Page 157 of The Last Good Man

Right now, it’s sunk in darkness, but after a few moments of blinking rapidly and waiting for my eyes to adjust, I make out the silhouette of a car.

A man is propped against the car, the orange glow of a cigarette tearing into the darkness.

It’s enough to see his face.

He’s waiting for me, relaxed, a hand in his pocket. He knows me well by now.

And he must know nothing is guaranteed with me. But he doesn’t seem to care. If I submit to him, there’s always a next time to vacillate and throw him off.

I wish this were some elaborate strategy on my part to drive him crazy. It’s nothing like that, and he knows it. I doubt he’d be so patient if I played him.

I’m not afraid, and for once, I don’t dwell.

I’m simply not thinking past this moment.

For the first timein my life, I’m acting on impulse, on what feels good in the moment.

Existential crisis, my butt. This is a real mid-life crisis.

AndI am so anxious to go back in time and pretend that I’m not who I am, andhe is not who he is.

He laid it all out for me.

To make it easy.

And now I crave him more than I have ever craved anyone oranything. And that’s scary.

Putting one foot in front of the other, I climb the stairs and head to him withoutthe slightest hesitation in my step.

It helps that I look different tonight. I finally found a way to calm down that panicked woman andstart enjoyingmyself a little.

28

MELODY

I leisurely strut to him, my drink dangling from my hand.

“Only one kiss. That’s all,” I say.

My attempt at bargaining is met with a cunning smile.

“Sure, baby. Whatever you say,” he murmurs before taking one last drag, tilting his face down to hide his grin, and putting the cigarette out.

He pops a mint into his mouth and sheds his jacket before collecting mine.

“I want to see you,” he says, taking my blazer and removing the purse from my hand.

The jackets go in the back seat before he slides the clutch onto the roof of his car.

He turns to me and latches his hands onto my hips.

“One kiss,” he says, squeezing my flesh and making me close the gap between us by pulling me into him.

Our eyes meet first, and his smile fades, as does mine. He then removes the glass of champagne from my hand and places it on the roof of his car as well.

The slim, delicate glass is in a precarious spot, and it won't make it by the time he’s done with me.

He grabs a fistful of my silky hair, his touch awakening millions of nerve endings, creating a party of sorts.

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