by Jessie Cooke
“No, before I said anything your sister told her that they both knew who sent them. Your mother had to leave the room because she was in tears. Your sister then told us that she’d pay for the flowers. When I told her you’d already taken care of them she just thanked me and went about her business. Neither of them seemed happy though.”
“My mother and I aren’t close.”
“That’s too bad. I’d give anything to have my mother back.”
“She passed away?”
“Yes, when I was seventeen. I miss her every day. You never know how much time you have with someone.” This time he didn’t try to cover his sadness as he said:
“I do know.” The waiter interrupted us then, and Noah looked relieved. I had to quickly look at the menu and then I ordered the eggplant parmigiana. Noah ordered fettuccini. When the waiter left Noah started asking me questions about my mother and the flower shop. I didn’t even notice until later how effectively he’d taken the heat of the limelight off himself. My mom and the store are two of my favorite subjects, though, so I fell into a surprisingly comfortable conversation with him. Before I knew it our food had arrived.
The waiter sat our plates down and asked if we needed anything else. We both said no, and once he was gone I picked up my fork and cut off a piece of eggplant. I was just about to put it in my mouth when I heard:
“Megan?” I dropped the fork and it slammed loudly into the plate. I didn’t want to look up, but I realized that wasn’t going to discourage the speaker as I heard him go on to say, “That is you!”
I finally looked up into Tyler’s dark eyes. It was strange how a simple glance could make it all come rushing back. My chest hurt and I was trying hard not to let it show on my face. I felt the heat of Noah’s eyes on my face as Tyler said, “How are you?” The son of a bitch was greeting me like we were old friends that had lost touch. Yet he’d left while my skull was being drilled opened up and knives were slicing into my brain. How does a person get that nervy?
I looked at Noah for no other reason than I didn’t want to look at Tyler. I wanted him to go away. He kept talking. This time it was directed toward Noah. He smiled and said, “I’m sorry to interrupt. I just haven’t seen Megan for…what…like almost a year? I’m Tyler.” He held out his hand to Noah. Noah looked at it and for a second I thought he wasn’t going to take it. When he finally did he gave it a short, cursory shake and said:
“Noah.” I still hadn’t said a word, and I didn’t want to. I just wanted Tyler to go away. His and Noah’s eyes were back on me, though, so I said:
“It’s been ten months since we’ve seen each other, Tyler, and I’m fine, thanks.”
“You look so good. Last I heard you were having chemo and…”
“I’m fine, Tyler,” I cut him off. “If you don’t mind, we’re trying to have dinner here.” He looked hurt and I was secretly glad. Noah was still watching me. The whole situation made me feel sick to my stomach.
“Oh, okay. I’m sorry. I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”
I let my composure slip then as I said, “That’s been on your mind, huh? For the past ten months it’s just been eating away at you and that’s why it took running into me by accident for you to check in?”
He glanced nervously at Noah and then back at me. “I’m sorry, Meg, for everything.”
“I don’t care about any of it anymore, Tyler. Right now I’d just like to have my dinner. Have a good night.”
I returned my attention to my plate and pretended that I didn’t still feel him standing there. That was when Noah looked up at him again. I’m not sure but I think the look on his face was “fuck off.” Whatever it was, worked. Tyler left and I continued to look at my plate. The idea of eating now made me sick to my stomach. I finally looked up at Noah and said, “Please stop staring at me.”
“Who was that?”
“Tyler.”
He snorted. “Who was he to you?”
I sighed and put my fork down. “He was my fiancé.”
“What was he talking about when he said you had chemo? Are you sick?”
“No, Noah, I’m not sick. I’m not hungry anymore, though.”
“Were you sick?”
“What difference does it make? I’ve already told you that this dinner is it for us, so why do you care?”
“I care whether you want me to or not. I don’t want this to be it for us. I want to get to know you, Megan.”
“Why?”
“Can you honestly tell me you don’t feel it?”
“Feel what, lust?”
He sat back against the booth. “No, Megan, it’s not lust. Trust me; I’m well acquainted with lust. This is the wildest chemical attraction that I’ve ever felt. That first day I saw you it was like this huge magnet was pulling me toward you. I felt like you were the sun and I was orbiting around you.”
“I need to go home, please.”
“Megan…”
“Please, I’ll take a cab if you’re not ready.”
He stood up and I watched as he pulled cash out of his pocket and threw it down on the table. I stood up and this time I didn’t pull away as he reached for my arm. I was feeling light-headed all of a sudden. I didn’t look over at Tyler as Noah led me out of the restaurant…but Noah did.
6
Three days passed after Noah and I tried to have dinner and Tyler ruined it. I was beginning to feel normal again. I’d gotten past the bad feelings seeing Tyler had brought on, and I was even beginning to feel like I was getting past the lust I felt for Noah. I told Lillie what happened but made it clear to her that I didn’t want to talk about either one of them. She didn’t bring either of them up but I noticed how she kept watching me like she was afraid I was going to fall apart. I hated that. It was exactly why she wouldn’t leave me and move in with Dalton. I didn’t want her life put on hold for me.
