I Speak...Love (A Different Road Book 3)

by Annalisa Nicole

  I load the catering bags in the back, then climb up in my seat, setting the backpack on my lap. I run my finger over the surface and by impulse, I lean down, press my nose to the surface, and take a deep sniff. As incredible as it smells, it reeks of the pain that will surely come. Then something Stephen said plays in my head. It’s for safety. No one has ever cared about my safety. All of these new feelings directed at me are foreign and seriously conflict with how I raised myself. Growing up like I did, you learn to adjust yourself until you’re numb and don’t feel anything anymore. This . . . these feelings . . . these cares . . . you can’t see them, but they’re there, and they physically hurt. They hurt my heart like nothing I’ve ever felt before.

  My client’s Jag pulls into the driveway, and she gets out. She looks at me with a smile and gives me a cheery wave, then she goes into her house. She was my last client for the day, so I drive back to California chef to unload my supplies.

  Nina joins me in the back room and starts to help me put away my extra supplies.

  “Hey, I was wondering if you’d like to do a prenatal shoot,” she says in passing like it’s not something that will knock my socks off.

  My eyes go big, then I look at her in utter shock, and say, “Umm . . . absolutely!”

  “Awesome!” she replies. “I’d like to do it maybe in four weeks. You know, while I’m still cute, and I’m not totally uncomfortable.”

  “Sounds great,” I reply.

  “Hey, I’ll pick you up Saturday, say around eleven? Then we can go to the park, get set up for the shoot, and you can give me a little guidance since I’ve never done anything like this before,” she says, walking to the door.

  “Sounds great,” I say again, then she’s gone.

  These past few months, and especially the past few weeks, have been like living in an episode of The Twilight Zone. I get back in my van and drive home. I do my pausing on the porch with my key thing, then I go inside and sit on the couch with my fresh from the showroom floor smelling camera backpack. I can’t help it. I smell it again. I take it out, then I reach for my laptop and remove the memory card from the camera, excited to see on a bigger screen how the pictures of the food from my client’s house turned out.

  My heart jumps in my chest when I get a look at the size of the memory card. Holy shit! It’s the largest card I think they make. I’ll never have to come home early from taking photographs because I’ve filled the memory card ever again.

  I slip it into the slot on the side of my laptop, then I freeze. The picture that fills the screen isn’t one of food. It’s of me and there’s a big, happy, completely unrecognizable smile plastered on my face. I have to do a double take because I hardly recognize myself or even believe that it’s me. Is this what happiness looks like on my face?

  I play around with the camera getting myself acquainted with all the exciting features for a few hours, then I think about Stephen again for the millionth time. I look at my purse and bite my lip, remembering Joss asked me to invite him to dinner tomorrow.

  Eight at night on a Friday evening, and I’m sitting in my office working. I live such an exciting life. My cell phone vibrates next to my hand with an incoming call. I tilt it to me so I can see who is calling. It’s Friday and the expected weekend dinner invitation is overdue. I read the display, and it says, unknown caller. I set the phone back down, relieved it’s not Kate or Joss with an invitation to dinner that I’m only going to decline.

  The phone stops ringing and I get back to work. Thirty minutes later, it rings again. Again, it says, unknown caller. This time, something tells me I should answer it. I swipe my finger across the screen and put it to my ear.

  “Hello,” I answer irritated.

  “Stephen?” a gentle voice asks.

  Chills break out over my arms and chest when instantly I recognize who it is.

  It’s Maddy.

  “Sweetness,” I breathe.

  I hear the hushed intake of her breath from the term of endearment. God, I love doing that to her.

  “I hope I’m not calling too late. I wanted to thank you again for the camera,” she says in a sweet, sexy whisper.

  “It’s not too late. I’m still at work,” I tell her.

  “You’re still at work? Have you eaten dinner?” she asks.

  As if on cue, my stomach growls reminding me that no, I haven’t eaten dinner yet and yes, I’m starving.

  “I haven’t eaten yet. I was just about to pack up and head home,” I tell her.

