Connected

by Kim Karr

  As I reach for it I hear River clear his throat. “Ahem, I can get that for you,” he says before peering his head under the table. “But on second thought I think I like this better,” he continues, pointing at my head between his legs.

  Noticing that my face is almost in his knees, I move back a little to look at him and end up staring right at his crotch. I move quickly, trying to remove myself from the very awkward position I’m in and as I do, I smack my head on the table.

  Standing back up again, I hold my phone up and laugh a little before patting my head and saying, “Sorry about that, but I got it.”

  He chuckles again. “Do you want me to get the rest of your stuff or do you want to do it? I’m good either way.”

  Biting my lip, I say, “If you don’t mind, I’ll let you get it.”

  Staring at me with intensity in his eyes, he runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “You sure, I was enjoying myself.” Then not waiting for an answer, he scoots out of the chair, and starts to gather everything as I watch him still patting my head and having missed the call.

  His mannerisms, his tone, his facial expressions, and his body language . . . all so charming—almost disarming. He’s the same as I remember. And right now, as he stands in front of me putting my things back in my bag, all I can think about is him. How much I want him.

  Once everything is safely put back in my bag, he asks, “And dinner?”

  I bite back a smile. “Sounds great, but we really need to get going, the offices close at five on Fridays.”

  “That’s no problem,” he says. Then pointing to the large tablet in the center of the table he says, “I was really looking forward to Pictionary, later maybe?”

  Shaking my head back and forth I put the rest of my things away and say, “Let’s go.”

  He puts his hand out in a lead-the-way gesture; he scans my body from head to toe again. “Do you want to drop your stuff off at your hotel before dinner?” he asks while grabbing his guitar and my suitcase from the corner.

  Nodding my head I say, “Yeah, I’ll just grab a cab and head to my hotel, I can meet you for dinner later.”

  He runs a hand through his hair and looks at me. No, he’s actually glaring at me. “Is that a nicer way of brushing me off?” he asks.

  I cringe, remembering the night I left when he asked me to stay, but since he doesn’t even remember me I’m not sure why he has such an aggravated tone.

  “What? No,” is my only response.

  Shaking his head he says, “It’s settled then, I have my car here. We’ll just swing by your hotel first.”

  His annoyance seems to be gone and he no longer waits for me to take the lead. Instead, he grabs my hand, leading me to the elevator and out of the building.

  WHERE WE BELONG

  We’re just beginning to talk

  We’re just getting to know each other

  We seem so close in such a short time

  We hold hands and smile

  And it feels like this is where we belong.

  Is holding hands more of an art or a science? This is the thought running through my mind as River and I walk out of the office building together. I ask myself this question because when he takes my hand, I don’t mean he holds it palm in palm; I mean he laces all his fingers in between mine and holds them tightly in his grip. It feels intimate and conveys the idea that we know each other very well, when in reality, we don’t. Not yet anyway.

  Ben is the only guy I’ve ever held hands with. So in trying to figure out the whole art or science question, I attempt to picture other couples I know. I try to remember how their hands intertwine; however I can’t delve into that level of detail in my memory. I only have my hand holding with Ben as a gauge to help with my decision.

  Ben and I usually held hands when we were in public. I don’t really know if this was a gesture of closeness or a way for Ben to let others know he was my boyfriend. Either way, when we held hands, we were palm in palm. Our hold was loose enough that if we needed to let go to allow someone by or to stop and look at something the hold was easily dropped. I’d say our handholding was more of a science.

  So why does the way that River holds my hand seem so different? His hold is tight, our fingers are laced, and he’s occasionally rubbing circles on the top of my hand with his thumb. These small gestures definitely make handholding seem more like an art. So my conclusion would be that handholding is unique to the two who are doing it.

  Wholly absorbed in my thoughts as we walk through the parking garage, I barely notice it’s just as empty as the building. With his guitar slung over his shoulder, he runs his other hand through his hair. He takes the lead as he heads toward what I assume is his car. It’s a vintage Black Porsche. He turns as we walk and I see him crack a genuine smile. He has the cutest dimples. It’s the first full-blown smile I’ve seen from him, and it is adorable.

