Never Ending

~2~

There is no bouncer at the entrance. We walk in, shoulder to shoulder with noticeable minors coming in for probably their first, and last, drink in a real bar. By coincidence, the booth from back then frees up as we enter. I take a seat across from him. Regret starts to kick in. I order a glass of wine, and he orders whisky. After downing the whole glass and sending for a refill, he initiates a conversation.

"How was work?" Such a normal thing to ask.

"Is that what you want to know about me? We are dying, remember." I say a little harshly. Despite accepting this invitation, I can't hold the hostility I harbour for him.

"Don't say that," His calmness grates on my nerves.

"What? It's true." I say while flailing my arms.

He clasps his fingers roughly around my forearms, jerking me towards the table, and immediately I am still at the touch. His hands have gained more calluses, I am puzzled whether his time staring at spreadsheets and Stock Market graphs in his corner office has caused physical strain onto his hands. Impossible.

I shrug out of his grip and settle back into my chair shooting him daggers. How dare he touch me?

He draws his hands back and wipes them onto the front of his shirt. I gasp aghast. Is he implying that I am filthy? I think. Out of apoplexy, I dump my drink on him. Let him bathe in that.

He jumps out of his seat, blue fluid flowing down his face and onto his now wet and blue-tinted shirt. The way his eyes look at me with a disapproving scowl brings an opposite reaction from within me, I feel quite allured. "What the hell?" He asks, his tone uncharacteristically low.

A smirk plays on my lips like I wouldn't be more content. In a flash, Carter's gaze circles the room and his fingers go to the buttons of the shirt. One by one he unbuttons them, revealing a sight I fought quite hard to forget.

My previous smile morphs to shock and then into self-consciousness. I worry that he might catch my gaze wandering to those fine planes of abdominal muscles, finely sculptured as though by Hephaestus himself.

What are people going to think? I survey the room, with my eyes safely hidden under my lashes. No one even seems to care.

"Better." He says, with his annoyance still intact. He picks up his glass and takes a sip. A few dollops of whiskey escape his lips and trickle down his chin onto his torso. All the while, my eyes are watching their trajectory until they disappear into the waistband of his dress pants. I retract my gaze and meet his now darkened gaze. A lot of emotions are swirling underneath his calm-as-the-arctic eyes.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. What is happening? I shouldn't be this attracted to my ex. I drink more wine. Carter takes the glass away from me and gets up.

I scowl. He pulls me out of my seat and leads me outside. A valet hands him the keys to a black Peugeot. He opens the door for me. "You should go home." He says as he closes the door.

I settle into the lush leather seat and close my eyes. In no time I fall asleep.

"It looks different." I say when I go past the threshold into his penthouse. "It's so unlike you." I retort.

He raises his left eyebrow at me, "What is like me?"

"Rainbows, unicorn ornaments, and pink wallpaper"

His eyes crinkle at the edges and he laughs. "You misunderstand me, Tara. I am not a princess." He bites back in between fits of mirth.

I reply with a twinge of bitterness, "Neither are you prince charming." I walk across the room to look out the panoramic windows. The view of Manhattan is beautiful from here. Carter comes to stand beside me.