by Portia Moore
“Hi! How’s it going so far?” she asks, excited and loud. I know he can hear her through the phone.
I look at him and he smiles.
“Excuse me a minute.” I laugh as I stand up and walk to another part of the restaurant.
“Everything is fine,” I tell her.
“So what did you do? Where’d you go? Have you kissed him? Tell me everything!” she demands.
“This couldn’t have waited until I got home?” I laugh.
“Well, yeah. It’s one o’clock, and being that I’m the best person in the world, I wanted to act motherly and make sure you’re okay, of course.” More like nosily. I smile.
“Thank you, Mom. Wait, did you say one?” I ask in disbelief.
“Yeah! This is the longest you’ve ever been out, other than when you have to work! That’s why I thought I’d check on you. Oh, and FYI—your boss man has called here three times. He wants you to call him ASAP or something like that.”
What does he want? “Okay, thanks, Hill. I’m going to hang up on you in about three seconds. But I’ll talk to you when I get home,” I inform her jokingly.
“Wait! Before you do that, you have to tell me if you’re going to sleep with him,” she says giddily. I roll my eyes and remain silent.
“Come on, Lauren! I’m bored as hell! Please, give me some kind of amusement. Give me something. I’m going to be here all alone tonight.” I’m thankful to hear that. Now I know I can get a good night's sleep.
“Hillary, I haven’t even kissed him yet,” I say, almost disappointed at the last part.
“Well, the night—or morning—is still young,” she sings.
“We’ll see. I’ve got to go. Talk to you later, Hill.”
“Yes, because you will tell me everything, or I’m jumping in your bed with you in it,” she jokes. I think she’s joking, at least.
“Okay, Hillary,” I say before I hang up.
I walk back over to the table.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“Yeah. Hillary checking up on me.” I laugh.
He looks at his watch and frowns. “Yeah, we better get out of here.” He stands up, puts on his jacket, and pulls out his wallet.
“You know, I can pay for this. You’ve already paid for everything else,” I say, getting my purse.
“I asked you on the date. That’s the point.” He laughs.
“But—” I protest.
“When you ask me out on a date then you can pay.” He winks at me as he puts a fifty on the table. I know our food didn’t cost that much.
He looks up and sees my surprise.
“Don’t worry. I have a pretty decent job.” He throws me a smile before he leads the way to the front door.
I quickly pull on my jacket and follow him.
“I never asked—what do you do?” I say as I head through the open door he’s holding for me. He ignores my question, distracting me with the thrill of the bike ride.
***
I open my eyes, feeling the bike’s engine turn off. The lull of the engine and smooth ride almost put me to sleep. I look over to see that we're in front of my apartment building. I let go of him and get off the bike. I have an urge to stretch. We’ve been on this bike for over an hour.
“I have to tell you I’ve fallen in love with this machine,” I say, only half-joking.
He looks at it and smiles. “She has that way about her,” he jokes as he dismounts and gives the gas tank an affectionate pat. He walks me to the door.
“This is one of the most interesting days I’ve had in a while. I really had fun,” I tell him.
“You’re not as boring as you’ve made yourself out to be,” he kids.
“This is just me on a good day,” I say, giving a mock warning.
As much as I’ve enjoyed myself, this moment has been drifting through my thoughts all day, as I wondered when it would happen. There have been a few moments throughout our date when I thought he was going to—and then, nothing. I know for a fact he’s not afraid or nervous about doing it. After all, he lifted me off the floor into a passionate hug when he greeted me. But he’s done nothing but surprise me the entire night. Maybe he won’t kiss me at all. I’m being ridiculous. I usually don’t want to be kissed on dates, and now that I do, it’s not going to happen.
“Well, thank you for everything,” I say as I make my way toward the entrance to my building. I want to get inside before he sees how disappointed I am.
“I’ve been wanting—” he starts, but my phone rings, cutting him off. “May I?” he asks, gesturing toward the phone. I look at it, unsurely. Before I can answer, he takes the phone from my hand and answers it. I’m a little perturbed that he’s answered my phone without waiting for my response—until I realize who is calling.
