Jason: The Philistine Heart (Book 1)

by Jean Evergreen

  I’m confident that by the time I see Blake tonight, he’ll smile at me, the familiar way he does, and melt my heart. Then I’ll remember how wonderful he is and how lucky I am to have him. He’ll never have to know about my temporary bout of insanity, where I considered ending our five-year relationship over a tiny misunderstanding. That’s what relationships are, after all, an opportunity to grow and learn together. All our problems won’t be solved the way they are in an old Hollywood romance, with a clever line at the end of the movie that sums up all the conflict in our relationship. If only it did, a single conciliatory kiss would be the beginning of happily ever after.

  “Hello, earth to Bridget.” I look up to see Susan standing in front of me. “Are you ready to go?” she asks impatiently.

  “Oh sure, is it lunch already?” I ask, snapping out of my reverie as I casually check the clock on my computer.

  Susan looks down at me with an amused smile. “There must be something fascinating on your computer screen because you’ve been staring at it for the last ten minutes.”

  “Is it that obvious that I’m not working?” I reply, feeling my cheeks flare with embarrassment. Why does it feel like Susan just walked in on me naked?

  “It’s not obvious. I’m sure no one else noticed. I just happen to be an expert at reading Bridgetese,” Susan laughs. “Come on slow poke. I’m already clocked out, and it looks like you have something juicy to dish.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up. My pensive brooding can appear deceptively similar to mystery and intrigue,” I jokingly caution, as I clock out on my computer and gather my purse.

  “I’m sure it’ll be enough to whet my appetite,” Susan says lightly.

  Over the last couple of months, Susan and I have really taken to one another. It’s an astonishing development considering how determined I was to dislike her when we were first acquainted. Eventually, I couldn’t help but succumb to her infectiously bubbly personality. We soon made a daily ritual of eating together in the same lobby restaurant, where we had our first lunch.

  As we settle into our booth, Susan gives me an expectant look from across the table. “May I help you?” I ask, facetiously.

  “So, what happened with Blake last night?”

  “What do you mean? Nothing happened,” I reply, with a defensive frown.

  “Now I know something happened,” Susan says, triumphantly. “Just tell me this, did you have a good time?”

  “We had a great time together. Honestly, we did. It’s just, well, everything didn’t go quite as planned.”

  Normally, I wouldn’t be overly keen to share details about the going ons between Blake and myself with anyone. Keeping our relationship private has worked well for us. I don’t want to ruin a good thing. But the temptation of finally having someone to talk to about Blake proves too much. Aside from Blake, Susan is the only person I would call a friend. And I enjoy having a girlfriend sort of dynamic — it fills a void that I hadn’t realized existed. She gives me what he can’t: companionship for the sake of companionship, without the expectation of something more. It’s a nice change.

  “Oh come on Bridge, you have to give me more than that. This week alone I’ve had to deal with Greg’s overbearing mom hijacking my wedding plans, my mother, who isn’t exactly a walk in the park to deal with, pushing me to quit my job so I can focus on starting a family after I’m married — like that’ll ever happen, and a flaky maid of honor who’s screwed up every task I’ve given her. I depend on you to feed my addiction for single life gossip. With all the wedding stuff up in the air, my sanity depends on it,” Susan says, her tone a mix of accusation and exasperated plea.

  “Okay, okay,” I say, holding my hands up as though to surrender. “So I met Blake at a hotel last night.”

  “Ooo,” Susan interrupts. “You guys finally got to spend quality time together. No wonder you’re so distracted. You’re probably replaying all the naughty details of last night’s sexventures.”

  Susan has no idea how right she is. “Well, we definitely spent quality time together,” I say, as Susan peers back at me, her mouth forming a knowing smile as she sips her iced coffee through a straw.

  “After your ten month dry spell, I bet you did.”

  “The thing is, not everything went as expected,” I pause for a moment to gather my thoughts. I’m not sure how much I’m prepared to tell Susan. Certainly nothing overly intimate. Maybe just enough to satisfy her curiosity.

  “What do you mean?” she asks, her eyes wide and inquisitive as she leans forward.

