by LJ Evans
As my eyes continued to take you in, you seemed to get more and more irate. And, that’s what did it. I couldn’t help but smile at you then. My very best smile. The smile I reserved for getting what I wanted. A smile I hadn’t used in so long it almost tore my cheeks apart to use it. But, it got the reaction I needed because the lightning in those enormous eyes swallowed by dark lashes faded just a little.
I wanted to smooth out those ruffles of you just a hint more, so I drawled in my Southern accent that I’d never fully acquired in my short stay in Tennessee, “Sorry, darlin’, thought you were someone else.”
But you, this tiny, fairy-like creature in front of me, were not taking my apology or my sexy smile. You put your hand on your hip daring me to try again. And you continued to flip my entire world as you cast your spell. I’m not sure what you used. Pixie dust. Magic. You name it, but I was gone.
“I heard you were an arrogant jerk, and that you were more likely to try to get my dress off than talk to me, but being an asshole can be a story too, right?”
Your fiery boldness made me chuckle. Your outraged tone and the sassy jut of your hip in that flirty, purple dress were still full of contradictions. You made my head spin with brand new images of jewels and stone and ceramic.
You didn’t seem to appreciate my laugh and I tried to tame it. When you turned to flounce away, I couldn’t let you. Not yet, so I took two steps and caught your arm.
“Wait,” I said trying hard not to grin which only made you angrier, or perhaps it was my hand on your elbow. Your face turned as pink as your shoes as you jerked your arm from me.
“Mr. Carmen, I’d advise you to stop while you’re ahead.”
“Shit. If this is ahead, I might as well as go all in.” And I pulled you to me and kissed your full lips. The moment our mouths touched, desire hit me like a wave onto a cliff.
You stiffened with shock before you relaxed into me, and you astonished me yet again by darting a tongue that tasted like bubblegum against my lips. I graciously responded by opening my mouth and engaging in some tongue tangling of my own. Just as you’d hit me in the pit of my belly with a craving no one else could quench, you shoved me and backed away with a strength that continued to rock my world with the paradoxes that were you.
I staggered and reached for you at the same time. But you escaped.
“Tell Locke he won’t be happy with my post.” And you stormed away into the night.
As the gallery door clanged shut behind you, metal ringing against metal, all I thought in succession was, damn. I don’t even know her name and shit, Locke does, and he’ll be pissed.
As I turned back to the table of booze and food, I no longer had any desire to drink from the sparkling glasses. Instead, I wanted a pack of Bubblicious.
***
I dreamt of bubblegum that night and woke up with the smell in my nose and over my tongue. It reminded me of my mom and the packs of Bubblicious she used to sneak to me when my shit-for-brains dad didn’t know. It reminded me of the taste of you.
The sun was barely chasing away the light fog layer when I left the house for a run on the beach. I was dripping sweat when I got back because I’d pressed myself to go farther than normal in an attempt to push you from my senses.
You never asked me why I run. Maybe you just inherently understood that it was a good way for me to burn off my excess anger or my restlessness. It was my shrink from back when I was at LaGuardia High in New York that told me I needed to find something physical to get me off the alcohol and anger train I’d been on for most of my life. And that’s when boxing at John’s with Mac and running had become my thing.
We haven’t talked about Mac much either. Or my shrink. Or my social worker, Marisella, who helped me to get me where I am. But, I don’t want to talk about them now either. Maybe later. In another letter. Right now, I just want to tell you about how you had already changed everything in my life with one conversation and one kiss.
As I headed up the steps from the sand, my cell phone rang, and I inwardly groaned. Only one person called me regularly — Locke. Even Mac didn’t call. He would text if he did anything. Even now, after you, I only have six numbers on my phone. What does that say about a person, Bella? Nothing good. But I guess six is better than the three that were there before you.
“What?” I groused out.
“Seth!” Locke’s tone was both exasperated and exhausted.
