by M. Mabie
I didn’t know whether feeling like that was a good thing or a bad thing, but it was new, and I loved new. Different. Unfortunately, just it wasn’t going to happen for us.
He snuck out, and I didn’t bother going to my bedroom that night. I ended up curled up on the side of the couch he’d sat on, where his smell still lingered long after he’d gone, and woke up there Sunday morning.
I didn’t see him the next day, but he waved at me Monday morning when he drove out of the parking garage as I got into a cab.
I wondered if he’d given up already. After all, that’s what was best. For everyone.
I’d been able to arrange a charity brunch for that week, so at least I had a few things to focus on, but I was just ready for Thursday. Ready to unwind with people who I didn’t have to explain everything to. I wanted to kick back with a cocktail and enjoy the sun. Maybe make some new friends.
The days ticked down, and I still didn’t hear anything out of him.
On Wednesday, curiosity got the best of me. We were friends after all. Maybe I was bored, too. Over the past few years, I hadn’t had the luxury of being bored, so I wasn’t sure what to do with myself.
Wednesday evening, I forced myself to work out hoping I’d naturally run into him, but I didn’t. Restless, I sat in my living room and picked up the phone.
ME: I was thinking about grabbing some dinner. What are you doing?
ME: This is Nora, by the way.
I put it back down, refusing to obsess over how long it would take him to reply. That was, if he did at all.
We’d agreed to be friends, but there was something else there, and even I felt it. It was tangible, but out of my reach.
I straightened up the magazines on my coffee table, for the second time in ten minutes. Then said, “Fuck it,” and got up to open a bottle of wine.
It was early, and there was a chance he wasn’t even home. I wasn’t about to sit around and wait on someone’s text—no matter how attractive he was.
Yet another reason I’d always remained mostly single. I didn’t like the feeling of being tethered to someone. I didn’t want to depend on another person to be content. Just the same as I didn’t want to be responsible for anybody else’s happiness.
I stood in the kitchen, drank from my full glass, and watched my phone from there, trying to distract myself with thoughts of the next night.
I’d be in my element.
I’d be with people who only wanted what I did. Who expected the same from me. I knew how to be that Nora.
Lately, I hadn’t felt like myself which was scary. I’d felt faded, like part of me was missing.
My phone lit up, and a thrill went through me. For practice in self-control, I finished my glass and poured a second. I wasn’t about to rush in there to see what he had to say. It might not even be him.
Then I considered it could be work—and for that reason alone—I looked.
REAGAN: How’s that toe?
ME: Didn’t make it. Replaced with new, more intuitive model. Busy?
I smiled. There wasn’t a single other person who would have ever thought to ask me about a stubbed toe from last week.
REAGAN: Doing some reading.
Reading? Nice.
ME: Okay. Just thought I’d see if you wanted to get a friendly bite to eat. Maybe another time.
I didn’t want to bother him, especially if he was in the middle of something.
REAGAN: Are you hungry?
ME: A little. I’m going to run down the block to the bistro on the corner.
Had I just asked him out? It felt that way. How many times had we eaten together in one short week? About the same number of times he’d asked me to go on dates that I’d declined.
How many new ways could I find to be a hypocrite?
REAGAN: I have steaks. Come down here.
Oh, steak sounded good.
Wait. No.
Wait. Yes, that’s what I’d wanted, in a way.
Why did he have to be so bossy? Why couldn’t he ask? Then again, I’d told him to quit asking so many questions. I was probably more confusing than he was.
ME: I might.
I might? How wishy-washy.
REAGAN: You might? What kind of answer is that?
Did I want to go down there? I’d thought maybe we could go out. Be on neutral ground. Would there ever be neutral ground?
REAGAN: Are you hungry or not?
I rolled my eyes. I supposed I had asked for it though.
ME: I’m hungry, but you sound busy. I don’t want to interrupt whatever you’re doing.
REAGAN: You messaged me, therefore you knew I was probably doing something. You asked me if I wanted to eat with you. I do. I have steak. Do you want steak or not?
Did I? This was all happening so fast. I wasn’t sure what I wanted. I thought I’d make a decision when we got to the bistro.
Then again, it sounded good. Really good.
ME: What should I bring?
REAGAN: Just your ass down the hall, Nora.
He was in a mood. I hoped he wasn’t reading some serial killer novel. That shit gets into your head. That’s why I only read reference-type books. No drama.
I didn’t want to deal with his either.
Was it too late to say wrong number? Probably, since my dumbass messaged him.
REAGAN: Excuse me. I’d like you to come down here.
Well, that was better. He was like two different men sometimes. The relaxed, easy going guy from down the hall. And the overbearing, know-it-all with a sharp tongue.
I wanted him to be the former, so I’d set the pace.
ME: My ass will be there in a minute.
He was always serious, but if I chose not to take him that way, it might make him loosen up.
REAGAN: :)
Reagan Warren uses smiley faces?
I sat back and laughed my ass off. Jekyll and motherfucking Hyde.
I grabbed my open bottle, glass, and key, then headed down the hall.
