The Ground Rules Part 33

And that's as far as that conversation goes.

We ride up the elevator in a flash, and thankfully, we're up on the seventieth floor before we can even start a conversation.

We sit by the window and enjoy the magnificent view.

I find myself sitting across from Weston, and he can barely look at me-it seems like it was on our first double date-we had ended up in front of each other, and we had barely been able to look at each other then too. Every now and then, Bridget leans in, smiles, and touches Weston with the affection of a woman who loves her husband. I try not to look at them. I don't understand her-she seems to love him. Why is she sharing him? But then again, I love my husband too. Why am I sharing?

We are one messed-up bunch.

The server takes our drink orders and leaves us. Bridget asks me how I've been. I tell her about my summer break and ask her if she's been busy over the summer. But her words barely register, disrupted by this intense dej-vu.

It wasn't so long ago when Weston and I had dinner here-the memories clog my mind-the twinkling lights, my red dress, Weston taking off that dress and everything else, as slowly as humanly possible, teasing me. The recollection arouses me, and as I catch a glimpse of Weston, I see he's looking at me with that intense expression, the same expression he wore when I stripped for him, when I m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.ed for him.

This was such a bad idea, I think, trying hard to focus on Bridget's words. But it's hard to carry on a conversation with a woman when her husband is looking at you like he wants to devour you.

The server comes back with a bottle of Merlot Weston has ordered and pours us all a gla.s.s.

Weston finally breaks his stare. And I take a drink. G.o.d knows...I need it.

With his eyes off me, I can finally manage a decent conversation. Gabe, Bridget, and I talk mostly about our kids, she goes into great lengths about their recent trip to Italy, and I don't want to hear it. I try consciously not to scowl or let my bitterness show.

We enjoy a nice enough supper.

I have the scallops again since I enjoyed them so much the last time. And I'm thankful dinner is going relatively well. I mentally pat myself on the back-I haven't made a scene, I haven't hurled insults, thrown things, or stormed out, which is impressive, considering the emotions I'm having.

Weston is mostly quiet, but that's the way he is when it's the four of us. He's as arresting as ever-his large almond shaped eyes are just as striking as ever. Part of me wishes we could sneak away in a dark corner of the restaurant and steal a kiss. It feels strange being so close to him and not being able to touch him. It makes me want to touch him even more. And judging from the way he's been looking at me, he feels the same way.

This is undue torture.

"I didn't even realize the Planetarium was open at night," Gabe tells Bridget.

"Yes. Once a month, it's after dark night. It's great geekish fun," she jokes, resting her hand on Weston's shoulder. "There's a bar and everything."

"Well, it should be lots of fun," I add, trying not to look at Weston.

"Weston loves it there. He's into all that astronomy stuff," she comments, taking a sip of Merlot. "And robotics too, but I don't want to bore you with that."

I smile. I could never be bored hearing about Weston.

"And he's really into sea life."

"Yes...I know," I say tightly, swallowing the urge to prove how well I know him. Weston raises a brow and looks away.

It's true. I do know a lot, but I'll never know as much as she does.

Despite the fact that I've had only two gla.s.ses of wine, I feel a little lightheaded as we exit the tower. Bridget and Weston hop in their town car, and we head to the parking lot.

"Meet us at the south entrance," Bridget instructs us as Edward opens the car door for her.

We wave good-bye as we make our way to the parking lot. I'm glad I've dressed comfortably.

"I don't like the way he looks at you," Gabe says as we head toward the island. "He's kind of predatory."

I laugh a little. "He is not."

"Maybe someone should remind him that you're mine, not his," he sneers, not taking his eyes off the road.

"Now who's being predatory?" I tease. "Or rather territorial, I should say."

"Maybe you were right, Ella," Gabe concedes. "I think it is a bad idea...all of us getting together."

"You think?" I tease a little.

"I can't stand seeing the two of you together," he confesses, "even just talking."

"Well, I don't particularly enjoy seeing you and Bridget together either," I reluctantly admit. "These feelings are normal, Gabe."

Gabe doesn't say another word. Neither of us do. We sit in silence, probably both uneasy about the night ahead.

As we near the planetarium, I am awed by the astonishing building, as I always am whenever I come here-the rather fascinating contrast of historical architecture of the dome topped Grainger Sky Theater-it seems so old to me-enclosed in the cool sleek gla.s.s modern structure. It always takes my breath away.

We meet at the VIP south entrance. Weston shoots me a smile as we near them. I gather they've been waiting for a while-we've had a little more walking to do than they have-how does Bridget keep up those fantastic legs when she never seems to walk?

"This place is wonderful, isn't it?" I venture, trying to make small talk as we head inside. Weston seems to have arranged for everything-I appreciate how he always seems to be on top of things.

"It's one of my favorite examples of amazing architecture. Designed by Ernest Grunsfeld, Jr."

I spot Gabe rolling his eyes a little, and I almost want to elbow him in the ribs.

We actually have fun...sort of.

First we visit a solar system display-it's quite fun walking under the huge solar system floating above our heads-the s.p.a.ce is airy and bright, the twilight of the evening reflected in the wall to wall skylight windows.

We learn all about the planets-I'm proud I already know a thing or two-as I should, as a teacher. We explore the surface textures of the different planets and touch a real piece of meteorite, its surface rough.

Weston is the ever-charming guide, answering any questions I come up with easily. He seems truly fascinated by all this stuff-I think it's kind of sweet.

