Ladies Man

by Katy Evans

  “Oh, wait! My keys. Ha!” I pull them out and jingle them noisily. I open the door, step inside and flip on the light switch. “Home sweet home. Ahh.”

  I turn to fake-smile at him, but when I meet his concerned, furious blue eyes, my smile starts to tremble. The knot in my throat doubles in size, and I don’t know what it is about this man, I don’t know why seeing Paul made me feel so little and so unworthy, I don’t know why seeing Tahoe’s anger and frustration on my behalf makes my cheeks grow wet. One second I’m fine and the next, the tears are spilling.

  He shuts the door behind him, his voice gruff with tenderness. “Come here,” he says.

  He seizes my face and draws me close and his thumbs streak across my cheeks.

  “He’s such an asshole,” I sniffle as he swipes my tears away. “Even now he acts like he was too—too—too good for me.”

  He presses his lips together in anger and looks deeply into my eyes. His face grows blurry as the tears keep streaming. He leaves me for a moment to head into the kitchen, run the faucet to dampen a small clean towel, and head back to me.

  “What are you…?” I protest as he runs the towel gently over my eyes. “You’re smearing my makeup—”

  “No.” He cuts me off with a sly smirk and violently concerned eyes. “Your tears are.” He wipes my cheeks and under my eyes.

  I fall still as the tears stop, and I notice the look of harsh tenderness on his face. “Did I…were you busy right now?” I croak.

  “Yeah. Some event I was only too glad to get away from, trust me.”

  It makes me realize his life is full of obligations as well, even if he’s rich.

  He tosses the towel aside and just when I’m thankful he left on my lipstick, he starts wiping it off with his thumbs. One thumb scrapes over my lips to the right, the other thumb to the left. The knot in my throat starts burning with some new emotion, something other than pain, something I don’t understand amidst my panic of being completely makeup-less.

  But I can feel the lipstick smearing over my cheeks as he gets it off my lips, and with every stroke, he seems to look more deeply into my eyes until I can feel the bareness of my lips.

  I’m bare—more self-conscious about my face than I am about my body. My plump lips and wide, expressive eyes. And right now, Tahoe Roth is taking it all in.

  Taking all of me in.

  I’ve never been seen like this, since Paul. I’ve never allowed people to see me like this. Not a man, not anyone. I’m not even comfortable looking at myself like this.

  Tahoe is oblivious to that, and he stares at my face for a long time. He stares with such searing intensity I could burn to ash.

  His blue eyes look and feel intense on my face, his hands still on my jaw. I raise my hands up to his as he leans forward, exhaling, and he kisses my cheek. His beard scrapes over my skin, and I don’t move a muscle. My eyes shut, and when I open them again, I start to caress his face. He’s studying me. Still holding my jaw.

  I run my fingers over his beard. “It’s past the prickly part. It’s soft now,” I croak.

  He laughs softly and rubs the knuckle of his thumb over my lipstick-less lips, his eyes a little heavy looking. “My beard isn’t soft; these are soft,” he contradicts.

  I trail my fingertips over his beard, and then, impulsively, over his lips.

  He opens his lips as though he means to taste me. He seems to catch himself, taking my wrist in one hand and lowering my arm.

  His vexation over Paul is evident in his voice. “Where is it?”

  “What?”

  “The shit letter he sent you. Where is it?”

  More than be affronted at the anger in his voice, I’m surprised by the intensity in his tone as I look up. I sense that he’s not mad at me, but for me, frustrated that he can’t help me.

  “I…you remember that?” When he only looks at me with a black look, I go to my room then open the drawer. “Under all my…stuff…”

  He reaches through dozens of panties, feeling through my drawer. His hand is big and my panties look so flimsy as he burrows among them up to his thick wrist. He finds the letter, tucks it in his back pocket, and closes my drawer.

  “Let’s go do something. We’re going to make this disappear, and then we’re going to chill, and not for one second will you be thinking of him.”

