Jason: The Philistine Heart (Book 1)

by Jean Evergreen

  He should have said goodbye right there, but he wanted to make sure I was okay before he left. And that’s where everything starts to get fuzzy. I hadn’t realized at the time that I was high on Xanax, but perhaps that explains my actions. I allowed things to happen that I would generally find debasing with a man I have known for so little time. But I can’t run from the reality that it was my actions alone that were to blame for the events that followed.

  He walked me to my bedroom, and we both sat on my bed, the only place to sit in my room. I mumbled to him that my shoes were killing me. Before I knew it, he was on his knees, undoing the lace around my ankle—and with a deft hand slipped off my shoe. Then he went to remove the other, extending his touch all the way up my calf, and back down my ankle, before finally slipping it off and dropping it on the floor beside him.

  At that moment, even in my extreme fog, I recollect the overwhelming desire for him to run his hands over other places of my body. He looked up at me, as he kneeled on the ground, and his eyes were sparkling. Without saying a word, he seemed to sense that I wanted more of him. And he was beside me again, running his hand down my back, then kissing my shoulders, carefully gliding the top of my dress downwards, until it was around my waist.

  My breath came in deep gulps, the sensation of his hands all over my body overwhelming my senses. I think I started shaking like I was cold, when really, I was afraid. The intensity of what I felt brought tears to my eyes. It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. His hands made their way over my breasts, resting around my nipple. In that moment, I forgot about my anxieties and started giggling. My silicone nipple covers; I forgot I was wearing them. I wonder if it’s ever possible to tear these things off in front of a man and look sexy.

  Jason chuckled as well. I turned to face him, and we both knew our moment had passed. It was as though we woke up at precisely the same instant to what we were doing and realized we couldn’t, or shouldn’t. I can’t say for certain which. He’s my boss. On Monday I’m scheduled to report to him the status of my vegan shoe campaign. It’s already going to be an awkward meeting; there’s no need to exacerbate matters by complicating our relationship further. Our little groping session will be chalked up to a mistake soon forgotten. The feelings between us, that we found so difficult to resist at that moment, will become a distant memory that we’ll laugh about one day. At least that’s how I’ll rationalize everything.

  “I should probably go,” Jason said reluctantly.

  I nodded in agreement. “Thanks for the ride,” came my awkward reply.

  “Anytime,” he said, far less awkwardly.

  And with that, he was gone. I heard the door click shut in the living room, and a few minutes later, the sound of his car pulling out of the gravel parking lot.

  I thought my embarrassment was imminent, that it would hit me this morning, and I would want to take a few sick days off work so I wouldn’t have to face Jason. But as I recount the way Jason looked at me, and how, even when I was in his arms, I wasn’t close enough, any doubts I have about our current relationship status are surpassed by my longing for more. The only truly disconcerting thought I hold about last night is that Jason saw my very humble abode. I wouldn’t even let Blake visit me here. Did Jason see the stains on the rugs or detect the odd carbon scent that never seems to go away no matter how many scented candles I burn? Those thoughts terrify me more than anything else — that someone could witness first hand my less than desirable living situation.

  A new energy surges into me, causing me to bolt upright on my futon. I know exactly what I need to turn this day around. I might have lost the morning, but that doesn’t mean I have to lose the afternoon. There’s one tried and true method that will boost my day and fill me with a sense of accomplishment. I have no other choice. I must carpet clean.

  As I hop off the futon, out of the corner of my eye, I notice a message on my phone. I open it and see it’s from Jason:

  I wanted to stay longer to make sure you were alright, but I didn’t want to press my luck. Call me, or text me so I know you are okay. My number is on your phone.

  My grin grows wider as I realize that the day can only get better.