  “Why don’t you come over for a late dinner? It will take you fifteen-twenty minutes to get here, by then, I can have something ready,” she offers.

  A smile immediately forms on my face with the opportunity to see Maddy again today.

  No, this has gone on long enough as it is. You need to nip this in the bud before you find yourself addicted and unable to keep away from her.

  Too late. Who am I kidding? I’m already addicted to her.

  “Are you sure it’s not too late?” I ask.

  I know she has that shoot in the morning. I don’t want to keep her up.

  “Not at all, I’ll see you in a little bit,” she says.

  “See you in a few,” I say and hang up.

  I quickly pack up my briefcase for the weekend with all the files I need to work on, then I grab my keys and get in my car. I stop at a store, pick up a bottle of wine, then drive outside of Malibu and pull into Maddy’s driveway in just under twenty minutes without any traffic.

  I knock on the door and hear her feet hitting the floor as she quickly walks toward the door. It opens and like a reverse vacuum, the smell of a fresh batch of her famous chocolate chip cookies hits my nose. Shortly after that, my eyes greedily travel over Maddy’s delicious body. She’s wearing a pair of worn shorts that are frayed at the ends and a tank top. Her hair is in a ponytail, but this time, it’s loose at the nape of her neck. Every time I see her, she sends each and every one of my senses into a lustful frenzy.

  “Hi,” she says in a breathy whisper, cocking her head to the side as I enjoy the sight of her body.

  “Hi,” I reply with a crooked smirk.

  “Come in,” she offers, then opens the door all the way.

  I walk inside and immediately spot her laptop and the camera sitting on the coffee table. There are two place settings at the counter bar top and the mix of aromas makes my mouth water. Not only for the food, but again for her. She closes the door behind me, and I hand her the bottle of wine. She takes it with a smile, and then heads into the kitchen. I follow behind her and take a seat at one of the high-backed stools at the island. She opens a drawer and removes a wine opener, then with ease, she opens it and places it next to me. She retrieves two wine glasses and sets them next to the bottle. She goes over to the stove and fills two plates, then sets one in front of me and the other next to me. I pour us each a glass of wine, then she walks around and sits next to me.

  We sit side by side and eat while I tell her about my day. I’ve never done this before, and I have to say, it feels good to have someone actually want to listen to me talk and tell them all about the day I had. After we’re both done eating, she takes both plates in her hand and stands up.

  “I’ll get them,” I tell her and take the plates from her.

  “You don’t have to,” she replies.

  “I don’t have to, but I want to. You cooked, I’ll clean. It looks like you were working on something; go ahead. I’ll be there in a few minutes,” I tell her, jutting my chin out toward the coffee table.

  She smiles, then takes her glass of wine and sits on the couch. She opens her laptop and clicks on a few things while I clean up the little mess there is to clean up. It looks like she cleans as she works because really all there is to do is load the two plates and silverware in the dishwasher. I spot the cookies on a platter on the far counter and pop one in my mouth. Maddy eyes me from the couch and smiles a sexy smile at me, instantly making me hard. She picks up her laptop, crosses her legs unde
rneath her ass, then sits back against the couch.

  I walk up behind her and see a picture of food on her laptop, then I take her ponytail in my hand and run my hand down her silky, smooth hair. I gently sweep it off her neck and twirl it around my finger. She cocks her head to the side, revealing the sexy dip in her freckled shoulder. It’s then I see a pink orchid tattooed on her upper left shoulder. I lean down and softly place my tongue on the back of her neck and slide the loose strap of her tank top and bra over the edge of her shoulder, exposing that the orchid isn’t the end of her tattoo. There’s more of it hidden under her tank top. I drag my tongue over to the orchid, then place my lips firmly on her skin. I slowly kiss her upper back and watch as her eyes again roll in the back of her head, then close. Gently, I suck her satin smooth skin between my lips as a soft hum vibrates on her throat. Even as far as her tank top is lowered, I still can’t see the end of her tattoo. I’ve fantasized about playing connect the dots with her freckles on her body. I close my eyes and imagine myself kissing every magnificent freckle and every last drop of ink that covers her entire perfect body.

