Chapter 1: a night out
Cathy was talking, her hands shaping some story in the air, but Jason can't stop staring at her breasts. They're not big. But she isn't wearing a bra. He tells himself other people might actually be noticing. The shape of them under the thin cotton is a public fact.
He looks around the room, to see if anyone else is staring at Cathy’s breasts, which are do nearly visible in the low light.
“So then I just left,” Cathy says.
Her voice cuts through the fog. Jason pretends to be following whatever story it is that she was telling. Maybe it was work related?
He says, “You just left?”
Cathy isn't fooled. "You have no idea what I just said, do you?”
“I’m having a hard time paying attention.” Jason shrugs. That's how you play it cool. You shrug.
He pushes his gaze upward, past her collarbone, to her face. She's dressed up. Not in a fancy dress or anything. But her hair, usually in a messy knot, is down in dark, auburn waves. She's wearing makeup to make her eyes seem darker, and her mouth is a red blossom. Tonight, Cathy is showing off a little, for him.
“It’s okay,” she said. "I like it. I like you staring."
The waiter appears. He's young and blond, with stubble on his face, and Jason is pleased when his eyes flick down Cathy's front, a look that isn't professional at all. A look that gets stuck for a few minutes. Cathy's little breasts are nearly showing. It's a tiny top.
Cathy notices, but she pretends not to. She plays innocent. That's Cathy's thing. Innocent. She tilts her chin up, up through her eyelashes. Her big, dark eyes go soft and wide.
“Another one of these, please,” she says. Her voice is suddenly light, warm, friendly. Like she is old friends with the waiter. She taps her empty beer bottle.
The waiter nods, a little too quickly. “Sure thing.” He forgets to ask if Jason wants anything.
When he’s gone, Jason leans forward against the table and murmurs, keeping his voice low. His edge of the table is sticky, with syrup of some kind.
“You don’t normally drink like this."
She giggles. “It’s a special occasion.” She reaches across the sticky wood and puts her hand over his. Her fingers are cool. “I’m just… I’m so proud of you, Jason. You're doing so good."
“Thanks,” he says. He turns his hand over to lace his fingers with hers. Jason isn't sure she is proud of him, or that proud of him. He has been dieting a little, and exercising, and he's lost a little weight, and this is Cathy's way of saying thank you--showing off for him.
He likes it.
He likes the waiter’s eyes on her, on her shapes. of shame.
“You’re quiet,” she says, squeezing his hand.
“Just thinking.”
“About?”
“About how you look. Tonight.”
Her smile is pleased.. She leans back, pulling her hand away to tuck her hair behind her ear. The movement arches her back just slightly. The cotton of her shirt pulls taut. Jason takes a long drink of his water. The ice is melted.
The waiter returns with the beer, setting it down with a click. “Anything else for you folks?” This time, his eyes stay rigidly on Jason’s shoulder. Jason shakes his head. The waiter nods indifferently and adds, "I'll check in with you folks again. Enjoy."
Cathy sips her new beer and Jason stares.
She's a tease. A natural tease. She plays innocent with him, but she knows what she's doing. She shifts a little, settling back into the wooden booth. The movement is casual, effortless. The thin strap of her top slips from her shoulder. She doesn’t fix it; it slips a little more.
The fabric of her shirt, loose and soft, yields. It falls slightly, a slow surrender of cotton. and then, quite happily, the curve of her left breast is exposed. The pale skin is stark in the dim light, the edge of her areola just visible.
Jason’s breath catches audibly. His face floods with color, a bright, hot red that climbs from his neck to his hairline. He looks like he’s been slapped.
Cathy holds his gaze. Her expression is cool, a silent challenge. Well? it says. Do something. Say something. Her eyebrow lifts, just a fraction.
He says nothing. His mouth is slightly open, but no sound comes out. He’s paralyzed, caught between public decorum and a private, pulsing thrill.
A wicked grin blooms on Cathy’s lips. She drinks her drink, slow and deliberate, and she doesn’t cover herself. The moment stretches.
Jason feels frantic. His eyes dart from her face, back to the rest of the room, scanning. He sees a couple in the corner, oblivious. There's an older man slicing his steak, eyes on his plate. A group of women is laughing, backs turned, at the far end of the restaurant.
No one is openly staring. No one cares. The world hasn’t stopped. Well, his world nearly has. Shrinking to this booth, this woman, this impossible slip of fabric.
Before he can find a way to suggest that maybe she's had enough to drink, the waiter is back, materializing at the edge of the table with two steaming plates balanced on his forearm.
Cathy plays it cool, of course. She's perfectly composed, letting her nipple remain slipped out. She's calm. Neutral. Pleasant, even. Like she doesn't know. Jason tries to pretend everything is normal. He focuses on the plate, on the vegetables and the chickenHe manages a stiff nod.
“Thanks.”
The waiter nods, but his eyes are right where you would expect them to be. The man smirks and says nothing. He just leaves.
Cathy starts eating right away. She picks up her fork, the strap still down. She spears a piece of short rib, brings it to her lips, and takes a slow bite. Her eyes never leave his. She chews, swallows.
“Eat your chicken, Jason,” she says. “It'll get cold.”
He forces himself to chew, to swallow. His throat works hard around the bite. Across from him, Cathy is enjoying her meal. Pasta. She lifts her fork to her mouth.. Jason watches as the strap of her shirt moves with the rhythms of her shoulder, falling and slipping further as she eats, twisting a little back each time she sips her beer. Her breast is fully hanging out, obviously. He can't believe it. No one is noticing. He tries to force himself to eat.
The pale curve is entirely bare now, the nipple a dark, hard point in the restaurant’s warm light. Casual. Like an elbow.
His fork scrapes loudly against his plate. He cuts another piece of chicken, but his hand is unsteady. He feels a hot, confused stirring in his gut.
She’s talking about her sister now, something about a trip to Denver, and her voice is steady, conversational, as if her breast isn’t just sitting there on display. As if the entire room isn’t holding its breath. He thinks about reaching over and fixing her strap. But he likes it. Anyone might see his girlfriend's tit, and he likes that.
Their plates are nearly empty and Jason is thinking about the check when the waiter reappears. “Can I get you anything else?" His smile is carefully neutral, like Cathy's. "Another drink, perhaps?” Maybe he wants a good tip.
Cathy smiles, warm and easy. “Yes, actually. Another one of these, please.” She taps her empty bottle.
“No,” Jason says, the word coming out sharper than he intended. He forces a lighter tone. “We’ve got those movie tickets, remember? We don’t want to be late.”
“We have time,” Cathy says, not looking at him. Her eyes are on the waiter. “It’s just one more.”
The waiter dips his head and vanishes. "No problem," he says.
In the silence Jason frowns. Not severely, But he gives her a look. "You're going to make us miss the previews," he says.
That's a mistake. She arches her eyebrow at him. Cocks it, like she does when she's been challenged. "You'd rather see the previews." Her voice is flat.
Jason finds himself shaking his head. "No, I guess not."
Cathy nods, satisfied.