  14

  Is it a Date

  It’s Monday afternoon, and Susan is flirting up a storm with Bryan from help desk — so basically a typical day at the office. Unless I’m to believe her computer breaks down every day around 12:45, then again at 4:00. From appearances alone, I would place Bryan around 21 or 22 years of age. He’s at that all too fleeting stage in his life where working a night shift is the coolest thing ever, especially considering he probably doesn’t wake up until noon. He probably shares a two-bedroom apartment with five roommates, with a couch always open to the occasional drunk or unemployed friend who needs to crash for the night.

  He has the overly confident air of a young man freshly deployed in the workforce; everything is new and exciting, just like freshman year of college. There’s a whole world of interesting people to meet and places to go; and now that he's taking home a paycheck, he doesn’t have to rely on his parents for an allowance. He has that one thing life seems to smack out of a person the longer it's lived — unadulterated optimism.

  The kind of optimism that allows a person to believe that people mostly like or care about you, that your shining personality can get you through anything, and that everything will always work out in the end. He’s like a newly adult lion who goes out in search of territory after spending a life under the protection of his pride. He thinks, by nature of him being a lion, the world is his sub-Saharan playland just waiting for him to stake his claim and make his mark. Everything is for the taking. Little does he realize the dangers lurking around every corner — that somewhere another lion will make it, its sole mission to forcibly take whatever he thinks he’s earned or is owed. That’s a lesson he’ll have plenty of time to learn.

  For now, he’s in the process of learning a lesson that he will likely revisit several times before it sticks. Today that lesson goes by the name of Susan Noble. The poor guy, he follows her around like a devoted puppy. His eyes light up every time he sees her — she has only to beckon, and he’s instantly at her side. Susan doesn’t exactly discourage his abject display of worship. On the contrary, she seems to enjoy the deluge of attention Bryan showers upon her. Every once in a while, she’ll even throw him a bone, via a mental or visual image.

  Like the time she offhandedly told him the story about her bikini top flying off in Cabo as she went down the water slide, or how she prefers to sunbathe topless. Then there’s her tendency to toy with his hormonally driven mind by playing with her necklace, drawing attention to her always plunging neckline. Or her way of crossing her legs, so the slit in her skirt reveals a perfectly tanned thigh in all its glory. I’ll never understand how Susan gets away with so brazenly breaking the work dress code on a daily basis. I can only surmise it would lower the morale of quite a few male co-workers if she were to show up one day wearing a blouse and slacks.

  But then, Susan is just doing what Susan, by nature, does. She’s Helen of Troy. Men come from all over the office just for a glimpse of her. One smile and she’s made their day. And if they’re so fortunate to engage her in conversation, the knowledge that she graced them with her undivided attention for those few precious moments will lift their mood for a week. Susan knows the power she holds over men. That’s why she’s so good at manipulating them. It’s an art that she’s perfected.

  Despite the implications of Susan’s body language, her words are unwavering in their clarity. She manages to sprinkle details of her wedding, or mentions of her fiancee, throughout her playful ramblings. That’s enough to deter most men from becoming so obviously her lap dog. They get the idea that she’s already called for and talking is as far as things will ever go. But poor, naive Bryan takes all of her attention as a sign that he has a chance. He must be going bonkers for her internally. I certainly don’t envy the guy. I can see it in the way he looks a
t her — the yearning and the pleasure in feeling it. I know the look well. It mirrors the exact feeling I have when I think of Jason.

  I haven’t spoken to Jason again since Friday. He didn’t call, and I’m too much of a prude to initiate contact outside of work. I have a meeting with him later today, a fact that fills me with a combination of dread and exhilaration. I feel like I’m back in high school, surreptitiously waiting to catch a glimpse of my crush in the halls, then pretend not to notice him. It is possible that, at 29, my romantic inclinations have never advanced beyond that of a teenage girl.

  “Hey, stranger.”

  I jump in alarm as the familiar sound of Jason’s voice cuts into my reverie. “Hello,” I say, my tone a few octaves higher than normal.

  “I was wondering if you're free for lunch.”

  “Um, yes, of course. Do you need me to reserve a conference room?” I ask, as I frantically search for my laptop.