  Arriving at his car, he gently lets go of my hand as he reaches in his front pocket for his keys. He unlocks my door and opens it for me to get in. He clutches my hand to assist me into the very low seat. Once I’m seated, he lifts my hand and kisses it. Instantly, I feel a sense of déjà vu, as if I’m back in the bar that first night I met him so long ago.

  He closes my door and walks around to put my things in the trunk. He opens his door and tosses his guitar in the small area behind us before he gets in. Grinning crookedly, he raises an eyebrow and splays both hands out. “So do you like it?”

  I bite my lip and raise my eyes as if thinking. “Isn’t this James Dean’s car?” I ask.

  He shakes his head and laughs. “Well this one isn’t his actual ride, obviously, but it’s modeled after his 1955 Little Bastard.”

  I giggle at hearing a car referred to by such a nickname, I remember my dad and his love for James Dean. My dad won me over with his constant movie watching and references. We were both avid James Dean fans so much so that we must have watched Rebel Without A Cause over a hundred times. I think I knew all the lines by heart. I probably still do.

  He looks over at me curiously and says, “Can I ask what you’re thinking about?”

  Sighing at the memory, I lock the thoughts of my dad away. “Dream as if you will live forever, live as if you will die today.”

  He places both hands on the steering wheel and glances over at me. The intensity of his powerful green eyes captures my full attention. “I love that movie, and that's definitely one of my favorite lines.”

  I put my seat belt on before twisting sideways to face him. “James Dean was my dad’s favorite actor, and he always loved his car. So how fitting that I get to ride in a Spyder in my lifetime.”

  “Hmmm…” he responds as he puts on his seatbelt.

  Giving him a thumbs up, I say, “Hey, I really do like your car. It’s actually pretty cool.”

  His huge grin returns and his dimples blare in high definition. Then, just as I remember him doing in a gallant attempt to avoid any awkwardness in conversation, he changes the subject.

  He starts the car and pulls out of the garage, heading down the street toward the Las Vegas Strip. “Where to?”

  I tell him where I’m staying, and after what feels like only a few minutes, we pull up to the Hard Rock Hotel. He puts the car in park and glances over at me. “Stay there. I’ll get your door.”

  Walking around to my side of the car, he points and nods to the valet indicating he himself will get my door. After opening it, he braces his hands on each side of the doorframe and leans in. He surrounds me with his intoxicating scent and overwhelming sexiness before he reaches for my hand.

  I shake my head and roll my eyes at his over the top chivalrous gesture but thoroughly enjoy the whole dynamic of it. Stepping out of the very low car, I clutch his hand and laugh a little. “Thank you, kind sir.”

  He guides me forward to close my door. Then, half-grinning he looks away, almost shyly. “You’re welcome.”

  He’s so adorable.

  Standing very close, he gingerly pushes me
back against the car, again bracing his hands on each side of me. He’s close, but still not close enough. His eyes shift back to mine; they are piercing me with their intensity, sending shivers down my spine. As he leans in toward me, he whispers in my ear. “Sir. I think I like the sound of that.”

  He shrugs his shoulders and stares at me with his mesmerizing green eyes. He chuckles and says, “What, a guy can’t be a gentleman?”

  I smile, actually impressed, and laugh a little myself. “I never said that.”

  He hands his car keys and some cash to the valet. “Just the bags in the trunk go to this beautiful girl’s room. We won’t be long.”

  Hand in hand again, he leads me to the front desk. He stands close to me and I feel his hand occasionally, maybe accidentally, brush against my outer thigh. Giving my name to the cute female clerk, he checks me in. She sends him a flirty smile and asks if a credit card should be left on file for incidentals. He smirks and hands over his card. When I protest he just shrugs and winks at me. “Doesn’t matter, I don’t think you will be charging anything.”