  He leads me across my apartment and opens the door, and as I pass, he warns me with a determined look, “That’s the last time you cry for some motherfucker.”

  * * *

  We’re at Navy Pier, sitting on the dock with our feet hanging over the water. The rides and shops are quiet. Tahoe called Saint on the drive over, and apparently he knew someone who let us in.

  It’s a dream here. A nearly finished six-pack of beers sits to my right, Tahoe to my left. It’s freezing, so we sit as close as we can get. The sounds of night surround us, so distant they could be a memory. I take a deep breath, finally relaxed.

  Ten minutes ago, Tahoe handed me the letter along with his lighter. He asked me if I wanted to read it first. I didn’t. I was ready to let go, and I didn’t care to know. I didn’t hesitate. I lit that sucker on fire, watched it burn for a few seconds, then dropped the burning letter and watched the ashes dissolve into the water.

  We toasted with beers, me on my first, T-Rex on his third.

  “I love that you drink beer straight from the bottle,” I say.

  “Why?”

  “You can blend with the posh, and you can fit in with average guys.” I shrug. “I don’t know. I just like it. You’re like a tamed beast.”

  He’s momentarily speechless, then he scoffs and shakes his head incredulously. “You did not just call me a tamed beast, Regina.”

  “I did.” I giggle.

  I watch him put his lips on the beer bottle and take a slow swig.

  I can barely stand the physicality of him, the reaction I have to him, and I’m aware that I want to have sex right now. Or maybe I just want to be close to someone. Maybe he’s the one who always makes me aware that I want to be close to someone.

  He looks at me with his blue eyes. “I like that you drink beer…like a guy,” he teases as he nudges me.

  “Wow, thanks! I feel so womanly.”

  His smile never falters, but his voice lowers. “You are. You put on a fierce face, but I’ve never bought it.” He takes another sip, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

  “Yeah? I totally buy yours.”

  He laughs and then sobers up, crossing his arms. “No one is the way they seem. We all hide little pieces, either because we don’t want to be judged, or because we don’t think we’ll be understood, or simply because we don’t want those pieces of us to belong to anyone but us.” He lifts his beer and drinks, and I drink too.

  As he lowers the bottle to his side, I look at his moist lips for an extra second.

  Tahoe has never bought into the image I put out, and I don’t understand why—even before we became friends, he seemed to see right through me.

  A part of me has also always understood that the person the world sees—the lazy, laughing, easy-going Tahoe—is a front for a far deeper, more complex man beneath.

  We all hide little pieces of ourselves. He’s right. The teacher who told you that you’d never be good enough marked you in more ways than one. The birthday your parents forgot. Tiny little details that add up to your sense of inadequacy, of simply not being enough. So you stop wanting to please the teacher, stop expecting anything for your birthday; you stop putting out your good stuff because you don’t want the world to crap on it. Where does that stuff go? Is it there lingering, waiting to come out?

  He smiles at me, and there is the tiger in me, wanting to pounce on…him.

  I’ve tucked things about me so far deep I had forgotten they were even there. That I used to be a giver, and I loved to take care of Paul. That I really liked being home—in all the homes I’ve had. That I worry too much about my friends because I don’t want them to be hurt
.

  But see, that’s the thing. How far will I let these things, things people did to me and then went about their lives like normal, affect my life? Even today, Paul hurts me. His betrayal hurts me.

  He hurts my belief in men, my ability to connect with one.

  I’ve reserved the good things about me for those who live inside the wall with me, and the rest has been kept from the world—because I don’t want to be judged, or because I don’t think I’ll be understood, or I simply don’t want those pieces to be abused by someone else.

  I’m such a coward, and that’s the truth.

  Afraid to just be myself.

  Afraid to trust, to love, to give myself another chance.

  But I find myself reaching out to this guy, I find myself constantly drawn to this guy. “So what’s your secret, T-Rex?”

  “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret,” he says with a wink.

