautiful there. Why don’t you go? You can write your novel anywhere. You work for yourself. Take advantage of that freedom!”
“Nah.” He inhaled sharply, and when he let out the sobering breath, he seemed steadier. They rounded the park’s corner, and her apartment building came into view. “Maybe later.”
“You should,” she said. “It sounds like something you really want to do.”
He nodded as they crossed the street. Her building’s bright lobby spilled a moat of light onto the sidewalk.
She stopped at the edge of the darkness, intoxicated by a desire that made more sense than her will to ignore it. He stopped next to her. But before he could say good night, she lifted a hand to his cheek, satisfying a curiosity she had felt all night about the texture of his stubble. The rough bristles prickled her fingertips. Her hand cupped his chin, pulling his unresisting face down to hers. Their lips met, surprising her with the tenderness of a kiss she had not expected.
The scent of vodka on his breath, sour and intrusive, prompted her to pull away. She watched him open his eyes. For a second, they stared at each other. Shit.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.” She bit her lip, tasting the wetness stamped there.
“It’s okay,” he said, smiling cautiously. “Don’t apologize.”
“No, you don’t understand.…”
“Understand what?” His words seemed sharp. But what could she say? If she explained, he would never tease her again; their rapport would be lost, and she would inevitably become the grudging recipient of his pity.
“I can’t date you,” she said. “Well, I guess I could see you, but I can’t commit. It’s not anything about you. I just can’t be in a relationship.”
“Hey, that’s fine. You’re getting ahead of yourself.”
“The thing is, Trent, I really do want to keep seeing you, but I need you to know it’s not serious. Is that okay?”
He smiled. “I think that would make most guys’ night.”
“Including yours?”
“Sure. And I want to keep seeing you, too.”
She sighed with relief, pleased that he did not press her for a reason.
“How about tomorrow after you get off work?” he asked. It would be Friday.
“I can’t,” she said. “How about Saturday, we’ll bike that path on the West Side we were talking about? And then grab lunch?”
“Sold. I think we can get away with a few more days before the first snow.”
“Let’s hope.” She stepped back from him into the moat of light. On her cheeks, two red orbs smeared outward to her hairline, worry tinged with desire. Then Trent’s lean figure in the shadows seemed to move back and forth before her eyes, disorienting her by turn—until she realized it was she who was swaying. She took a careful step backwards, but tripped over her foot and grasped the lobby door with a flailing hand.
“Whoa, there, drunky,” he said, stepping into the light. “You got that?”
She flashed him a smile, as carefree as she could manage. “See you later,” she said. Then she swung open the door and hurried inside before he could respond.
* * *
The next afternoon at 5 P.M., Trent returned to his discreetly positioned bench in Washington Square Park. As he waited, the weak sun shone down. No umbrella would shield him today. He would have to be extra cautious. As he watched the clinic’s brown door, his mind drifted back to their parting last night. Arianna’s hand on his cheek—and the kiss that so naturally followed—had caught him off guard, as did