  I open my eyes, then with my other hand, I gently slip the other strap of her tank top and bra down her other shoulder. I push the straps down lower on her arms, exposing the very tips of her pale, supple, pastel pink nipples. My erection swells, and I desperately want to run my tongue up and down her pebbled nipples. Slowly, I move one hand to the front of her chest, then sink downward over her silky smooth, warm breast. Gently firming my grip, I roll her nipple between my finger and thumb. She moans with pleasure and rocks her hips and ass firmly in her seat. She firmly grips her laptop in her hand, pushing a few buttons in the process, changing the picture that’s on the screen. My hand underneath her bra freezes in place when I see it’s one of the pictures I took of her earlier in my office. She looks so happy, so perfect, so beautiful, and so very damned breakable.

  You can’t do this to her.

  I remove my lips from her skin and stand up. I dig my hand in my pocket and adjust my raging hard on. She turns around and looks at me with lust dripping in her eyes.

  You so can’t do this to her

  “I should go,” I tell her.

  Instantly, her eyes fill with a fraction of the pain I know I can cause her.

  “Is it something I did?” she asks, pulling up her shirt.

  “No, it’s not you. It’s me,” I tell her the lamest cliché in all of history.

  She stands up, then puts her laptop on the coffee table and follows me to the door. I place my hand on the handle, determined to leave before I hurt her, but stop when she places her hand on my shoulder.

  How can something that feels so damned right be so wrong?

  “Stephen,” she calls.

  Don’t turn around. Don’t look in her eyes. Don’t do it. You’ll only hurt her more.

  “Maddy, I’m sorry, I can’t do this. I’m not good for you. I’ll only end up hurting you,” I say, telling her the truth.

  I turn the handle on the door and leave without another look. I’m pretty sure though that this has hurt me so much more than it hurts her.

  Stephen just left and I’m so confused. What did I do? He saw my tattoo. Did it disgust him and turn him off? He saw and touched my side bra chubby rolls. Did that horrify him? When someone gives you the sorry for an excuse, it’s not you, it’s me—it’s most definitely not them and absolutely one hundred percent you. It’s probably for the better in the long run anyway. The punishment of losing Stephen after falling in love with him wouldn’t just hurt—it would totally destroy me.

  The problem is . . . I’ve already started to fall for him.

  I walk over to the couch and bite my thumb between my teeth as I stare at the happy photo of a woman I don’t identify with. I slam the lid closed, walk down the hallway to my bedroom, and flop on the bed with tears in my eyes.

  The next morning, I wake up early and start a pot of coffee. I take my cup outside and sit on the patio to enjoy the warm morning sunrise. As I take a sip from my favorite coffee cup, I glance back inside the house at the backpack sitting on the coffee table. It instantly reminds me of the person who gave it to me, and that he walked out on me last night. It also reminds me that I have my very first paid photo shoot in only a few short hours.

  I finish my cup of coffee, then grab some comfortable clothes and walk into the bathroom. I strip naked, with the thoughts of last night fresh in my mind, and stare at myself in the mirror. I reach up and pinch the side fat that rests between my arm and my breast and make an ugly face in the mirror. I look at my crazy, wiry red hair and pale complexion marred in ugly brown freckles. It’s no wonder he left. I tip my shoulder to the side and look at the tattoo I once thought was beautiful. I don’t know why I thought it was beautiful. What it represents and the reasons why I got it aren’t beautiful at all.

  I get in the shower, then I get dressed and pack up my camera. Just before eleven, I plaster on my perfected chameleon smile and wait for Nina. At eleven on the nose, there’s a knock on my door. I grab my backpack and walk to the door.

  I check my chameleon smile, then I open the door. The second it’s open, Nina’s face changes from happy-go-lucky to concern.

  “What’s wrong?” she deadpans, taking my hand, leading me back to the couch.

  She puts her hands on my shoulders and pushes me down on my ass on the cushion.

  “Umm . . . nothing, but we need to get going,” I say, standing back up.