  I have always been an independent person; even with Ben, I would exude my independence, often getting really upset if I thought he was infringing on it. Strange, how for some reason, I’m not the least bit upset that this adorably charming man took control of getting me checked into my room. Actually, I find his actions somewhat of a turn on.

  Before handing me my room key, he looks at it while sliding his tongue over his lower lip and dragging his teeth across it. “I’ll wait in the bar, unless you need some help getting to your room.”

  I stare at his lower lip and try to control my heavy breathing. I choose to focus on his flirty comment and not his overwhelming sexy charm. With that, I just shake my head at him. Flirting back I bite my bottom lip and scan the length of his long, lean body in a very obvious manner. Then cocking my head I say, “I’m good, thanks.”

  He responds with a slight groaning noise, and his eyes flicker over me. I quickly turn, laughing to myself as I walk to the elevators without even glancing back. When I reach my room, I call the concierge and arrange to have my bags delivered. While waiting, I lie on the bed trying to figure out what is going on with my feelings and emotions. I feel a connection to River. We have the same ease we did the first night I met him. He’s adorably charming, beyond charismatic, and more than attractive. All of the same qualities that made me want to stay with him that night at the bar and that make me want to spend more time with him now. It’s like he’s reenacting parts of that night even though he doesn’t seem to remember our encounter.

  I look around my hotel room at the pictures of guitars on the walls, and thoughts of wanting someone to touch me, kiss me, someone to be intimate with me, flood my mind. Glancing out the window, I begin to question myself, and what I’m doing with River. Am I betraying Ben? How much time is enough time? Am I ready to be with someone else? I have only ever had sex with Ben, what if I suck at intimacy with somebody else? Is this dinner actually a date, or is this just a business dinner? Am I prepared for a one-night stand with the man who has captured my attention faster than anyone I have ever known, twice? With everything racing through my mind, I’m only certain of the answer to the last question. Maybe I am. So for now I put away all my doubts and questions and tuck the guilt away as well.

  A knock on the door takes me out of my thoughts and I jolt off the bed. Oh yeah, my luggage. Opening the door, I ask the bellman to wait a sec while I get some money out of my purse. Answering quickly, he tells me it has already been taken care of by a man wearing a Fender t-shirt and black leather jacket. All I can do is smile.

  As I close the door, the hotel room phone rings and I slide across the bed to answer it. River’s seductive voice penetrates the line, “Just wanted you to know I made dinner reservations at N9 Steakhouse, in case you want to change, or not. They couldn’t fit us in until eight, is that okay?”

  Lying on the bed, clicking my heels together I answer, “Sounds great actually. I’ll change and come down.”

  I can hear him chuckling on the other end of the phone as he asks, “Do you need help?”

  Giggling, I roll over and standup so I can hang up the phone. “I’m good. Thanks though. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

  I hide my face in my hands. I can’t help but laugh out loud at the exchanges that have taken place between us over the last few hours. In no way would I ever classify our conversations as professional. He’s flirting with me and I’m flirting back! It’s fun and exciting and I feel almost reborn.

  Thanking God that I packed extra clothes, I’m happy that I had trouble deciding what to wear this morning. I packed a few different outfits in case I decided to change before the meeting, along with clothes for a quick morning run.

  Opening my suitcase, I take out a dress. It has a crisscrossed silk top with an asymmetrical black leather mini skirt bottom and a drawstring waist. It’s edgy and short, perfect for dinner with an almost famous, adorably charming rock star. I pair it with my black and nude ankle strap pumps and silver clutch.

  Since I never change my jewelry, my wardrobe for tonight is set. I have worn the same jewelry every day for as many years as I can remember. My jewelry ensemble consists of a pair of two carat diamond studs, given to me by my parents for my thirteenth birthday; my grandmother’s vintage watch with a black satin band and diamond surround; my aunt’s white pearl and black pearl bracelets; my most recently added Cartier bangle; and my engagement ring from Ben that I still wear on a chain around my neck.

