Page 50 of The Pairing

“Yeah,” Kit agrees. He smiles. “We are.”

“Tell me, what surprises you most about each other now?” Fabrizio asks us. “What is most impressive?”

I quickly take a long gulp of cider so that Kit will have to answer first. I feel his gaze travel the line of my jaw, my wet bottom lip.

“I’d say. ..” Kit begins, speaking not to Fabrizio but to me. “Your confidence. The way you carry yourself. You seem. . .in command of yourself.”

My heart does something horrible behind my ribs, but the words make my shoulders feel broader, my grip stronger. Kit holds my gaze. I hold his.

“Huh,” I say, “I was going to say the same about you.”

Someone’s knee nudges mine. I’m not sure whose.

“Meraviglioso,” Fabrizio says, slapping the table so loudly that we both jump. “More drinks, yes?”

He’s gone before we can answer, disappearing into the wall of dancing bodies between our table and the bar.

“Jesus,” I say, managing to catch my breath. “Hate to see him go but love to watch him walk away.”

Kit laughs. “He really is something, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” I agree. “Who do you think he likes more, you or me?”

“What, are you putting him back on the menu?”

“Oh, baby, he was never off it,” I say. “I could show him a nice time.”

Kit raises his eyebrows.

“What?” I ask. “Why do you look so skeptical?”

He shrugs. “I just don’t know if you’re compatible.”

“I’m not talking about marrying him.”

“Neither am I.”

I set the dredges of my cider down with a slightly sticky thunk.

“You mean we’re not sexually compatible? What are you, the Fuck Whisperer?”

“I know people like him, and I don’t know if you’re up to it,” Kit says, the tip of his middle finger skating around the rim of his glass. “That’s all.”

“Up to what? Does he want to put my toes in his mouth or something?”

“He wants tomake love.Light a hundred candles, sprawl out on a Moroccan rug, massage oil onto each other’s bodies for hours before you even get into it. I don’t think you have the patience.”

“You’d be surprised how patient I’ve become,” I say. Kit’s fingertip slips from the edge of his glass and smudges down the side. “And what if you’re wrong, huh? What if he wants to be, like, manhandled?”

“Then I would manhandle him.”

“You’re not a manhandler.”

“That’s not true.”

“Who have you ever manhandled?”

Kit’s eyes lock on mine. “You.”