“Thank you, Jenny. That was lovely. You are a lucky woman.”
“Are you?” she asks, using her voice. “Does the man you love make you feel that way?”
The man I love? If she means Jarrod, then she has a different idea of the relationship we share.
“I was never looking for love,” I answer honestly. “Where I come from, security is more important. What he offers me is exactly what I want.”
Jenny’s face falls, showing she is disappointed in my answer. “That is what you want. But is it what you need?”
I don’t know what I need. I always thought, if I had financial security, I wouldn’t need anything.
I look to Maria, who is waiting for my reply, but I don’t have one. And, when I look over to the side, I see Ryan walking toward us, his eyes on mine. Without uttering a single word, we exchange a glance that says we’re both ready to get out of here.
Suddenly, my needs and wants are becoming quite blurry.
I’ve been escorted in Bentleys and private jets, taken to the most luxurious places in the world.
Right now, on the back of a Kawasaki Ninja, I am more at peace than I have been in my entire life.
Wearing one of Ryan’s Northeastern sweatshirts and a helmet, I’m sitting high on the back of the bike, my body huddled around his. We are driving back toward the Chicago Loop. I dig my fingers into the seams of his shirt, my fingers tracing along the curve of his abs through the fabric. When we stop at a red light, he places a hand on my thigh and runs small circles on my soft skin.
We pull up in front of a restaurant. Ryan helps me off first and then follows.
“Pizza?”
He takes his helmet off and has an adorable case of helmet hair. “It was that or sushi,” he teases.
I take off my helmet. My hair is probably sticking up in crazy directions, like his. I lean back and shake it out, like I’m in a Pantene commercial. Bringing my head back up, I’m rewarded with the Pierson grin I look forward to seeing.
I grab his hand and pull him toward the entrance. “Come on, show me what’s so great about your stuffed pizza.”
Giordano’s pizza is like nothing I have experienced in Chicago. Laughter and cheers come from tables. Friends are dining, children are playing at the tables, and workers are bustling around, bringing pizzas and pitchers to tables. Each table is covered in a red-and-white-checkered tablecloth.
“What do you like on your pizza?” he asks as a waitress hands me a menu.
I shrug. “You pick. Isn’t all pizza the same?”
I swear, the room goes silent.
Ryan just laughs. “She’s from New York,” he explains to the waitress, who is giving me the death stare. With a glorious smile, he says, “We’ll have the Chicago Classic, one Sam Adams IPA and a…” He motions for me to order.
“The same,” I say to her. Then, I turn to Ryan. “What’s in the Chicago Classic?”
“Pepperoni, mushrooms, onions, and green peppers.”
“In New York, the pizza’s so good, all you need is cheese.”
The waitress rips the menu from my hands, and I snicker as she walks away. Man, these people take their pizza seriously.
Ryan crosses his arms and leans his elbows on the table. “Tell me about New York.”
So, I do. I tell him about the city that invented hip-hop and how I would sneak out of school early to go into Manhattan and stand outside Total Request Live. When Ryan says he’s never heard of it, I don’t make a joke about how much younger he is than me. I tell him about how it was the most amazing show on MTV, hosted by Carson Daly, where the best videos of the day were played and there was always a celebrity on set.
“Can you keep a secret?” I ask as I hold out my pinkie, making him swear never to tell a soul.
He wraps his pinkie around mine and seals it with a kiss. I might have let my pinkie linger around his mouth a moment too long.
“I was on a game show once. Well, not really a game show. It was called Wanna Be a VJ.”
His eyes widen in shock. “Wanna Be a Vagina?”
I kick him under the table. “No, VJ, as in video jockey. You compete to be the next MTV host.”
“Did you win?”
“God, no. I was awful. I couldn’t read the prompter. I paused when asked a question and stammered all over my words like an oaf. It was terrible.” I recall the day I actually put myself out there and failed miserably. “God, I was nervous. That’s why I went into production. I knew my days in front of the camera were long over.”