Cal interrupts the confused voice on the other end. “No. This is Cal. Lauren’s going to have to call you back at a decent hour. Don’t you think it’s a little late at night to be calling a respectable woman?” he scolds the party playfully, hangs up the phone and flashes me an innocent smile. It was Michael.
I can’t help but laugh. I then wonder why he would be calling at two am. He’s probably drunk and trying to apologize again, hoping I’ll cave in and ask him over. Not going to happen.
I look at Cal, who shrugs innocently. He hands me my phone back and I remember how he did that, without my permission, and I frown at him.
“You’re not mad, are you?” he asks, seemingly surprised.
I did think it was funny, but he shouldn’t have just assumed it was okay. What if I did want Michael to come over? Not that I ever would, but still.
“No. But it could have been important. And you asked but didn’t wait for my answer,” I say, my voice strong, and for the first time all night, I’m not nervous. He laughs as if he’s shocked, I'm a little insulted.
“Goodnight, Cal,” I say, turning to open the door, and he grabs my hand.
“It’s just that--I don’t usually have to ask for things. So, I’m not used to waiting for the answer,” he says in a joking tone, but his expression is serious.
“That’s probably something you should work on, then,” I say sarcastically, glad to have my nerve make an appearance for the first time since I met him.
“Well, can I kiss you?” he says, stepping closer to me, his eyes flirting with mine. It causes me to swallow my breath. He smells so good but no. I’m going to ignore how good he looks and smells. Cal needs a lesson that he can’t get everything he wants or do everything he feels like. Now, I’m going to explain the boundaries of Lauren Brooks.
“Cal, I like you, but you should th—” before I can finish, he pulls me toward him as he did earlier, but this time, he presses his lips against mine.
I wrap my arms around his neck to keep my balance. I don’t know how to react, but my body starts to respond as he sucks on my bottom lip. Before long my mouth opens, allowing his tongue into play and he begins coaxing it out. I feel lightheaded, tingles running up my spine, as his fingers trace circles on my lower back.
I can feel him smiling as one of his hands runs through my hair and cups the back of my head, while his other hand makes its way underneath the back of my sweater. His skin on mine sends sensations through my body that I’m not ready to experience. His fingers linger tracing the same spots as he was earlier but now there's no material as a barrier to the warmth of his skin, countering the cool wind. It sends heat flushing through my body. I feel hot, anxious and…unsatisfied. If our kiss gets any deeper, I’m going to drift away. But I want more.
I wrap my arms tighter around his neck, my body demanding to be closer to him, almost acting on its own. In response, his hands move to both sides of my waist, gripping me tighter as he backs me into the door--or maybe the wall. I can’t say for sure. But now I’m pressed between him and something. I can feel his heart starting to beat faster, or maybe it’s my own we're so close I can't tell the difference. I run my hands up his chest, the cool leather of his jacket s
mooth against my hands. I’ve never wanted to feel bare skin so badly in my life, and I realize I’m thinking crazy things—like, if only I had a dress on this would be a lot easier, and if only he drove his car, how fast we could have been in there. I wonder how hard Hillary is sleeping and if she’d hear us if I brought him up. I realize I’m close to doing something extremely stupid, and with every ounce of willpower in my body, I prepare myself to break our kiss. But before I do, he pulls away. I immediately miss the warmth of his lips.
“Lauren,” he whispers in my ear, setting me back on the ground. I’m in a haze. He can’t expect me to have a conversation with him right now. I need a minute to compose myself. Ugh, Lauren, let’s start thinking again, shall we? Way to show him your boundaries.
I look up at him and he licks his lips, his hands palms-down on both sides of me. He leans down and rests his head on mine.
“I’m going to go, because if I stay here another minute, I am going to be trouble for you,” he says, his tone dangerously low. But his smile is so innocent it should belong to a Boy Scout. I nod, unable to force any words out of my tight throat.
“Good night, gorgeous,” he says and kisses the skin underneath my earlobe that causes my heart to flutter. In a flash, he’s walking toward his bike, but stops midway and turns back toward me.