  Looking in the mirror as I quickly strip down to jump in the shower, I wince at what I see. Knowing actual clothing choice is irrelevant to men but looking sexy certainly isn’t, I shake my head at myself. That’s definitely not sexy looking back at me. My tall thin frame is now soft. I’ve lost most of my muscle tone along with the definition I spent years creating at the gym and in Pilates’ classes. What is left is merely skin and bones. My legs have very little shape and any semblance of the small chest I once had is now gone, even the bra I just removed is too big. Suddenly I have doubts that the hot, attractive, and charming man waiting for me downstairs will even want what I’m willing to give.

  Deciding to just let fate take its course, I take a shower, brush my teeth, fix my face, spritz on some body spray, and put on my too big black bra and panties, before slipping on my dress and shoes. I look in the mirror again and flip my hair over to brush it so that my now ashen blonde hair falls in a cascading mess down my back, and then I give myself a self-assuring smile.

  As I look away from the bathroom mirror, I turn back and decide I probably shouldn’t wear my engagement ring when I go out with another man. It just doesn’t feel right. I decide that just for tonight, I should remove my necklace. As I do, visions of Ben slipping it on my finger come to mind, and I try to suppress them, but that was a happy time for me, and I actually smile at the memory.

  It’s only once I have actually removed the necklace and kiss my engagement ring that sadness instantly fills my heart. I swallow hard to hold back my emotion. I almost feel like I should be begging his forgiveness for my thoughts, my wants, and my needs. As I continue to look at the ring, a constant reminder of Ben, I know I will never forget him, but I have to put him away just for now. So I kiss my ring one more time and turn to lock it in the safe, saying a soft I will always love you.

  While gathering my things, I hear a faint knock on the door. I open it without even looking to see who it is. He’s standing there, leaning against the doorframe with his head down and a beautiful grin on his face. I can’t help myself and I scan his long lean body just for a quick look. He’s tall, lean, slightly muscular like a swimmer, and has crazy light-brown hair with copper here and there. He’s insanely attractive. When my eyes meet his, he simply undoes me, completely mesmerizing me.

  For the first time today, I feel the same electric pull that I felt between us that night. I also finally realize what the something else was that I couldn’t figure o
ut back then; what was driving me to him so long ago. It is awareness; not only am I completely aware of him, but he’s also completely aware of me.

  Still standing in the doorway, I catch him studying the length of my body, and then he leans in toward me. Unable to control myself, my body unconsciously sways closer to his, and a small noise escapes my throat. I hear him inhale in response. We are so close, I think he’s going to kiss me, but instead he rests his forehead on mine and I can feel his breath on my jaw. Our foreheads remain connected for a few short seconds before he glides his nose over my cheek. Exhaling a heavy breath as his mouth lightly grazes my ear, he whispers, “You look beautiful, perfect really.”

  His sexy moves and his closeness catch me off guard. My stomach is a mix of butterflies and flips. I didn’t expect his contact nor did I expect his kind words; words that I just doubted about myself. Biting my bottom lip and swallowing hard, I resist the urge to pull him over to my bed and just be done with the semantics. Instead I decide to take a step back and wrap my arms around myself to stop my uncontrollable quivering.

  With his gleaming green eyes gazing at me so intensely, I manage to find my voice and say in an octave or two off, “Thank you kind sir, did I take too long?”

  Before he can comment, his phone chimes, but he ignores it. The distraction is fine with me because it keeps him from noticing my reaction to his touch. He continues to look at me with that mesmerizing look of total awareness. I almost feel like he’s deciding if he wants to eat me for dinner, which would suit me just fine.

  Stepping back, he braces his arms on both sides of the doorframe and shakes his head. “No, I just wanted to make sure your bags were delivered.”

  I smile warmly at this thoughtfulness and inhale his intoxicating scent. “Yes they were, thank you very much.”

  Stepping under his arms and into the hallway, I turn to glance at him as the door closes. “I’m ready.”