by Beth Michele
Brad swirls some ice cream around in his mouth. “I’ve been to California several times, but only to visit Matt in Los Angeles. It’s really busy there, too. It reminds me of New York a lot, with the exception of the six lane highways, which are insane.”
“You planning on drinking that?” he teases, looking longingly at my dish which is now filled with brown liquid.
“Yeah. I’m gonna ask for a straw.” I giggle and then push my bowl to him. He seems to want to finish it.
We make our way out of the shop and down a couple of blocks when I realize my high heels are starting to take a toll.
Brad sees me wince a couple of times. “Shall I carry you the rest of the way? We superheroes are incredibly strong.”
I laugh out loud. He really is adorable. And funny. “Actually, the subway will be just fine.”
Brad walks with me until we get to the entrance stairs, then grabs my arm. “I was wondering if I could have your cell phone number? You know, just to make sure you get home safely.”
He wants my phone number. Interesting. I hesitate for a second, but give it to him. I don’t think he’s a serial killer or anything. At least I hope not. There’s really nowhere to hide any body parts in my apartment anyway. He pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and programs my number.
“Thanks for protecting me against any impending villains.”
The right side of his mouth turns up. “Don’t mention it, Lois.”
I shake my head and giggle. He’s so kooky.
Walking into the apartment, I’m greeted by a cozy Fran and Kyle on the sofa. She’s sitting on his lap straddling him, his hand is up her shirt, and their lips are locked. “Oh…sorry.”
Fran looks a bit surprised that I’m not in between 24k gold thread Egyptian cotton sheets right about now. “Hey! Why the hell are you home so early? You’re supposed to be in the throes of passion.”
Glaring at her so she’ll shut her big mouth, she finally gets the message, pulls herself off of Kyle, and walks over to the kitchen counter.
“What happened? Did you chicken out?” she whispers, even though Kyle’s out of earshot.
I can’t tell her the real reason right now. I don’t need her laying into me again. “Kind of.”
“Gabrielle Christina Willis. What am I going to do with you?”
“I don’t know. I might possibly need a few more of your sex education classes before I’m ready.”
“Oh dear Lord. You need a lot more than that at this point.”
Kyle interrupts, striding from the living room. “Hey Gabby, do you want to watch a movie with us?” He shows me a DVD case. “We’re going to watch Mad Max…and,” he dangles the red bag of licorice in the air, “we’ve got Twizzlers.”
I look back over at Fran and quietly mouth, “Mad Max?”
She bobs her shoulders up and down, but smiles.
I rub my eyes. “I think I’m just going to go to bed, but thanks, Kyle.”
“You okay?” Fran asks, concerned.
My attention goes back to Fran. “Yeah,” I mutter, with the little conviction I feel.
“Goodnight, Kyle.”
“Later, Gabby.”
Fran stares at me with irritated eyes and shakes her head. I know she wants to say something, but thankfully she doesn’t. Instead, she walks over and hugs me tightly. “Goodnight, sweetie. I love you.”
“I love you too, Fran.”
Throwing on my t-shirt and sweats, I hop into bed. I’m about to get under the blankets when my phone buzzes with an unfamiliar number. Who’s calling me this time of night? Quietly, I answer, “hello?”
“You home?”
“Who is this?”
“Gabby, it’s Brad.”
I smile. Of course it is. “Oh sorry, I didn’t recognize the number.”
“That’s okay. So you’re home?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, well goodnight, then.”
“Goodnight. Hey, Brad?”
“Thanks for checking on me.”
“Sure.”
“Goodnight.”
When I finally close my eyes, I squeeze them shut and concentrate really hard, still trying to imagine Clark’s arms around me, needing them around me…I’d give anything, absolutely anything, to feel that again.
***
Mondays suck. Why can’t we have three day weekends? It’s so hard to get motivated when you’ve had barely two days to relax. Dane left me a voicemail message that he wants to make good on that rain check. He wants me to come to the W tonight and have dinner with him in his hotel room. This time, I’m not backing down. I can do this. I want to do this.