“Oh, and I’m going to work on the asking thing. I promise,” he says, walking backwards. A smile spread across my face. He gets on his bike, pauses, and leans on the handlebars.
“Are you going in, Ms. Brooks?” he asks a hint of sarcasm in his voice and a glint in his eye that’s daring. My body is screaming, Hell no I’m going with you and as if he can read my mind he says.
“Or are you coming with me?” he says teasingly and I contemplate. I’m actually contemplating! But my mind wins out over my body’s insistence, almost as if recovering from a knockout punch. “No you said yourself it’s a little late for a woman of my respectability to be out,” I tease him and he laughs relenting.
I take out my keys and open the door. “Good night,” is all I manage to say, and before I shut it I look back at him. He gives me a wave, a tickled grin on his face. I close the door, hoping I'm not wearing a big, goofy smile.
My phone starts to ring again, and my heart beats rapidly, thinking it's Cal, it sinks when I see that it’s only Michael. He’s probably steaming right about now over what Cal did, but so am I for an entirely different reason, of course and in a very different way.
As I let myself into my apartment, I hear the roar of the motorcycle’s engine and I run to the window. I catch a glimpse of Cal turning the corner and for the rest of the night I dream about what would have happened if I’d ridden away on it with him.
May 5th 2011
“Are you freakin kidding me Cal?” I make sure the disbelief in my voice is apparent to him on the other end of the line. But coming from Cal, I should expect this.
“Calm down babe,” he says steadily.
“Don’t fucking call me babe, Cal! You said you were coming home Monday. And it’s Thursday!” I yell, pacing the room.
“I know. Things came up,” he explains. He sounds distracted, which sets me off even further.
“Things came up, huh? What the hell has surfaced from out of nowhere that has kept you there almost a week?” I scream into the phone.
“You know what? I’m going to talk to you when you calm down.” He hangs up on me. Again.
I growl and throw the phone on the bed in frustration. As usual, our conversations end with me ready to punch a face that’s conveniently not there.
He hasn’t called at all, just sent a text that asked if I was behaving—whatever the hell that means—and that he’d be home today. I don’t know where he is or who he’s with and when we do talk, he never grasps the severity of the situation and thinks hanging up is going to stop me. Oh he thought wrong! I’m so not done. I snatch the phone back up, hit redial, and wait for him to answer.
“Yeah,” I hear him say shortly.
“Cal, you are such a selfish asshole!” There is no response and I glance at the call screen on my phone and see that it’s ended. I direct a kick into the side of bed and throw my pillow across the room. He almost never argues with me! I can't seem to get a human response from him. He ignores me, laughs at me, or, when he is home, picks me up and takes me into another part of the house, which pisses me off even more. How do you argue with someone who won’t say anything? But considering that in order to argue, you have to communicate, it’s no surprise that he won’t do that with me, either. He’s a brick wall, and I’m tired of trying to break through.
I never thought this would happen to us. I knew that he could be closed off, but I never thought it would go this far. Sometimes, I want to go back to that first minute I saw him and scream to myself, “run the other way!”
The phone in my hand rings again. It’s him. I push the answer button, but I don’t say anything.
“You done?”
I bite my tongue in a stubborn effort to not call him every foul name that I can think of. “Cal, where are you?” I say as calmly as I can.
“I’ll be home tomorrow,” he says, ignoring my question. I hear music blaring in the background, and it almost sounds like…
“Are you at a club?” My voice almost squeaks on that last word because I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
“Around two,” he continues, being deliberately obvious about ignoring me.
“Cal, are you at a fucking club?” At this point, being calm and civil is out of the question. He’s at a damn club, God-knows-where, when he told me he’d be home today. I take a deep breath, I’m so mad my hands are shaking but I demand my tone to calm.
“I’m so sick of your shit Cal. When you get home I won’t give a shit because I won’t be here.” And I extend the same courtesy to him as he’s showed me. I hang up. I won’t keep doing this. I am not his doormat. He can’t do anything he wants and then come home whenever he’s done without any repercussions. This is it. I won’t play these games with him anymore.