  “Not until you tell me what’s wrong,” she insists, pushing me back down on the couch on my ass.

  I look her in the eyes, and I know for a fact that she plans on doing just that. I’ll never get to my first photo session if I don’t spill it.

  “Stephen,” I say, hoping that one word is enough.

  “Ah,” she says. “What did he do?” she asks, not letting my one word answer be enough.

  I again look into her eyes to gauge how much of this I really need to get into before we can leave. From the look in her eyes, she want’s every last detail.

  “We’ve been . . . I have . . . I think I’m . . .” I start to say, flustered, but I can’t seem to finish a single thought out loud.

  What I’m trying to tell her is, we’ve been seeing each other, I have strong feelings for him, and that I think I’m falling in love with him, but I can’t get it any of it out.

  “Yes, I know all that. Everyone knows all that, but what did he do?” she asks, sitting down next to me.

  “Wait? Everyone knows this?” I question.

  “Well, now that you finally know it yourself, yes, I think everyone knows,” she says like a smart ass. “What did he do?” she asks again.

  “He was . . . we were . . . then he was right there,” I say, motioning my hands over my breasts. “Then he abruptly stopped and ran out the front door like he just saw Freddy Krueger hiding under my bra. He gave me the dreaded, it’s not you, it’s me speech, then he said that he can’t do this, he’s not good for me and that he’ll only hurt me,” I tell her.

  “That’s some straight up, smelly ass BULLshit! River tried telling Joss that same line of crap! Don’t fall for it, girl,” she says, then she gets up, takes my hand, and pulls me out the front door.

  She closes the door behind me, takes the keys out of my hands and locks the front door. We get in her car, then I tell her turn-by-turn directions on how to get to the park.

  At the park, I set up my camera on a tripod and test out the lighting by taking several test photographs.

  “So, tell me how I can help you,” Nina says. I remove the two lenses from the backpack and tell her the names of each. I instruct her on a few positioning tips for the girls and how she can help me reposition their hair or clothing. “Got it,” she says. “Oh, here comes Courtney and the girls now,” she says, pointing to the street.

  Courtney smiles as she walks up the grassy hill with one of the girls’ hands in each of hers. Both girls are beautiful and look just like their mother
. I wonder if I look anything like my mother. Where do I get my red hair and green eyes from, my mother or my father?

  “Maddy!” Courtney exclaims cheerfully. “It’s so nice to see you again. You’ve met Hartley,” she says, putting her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. “This right here is her twin sister, Hensley,” she says, removing one of her hands from Hartley and places it on Hensley’s shoulder.

  “It’s nice to see you again, Hartley, and it’s so very nice to meet you, Hensley,” I tell them, placing my confident, business chameleon smile on my face. “Shall we get started?” I ask.

  “You two listen to what Ms. Maddy says so we can give Daddy the perfect picture for his birthday. OK, girls?” she tells them.

  Nina jumps right to work and starts to arrange the girls in different poses. She took my instruction and then perfected it. As I look through the camera lens at Hensley and Hartley, I find myself wondering if this is normal and if this is the life I missed out on. What did my mother’s face look like when she abandoned me. Was it an easy decision or a hard decision? Was she even upset? I pull my eye away from the lens, and I look at Courtney as she proudly looks at her daughters. It’s truly a beautiful sight to see.

  “Now you get in there, Courtney,” I tell her, filled with the slightest tinge of jealousy.

  “Oh, no, this is just for the girls,” she insists.

  I look at her while her daughters plead with her in their cute little girl voices to take a few photos with them. It doesn’t take any more encouragement from me, and she willingly stands next to her beautiful daughters. After an hour, I have way more photos than I need. It was so much fun, and the girls were so well behaved. It’s going to take me hours to go through and edit all of the photos, but I seriously can’t wait to get started.

  “I should pay you a deposit,” Courtney offers.

  “You should?” I reply as a question.

  “Yes, of course, I should. I never even asked, how much do you charge?” How much do I charge? That’s a really good question. “I tried looking it up online last night, but I couldn’t find your website.”