  “I don’t think that will be necessary unless you were thinking of getting delivery,” Jason replies, his eyes dancing with humor.

  “Oh, right. Of course, yes. Sure.” Why are those the only words I can seem to articulate lately, when I’m around Jason? He probably thinks I’m a nervous wreck. “Um, so where do you want to go?”

  “Why don’t you decide?”

  “Okay, well there’s the lobby restaurant. It has a lot of vegan and vegetarian options. I mean, I usually eat lunch with Susan. I should probably tell her that I’m going without her today — unless you don’t mind if she comes. Do you like vegetarian food?” As my ramble comes to a close, I clumsily knock my orchid plant off the desk, sending it plummeting at Jason’s feet. Jason bends down to pick it up.

  “Here you go,” he says, placing the pot neatly on the corner of my desk. “Do you want me to get someone to clean that up for you?” Jason asks, pointing to the dirt that fell from the pot onto the floor.

  “That’s okay; I’ll get it. It was my clumsy mistake. I guess it serves me right for gesturing wildly with a plant on my desk. Or for having a plant at my desk at all for that matter. It's one of those things I can't seem to do without. It makes the place seem brighter, especially during winter when everything is gray and brown, it’s nice to have a bit of color.” There I go, rambling again. He must think I’m a genius.

  “Yeah, I know what you mean,” Jason says with a calm smile. “The lobby restaurant is an excellent choice. And I was hoping it would just be the two of us. Susan’s in a meeting. I doubt she’ll miss you.”

  “She is?” I look over the barrier that divides my desk from Susan’s to confirm she’s not there. I hadn’t seen her leave. It’s just as well that she’s gone. If she saw me with Jason, she would know that something’s going on between us. Then there would be no end to the interrogation. “Good, okay, I guess we can go then.” Jason watches me intently as I scramble to find my purse. “Okay, ready!” I exclaim.

  As Jason and I leave the office together, it suddenly occurs to me that everything between us seems to move at an accelerated pace — this is a date, it must be. Even I’m not naive enough to believe our lunch is a casual meeting between colleagues. In high school terms: we’ve already been to third base. It only took one, non-work function, for Jason to see and touch parts of me that Blake remained ignorant of for the first three years of our friendship. I'm so caught up in feeling blindsided by our sudden liaison; I barely have time to assess its pros and cons or long term viability.

  In my teenage mind, it seems like I’m jumping into the deep end with Jason without first testing the water — like if I let him go all the way, without demanding a commitment of some kind, I’ll be branded a slut and shamed by my classmates. But this is not high school. In the world of adult relationships, no one’s getting any younger. Making him wait a month to become intimate would be pushing it. There aren’t many guys like Blake, who would wait three years, when they could easily go to a bar and pick up a one-night stand. I guess I have no other choice. It’s time for me to throw my teenage dating rules out the proverbial window. Those rules are just a way to keep young girls from getting knocked up or having their hearts broken by a bad boy. And Jason is certainly not a bad boy.

  “So,” I say casually. “How have you been?”

  Jason and I are seated at the same booth where Susan and I usually sit, waiting for our orders to be called. I have my standard ice water, and to my surprise, that’s all Jason is having to drink as well. Come to think of it, I’ve never seen Jason drink anything before. He’s not a caffeine addict like most of our office mates. In a strange way, that’s kind of a relief to me.

  “Good,” Jason replies, watching me with a steady eye and an amused grin. “You?”

  “Me too.”

  Gosh, this really is just like high school. It’s not as though this is our first stab at casual conversation. We go off topic all the time in our meetings. Perhaps it’s the pressure of the moment getting to us. Or maybe it’s just me. Jason doesn’t seem tense at all, in fact, he looks more like a scientist observing his specimen of interest. Then again, I can’t recall Jason ever looking anxious. He’s Mr. Self-confident. He doesn’t sweat a pitch for a $2 million account — lunch with a colleague that he’s seen half naked certainly isn’t going to make him bat an eyelash. I should follow his example, stop over analyzing everything, and relax. Unfortunately, years of practice using my compulsions as a shield from genuine human interaction, makes that a task far easier said than done.