I’m a good—well, I was a good wife. I don’t know if he understands, but I do know he doesn’t appreciate how much I love him. Of all the men for me to fall for, why did it have to be him—a man who’s incapable of showing his love for anyone, especially his wife?
Before we were married, I knew he loved me. He made me feel as if I was the most important person in his world. Thinking back, maybe I was so in love with him that I didn’t even notice the person he's in love with is himself. He says he loves me, but his actions shows me he doesn’t give a flying fuck.
The house phone rings, breaking into my thoughts. I walk over to the wall and pull the line out. I’m done talking to him; or rather, I’m done with him talking at me. I walk into my closet to find my suitcase. Opening drawers, I start pulling random things out and throwing them in. I ignore the dressers filled with nothing but lingerie, the things I wear only for him.
I watch what I eat and work out every day so my body is still attractive to him. But he doesn’t care, it’s not like he’s around often enough to see it. I pick out a few more shirts and pants and stuff them in the suitcase as well. I walk back into my room and put on my leather boots, glancing at myself as I walk past the mirror. I’m wearing a black cashmere sweater and leggings; I spent two hours curling my hair. I look nice. Stupid me, actually believing he’d be home when he said he would, waiting for him.
My cell phone starts to ring again. On impulse, I walk out onto the balcony and drop it off the side with satisfaction. That’ll stop it from ringing.
Feeling much better, I go back into my room and try to zip my suitcase, but it’s too full. Of course, folding everything neatly would solve that problem, but I’m in no mood to mess with that crap. I stomp on the lid with my boot until everything is finally squashed enough to get it zipped up.
I grab the leather jacket that he bought me while on our honeymoon and throw it across the room. The thought of wearing it
sickens me. In the closet, I find another one that I bought myself. I grab my suitcase. It’s a big one, stuffed full and heavy as hell. Thank God it rolls, or I’d have serious trouble. I drag it out into the hall to the top of the stairs. I turn it on its side and give it a good shove. It stops halfway, so I kick it the rest of the way down.
At the bottom, I grab the handle and roll it to the door. I look around at what I once thought was a beautiful penthouse, with its huge picture windows, boutique furniture, and state-of-the-art electronics. In my mind, though, all I can see now are barred windows and a cold bed—the prison where I remained silent, well that's a lie, I have caused a lot of hell but nothing unwarranted. I can feel the tears forming in my eyes, and I try to fight them back. I really shouldn’t cry; he’s not worth it.
Losing the battle, I reach up to wipe away the tears and catch sight of the spectacular ring on my finger. It means nothing. I pull it off, and slam it down on the console table next to the door, precisely where he sets his keys when walks in. At least he won’t be able to miss that.
Taking a deep breath, I open the door and head to the elevator, pulling my bag behind me. There’s really no need to lock the door. Security here is better than a Vegas casino, so the chances of the apartment being robbed are slim. Not to mention we’re over ten stories up. I press the button and step back to wait, fidgeting with my hair.
I don’t even know where I’m going. I mean, the logical place would be my Aunt Raven’s, but I’m not sure that’s where I want to go. Instead of showering me with hugs and kisses, she’ll probably shower me with questions and opinions. Questions like ‘What’s going on?’ and comments like, “You really should talk to him.” I’m not in the mood for that kind of shit right now. Still, I have no plan at this point. I’ll have to figure something out to tell her. I need to think about what I want and what I’m going to do. I’ve been with Cal so long that I can’t remember what it’s like being without him. I’ve wrapped myself up in him, something that no woman should do with any man.
The elevator has arrived. I drag my suitcase in and hit the garage floor button. I hate the way my stomach feels as it’s going down, reminding me of the butterflies Cal used to give me when we first met. Finally it stops and the door opens to the parking garage. Cal hates for me to come down here alone, but I always remind him that there are cameras everywhere and Jeff, the security guard I’ve just waved at, watches everything like a hawk.