He’s sitting back in his seat, gazing sweetly at me. “I would have voted for you. With those big doe eyes and the sassiest mouth, you would have made an amazing VJ.”
Well, damn if I’m not blushing.
Ryan tells me about his love for Chicago. From the Bears to the Bulls, he’s a huge sports fan, but that’s no surprise. His mom used to bundle him and his sisters up from head to toe in snow gear, and they looked like the kids from A Christmas Story. They would go swimming at his uncle’s lake house in Michigan. And then he tells me the most disgusting recipe for a hot dog.
“All-beef dog on a poppy-seed bun, topped with tomato slices, white onions, relish, a pickle spear, peppers, celery salt, and mustard.”
“That is the vilest thing I’ve ever heard of. The only thing that should be on a hot dog is mustard and sauerkraut,” I counter.
“First, pizza, and now, dogs? You’re breaking my heart.”
Our pizza comes, and we dive in. I hate to admit it, but Chicago-style pizza is delicious. Imagine my shock when I see the sauce is on top, and on the inside is cheesy goodness. Of course, when Ryan tries to get me to admit that Chicago pizza is better than New York’s, I refuse.
Inside, I want to tell him that everything is better in Chicago.
Everything.
When we’re done with our pizza, we drive to Navy Pier, a 3,300-foot pier on the Chicago shoreline of Lake Michigan, lined with restaurants, shops, tourist attractions, and vendors.
Stepping off the bike, the first thing I see is the 196 foot Ferris wheel I’ve seen many times from the road, but I have never stepped foot here. We walk under the red sign of Navy Pier Park and head to the Centennial Wheel. The navy-blue gondola of the Ferris wheel is lined with wall-to-wall glass so clear that I feel like I can float through it. We take our seats across from one another.
The car starts to move, and my belly swims with excitement. Looking down, I see the Tilt-a-Whirl ride from a bird’s-eye view. As we get higher, I take in the majestic sight of Lake Michigan as it rests against the shoreline of the great city. We reach the highest point on the rotation, and I see far beyond the horizon. Out there, I know the lake touches four states and multiple bodies of water flow its current into the Great Lake.
We make another rotation, and I turn around to see the Chicago skyline. The Willis Tower, the second tallest building in the US, glistens as the sun sets, casting a faint orange on the blue of the windy city. The orange turns to shades of purple, and the night sky is illuminated by the city lights, creating a scene so majestic that my heart skips a beat.
It takes me until the third trip to realize I’m being watched. So enamored by the beauty of the night and lights, I’m surprised to see Ryan enamored, not by the view, but by me. The smile on his face and the twinkle in his eye make the third rotation more stunning than the first two.
The ride ends, and we stroll through the pier, walking hand in hand so as not to lose each other in the crowd. When we hear music pouring out from the Landshark Beer Garden, Ryan tugs on my hand, and together, we dance.
We dance like fools, and our laughter is contagious.
We dance like lovers, and our movements are empowered.
We dance like two rivers flowing into one another.
Walking and talking, we explore the pier, passing boat rentals and more restaurants. We pass vendors and the hall that’s made to resemble Atlantic City.
He guides me to the carousel, and I choose a go
lden horse with its head held high in the air and a blue saddle. It’s the first time I’ve ever been on a carousel, and I adore it. Love it. Will cherish it forever.
As we exit the pier, he guides me away from the parking lot and up to Michigan Avenue.
“This is my favorite street in the whole city,” I say, looking up at Nordstrom.
“Fancy shops for a fancy girl.”
“Yes, and no,” I say. “Okay, mostly yes, but it’s also so beautiful with the way it lights up at night. It’s so clean and welcoming. They don’t call it the Magnificent Mile for nothing.”
“No, they don’t.” He stops at the sight of a homeless man sitting on the sidewalk, his body huddled, despite the warm summer evening. Ryan looks into his wallet and takes out some change, his eighty dollars already spent on our evening. Walking over to the man, he places the small change in the cup and walks away.