I sat down on the steps as the waves crashed against the misty shoreline. “It went well last night,” I said with a snarky tone knowing Locke didn’t feel the same way.
“You would, asshole!” Locke barked.
And in that moment, I lost track of the salty air and the tang of seaweed. Instead I was surrounded once more with the sweet taste of you. You had already buried yourself into my senses.
Impatient with my silence, Lock continued his lecture. “You blew off Dylan Waters. Hollywood’s A-list director and producer. Do you even know how many doors he could open for you? And to top it off, you insulted and assaulted PJ? After I begged her to come write a fluff article about you in her OC blog because you need all the softening we can give you.”
I snickered, as images of your full lips and chestnut hair filled my mind. The best thing was I hadn’t even had to ask for your name, Locke had just handed it over. PJ.
“Do. Not. Chuckle.” Locke warned.
“Next time, warn me which fairies in purple dresses you don’t want me to kiss.”
Locke puffed out air into the phone. “I’ve told her you’ll apologize.”
“She kissed me back,” I said.
“That’s not what it says in her blog.”
“Of course, it doesn’t,” I said with a grin. A grin I was still trying to reacquaint myself with after years of not using it. “You’ve set something up for me to see her then?”
And if I was thirteen instead of the almost twenty-five years old I was, I might have crossed my fingers.
“I’m not a pimp, Seth. It isn’t a date.”
“Okay.”
“Ten o’clock. The Green Room. And I better not hear about anything happening more than a brilliant apology.”
“I promise. I’ll keep my hands and lips to myself.”
Locke slammed the phone down in response while my heart pounded furiously in anticipation. In happiness. Both feelings I’d come to forget in recent years.
Three hours later, I walked into The Green Room. Locke knew about my eating habits which was why he picked that restaurant. Completely organic, locally sourced, that’s what’s great about it. At least eating right is a healthy addiction instead of a life ending one. But I’m learning that addiction is still addiction no matter if it’s healthy or not.
I had a tiny gift bag in my hand so small it could fit a ring box in it. What would you say now if I brought you a bag that small? At the time, I didn’t think about it being jewelry sized, but now, I think about it all the time. I want to give you another bag like that, and I’m still hoping that one day you’ll let me.
I sought you out at the tables tucked into a room full of palm trees and beach umbrellas. And when I found you, there was no Cam in you anymore. Not an ounce. You were this brilliant, shimmery vision that I couldn’t get out of my head.
You had your hair pulled up into that loose bun you always wear. Your thick lashes were almost visible from the door as you looked down at the menu in front of you. You were wearing a royal blue top that sat just off your tan, toned shoulders and accented just how lean you were. It did things to me, Bella, things that made me think I needed a trip to the bathroom before sitting down next to you. But you looked up just then with eyes that had turned the color of your top, and I was drawn to you instead.
I put my hand up as the hostess tried to stop me from seating myself, and I saw your mouth tighten at my movement. The young girl huffed at me, but I just continued to the table where you sat.
Easing into the booth, I put the bag on the seat, and my feet tangl
ed up with yours underneath the table. It wasn’t intentional. You probably don’t believe that now when I can’t stop touching you. But, the interaction made me tingle and tense in ways I hadn’t felt in a long time. Sensing it too, you pulled your legs away as if I’d pricked you. I was disappointed, but not put off.
“Are you always surly and rude?” you said with a glance at the hostess I had offended.
I shrugged. As you can attest, I am pretty much always a rude bastard.
“I’m not sure why I’m here then. Seems what I wrote is correct.” You were trying to be tough, but even then, when I didn’t know you, I could tell you were more nervous than anything else. It was in the way your hands twisted the cloth napkin in your lap. I stretched out a little more, elbows behind me on the back of the booth, and eyed you slowly again. I wanted to see your reaction.
And you looked away with a flush on your cheeks which I found adorable. But I wasn’t sure if it was in embarrassment at my assessment or in embarrassment at your own thoughts. Either way, it was a turn on. Most girls nowadays don’t get embarrassed over shit.