Gabe, on the other hand, doesn't seem too interested in his surroundings, but more taken with his touring partner. I can't help but wonder if he's purposely trying to make me jealous. I decide I won't give him the satisfaction. I'm not going to act jealous, but I am more than a little annoyed by his behavior. Weston and I are behaving ourselves and acting like proper adults-not shamelessly flirting and behaving like h.o.r.n.y teenagers.

There's a time and place, people.

I try to ignore them. I'm just happy to be with Weston.

We enter another exhibit, dark and moody with oddly shaped screens everywhere-thousands of pixels making up strange images. Weston tells me they are telescopic views of galaxies, stars, planets and atoms-the story of the universe.

"Gabe seems to be enjoying himself," Weston points out, looking over at Bridget who is practically wrapped around my husband. It seems odd to me that Weston doesn't seem to care. I know I do. They must have a very strange relationship-but then again, they've been doing this longer than we have.

"They're certainly not shy about it," I tell him as we enter this futuristic, glowy pink and blue tunnel, feeling like a young college kid at the hippest club in town. I kind of wish loud music were blasting. "This is so cool."

"Thirteen thousand linear feet of aluminum siding and two thousand square yards of fabric." He sounds like Wikipedia-if Wikipedia came in a gorgeous, live-male version. He is such a nerd.

He c.o.c.ks a brow and looks at me. "I see I'm amusing you again," he says, a sheepish smile.

"You are. I love when you share your little blurbs of knowledge. Tell me more."

He laughs.

And I take his hand. I was afraid to do so-afraid he was going to pull away, but he doesn't-he simply looks at me with that sweet smile of his. We hold hands as we watch video greetings from famous astronauts. I feel oddly normal, but a little nervous. What if we run into a couple Gabe and I know-with my hand in Weston's and Bridget wrapped around Gabe-just how would we explain that one?

We watch the Cosmic Wonder show, all sitting together in a row. I end up sandwiched between Gabe and Weston, lying back comfortably, looking up at the night sky above us-the universe. Billions of galaxies, Weston explains, but all I can think about is how lucky I am to be sitting between two gorgeous men who both care about me. I can't help but think-if my younger self were here to catch a glimpse of my older present-day self, she'd be impressed-how did this happen, to little old me?

We end the evening at the bar. It's magical-the Chicago skyline reflected in the skylights, twinkling, sparkling lights-not stars, but man-made buildings, and amazing nevertheless.

Weston comes back with imported beers for himself and Gabe and girly c.o.c.ktails for Bridget and me. We chat awhile about the exhibits and the show. The energy between all of us seems erotic and palpable. I'm pretty sure we're all in the mood for s.e.x, but of course, no one dares to talk about it-instead we make polite small talk, and I laugh inwardly at the absurdity of it all.

I catch a glimpse of Weston and shoot him a little grin-a playful smirk.

He smiles back and takes my hand.

"We're going to head outside," he tells Bridget and Gabe. "I want to show Mirella the amazing view."

They both smile, seemingly unaffected. I think it's understood we are all heading toward a known conclusion.

He leads me to a secluded spot on the observatory, wraps his arms around my waist, and kisses my neck softly. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too."

My heart heavy, I pull away and turn to smile at him. "It's only been five days, Weston."

"I know," he says, looking absolutely defeated, "but I can't stop thinking about you." He pulls me back to him. "The vision of you, naked on my bed," he whispers in my ear, "legs spread wide, pleasuring yourself...is etched in my brain."

I smile, feeling that familiar energy between my legs. But this isn't the time or place.

"Stop it, Weston."

"Why?" he asks, his tone playful. "Am I arousing you?"

"Yes," I admit, looking up at him. "Big time."

"I like that," he says, his delicious wide grin teasing me.

"Well, now's not the place."

His hands travel to my rear. "I couldn't stop thinking about it all week. I had to excuse myself a few times to go take a shower. Thankfully, it's pretty handy having your own washroom at work."

"The perks of the powerful," I say with a sly smile, trying to tear away from his grip.

"I want you," he whispers in my ear, "as soon as possible."

I look up at him, my gaze heavy.

I want him too.

He's really turning me on. "When you say you want something as soon as possible, I bet you usually get it."

"Always."

"Well, I don't know if you'll be so lucky tonight," I can't resist saying. "Your beautiful wife and my husband are here too, remember?"

His lips press into a tight smile. "You're jealous."

I jerk away. "I am not."

"Oh yes...you are. You've been surly all night," he points out. "You've been sneering at Bridget like you just want to tear her head off."

He's right. I do want to tear Miss Universe's head off. But there's no way I'm admitting that. He is so full of it, and suddenly, I want to tear his head off too.

"You can't be jealous, Mirella," he deadpans. "I made that explicitly clear from the onset."

"Yes, sir," I scoff, turning on my heel. "Let's go."

He grabs my arm and pulls me to him. "Bridget wants to leave with Gabe. You and Gabe should discuss."

"Oh...she does, does she?" I snap. "No, she can't have him tonight."

He laughs, but his laughter is edgy. "Seriously?"

I smile. I'm enjoying every second of this. "I want him all to myself tonight," I say and walk away.

He darts after me. "You can't be serious. You've been looking at me all night like you just want to tear my clothes off."

"You're delusional." I pull away.

He grabs my arm again. "Mirella..."

I glare at him. "Let me go."

He lets go.

"It's nothing personal, Weston," I tell him as I walk away. "I'm just in the mood to be properly pinned against a wall tonight."

Weston calls me on my cell, the next day, at seven thirty in the morning. I don't answer, of course. He calls again at ten forty-five and then again at twelve thirty. I finally relent.

"Mirella, this is the third time I've called."

I gaze out the kitchen window, trying desperately to remain unaffected. "I know."

"You've been avoiding me."