I reach into my bag and take out a twenty, offering it to the man. I walk up to Ryan before he sees what I did.
“I’ve seen you do that before—give money to the homeless. Why?” I ask when we are side by side.
“Just trying to do the right thing.” His similar words from the first night we met echo in my head.
“You’re all right, Ryan Pierson.” I smile at him.
He offers me a raised brow in return. “Just all right?”
I push him in the arm. “Maybe a little more than all right.”
We walk in silence for a bit.
Something is lingering under my skin. A bad memory. Unfinished business. I bite my lip and furrow my brow. “I tried to find him.”
Ryan stops walking and listens to what I have to say.
“My dad. I hired a private investigator, but he didn’t show up. I’ve been battling my emotions about it. I wanted to make sure he was okay, but I also didn’t want him back in my life. When he vanished into thin air, I was relieved. And sad. I’m still trying to decide how I feel.”
“You’re a good daughter.”
“Am I?”
“Yes. You supported him when your only worry should have been where to hide while playing Manhunt or who the cutest boy was in school. Your heart is so big, but you squeeze it tight in your hands. Every once in a while, you open those palms, and the beauty inside shows so bright, I’m blinded.”
His words are powerful, provocative, and they scare the hell out of me.
We continue to walk down Michigan Avenue to the entrance of Oak Street Beach. We take our shoes off and bury our feet in the cold sand. It’s so odd to me to be on a beach with the city just across the street, skyscrapers looming over where people play volleyball and sun in their bikinis.
It’s dark on the beach, but the lights of the nearby roadway give us enough to see in front of us. The soft waves of the lake are singing in the background.
“Who is Maxine?” I ask. I’ve been wanting to know more about the girl who broke Ryan’s heart since his family spoke of her.
“Just an ex.” He shuffles his feet in the sand.
“Your family made it seem like you two were pretty serious.”
“We had fun, but she wasn’t my forever girl. I was upset when she broke up with me. There I was, lying in a hospital, being told I probably wouldn’t be able to play ball again, could lose my scholarship and everything—I mean, everything I worked for—and she said she thought our relationship had run its course.”
“Ouch.” I crunch my face to match my words. “You must still be recovering.”
“Not at all. Actually, it taught me exactly what I wanted in a woman. Someone who says exactly what’s on her mind. Someone honest. Maybe a little too honest.” He stops and looks at me. The twinkle in his eye glistens, as if I’m his someone.
“What’s your plan after graduation?” I ask.
“I’ve been sending my résumé to local news stations around the country. Maybe I’ll get a sports reporter gig. Move my way up.”
“I can help you get a job,” I offer, pulling my hair off my face as it sways in the Chicago wind.
Ryan shakes his head, his hands deep in his pockets. “No, thanks.”
“I know a lot of people in the industry. At least let me make sure you don’t start off in farm country USA. Get a small city—”
“You’ll always think of me as the kid!” he shouts.
My feet halt. When I turn back to him, those cobalt blues are sparkling in the moonlight, his hair getting tousled in the breeze.
“No,” I stammer, “I won’t.”
“Yes, you will. This age thing will forever bother you. The money thing will always eat at you. You’re worth more than a lousy ring. You’re worth more than a man who is only marrying you out of convenience.” His body is strong and commanding, towering over me in a way that reads red-blooded male.
“Why would you say that?”
“I have eyes. He doesn’t look at you like you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. He doesn’t smile at the sound of your voice or wonder how in the world he landed a girl so damn smart and sassy and sexy. He doesn’t look at you like he wants to spend forever with you.”
I swallow. The deepness of his voice and the power of his words make the blood in my body run so hot that I might burn from the inside out.
“What does that look like?” I’m not sure my heart has ever pounded this hard in my life.
“Like the way I’m looking at you right now.”
Ryan leans forward and runs his hand into my hair, and with aggressive desire, he kisses me like I’ve never been kissed before. His warm lips entwine with mine. His tongue is hot against my own. I swear, we both might ignite.