It was late in the day on Wednesday afternoon when Noah walked into the store. Lillie was gone for the day and Patty was on her way out as well. I was alone with him, and once again it felt like time had stopped and I was trapped in a vacuum with him sucking out all of the oxygen. Being near him actually made my lungs burn. It didn’t help that he was dressed in a black leather jacket and actually wearing black chaps today either.
“Hi, Megan.”
“Hey, Noah.” I tried being casual and professional as I said, “Did you need more flowers?”
He smiled. “No, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I’m fine,” I said, too harshly. “Thank you,” I added in a softer tone. “I’m sorry I ruined your dinner.”
“You didn’t ruin anything,” he said. “But if you want to make it up to me…”
“You just said that I didn’t ruin anything.”
“True, I lied. I was crushed. We didn’t get to finish my first real date, so I’d appreciate it if you’d go on a picnic with me now.”
“A picnic? It’s the middle of February.”
“I brought a blanket.”
“Noah…”
“Please don’t say no. I made the food myself.”
In spite of myself I smiled. “I’m not sure that instills me with confidence.”
He put his hand over his heart and said, “That hurts.”
Rolling my eyes I said, “Okay, I’ll go.”
He looked surprised. I’m sure he thought I would be harder to convince. I should have been, in all honesty, but I had a feeling he’d talk me into it anyways so I gave in early. That’s what I was telling myself, at any rate. “Great, can I do something to help you close up?”
“You can bring in the display stands from outside,” I told him. He smiled, and I watched him head toward the front door. Just before he went out he stuck his head back in and asked me:
“This isn’t a trick to lock me out and slip out the back door, is it?”
Trying not to laugh I said, “No, but I wish I had thought of that.”
I went in the back to the sound of his laughter and f
inished cleaning up back there. When I came back out he had the displays inside and lined up neatly against the wall. “You ready?” he asked me. I slipped on my coat and grabbed my purse. He stood by as I locked the front door and then, gesturing toward his motorcycle, he said, “Your chariot awaits.”
“Um…no.”
“Come on, Megan, live a little.”
I bristled at the barb. “I live; I just don’t take stupid chances.”
“Neither do I, I promise. I have a helmet for you and I’ll drive like Grandma on her way to church. Have you ever been on a Harley?”
“No.”
“You’re going to love it.” As he was talking he was taking my purse out of my hands and reaching for a helmet attached to his handlebars. He handed it to me, and I almost couldn’t believe I reached out and took it. I started to put it on when I noticed the shiny red paint had my name painted in cursive on the back of it. It was in bright yellow and the same kind of writing that was on the inscriptions he had tattooed on his arms.
“You had my name put on the helmet?”
“It’s yours,” he said. “I thought it would be nice to personalize it.”
“You are something. How did you know I’d agree to any of this?”
“I didn’t, but you’re worth taking chances on,” he said. I watched as he got on the bike, and I couldn’t help but notice how incredibly sexy he looked. “You ready?” I wasn’t, but I put the helmet on and let him take my hand and help me on the bike. “Hold on around my waist,” he said, “And lean into me when we turn, okay?”
“Okay,” I said, nervously. “Aren’t you going to wear your helmet?” He reached for the other helmet on the handlebars. I got the feeling he was only putting it on for my benefit. I felt a little better once he’d strapped it on. I didn’t want to scrape his brains up off the highway, or at least that’s what I told myself. He fired up the bike and I felt it vibrate between my legs.
“Here we go,” he said, “Hold onto me, Megan.” The bike started to move slowly and I wrapped my arms around his waist. I felt my panties dampen almost instantly with the contact. As we pulled out onto the street he said, “Lean into me, Megan.” Reluctant to increase the volume of the feelings tearing through my body, I did as he asked. He felt way too good. He was all hard muscle and I could feel the ones in his stomach contract every so often as I held onto him. He smelled fresh and clean and for the first time in two years I let myself actually consider having at least a sexual relationship with a man. I wondered if I could handle an affair. Other people have affairs with no feelings. It’s a grown-up thing to do. That I’d only ever had sex with two men in my life didn’t mean anything. I could start now…with Mr. Sex on a Stick, right? Noah had already admitted to me that was how he usually did things with women. He was already prepared not to have feelings or even pretend he did, the way that Tyler had. He’d be the perfect one to try it out on. Maybe I could fulfill my sexual needs, have my fantasy and eat my cake too. That was when I caught myself closing my eyes and inhaling his masculine scent. I’d almost forgotten I was on the back of a death machine. Instead I felt cocooned in the safety of the man I was holding onto. It was a ridiculous feeling. I was with a man who made a living with his fists, on the back of a motorcycle, and I felt safe. That thought frightened me more than any other I’d had since meeting him.
We pulled up to a small parking lot in sight of the beach. Since it was the middle of February and getting to be late evening, it was deserted. As I stepped off the bike, my legs were shaking, and I wasn’t sure if it was the motorcycle ride or the fact that I was alone with him on a deserted stretch of beach. He grinned at me as he pulled off his own helmet and said, “So what did you think of the ride?”
I tried to sound casual as I said, “It was okay.”
