Читать книгу Amorous Woman - Donna George Storey - Страница 6

When those two attractive young men did actually ask me out for drinks a few hours later, I hesitated. They were my students and I’d just finished explaining tsukiai, the Japanese custom of bonding over drinks after work. Professional courtesy made it almost a duty to accompany them to the trendy microbrewery just across the street from their office, although I knew it was more in keeping with my renunciation of the world to make an excuse and go home to an empty bed.

I looked at the young men’s faces, so fresh and expectant as they waited for my answer. Brad Boyer, the cookie-cutter blonde on the left, was in marketing and sales and not my type at all. His more substantial engineer colleague, Tim Monroe, was definitely tempting with his dark hair and creamy Celtic complexion, but I’d learned just today that he and Brad were twenty-six, four years my junior. Even if Tim did entertain fantasies of doing it with a former babysitter, the fact that there were two of them and only one of me made a spur-of-the-moment ‘second party’ between the sheets highly unlikely.

Besides, how could I get in trouble just having a quick beer with a couple of kids? It was as safe as going to church.

Ten minutes later we were seated at a table in a cavernous room with a ceiling that left the guts of the building—girders, wires, pipes—exposed to view. A very American setting, I decided.

Brad held up his glass in a toast. ‘What do the Japanese say again, Sensei?’

Although I felt like a fraud being called ‘teacher’—I was taking good money to instruct them in Japanese business etiquette, and I’d never worked in an office in my life—I was fairly confident in my knowledge of after-hours corporate culture.

‘Kampai,’ I said and lifted my glass while bending forward in a slight bow.

‘Kampai,’ they repeated dutifully.

We all drank. The beer was pleasantly bitter, delicious. It had been a long time since I tasted something so good.

‘I’ve learned too many rules and customs these past few weeks,’ Tim said. ‘I know I’m going to forget and do something wrong.’

He looked so earnest and appealing; I had to come to his rescue. ‘I’ll let you in on a secret. The Japanese prefer their foreigners clueless. As long as you don’t soap up in the bath or walk in a house with your shoes on, any other mistake gives you a certain endearing barbarian quality.’

‘I assume it was different for you since you’re fluent in the language and have a Japanese last name,’ Brad said.

‘Not really. Even if you manage to bewitch some poor native son into marriage, you’re still an outsider.’ Brad gave Tim a triumphant smile. ‘See, she married a Japanese guy. That’s what I thought. Tim guessed it was a grandfather with weak genes.’

‘I said it was a possibility,’ Tim corrected him.

When they spoke to each other their voices were low and quick. Comfortable. I felt a pang of jealousy. Would I always be an outsider, even here?

‘I hope your husband doesn’t mind us taking you away for a couple of hours,’ Tim said.

I took another swallow of my beer. Yuji was well past minding what I did. At least I hoped he was.

‘My husband’s in Osaka. We’re not really together anymore.’

This information had a visible effect on my companions. Tim blushed and dropped his gaze to the table. Brad’s eyes flickered.

‘There’s a lot of that going around,’ Brad said, grinning at Tim. ‘Tim’s girlfriend’s not so happy about him going to Tokyo. In fact, as of last weekend, he’s a free man.’

It was my turn to feel uncomfortable, although Tim didn’t seem particularly embarrassed. I’d forgotten how promiscuous Americans could be about sharing their private lives. Of course, this would be good news if I were on the prowl for a bed-warmer. A guy who’s recently been dumped is ripe picking for a wild, revenge-fueled one-night stand.

I took another swig of beer and glanced over at Tim. His five o’clock shadow seemed to deepen before my eyes, a subtle promise of tireless masculine vigor. I imagined kissing him, the oddly pleasant friction of that beard against my chin and upper lip.

Brad’s voice interrupted my reverie. ‘Sensei? I’m going to pick up our nachos. Can I get you another beer?’

You’d better take it easy, the saintly Lydia in my brain warned, her rosaries rattling. You know what happens when you let men get you tipsy. But the slightly buzzed, happily repatriated American Lydia had other ideas.

I smiled and nodded at Brad, a loose, effortless motion. It’s always been so much harder for me to say no.