  “It didn’t feel like we connected the way we normally do. It was different; that’s all.”

  “Are we talking different as in whips and chains or different as in board games? The way you’re talking it’s got to be one or the other.”

  I can feel my entire face flush, causing Susan to respond with a satisfied smile. “Whips and chains it is then,” she concludes with a lively gleam in her eyes.

  “He was definitely very eager,” I respond carefully.

  “So what’s the problem, you didn’t enjoy it? Did he start watching TV afterward? I always hate it when Greg does that. It’s like, can we have a moment to bask in our post-coital glow?”

  “No, that’s not it … I was wondering, does Greg ever ask you to do anything that you would rather not do?” I ask, casually.

  “What, do you mean sexually?” Susan lets out a light laugh as I nod. “Well there’s not much that I’m unwilling to at least try,” she replies with a devilish raise of her eyebrows as she takes another sip of her iced coffee. “Why, what did Blake want you to do?”

  “It’s nothing. I’m probably acting like a prude. We definitely go outside the box with what we do together, and no, I will not go into graphic detail,” I say wagging my finger at Susan.

  “Bridget, just spit it out. You know you want to. We’re both big girls here, and I promise, whatever it is, I won’t judge you. There’s nothing you can say that will surprise me. If Greg’s mother knew some of the filthy things her sweet boy does to me, she’d probably have a stroke.”

  “Okay, the thing is … Blake wanted, which we have never done before — for us to have, um, you know,” I lean forward, to ensure no one overhears me, and whisper, “anal sex.”

  Susan’s eyes go wide for a moment before she starts laughing uncontrollably.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask, furrowing my brows in confusion.

  “I’m sorry, it’s just, you look terrified — poor thing. Don’t worry. I won’t bite. So Blake wanted to use the back door entrance to your luxury suite.”

  I laugh, imagining how dramatic I must have made it all sound. “Pretty much, yes. Do you let Greg do that to you?”

  Susan leans back in her seat as though to think for a moment. “I have one rule with Greg when it comes to the bedroom. I won’t do anything he’s not willing to do. If he wants to take me from behind, then he’s going to have to man up while I strap one on and have my fun.”

  “I take that as a yes,” I say with a giggle. “But let me ask you this, do you enjoy it?”

  “It’s okay, I guess. I mean, it’s not my favorite thing do, but it’s always nice to switch things up in the bedroom. It keeps the mystery alive. It takes some getting used to…” Susan’s eyes go dark as though lost in an unpleasant train of thought. A split second later the spark of humor is back in her eyes. The change is so quick that I almost wonder if I imagined it.

  “I’m pretty sure Greg’s philosophy is that if it has a hole, he’ll fuck it. I wouldn’t be surprised if Blake thinks the same. Most guys I’ve been with are that way. They’re on a never-ending quest to find new places to stick their dicks.” Susan smiles sweetly the entire time she’s talking, but I detect a hint of hostility in her voice.

  “Then you do think that I’m a prude?” I ask, deciding it best to ignore the unusually inimical vibe I’m detecting from her.

  “No, not at all. I think you should do what’s right for you. Did you enjoy
it?”

  “We didn’t get that far into it. I stopped him almost as soon as he started. But from what I remember of the experience, I most assuredly did not enjoy it.”

  “Did it hurt?” Susan, asks with an amused smile.

  “It was excruciating.”

  “Hmm, maybe you were too tense. I like to have a glass of wine, or two. You should try that next time.”

  I roll my eyes. Susan is well aware that I don’t drink alcohol. “Blake has a better chance of getting me drunk than ever getting me to do that again.”

  “So pretty much never,” Susan laughs. “If you’re just not into it, let Blake know. It’s not the end of the world. Then again, you could always take my advice and tell him you’re game so long as you get a turn. See if that changes his tune,” Susan says with a knowing look. “Oh god, you’re kidding me,” Susan exclaims as she opens a text message on her phone. “Greg’s mom is driving me up the wall. You wouldn’t believe what she just texted me…”

  As Susan begins yet another animated grievance about her soon to be in-law, I nod, making a show of sympathy, only partially listening. I can’t seem to shake the imminent feeling of a sinking heart. It wasn’t just the sex stuff that threw me. Some part of me knows that Blake and I aren’t going to last. I keep hoping I’m wrong, that I’ll snap out of it. But what if that doesn’t happen? Where will that leave Blake and me?