“You have color in your cheeks. I like it.” I didn’t say anything to that. I watched as he started unloading things out of his saddlebags. He handed me a blanket and I took it. I actually shuddered at the thought of sitting on it next to him. He saw me shiver and said, “Are you cold?”
“No, I’m okay.” I wasn’t cold at all. I was burning up from the inside out. This was a bad idea. After he gathered everything he tucked a small basket underneath one of his arms and reached for my hand. I took it against my better judgement and kicked off my shoes before we hit the sand. He led us out toward the water, stopping just before the foamy hand of the water reached the dry sand. He let go of my hand and set the things down he was carrying. Taking the blanket from me, he spread it out and said:
“Have a seat.” I was glad I’d worn leggings to work today. I sat down and folded my legs Indian style. He dropped down next to me, lying on his side and stretching out like a centerfold model. Damn him. “Are you hungry?”
“I could eat.” It might distract me from what I really wanted.
He sat up and started taking things out of the basket. There was fried chicken and fried okra and biscuits…
“You cooked this?”
He chuckled. “Yes, why do you sound so surprised?”
“You just don’t seem like the cooking type.” He made me a plate as he said:
“What ‘type’ do I seem like to you, Megan?” Before I opened my mouth he said, “I don’t want to hear what you read about me on Google. I want your opinion.”
Trying to summon a look of indignation I asked him, “What makes you think I Googled you?”
That sexy, slow smile with the dimples spread across his face as he said, “Didn’t you?”
I didn’t think it would do me any good to lie so I said, “Yes, I did.”
“I’m more than what the papers say about me.” He handed me the plate. It really looked delicious.
“I’m sure you are,” I said. I wasn’t, but I felt kind of weird about his knowing I’d looked him up. He fixed his own plate and after taking a bite of his chicken and swallowing it he asked me, “So, without taking all of that into account, what type do you see me as, Megan?” I shrugged and took a big bite of the chicken. I was hoping he’d let it go. Instead he said, “I don’t offend easily. I’d really like to know how you see me.”
“Dangerous,” I said. I’d just blurted that out without thinking about it…but it was true.
“Dangerous? Are you sure that didn’t come from the Internet?”
“I don’t mean dangerous in a cage fighter sort of way,” I said. Damn it! I needed to shut myself up. “Do you have anything to drink?”
He pulled out two bottles of water and opened one and sat it in front of me. I took a long drink as he stared at my face. “So what sort of way?”
I sighed. I’d gotten myself into this one. “The sort of way that will break my heart if I’m not careful.”
In a soft tone he said, “I’m not going to hurt you, Megan.”
“Isn’t that what all men say?”
“I’m not sure what that piece of crap we saw at dinner the other night did to you…but I promise, Megan, hurting you is the furthest thing from my mind.”
“I don’t get this.” I took a bite of my biscuit. Man, this guy could cook.
“You don’t get what?”
I gestured between us and said, “This. I don’t seem like your type.”
His lips twitched. “What type do you see me with?”
I shrugged again. “The groupie type, I guess.”
“When I was fighting I had plenty of those. They didn’t impress me. I like a woman with substance. I like one who can lean on me when she needs to but at the same time is capable of standing on her own two feet. I like you, Megan and I meant what I said at dinner the other night. I’ve never felt anything like this before. I know you feel it too.” I was looking down at the blanket. I felt him cup my chin in his big hand and tip my face up toward his. “Tell me you feel it too, Megan.” I felt like I couldn’t breathe. He was looking at my lips, and I couldn’t think about anything but how badly I wanted him to kiss me.
7
“I feel it,” I s
aid in a low, raspy voice.
“Excuse me?”
I pulled back and he let go of my face. “You heard me—I feel it, okay? It doesn’t matter, though. I don’t do relationships, any kind of relationships.”
“Why, because of that idiot we saw at dinner?”
“It has nothing to do with him. You’re giving him way too much credit.”
“Then what is it, Megan? You’re young and beautiful and successful in business…isn’t finding someone to share your life with the next step?”
“Not for everyone,” I said. “Is that what you’re looking for, Noah, someone to share your life?”
“I wasn’t, until five days ago.”
I shivered again. “You can’t honestly think you know me well enough after two days of sparring with me that you could think I’m the one you’re looking for.”
“No, you’re right, but I want to get to know you, Megan. That’s new for me.”
“Why, Noah?”
“Why do I want to know you?”
“No, why don’t you date? Why don’t you have a girlfriend or a wife? Why haven’t you ever been in love?”
He took a bite and looked out at the ocean while he chewed. I ate my own chicken while I waited. It was several long minutes later when he said, “Sometimes you think you want to know the answers but you’re better off not knowing.”
“You’re talking in riddles, Noah.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to. It’s just a long story and not one I like to talk about.”
“So you want to know me, but you don’t want me to know you.”
He sighed. “That’s valid,” he said. “I tell you what, I’ll share it with you but you have to share something with me. Even if what I tell you makes you want to run away from me. You have to share first.”
“Like what?” What was he going to tell me that would make me run?
“Like what that guy was talking about when he said you were having chemo.”
I thought about that. It was something I didn’t like talking about…but maybe it would work to my advantage and discourage him from pursuing me. “Okay, but you go first.”