On the way to The Brew House, my mind wanders to last night and Brad. I find myself laughing out loud, which elicits some stares. I guess Brad isn’t the only odd one. There’s something about him, though…I can’t quite put my finger on it. He’s very sweet, and endearing…and funny. He always seems so relaxed and comfortable in his own skin. I have to admit that I look forward to seeing him every morning.
The lines moves blissfully fast at the shop this morning. I reach the register and my lips form a smile.
Brad returns it. “Morning, Gabby. Salted Caramel Mocha?”
“Yes, please.” Making my way over to a table, I plop down and pull out my cell phone to call Dane. Just as my fingers begin to dial, I hear giggling and glance over in the direction of the splendid sound. A young couple is in a heated embrace. Dreamy eyes, roaming hands, endless laughter. Clark and I used to be that way; happy. He scooped out pieces of my heart and held them tightly, brought life to them, mixed them up and made me crazy with love...for him.
I remember every detail about Clark. Those cobalt blue eyes that I could gaze into for hours on end, that silky brown hair that I loved to run my fingers through, those sculptured cheekbones, and that sweet mouth that held such hot kisses. Kisses that made me feel so much; until they didn't anymore. “I miss you, Clark.” The words fall from my lips before I even realize I've said them. The tears slip from my heart and slide down my cheeks.
Brad stands over me with a box of Kleenex. "Are you okay, Gabby?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just having a moment." A Clark moment.
He looks down at the floor, and then meets my eyes. "If you need to talk or anything…"
A quiet sincerity fills his soft brown eyes. They’re actually quite lovely.
"Thanks, Brad. Just having one of those days, you know?"
He places his hand over his heart, and I see an understanding glimmer in his eyes. "Yeah, I do know."
I watch as his hand makes a move toward mine, but instantly I retreat, shoving my hand under the table.
My nerves manage to get the best of me as I make my way over to the W Hotel. I’m not biting my nails this time, but I’m cracking my knuckles which I’ll admit is kind of gross, and straightening my clothes. Silently, I’m giving myself a sexual pep talk; it’s not working. My insides are twisting and I’m starting to sweat, but I need this desperately. My brain needs to fall silent.
Passing through to the elevators, I’m met by a couple of stares. That’s a good sign. I must be worth staring at. Fran has me wearing a navy blue halter dress and apparently it meets with the approval of random strangers. I make my way up to the twenty-seventh floor, then stand frozen in the hallway as I stare at the door near the end. I recall The Shining and half expect blood to pour from the walls. Not a good visual when you’re about to have sex. Pausing, I roll my shoulders, hold my head up high, and hope my legs will carry me far enough before giving out.
Dane opens the door and his eyes move up and down the length of my body. “You look spectacular, Gabby. Come on in.”
“Thanks,” I say, still not understanding why I’m so nervous. I mean, I’ve had sex before, but there’s something about Dane and I just can’t put my finger on it.
He gestures with his hand for me to walk in further, and I do. “Would you like a drink?” he asks with his back turned to the bar, ice cub
es clinking against a glass.
“Sure,” I respond, about to ask for a lemon drop. I think better of it. “I’ll have a martini with an olive.”
Dane turns around, a look of surprise on his face. “Sure, coming right up.”
As he makes the drinks, I’m taking in the room. It’s ridiculously large, easily four times the size of my apartment. There’s a huge king-size bed covered in very expensive sheets, a sitting area with a plush couch and two matching wingback chairs, and a space where the bar is that has a flat screen television mounted on the wall. As long as there are Swedish Fish on the room service menu, I could totally live here.
Dane brings over our drinks, escorts me to the table, and pulls out my chair.
“Thank you.”
I see his eyes move over my cleavage and quickly take a couple big sips of my martini.
He stares at my lips as he speaks. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of ordering us capellini primavera.”
My mouth is starting to feel dry. “Yes, that’s fine, thanks.”
There’s a knock at the door and then a man’s voice. “Room service.”