When my knuckles rapped against his door, it startled me how fast it opened.
“Hi,” I said around my wine glass, doing my best not to spill.
“Hi,” he replied and opened the door. I followed him in. His ass in those grey Tom Ford pants made my stomach growl. I was hungrier than I’d thought.
He turned, hearing it, too.
Embarrassed, my eyes widened.
“How hungry are you? That new toe must have some appetite.” He didn’t smile, but I could see the humor in his warm, brown eyes.
He made me giggle. “I guess so.” His jokes—as dry as they were—were growing on me.
I took another sip. I’d need to slow down before I gave myself a drinking problem.
“Do you like baked potatoes? I’m not a great cook, but I can manage steak and potatoes.”
Reagan still had his work clothes on, but his button up shirt was untucked, and he didn’t have shoes or socks on. He was somewhat disheveled, but I liked it.
Then again, I was wearing leggings and an oversized tank top. I supposed I didn’t look all that put together either, but I’d taken a shower after the gym and dressed for comfort, not yet knowing I’d be texting and coming there.
“Steak sounds good. Get a glass,” I told him as I followed him to the island and set down my almost half-drank bottle.
“You drink a lot of wine.”
“Lately, I do,” I admitted. I’d had at least a glass every day since I’d moved to Chicago.
He warned, “You should watch that.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I wasn’t going to let him turn it into an intervention. It was hardly needed. In fact, I would have bet my relationship with wine was a direct result of my relationship with the man in front of me.
Reagan huffed but busied himself with putting the meat on a broiler pan and doctoring it. I watched as he sprinkled some of this, some of that, using no real measurements.
He just went with it.
How could someone wi
th so much attention to details go all rogue with steak seasoning?
Then again, who was I to talk? I was queen of let’s see what happens. Maybe we had some things in common, but I highly doubted there were many.
After popping them into the oven, he spun on his feet and said, “These won’t take too long. How was your day?”
He looked as relaxed as it usually took him all night to achieve. His posture was fluid, and he leaned on the counter and swayed slightly.
I could see into his shirt through the unbuttoned portion at the top, and his undershirt hugged him like a second skin. Managing not to stare, I answered, “Good. I really like the hotel. They’ve hired another person to help with hospitality and events. Which is a good thing before I have to leave for Switzerland again. She’s great, and at least this way, they won’t find themselves in the mess they did before me.”
He nodded, intently listening to me go on about work.
“That seems like a smart idea. What do you actually do there?”
“I organize and manage the hospitality side. Book receptions, conventions. Things like that. The Harbor offers full event planning services. So sometimes that means partnering with other contractors, bakers, photographers, things like that.” It was an exciting job, and I loved how each day was different.
Quickly he turned around and set a timer but kept talking. “Sounds pretty fast paced. Ever get burnt out?”
“No, and now since I have Brooke, it’s a lot less stressful. It’s been a crash course in learning Chicago, but she’s local. That helps, too.”
We talked about the Harbor more, and the room filled with savory smells. My stomach growled again, but this time, he only gave me a look acknowledging that he’d heard it.
We finished the bottle of wine, turns out with a little direction, he poured my glass exactly how I liked it. Full.
“God, that was good. You should let me clean up,” I offered, as I finished my last bite, having eaten everything he sat before me. I was glad my pants were flexible, I was stuffed.
“No, I’ve got it. It won’t take me long. Besides I’ll be faster, I know where everything goes.”
Control freak.
“Well, if I help, I’ll know, too,” I argued, then his phone buzzed.
Who was that? What time was it? Was it late? Was it work? Was it a woman?
What did I care?
I needed to slow down on the wine. I was thinking like a suspicious girlfriend. By nature, I was neither a jealous woman nor anyone’s girlfriend.
“I have to take this. It’s my dad. Don’t touch anything,” he instructed, punctuating it with a finger as he walked out of the room and answered his cell. “Hey, Dad. What’s up?”
Reagan Warren said what’s up and used smiley faces. A week before, I would have never dreamed it so. I definitely hadn’t given him enough credit. He was more than some alpha male type.
Granted he was really freaking weird and liked things his way—that was absolute. He was bossy too, but also honest.
If he would just give a little.
I’d been attracted to his body—almost from the start. But after the past few weeks, talking to him more, watching him closer, I could see there was more to him than some stiff businessman.
Yet, despite how much I knew he preferred it when I did as he told me, I didn’t listen to him.
He can’t tell me what to do. Especially, since he left the room.
It was only a few dishes, so I didn’t even bother with the washer. I ran some hot water, soaped it up, found a scrubber thing under the sink, and went at it. Then I pulled a towel from the drawer I’d watched him get one out of to wrap the ice pack in. As I dried, I silently cheered myself on as, piece after piece, I found each item’s home and put them away.
I was sorting the silverware into their drawer, impressed with myself, when he said behind me, “I told you not to do that.”
It felt like he spoke straight into the back of my head. I didn’t let it stop me from finishing though.
Fork, you go there. Spoon, here.
When the last piece of flatware was in its slot, I folded the towel as I closed the drawer with my hip.