  6

  The Texas Twister

  “Hey babe,” Blake says leaning in for a kiss before pulling out my chair to seat me. Blake made reservations at the Canlis restaurant in Seattle — it’s another opportunity for him to wine and dine me, minus the wine of course. Our table is next to a large window, spanning from the floor to the ceiling, that overlooks the sunset above Lake Union. The view is breathtaking, and I instantly feel my romantic inclinations towards Blake rising several degrees warmer. At the back of the restaurant, the sound of a trumpet with a piano accompaniment play a raspy jazz tune. The music fills me with a nostalgia that I can’t quite place. When I close my eyes, I can imagine that I stepped into a time portal transporting me back to the 1940’s. I can’t put my finger on it. Maybe it’s the music or the view, but I can’t help but feel caught up in the enchantment of the evening.

  “You’re such a gentleman,” I say noticing how dapper Blake looks in a collared shirt, tie and blazer. It’s not his regular jeans and T-shirt attire, but the light stubble on his face gives him back the sexy, rugged edge that excites me in all the right ways. I decided to take another stab at wearing my little black dress from the night before. I never got to carry out my devious plan to parade it in front of Blake and watch as he futilely attempts to control his most prurient of impulses.

  “You look stunning,” Blake says, taking his seat across the table from me. “I’ve never seen that dress before.”

  “It’s new,” I reply, internally high-fiving myself. The way Blake is looking at me, with that goofy smile, is precisely the affirmation that I was hoping for.

  “You don’t look too bad yourself, handsome. Did you get a haircut?” I ask, thus beginning our game of cat and mouse. I dangle a toy in front of Blake and snatch it away before he has a chance to sink his teeth into it. It’s even more riveting to play in a restaurant, where he’s powerless to do much in the way of chasing. He’ll have to be patient and wait for his prize. It’s in the waiting, the covetous glances and naughty whispers of salacious desires that I seek gratification.

  “I went to the barber earlier today,” Blake replies passively. “But I ain’t interested in talking about my hair. I’d like to talk about that dress you’re wearing, and how sexy your legs look in them heels.”

  I feel a heat ripple through me, from the top of my head to my toes and back again. That’s what Blake can do to me with nothing other than his words. “Blake please, we’re in public. Save that kind of talk until we get to the hotel.”

  “You don’t want me to wait till we get to the hotel. When you come in here looking the way you do without giving me any warning, I’d say you’re looking for a strong reaction. And I want to give you a strong reaction. I want to throw you on the table, right here,” Blake puts his hands on the table as if to show me the exact spot where he’s referring. “Then I’d rip that dress off and screw you so hard I’ll have you walking bowl legged.”

  I practically feel my ears flush. “Why don’t we eat first,” I reply, opening the menu, all the while feeling my heart flutter triumphantly. I feel Blake's gaze on me as I browse the meal options. “There aren’t a lot of vegetarian choices,” I say, trying to avoid his suggestive stare.

  “There’s seafood. You eat fish, right?” Blake asks, finally opening his menu.

  “I suppose I can,” I reply, wrinkling my nose with distaste. “I usually only eat fish when I specifically crave it. I don’t typically like eating it on a whim.”

  My finicky eating habits are a novel concept to Blake who will eat almost anything. Whereas what I won’t eat could fill a book, the only foods that Blake’s ever vehemently forsaken are hot mustard and lobster bisque — go figure.

  “There’s salad and fruit. There’s got to be something in here you’ll eat,” Blake says, distress overtaking his usually calm demeanor.

  “Yes, that’ll work,” I reply quickly. This dinner is already going to come with a hefty price tag. The last thing I want is for Blake to feel bad about his dining choice. He’s making such an effort. I’m sure this visit is costing him a small fortune.