Dane gets up to answer it and his fingers graze my bare shoulder, sending shockwaves to my toes. The guy rolls in the cart with our dinner and Dane gives him a sizeable tip. He walks out one happy dude.
As soon as the door shuts, Dane lunges for me, pulling my body tightly against him. He forces my hands behind me as he leans in and pushes his wet tongue into my mouth. The teasing way he strokes it tells me he’s done this a million times before. I’m sure he has. I push the thought out of my mind as he leaves my lips and moves down to coat my neck with blistering kisses, sucking on my warm, supple skin. His hot breath fans my throat like small gusts of wind as his hands travel greedily down my body, squeezing and kneading my breasts through the fine material of my dress. My nipples harden in response. I draw in a breath when I feel his erection pushing between my thighs.
It’s now or never, and my body can’t wait a second longer. I shove the dress down my legs, leaving me incredibly vulnerable and open to his wandering eyes; eyes that showcase an undeniable hunger, an emotion reflected in my own.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathes as his shirt and pants follow suit and scatter to the floor. His arms sweep under my knees and he carries me to the oversized bed, but not before I reach around and make quick work of the strap on my bra. The thin satin falls from my arms and his fingers play with the tender peaks of my nipples. He draws one into his mouth and the tingling sensation makes me cry out. His lips continues to explore while his hands lower my panties to the floor, baring me completely. When he pushes back up, he whispers, “I want to fuck you so badly, Gabby.”
His words inflame my desire and I wrap my arms around his neck, grabbing him hard enough to feel his growing arousal. He pushes me down on the bed and quickly rids himself of his boxer shorts, exposing his rather large erection. “Put your hands on me.”
Gripping him firmly, I move my hand lightly up and down his hard length until he gasps, climbing over my body like an animal overtaking its prey. I pull him inside of me and he begins bucking in and out, while blowing rapid, heavy breaths.
Loud moans erupt from my mouth as my body matches his pulsating rhythm. His forehead is beading with sweat and his body dripping with desire as the smell of our lust fills the air. As our breathing becomes more erratic, he holds my hips tightly and continues pounding into me until we both find our release. Jesus.
When we’re finally sated and our breathing slows, Dane lifts his green emeralds and glares at me wickedly. “That was fucking hot, Gabby. You’re incredible.”
“Hmmmm” is all I can manage at the moment, because as far as sex goes, yeah, it was pretty amazing.
It’s just after one a.m. by the time I get home. Fran’s leaning against the kitchen counter with her hands on her hips. I smile. Of course she waited up for me. She couldn’t help herself.
“Well?!” Geez, she’s like a Doberman.
“Can I get in the door first?”
“No. Let’s have it.”
I string one long sentence together. “We had mind blowing sex and he ravaged me in ways I never thought possible, and he has a seriously hot body and a really big...”
“Oh my God! I just knew he had a giant cock!”
“FRAN!” I gasp.
“What?”
“Yes, it was huge, okay, and there’s something else, too. He’s a bit of a dirty talker.”
“Hot damn, Gabby! You’ve hit the freaking jackpot! Plus, the dirty talk just upped his hotness by a thousand percent. Wait!” she blurts with a raised eyebrow. “Did you really have dinner, or was the whole dinner thing just a front to get you into bed?”
I try to give her one of those wicked looks she always gives me. “Let’s just say I’m starving.”
She flips her hair back and saunters toward her room. “Good. Now I can go to bed. You’ve given me some good material to work with.”
***
The next few weeks fly by and my routine continues to be, well…routine. The consistency helps me cope, but, at the same time, bores the shit out of me. My job is going well. Dane and I have been seeing, I mean screwing, each other periodically. Brad and I have been hanging out at the coffee shop a lot. I’ve been getting there earlier in the mornings so we have more time to chat, and we’ve gone to a movie or two. Fran and I are doing what we always do. Most of the time, though, I just feel like a shell. I’m pretty sure if someone bumped into me, I’d shatter into a million pieces.
