Page 7 of Dream Girl Drama

Before she could ask, he lifted the bottle from the table and tilted the chilled glass against her lips, her nipples slowly winding into stiff peaks over the possibility that he could read her needs so accurately.

And fill them.

“How old are you, Chlo?” he asked, searching her face.

“Twenty-five,” she murmured.

He nodded. Wet his lips. Leaned in. “Then what’s keeping you from Boston?”

“Nothing,” she whispered, inching closer, until she could feel his warm breath on her mouth. Shewantedto spill everything to him, to this man who seemed to have the kind of capabilities and self-reliance she’d only ever dreamed about. She longed to tell Sig that she didn’t know how to begin taking care of herself. How the very thought of waking up alone and having to fend for herself was so intimidating it gave her chills. A man like this wouldn’t be able to comprehend such debilitating dependence on money and security, though.

Would he?

“Say it,” Sig said.

“Say what?”

“The thing you’re not sure you want to tell me.”

This moment, this night, officially felt like a dream. There was nothing but his eyes. The warmth of his presence. The quiet lull of their voices. The unique... knowingness between them.

“My mother sent me to music camp when I was six. On opening night, I watched a demonstration of the harp. I saw it played once. Later that night, I snuck back into the instrument room and... I just knew how to play. It was like a language I’d learned and forgotten, but it all came back to me.” She wet her lips. “They caught me on the security camera and it was sent to my mother. And then all her friends. It was even featured on the news.”

He laughed quietly. “Damn.”

“Yes.” The longer she hesitated to say the rest, the more her pulse pounded. “It’s funny, though, when you’re a prodigy inone thing, it doesn’t necessarily make you good at anything else. Whether it’s tennis or schoolwork or making friends or... just plain common sense. And I think people were disappointed by that. By me not being very... well rounded. You know?”

“No,” he intoned, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I can’t imagine you disappointing anyone.”

They moved closer to each other simultaneously, neither one of them seeming to be conscious of it. “I’ve got the harp and... I’ve gotten comfortable with that being all. I’ve gotten too comfortable, maybe, and that’s easy to do when...”

“You have money.”

He understood. Maybe he couldn’t relate, but he wasn’t judging her.

Still, the extended state of vulnerability was making her feel jumpy.

“Anyway...” Chloe ordered her upper lip to curl flirtatiously. “Why would I go to Boston when I’m having so much fun being driven around by a chauffeur, stealing champagne, and making trouble in Darien?”

“I don’t know.” Slowly, he closed that final inch, hesitated, finally brushing their lips together, turning her insides the consistency of clouds. “Maybe you could find a different kind of fun in Boston,” he said, his voice noticeably deeper, his left hand lifting to cradle her cheek, his thumb pressing to her chin, as if he planned on tugging it down. While kissing her. So he could use his tongue?

Did she want that?

Yes.God, more than anything. The anticipation for him was so strong and familiar already, it felt like it had always existed.

“Can I kiss you, dream girl?”

Head. Spinning. “You haven’t even called the tow truck yet.”

“Fuck the tow truck.”

“Yeah,” she breathed.

“Excuse me,” said a voice that belonged to neither of them. “Ms. Clifford?”

The golden moonbeam shower around them fizzled and vanished. Who would intrude on something that felt so momentous? Chloe’s head moved like it was underwater, her fuzzy brain finally registering that the bartender was standing behind the couch, to her left. “Oh.” She could still feel Sig’s eyes locked on her profile. And was that the sound of his jaw popping? “Yes?”

“I couldn’t help but notice you’re enjoying a bottle of champagne, which isfine, of course. You’re most welcome to do so. I just need you to sign for it.”

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