  “I wanted to call you this weekend,” Jason says, mercifully circumventing my thoughts from the anxiety attack that was almost unquestionably imminent. “But I thought you might want time to … recover.”

  “Oh, no, you were right. It was all kind of … I mean we were…”

  “I had a good time,” Jason interrupts. Before he has a chance to elaborate, our order is called. “I’ll get it,” he says jumping up to fetch our food.

  As I wait for him to return, I can’t help but wonder what he means when he says he had a good time. Does he mean he’d like to do it again sometime? That it was a nice fling, but that’s all? The truth is I don’t know him all that well. What makes me think he’s not having a good time with several other women? Am I just another one of his conquests?

  Jason returns shortly and sets my toasted eggplant and pepper jack sandwich in front of me. To my surprise, he ordered the same. “I didn’t know you liked vegetarian sandwiches. I know some guys who won’t touch a sandwich without meat in it,” I say, thinking specifically of Blake.

  “I’m pretty flexible when it comes to food,” Jason says, unwrapping his sandwich.

  “That’s good to know.”

  I thought I would leave our conversation at that, and bury my uncertainties surrounding our ambiguous relationship deep within my sub-conscience, as I nibble on my sandwich. Then it occurs to me; I’ve gone that route for five years, and it did nothing to prevent the relationship meltdown that inevitably occurred with Blake. I don’t want to walk this path of holding onto my resentment until it erupts in a sea of acrimonious outrage. I need to know where Jason and I stand.

  “So tell me, what happened between us, is that a typical Friday night for you?”

  “I usually spend my Friday nights working late at the office. I’m not surprised you never noticed, you tend to rush out as soon as the clock hits 4:30. And as for what happened between us, I would never go that far with a woman like you if my intentions weren’t sincere.”

  I look into Jason’s eyes, expecting to see an indication of smugness, but all I see is an earnest response devoid of any hint of predatory guile. He doesn’t emote the air of mystery that some guys use as a ploy to toy with women. Jason isn't that kind of person. Never one to mince words, he’s always efficient and neat in all his communications. Why meander on the winding path when you can simply walk in a straight line to arrive at the same destination? I sit back in my booth as all of my anxiety dissipates. I finally feel like I can relax.

  “What’s that
smile?” Jason asks.

  “Oh, I’m just happy. I mean, I appreciate that you’re so straightforward, that you aren’t playing games.”

  “Are you used to guys playing games?”

  I have to stop and think. There was just one guy — Blake. Our entire relationship was a game. I don’t believe that we ever stopped playing with each other. “You could say that, yes.” So much for not blushing, I can feel my cheeks flaming.

  “Let me set your mind at ease. I was attracted to you from the moment we met, and I’ve wanted to ask you out since.”

  I look at Jason, stunned. I recall our first meeting vividly and would have never for a moment suspected that he felt even the tiniest inkling of attraction for me. “Don’t let HR know. They might revoke my promotion,” I say jokingly.

  I might have mentioned that I found him jaw-droppingly gorgeous when we first met, but I suspect it would sound more obsessive than suave. Jason’s pithy vernacular allows him to say just about anything and come off as reasonable and matter-of-fact. I, on the other hand, tend to vacillate between sounding abrasive and desperate when I share my feelings. The last thing I want is to scare him away. He has plenty of time to figure out my silly quirks. For now, it’s best to stick to lighter, more fun topics. Look at me playing games.

  The rest of lunch went by like a breeze. The conversation flowed easily and much of my inhibitions were lowered. It didn’t let up even as we made our way back to the office. It wasn’t until we found ourselves standing outside the office door that my high school awkwardness returned. Jason looks at me as though he's bringing me home from a date.

  “I had a good time. Maybe we can make lunch a regular thing," he says huskily.