I lift my arms and hold him tight, getting lost in the peppermint of his breath and the smell of the lake and evening fog.
We kiss in the moonlight, our bodies becoming one, and we can’t get close enough, can’t feel enough of each other. Every taste and each sensation is more powerful with every swipe of the tongue and dance of the lips.
We are two currents crashing into one another. My current is flowing so strong through my body that I can’t control the storm inside me.
We kiss for a moment.
We kiss for eternity.
We kiss beyond the horizon.
“Take a chance on me,” Ryan says, his hands still on me, his forehead pressed hard against my own. “Be with me, Heather,” he pleads. “Let me show you how wonderful this world can be. Let me be your home.”
Home.
I’ve never known a home before I met Ryan. I’ve never felt love before I found him.
I close my eyes and try to fight off the insecurities. “I want to, Ryan. I just…”
“You’re scared,” he says. His words reek of desperation and determination.
“Petrified.” I open my eyes and look up into his, those eyes the color of the most beautiful waters of the world.
“Nothing in this world is worth doing unless it scares you a little.”
He kisses me again, and I fall into him. Not wanting to let go. Not wanting this moment to cease.
Flashbacks of a childhood I never asked for haunt my mind. Of being locked in my room so that I wouldn’t get in the way. Waking up in the morning to no food in the house. Going to school and being laughed at for my ragged appearance. Stealing and getting arrested at twelve years old and then getting hit by my father for being stupid enough to get caught. Running away from home and sleeping in my car at sixteen. Showering in the locker room before anyone knew I didn’t have a place to live. Working three shifts while in college so that I could afford braces. Transforming my life, becoming like the women I idolized on TV.
Not wanting to be my father. Not wanting to be my mother.
Swearing to never let a man destroy me again. Making sure I not only had money, but also making sure I’d never have to worry about it again.
I was never going back.
And, in the end, what have I become?
A cold, heartless woman who seeks out men for money.
I hate who I am.
Ryan looks at me like I am something special. But I’m not. He deserves more. He deserves someone who has love in her heart, someone who didn’t connive others in order to get to where she is today.
He deserves better.
“I’m sorry, Ryan.” I step back and shake off the remorse I feel for everything I’ve put him through. “I shouldn’t have come out tonight.”
His face falls, his eyes wide with panic. “Don’t do this, Heather. We’re supposed to be together. I know you feel it.”
He takes a step toward me, and I take three steps further back, my hands stretched out in front of me. His eyes redden with tears he doesn’t allow to fall.
“I love you, Heather.”
My breath gets caught in my lungs. I can’t breathe. My chest is constricted, my body cold as steel. No one has ever said those words to me before, and I vow to make his the last I hear.
“I wish I could say the same.”
I walk away, leaving Ryan alone on a darkened beach.
I walk away from his arms, the first place I ever felt at home.
Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.
I just lied to the first man I’ve ever loved.
“Heather, love, come on in.”
I walk into Jarrod’s office and close the door behind me. He’s awfully chipper for a Monday morning.
Or perhaps I’m just glum.
Not getting out of bed all day, watching heartbreaking romance movies, made for a poor excuse of a Sunday. I only watched films where one of the main characters would die—Love Story, The English Patient, Titanic, Ghost, West Side Story. I had to put extra hemorrhoid ointment on the bags under my eyes to contain the puffiness that followed after a day of ugly crying.
Looking at Jarrod at his desk, the same desk I caught him screwing Misty Waters on a month ago, makes me ill.
“You told Meg you needed me to review something.” I want to get to work and get on with my life.
Jarrod’s handsome face looks over to me, taking in my appearance. “You look like something the cat dragged in. Where’s my always put-together fiancée? Now that we’re engaged, I expect you to be dressed to the nines. And this”—he motions to my face that is splotchy from a day of crying over love stories—“is not the woman who is to be my wife.”
Sinful Abandon Page 9