I turned where I stood and gently argued, “Well, then you wasted your breath. You. Couldn’t. Stop. Me.”
He blinked slowly, and I reconsidered my words.
Why did I always have to press buttons with him? As much as I hated the concentrated way he leered, it ignited something inside me, too.
“Would you like me to tell you how thin the line you’re standing on is?”
My body thrummed with adrenaline, and my fingers began to tingle. I swallowed, still unsure if I was ready to curb my tongue.
“Whatever you like, Mr. Warren,” I cooed, knowing that even though I’d taken a step back with my attitude, I’d also just slit my wrists and walked into a lion’s cage. I was reckless, but I felt alive.
Then, he surprised me. “You think I can’t figure out how to get you? How to make you stop fighting this?”
Was he trying to do that?
“You said we were friends,” I said timidly in a rush. Quick to use my only defense.
“We are. Unless something changes.”
Were things changing? I knew on some level they already had. Then again, I was so confused. Frustrated. And so fucking hot for him that I’d damn near agree to anything if he’d fucking kiss me already.
Then what would I do? What would that mean?
My head said I wasn’t ready for those answers because I wouldn’t like them.
“Anything change yet?” I asked.
It hadn’t. It wouldn’t. People don’t simply get okay with sharing their partners. People don’t suddenly become non-monogamous. Just the same as poly people don’t all the sudden want only one lover.
“You tell me,” he said, turning the tables.
Of course things had, even if it was against everything I believed. I wasn’t oblivious to the way he made me feel. Quite the opposite. When I felt things around him, it was like I was feeling them for the first time. The excitement. The tension. The need.
I admitted, “I don’t know. I’m not sure.”
His eyes softened, warmed, and they roamed back and forth in mine. “What aren’t you sure about?” He was sincere and concerned and deserved the truth, and that was the one thing my lifestyle coveted most. Honesty.
“I’m attracted to you, but I know I shouldn’t be.”
“And it’s confusing you?” He stepped closer.
I didn’t back away. “Yes. I’m not what you want, and I don’t think you’re what I want either.”
He bit the corner of his lip and said, “You don’t know what I want, and, at the moment, I’m still trying to decide myself.”
My chest caved a little from the weight of it all. “It shouldn’t be this difficult.”
He ran his fingers down my arm.
God, that feels nice.
“Do you think inventing the wheel was easy?”
Huh?
“No,” I answered.
“Then why do you think re-inventing it would be easy?” The back of his hand grazed my neck and my eyes fluttered. He added, “Don’t worry. I will figure this out for us.”
My head fell forward, but he lifted my chin to meet my eyes.
“What is there to figure out, you like one thing? I like many things.”
His eyes were dark, and his mouth was close to mine.
I thought about doing it—just going for it—but I wasn’t that selfish. It would only lead to chaos and drama and shit I didn’t know how to handle. I wasn’t prepared for what came along with those actions, but still, I couldn’t deny I wanted to act.
I asked, “Do you still want me to kiss you?”
He licked his lips. Suddenly, mine felt dry, and I licked them in response.
His voice was low, barely above a whisper, but his expression spoke volumes. His chest brushed mine with every breath he took. “It’s beyond that, Nora.
A kiss isn’t enough for me now.”
I agreed. I required more than just his mouth on mine. I was dying to know what he felt like everywhere. What it would feel like to be touched by him. To know firsthand if he was loud in bed, or if he was quiet and powerful. It was a mind-bending curiosity.
“I want to show you how good we could be together. I want you to beg me not to stop. I want you to teeter against insanity with my every touch.”
My hands went behind me to hold onto the counter. I needed stability because my center of gravity had fallen to the floor.
It was silent, and we shared the air that passed between us.
“Say something,” he said.
I wanted to, but I couldn’t do it this close. I couldn’t handle the presence of him. The eye contact. The proximity to his lips.
“You’re overwhelming me.” In my lifestyle, truth was the only language allowed, and there it was.
“I know,” he admitted.
I looked down at the floor again, breaking the link we shared. “I need some space, please,” I requested. I felt a bit like Jekyll and Hyde myself.
He complied and moved back, like I knew he would. “I didn’t mean for you to be uncomfortable, but I had to be honest.”
I was honest; he was blunt.
It wasn’t necessary for him to know that I wanted to try everything he’d mentioned. Honesty doesn’t only mean confessing your every truth the second you realize it. It also means you live it.
SEVENTEEN
PAST
REAGAN – Wednesday, July 2, 2008
All the books were clear on one thing. Polyamorous people insisted on complete honesty. I thought that was what I was giving her.
It might have been a shock since she wasn’t expecting me to be so keen to her way of thinking. However, I’d never been dishonest with her, in my opinion. Maybe shy of passing along every piece of information I had, but that was just my way.
I didn’t want to be rude, but I had a lot of reading to do if I was going to find some common ground where we’d both actually fit. I needed to know the rules. How else would I be able to play by or adjust them?
I was studying.
Hell, I’d pretty much just thought it was threesomes and people from Utah.