  He glances at my mouth, then at a spot past my shoulder, as if he’s been drawn back into some bleak memory. “Besides, it’s in the past. No sense in wasting time with it when there’s nothing you can change. Is there?”

  “Absolutely,” I agree.

  His eyes trap mine again, and I want to say something snarky. But he looks raw, and I can’t.

  “Thank you,” I finally say. “I was not very happy when I heard you were coming over, but when I saw you, I felt so relieved. Thank you.”

  He looks at me with a half-smile and devil eyes. “For destroying his letter?”

  “Yes. I feel…better.”

  He’s thoughtful in the silence that settles between us. It’s so easy with you, I think. So easy and also so exciting with you.

  “Any other letters from any club or non-club members we must destroy?” He narrows his eyes threateningly as he looks at me.

  “No!” I laugh and shove both my hands in my pockets to warm them.

  He laughs too, and when we stop laughing, our eyes meet, and I feel myself heat up so hard and so fast that I need to drop my gaze.

  He remains studying me in silence. “So only Paul. Who was the founding member? Let’s talk about him for a second.”

  “Roderick? Not Roderick! Or Vince…no, not him. They were both just…part of growing up.”

  “Paul? Part of growing up too?”

  “I guess. And you? All your flings?” I nudge him.

  He nudges me back. “What about them?”

  “Well, were they part of growing up?”

  “They’re part of what’s become my life, I guess.”

  “And what is this life? Is it everything you wanted? More?”

  He pokes the tip of my nose with a fingertip. “I actually didn’t plan this life for myself.”

  I wrinkle my nose and pretend I’m going to bite his finger when he removes it. “Really. What was it then? An accident?”

  He laughs and scrapes his hand across his bearded jaw. “Yeah.”

  I feel warm under his regard; it sends my pulse spinning.

  “How was the one you planned? Better?” I’m starting to get confused, and I think it shows on my face.

  “Yeah, better.” He stares away. “Different.”

  “How different?”

  “I didn’t plan to leave home, for starters.”

  “Why did you?”

  “It was tough to stay. Is yours what you pictured it to be?”

  “Nope. But do you ever think of correcting paths?”

  “Nah. There are no what ifs for me. What was was, and what is is.”

  “I do. I think back to what I wanted before him, who I was before I got lost in him, what I wanted, and I want it back. Trent is my do over.”

  He looks at me, and something like raw truth shines in his eyes.

  “Good for you, Gina.” He reaches out and skims his forefinger over my nose. I shiver.

  “What about yours? Your first?”

  “Her name’s Lisa.”

  “Wow, you remember her name.”

  “I actually remember plenty about her.” A muscle twitches along his jaw, and he sets his beer aside and takes my arm. “Come on, let’s take you home.”

  “No,” I groan, “not home.”

  “Yes. Home. Now.”

  “My apartment is so lonely and ominous…so quiet. Take me to Trent’s. I told him I’d be there by midnight, when I was done at my gig.”

  He clenches his jaw thoughtfully.

  “Come on, take me to Trent’s.” I nudge him.

  He just keeps clenching his jaw, grabs the back of my neck and steers me toward his car.

  We’re silent on the drive over, and I’m close to dozing in my seat, feeling safe and comfortable and warm.

  I groan when I need to stand and walk toward Trent’s building, but I lean on Tahoe for support all the way to the 5th floor. He deposits me right at Trent’s door, and when Trent opens, Tahoe’s drawl is thicker than ever. “Take care of her,” he says, and walks away.

  * * *

  “I saw my ex today,” I tell Trent as I cross his small apartment and head straight to his bed.

  “Oh no. Don’t you just hate that?” He embraces me gently.

  “Hate that,” I agree, burying my nose in his throat. All I notice is the fact that he doesn’t smell like pine trees. And that his jaw is so…smooth. So beardless. “His name was Paul. I’m so over him I didn’t want to tell you about it. He cheated on me. You’re not the kind of guy who’d ever do that to a girl you like, are you?”

  “No, shit, of course not. That’s so low. You’re more than I can handle, Regina,” he assures me sheepishly.