Fran has been getting earfuls of sordid sex details and enjoying every minute of it. Apparently, she’s enjoying every minute of Kyle too. They seem to be getting on well and it makes me happy. I’ve been getting to know Kyle since he’s been hanging out at our apartment a lot more, and I have to say I completely misjudged him. I made assumptions when we met based on his job, and I was way off. He couldn’t be sweeter to Fran, and in fact, every Friday she comes home to a delivery of lilies, her favorite flower. I like the way he wants to take care of her, too. She hasn’t had much of that in her life aside from her mom and me, and she needs it. I’m definitely keeping my fingers crossed on this one.
Today has dragged a bit, weekend or not, and I’m ready to go home for a bath and some serious nesting under my goose down comforter. But when I push open the door to the apartment, I find Fran on the sofa, crying. I run to her and cup her wet cheeks in my hands. “Fran, what’s wrong? What happened?”
The tears are sliding furiously down her face and I’m worried. This isn’t like Fran. I pull her close to me and just hold her. After a few minutes, she pulls back. “My mom just called. My dad contacted her again, pressing her for my information. He told her he’s changed. He’s not going to let this go until he finds me, Gabby.”
“Fran, listen to me. You’re not that little girl anymore. He can’t hurt you. I won’t let him hurt you, I promise.”
She looks at me with lifeless green eyes. She doesn’t seem panicked or scared, more resigned. It’s shattering to see my strong, independent Fran brought to her knees by the possibility of seeing her father.
“That’s just it, Gabby. Whenever I even think about my dad, I am that little girl. I don’t want to see him again. I can’t see him.”
“So you won’t,” I say with a fierce determination.
I help Fran into her jammies and she climbs into bed with me. I hold her all night long, and watch her as she sleeps. Her ebony hair sprawled across the pillow, her long, dark eyelashes hovering on her face. So beautiful, but so sad. Just a vulnerable little girl who only ever wanted what every little girl wants…a father who will love her and protect her against the horrors of the world, not create them.
***
Saturday morning I awake to a sleeping Fran. There’s not a hint of her past lining her face, only peace. That’s what I wish for her. As I watch her, I think of the struggle she’s had to endure over the years and my issues see
m so small in comparison.
I pull on my jeans, a t-shirt, my red Converse, and then grab my iPod. Leaving Fran a quick note on the kitchen counter, I slip in my earbuds and jam to “Candy Girl” by New Edition while I suck on a Twizzler. I’ve got the perfect plan; subway, fancy coffee, and those special chocolate donuts with sprinkles that Fran loves so much.
The Brew House is packed this morning, but I spot Brad immediately behind the counter. It’s hard to miss that dimpled smile. Although, I notice he isn’t smiling today. I make my way through the long line, pulling my earbuds from my ears, until finally it’s my turn. “Hey, Brad.”
“Hey, Gabby,” he says with glassy eyes and downturned lips.
“Are you okay?”
He looks over at Erica, his right-hand in the shop. “Can you take over the register for a bit?”
I steer him to a nearby table. His eyes glaze over and all I see is sadness. “What is it, Brad? What’s going on?”
He pauses, unsure whether he wants to continue. “It’s just that…today is the anniversary of my sister’s death. She passed away five years ago, from breast cancer.”
“God, Brad, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
“It’s okay. I don’t like to talk about it that much.”
A lone tear rolls down his cheek, and I have a strong desire to lift my finger and wipe it away, but I don’t. Instead, I place my hand over his, ever so briefly. I need him to know that I understand. And I do. I really do.
He looks down at our hands, and I feel the need to say something. “I’d love to hear about her sometime, if you’d like. When you’re ready, that is…I’m a really great listener.”
We sit quietly for a few minutes, before the shop starts to get more crazy and they need him behind the counter. Brad pats my hand and half-smiles, then goes back to work.
When I get back to our apartment, Fran is awake and watching re-runs of I Love Lucy. As soon as I walk in, she turns the TV off.
I mill around our tiny kitchen, pull a tray and some napkins from a cupboard under the microwave, arrange our breakfast on it, and then go sit next to Fran on the sofa. “Two special chocolate sprinkle donuts, and one caramel latte.”
