Baumgartner generations: Janie

"I'm Josh." He took two steps forward, putting my folded dress and my purse on the coffee table and taking a step back to turn around. "Go ahead. I won't look."

"Thanks," I croaked. It was a little late for the whole not-looking thing, but I grabbed my dress and pulled it quickly over my head, wishing now that it was made of more material.

"I think you have some messages." He turned slightly to say this over his shoulder, still keeping his eyes averted. "Your phone's been beeping."

I unzipped my purse and checked. Twelve messages-ten texts and two voice mails. Of course, the voice mails were Ronnie and TJ, respectively, the first asking where I was, the second asking if I was okay. The texts were all Lil. I flipped my phone closed-I'd read them later.

"Thanks," I said again, clearing my throat. "I'm dressed now. You can turn around."

He did, giving my outfit a once-over. "It looks much better on. So what's your name?"

I smoothed my hair. "I'm sorry. I'm Jane. Janie."

"Well, Jane-Janie… it's nice to meet you." He held out his hand. I took a few barefoot steps toward him to shake it. What else could I do?

Never mind that it happened to be the hand which had been buried up to the wrist in his wife's cunt the night before… Thinking about that made me want to pass out.

"It just Janie."

"Want some coffee, Just-Janie?" He nodded behind him toward the kitchen. So that's where he'd been when I thought I was sneaking by, I realized. "It's fresh."

I shook my head. "No, I should…I need to get home."

"I'll get you a car." He walked over to the wall, reaching for a button on the intercom.

"No!" I caught up with him just in time, covering his hand with mine. He looked at me in surprise, eyebrows raised. I moved my hand as if I’d been burned. "I mean…I can take the subway."

"In that?" He blinked at me. "I couldn't live myself knowing I let you out of here to ride the subway wearing that."

"I wore it last night," I protested.

Oh crap. I'd also worn a wrap I'd checked at the door and had forgotten to retrieve when Catherine and I left 1 Oak in such a hurry the night before.

"Which is, I'm sure, one of the myriad of reasons Catherine decided to bring you home." He smiled as he began to unbelt his robe. I took a wary step back, my eyes widening, and he shook his head, shrugging the robe off his shoulders. He was wearing blue and gray striped pajama pants underneath. "Here. Put this on. Let's get you some coffee to help your head and I'll call you a car to take you home, okay?"

I reluctantly accepted the robe as he slipped it over my shoulders-it was still warm from his body-and hesitated a moment before following him and the tempting smell of coffee toward the kitchen. All the floors were hardwood, even in here, and my feet were cold. I sat on one of the bar stools, pulling the robe tight around me as I watched him take down two mugs-both matching blue, like the black and blue accents in the marble backsplash in the kitchen-and pour two cups of coffee.

"Sugar? Cream?"

I shook my head, taking the mug as he held it out and closing my eyes, sipping slowly. It was fantastically rich and good, probably fresh-ground. Even in my hung over state, I could tell that much. When I opened my eyes, I saw him watching me over his own mug.

" 1 Oak?" he asked casually, leaning against the counter. It felt safer to talk to him from over here, on the other side of the bar that looked into the spacious, wide-open kitchen. The place had ceilings that went up forever.

"Yes," I confirmed, taking another gulp of coffee, my eyes watering at the heat. I studied the stainless steel refrigerator devoid of any personal affects-not even a magnet or a picture-like it was the most interesting thing in the world. "Um…can I get that ride?"

"Oh, right." There was an intercom in the kitchen, too, and he pushed a button on it. I assumed it was the doorman who responded and said he'd buzz when the car was ready. "So, Just-Janie…are you a student? An actress maybe?"

"You don't have to babysit me." I put the coffee cup down on the bar and looked at him. He really was good-looking with all that dark curly hair and olive skin, probably somewhere in his early-thirties, like Catherine. He worked out and took care of himself-his shoulders and arms were nicely defined, I'd noticed when he took off his robe-and clearly he made a good living. He also happened to have a wife who was bisexual and liked to pick up women. What more could a guy ask for in life?

"I mean… I don't know if this is weird for you…" I studied the sink this time. It was stainless, too, and immaculately clean-not even a drop of water in it.

"Well, I've met some of the women Cat's brought home." He put his coffee down on the counter. "But I admit, you're the first one I've seen naked."

I reddened. "Sorry about that."

"I'm not." He grinned. "You're a beautiful girl."

"Thanks." What else could I say? "So…and feel free to tell me to shut up, okay?