  “I’m enough?” I ask, eyes widening happily. It feels good to be enough.

  “More than enough.”

  I frown thoughtfully. “More than enough? Trent, don’t say that! I want to be just right, not more, not less,” I complain, but I drift off, exhausted.

  I have nightmares about Paul, dumping me, but Paul somehow morphs into Tahoe. I wake up the next morning too early for a Saturday, guilty about dreaming of Tahoe as I notice Trent soundly sleeping in bed beside me.

  HUNTING

  Aside from burying myself in work during the rest of February, I also start looking for apartments. Trent suggests that I look at vacancies in his building but although his place is okay in terms of transportation to work, I don’t want to limit myself to only one neighborhood.

  So I spend all my time either working or looking for apartments, all while also trying not to worry overly much about my living situation. Every night I remind myself that I’ve got this and that taking this step will be worth it.

  I’m scouring the classifieds late one night, disappointed that Trent spared only a minimal look at the options I showed him before he headed to my bedroom and to bed.

  I feel restless and crave company.

  I even call my parents but I get voicemail so I leave them a message.

  “Hey, Mom and Dad. I guess I just wanted to touch base, see how you were. Things are well over here. I’m working overtime and looking for a new place. And, well, I’m seeing a guy. I also went to see a new apartment yesterday and although I haven’t found the ideal one, I hope to soon. I miss you. I…I love you. ’Bye.”

  I hang up and stare at my phone, almost willing them to instantly call me back.

  * * *

  By midnight, I’ve found one promising prospect and I find myself taking a picture of the ad and texting it to Tahoe with this message:

  Versailles is unavailable. But how about one-bedroom cozy chic?

  The pic shows that some renovations are in order but the plus is, I can afford it.

  He texts me back two words.

  Him: Rotund no.

  Me: Hey that’s my line!

  Him: That’s right. I claimed it ;)

  Me: Naughty boy

  Him: Naughty possessive little girl.

  My phone falls silent for a good twenty minutes.

  I’m busy scanning more options in the dark. My eyes are starting to ache from
the meager reading light when the phone buzzes. Sitting upright, I turn my phone around and see his name again. I swear to god I feel my heart practically leap out of my chest and the biggest smile spreads across my face.

  I press the little green button and, next thing I know, Tahoe’s chocolaty, deep voice is rumbling in my ear, “Hey, I’m downstairs. Ring me up?”

  I freeze.

  Aware of Trent sleeping in my bedroom, I hurry to ring him up.

  I open the door just in time to watch him step out of the elevator. He’s wearing a white shirt, a brown leather jacket, and dark-wash jeans, a half-grin on his face. The one that makes that lone dimple say hello in that endearing way.

  I cross my arms and frown a bit mockingly. “Couldn’t bribe my new doorman?”

  His wink seems very confident. “I’ll wear him down.”

  We both stare at each other for a long, quiet minute, almost as if we’d never seen each other before. As if we weren’t at the Pier only recently, drinking beer and talking about Paul and his…Lisa.

  “What are you doing here at this hour? It’s the middle of the night and Trent is asleep in my bed.” I’m near whispering as I try to keep my voice down.

  He scrapes a hand over his head, all five fingers running over the top of his wind-mussed hair all the way to the back of his neck. Then he lets his hand drop and sighs, leaning into the doorframe with a cocky gleam in his eye. “Just wanted to see you, that’s all.”

  “What…why?”

  He shrugs devilishly. “Make sure you don’t move out of the country, I guess. Purely selfish reasons,” he smirks.

  Then scans my features with his eyes again.

  “You okay?” I ask suspiciously.

  He’s looking at me as if he can’t get enough. His eyes as blue as they looked when I showed him my J. Lo pictures.

  “Yeah.”

  “Come in, don’t make noise.” He comes in, and I close the door and usher him to the pitch-black living room. “Are you drunk? What? You couldn’t find a floozie available to go out tonight?”