“Locke said I was to apologize,” I told you as I picked up the menu, looked it over, and tossed it aside. I was trying to be nonchalant, when really, what I wanted to do, was slide over to your side of the booth and determine if you still tasted the same as you had last night.
“So, you don’t truly want to apologize, but you’re being told you should. For your career?” Your eyes flashed angrily.
I grinned at you. “Nah. I just don’t believe in apologizing for a helluva good kiss.”
You looked down and turned an even deeper shade of pink which made me long to run my fingers over your cheeks. You were almost a red, white, and blue flag with your red face, blue top, and tight white skirt that ended mid-thigh showing off a pair of gorgeous legs.
“You make an assumption that it was good,” you snapped.
“Your tongue was in my mouth of its own accord,” I teased.
But my humor turned to panic when you drew in a sharp breath, threw your twisted napkin on the table, and stood. You had your hand on your hip again as you stared down at me. Well, it was really across at me because you're so tiny. Fucking adorable. Fucking feisty Tinker Bell chiming at me.
“This was a waste of time. I’m done doing Locke favors.”
And you turned to walk away, but I needed you to stay more than I’d ever needed anything in my life. I wasn’t sure if I should tick you off more or grovel to make this happen. One thing was sure, I wasn’t thrilled at the idea of you doing any kind of favors for Locke.
“So. This was a favor. For Locke.”
I leaned forward, bolting my hands on the table so that I wouldn’t physically drag you back. Thank God, my innuendo stilled you before I did something I would have regretted.
“Don’t make it sound like that.” You crossed your arms over your chest as if to protect yourself from my stare. But, Bella, you’ll never be able to escape my stare. Shit... See. Right there. I can recognize it when I do it, but I can’t promise I’ll ever really be able to stop.
“They were your words,” I prodded at you because pissing you off had at least gotten you to stay.
“God. It’s not like that.…” You were blushing again at my words. At my innuendo. And your pink cheeks were killing me all over again..
“Damn you’re beautiful when you blush.” It just escaped. I hadn’t meant to say anything. You turned to go again. I thought maybe you were uncomfortable with my compliment but now that I know you better, I know you were running. From me.
“I apologize,” I said and my words halted you once more. “I apologize for calling you beautiful. I apologize for seeing a beautiful woman and kissing her. I apologize for thinking you were someone else and getting my heart trampled all over again.”
The confession surprised me as much as you. But it succeeded in making you turn back to me instead of walking away. You stared and I held my breath. Unsure if you’d fly away or come back to roost.
“So… you were kissing me because I reminded you of someone else?”
At least I’d peaked your interest, and I knew instantly it would be a good thing. But I’m also not stupid. I understand women don’t want to be compared to other women. I know that. You can say all you want about what happened later, but even my dumbass brain got it.
“Yes and no.”
“You’re frustratingly vague, Mr. Carmen.” It was the first time you told me that, but it wouldn’t be the last.
“It’s Seth. Mr. Carmen is my shit-for-brains father. And I’m not trying to be vague, I’m trying to apologize. It isn’t something I’m very good at.”
“Because you’re a cocky bastard.”
“Well yes. Most of the time.”
“And you try to get women to sleep with you with a cheesy Southern accent.”
“Now. To be fair darlin’, the accent is partially earned,” I let the Southern drawl out in all its glory.
“You’re from the Bronx!” Your eyes flashed and somehow I wasn’t surprised that you knew this about me. You seemed like the kind of person who did their homework before an assignment. And I’d been just that, an assignment.
“Some of the time,” I said with a shrug.
But I had succeeded in getting you to sit back down, so my body relaxed slightly.
The waitress came over, smiling in a way which said she’d be happy to give me a lap dance if I winked at her, but, believe it or not, I didn’t register it then. I didn’t register it until you told me you’d noticed. She took our order and left.
“So.” You waved at the waitress. “Is that why you think you can be such a jerk?”