  I can’t help but wonder what’s inspired his sudden uncharacteristically lavish spending. Blake doesn’t usually make such grand gestures towards me: first the hotel, now this dinner. Perhaps he feels guilty about last night, and the restaurant is to make up for that. If that’s the case, then I hate myself for making him feel that way. It pains me to think I hurt him. I guess I’ll just have to make it up to him tonight.

  “This is my kind of music,” Blake says leaning back in his chair.

  “Oh really, since when are you a jazz enthusiast?” I ask, playfully. “I thought you were a George Jones kind of guy.”

  “Baby, I’ve always liked jazz. There’s nothing better than kicking back with a glass of bourbon, after a long, hard day of work, and listening to some John Coltrane or Myles Davis on vinyl.”

  “Vinyl?”

  “Yep, I got a record player. I thought I told you. The sound experience you get with a record player, it’s almost as good as listening to this band play, right here,” Blake says, relaxing into a warm smile.

  “I honestly don’t listen to a lot of jazz. It’s not my style. Don’t get me wrong; it’s fine to hear as background music when I’m out at dinner. It sets the ambiance nicely. But it’s kind of all over the place. There’s no focus — just a bunch of random notes playing without a melody. And it all sounds the same. I don’t think I could ever just sit back and zone out with jazz. I would be too busy trying to find the meaning of the song — which apparently doesn’t exist.” I reply absently. “Besides, aren’t record players expensive? I can stream music from my computer for free.” Why did I have to go and say that? I feel like I’m always negative towards Blake these days.

  “The tinny noise that comes from your computer speakers doesn’t hold a candle to the sound quality of speakers on a record player. It’s one of those things you have to hear for yourself to believe,” Blake replies, unfazed by my underwhelming reaction. “You know, you should give jazz a chance. You might like it if you listen to the kind that I do. If I could, I’d take you in my arms right now and dance with you. We could listen to some Chet Baker. I think you’d like The Touch of Your Lips. You can’t miss the meaning in that song. I’d hold you close to me, and you’d lay your head on my shoulder while I slow dance you all over the room,” Blake says, leaning back in his chair, his eyes sparkling.

  I flush all over. Who is this hopeless romantic and what did he do with my boyfriend? “I think I’d like that,” I murmur as the waiter comes to take our order.

/>   After dinner, Blake and I take a cab back to the Four Seasons. Standing outside the hotel door, I wait patiently as Blake fumbles in his wallet for the key card. I look at him with a knowing smile as he frantically pulls at the card jammed in his wallet. He certainly isn’t hiding his eagerness to get inside. I’m not naive enough to wonder why. He probably has a new sex position he’d like to try. Although I expect this behavior of Blake, I can’t help but wonder what he has up his sleeve.

  Blake finally wrestles the key card free from his wallet and runs it over the security pad. With a victorious smile, he gestures for me to walk in the room ahead of him. “After you,” he says. From the way he’s grinning, I prepare myself to expect something shocking. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if Blake has a harness installed for me to hang from the ceiling. I walk in, determined that I won’t be thrown by whatever bawdy monstrosity Blake has cooked up. I’ll simply roll my eyes and go along with it.

  Once inside, I slowly span the room, doing a double take to make sure I’m not hallucinating. The vision that greets me is something that I couldn’t have imagined in my wildest dreams. Could this be right? Is Blake about to do what I think? I turn around to find Blake on one knee holding up a diamond ring.

  “Blake I…” the words catch in my throat as I look wondrously around the room. Red and pink rose arrangements fill the table and desk. A trail of rose petals leads to the bed where the words “Marry Me” are spelled in a heart made of ever more petals.

  Before I can say anything further, Blake starts speaking with all the sexiness of his thick southern drawl, “Bridget, you know I’ve been loving you for a long time. From the moment I set eyes on you, I knew you were special. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, in every way possible. And I’d like to have you in my life, every day, for as long as I live. I want to see that beautiful face of yours and know that all that special you have to give is mine for the taking. Bridget Delaney, will you marry me?”