“You don’t get what much? Girls who say no?”
He nodded.
“Well, honey, there’s always a first time,” Casey said, thinking of the strange victories found in a woman’s refusal. Virginia had once said men never forgot the girls who said no. This was particularly odd for her to say, because Virginia nearly always said yes. “I’d rather have good sex than pride,” Virginia had claimed a moment later, to which Casey had replied, “Under your theory, you’d rather have good sex than be memorable.” Virginia had ultimately won the point, however, when she’d declared, “Oh no, Casey, I make sure that the sex is so good, he can’t forget it.” Casey took her word for it.
Hugh sat up straight and adjusted himself. Then he reached over and took Casey’s hand again and held it. Her long fingers laced with his.
Casey glanced at Hugh but imagined Unu’s face instead—his dark, sad pupils, the sharp arch of his eyebrows when he joked. His first wife had been in love with someone else throughout their marriage. In the end, he’d told her to go, but even when she was there, she’d already been gone. She didn’t want him to get hurt again.
Hugh rested his head against the back of the seat. He felt the buzz of the Sauternes and coffee. “Shouldn’t have had the coffee,” he said.
Casey didn’t know what to say to Hugh. Why had he kissed her?
“So, you in love with your feller?” Hugh asked.
“Feller?” she said, imitating his inflection. “Oh yes, I forgot, your generation does have its speech peculiarities.”
“You didn’t answer the question, my dear.”
“He doesn’t believe in marriage,” Casey said, not having intended to say that at all.
“You don’t seem like the marrying kind, either,” he said.
“You’re probably right.” She agreed with him, though it upset her to hear it. What girl wanted to be the unmarrying kind? She’d done some bad things in her life. She was no Ella, but she was no Delia, either. And even Delia was getting married, it seemed, to Mr. HBS. And at the office, she’d been more than competent and respected. They cared about her enough to throw this lavish send-off. What did Hugh mean by that? That he wouldn’t marry a girl like her or that she didn’t seem to want to get married? She turned to him. The blush of liquor stained his cheeks, and Casey glanced down at his pants, then felt ashamed at having looked.
He’d caught her doing this. “And what are you looking at, missy?”
“Not much,” she said, giving him the line from her old neighborhood.
He was still holding her hand, and now he drew it closer to his torso. Casey’s eyes didn’t waver from his. He was trying to make her play a version of chicken, and she wouldn’t let him win. Hugh inhaled, drawing in his flat stomach, then tucked her hand into his trousers. The cottony shirting fabric of boxers felt smooth and warm. Her fingers nested him.
Casey measured her own breathing. “Thanks for sharing the good news,” she said. With control, she stroked him slowly upward. Hugh stopped breathing. She pulled her hand away. She smiled, feeling her power restored. The taxi driver was busy talking to his dispatcher in a language she couldn’t make out, maybe Russian or Polish. She had no intention of giving Hugh a hand job.
They weren’t five blocks from her apartment. “You know what, Hugh? It’s late. I better go to sleep. I have to go to work tomorrow.”
“Mmm. It is late. You should go to bed,” he said, winking.
She shook her head no.
Hugh moved in and kissed her again, and this time she didn’t fight it, letting his tongue move in her mouth, his hands roam over her brown silk blouse. He was good at this, and she was admittedly curious about his lovemaking, but this was where it would end, she told herself.
The taxi stopped in front of her building. George Ortiz, who was working the late shift, headed toward the car but stopped approaching when he saw a man in the car leaning toward Casey Han.
Casey pulled away from Hugh. She opened her purse to give Hugh some money.
“Put your money away,” Hugh said, then told the driver to hang on and keep the meter running.
They both got out of the car. Hugh removed the clubs from the trunk and pulled the strap over Casey’s shoulder. He moved closer to her.
“Don’t kiss me,” Casey said with a polite smile.
Hugh crinkled his pretty brown eyes.
“George,” Casey whispered.
“Who’s George? Now you live with two guys?”