“Sorry?”
“Because women usually throw themselves at you?” You seemed offended on behalf of the entire female race, and I grinned at you again. I liked that I’d made you jealous. You were. Don’t deny it. Just remember what you did later. When the check came.
“Don’t grin at me that way,” you said brushing an invisible speck from your skirt. “I’m not most women.”
I chuckled and leaned towards you. “But I did get tongue.”
You chose to ignore me, but I saw the truth of how you felt in your smooth cheeks that I wanted so badly to touch. But I also knew you wouldn’t react well if I did. Most likely, you’d bolt like the fillies on abuelo’s ranch used to when I got near them.
To prevent you from running, I took up the little bag I’d brought with me and put it on your placemat. “It’s not a bribe. I don’t want a retraction. To be honest, I didn’t even read what you wrote, but it’s increased traffic on my site, so think of this as a thank you gift instead.”
You looked as exasperated as Locke had sounded when he called back later and told me that hits on our site were up. He’d still insisted that I apologize with a tone that I didn’t quite understand. At that time, I didn’t care. I’d just wanted to see you again. If doing what Locke asked was the way to do that, it suited me just fine.
You stared at me and the bag.
“Go ahead. Open it,” I prompted as my stomach clenched, hoping you’d like it.
You seemed torn between wanting to throw the bag at me and wanting to see what was in it. Lucky for me, your natural curiosity won out. You pulled out the metal and glass ornament, shaped like a dew drop, that I’d made. Inside was a tiny metal and jewel encrusted fairy. I couldn’t keep my lips from twitching in satisfaction when I heard your intake of breath.
“You are talented,” you whispered, rubbing the dewy shape gently.
“Yes I am.”
You squinted your eyes at me like you wanted to call me on my bullshit, but the food showed up and prevented you from saying something you couldn’t take back.
I dug into my omelet with gusto, and I was relieved to see you had ordered real food and not half-assed chick scraps that a lot of women order.
We ate in a silence that somehow wasn’t awkward when it should have been when we hardly knew each
other. Instead, it felt… expectant. Did you feel it too?
When the bill came, it had the waitress’s phone number written on it with a heart. I didn’t pay attention to it, but I definitely didn’t bother to hide it as I reached into my wallet. I certainly wasn’t going to call her. Once upon a time, maybe I would have. I usually liked women who went after what they wanted. But at that moment, I only had one kind of woman in my head, and she was sitting across from me.
Do you remember now what you did? You grabbed the receipt and pulled out your purple pen with that big flower stuck on it. Yet another perplexing paradox because when was the last time you saw a grown woman with a flower pen? You grabbed the receipt, not to argue over paying, but to furiously scribble on it.
I put down the cash and picked up the bill. You had written, if you hadn’t flirted with my boyfriend, your tip would have been better.
I couldn’t help but laugh. It was such a huge, spontaneous laugh that I hadn’t let out in so long, that it startled me as much as it startled you. It caused you to scramble out of the booth, but this time I scrambled out with you. When I looked down at your tiny frame all I thought was, Strength. Not to be underestimated, followed by, shit, I hope I don’t break her.
“So, girlfriend, where to next?” I smirked down at you pleased to see that crazy, beautiful color stain your cheeks again. It was all I could do to not pull your full lips right up to me and kiss you once more.
“I’m going to work,” you said, turning to float out the door. I followed, eyes drawn to your perfect little butt in your tight skirt.
Outside, you turned to me as you slid on your sunglasses in the shattering Southern California sunshine. My panic was reasserting itself. I know you didn’t see it because I’d been trained early in my life not to show emotion. Emotion was a weakness exploited by my dad. And I guess by my mom too, just in a different way.
“It was a pleasure not being apologized to, Mr. Carmen.” You stuck your hand out.
There was no way in hell I was letting you slip away. Not then. Just like I’m trying to not let you slip away now. “It’s Seth. Would you like to see my studio?”
