by Michelle Lee
"We're here," Griffin announces. I think my heart stops beating, and I've probably stopped breathing as well.
I can't believe it.
Outside my window is the one place I thought I could avoid for a while. The one place that makes my heart constrict and tears prick my eyes. The one place where it didn't go as planned. Griffin gets out of the car, and in the amount of time it takes him to walk around and get to my door, I calm myself as best as I can, considering. Griffin opens my door, and his hand is waiting for me. I take it and my skin tingles. I step out and the air cools my heated skin. I take a deep breath and let the coolness of the night air caress my lungs, making me feel somewhat calmer. With my hand holding Griffin's, we make our way inside the restaurant. We stand behind a very affectionate couple waiting for our turn with the hostess. The couple is taken to their table as we wait for the hostess to return.
Griffin leans in and whispers in my ear, "Have I mentioned how beautiful you look this evening?" His warm breath tickles my ear.
My skin heats up. "Thank you."
He pulls away just as the hostess returns.
"Hi, welcome to Café One O Three," the hostess greets us with an overly sweet voice.
At least she's not "Miss All Too Eager."
"We have reservations…Cooper," Griffin informs her as his arm finds its way and wraps around my waist.
I suddenly feel grounded.
She checks her book. "Right this way," she directs, grabbing two menus.
Griffin's hand never leaves the small of my back as we walk to our table. On our way, we pass by the table and my heart sputters, remembering the events of that fateful day. I attempt to gulp down the lump that has managed to climb its way into my throat.
Put it away, Zoey. Put it away.
We sit at our table, and I can't keep my eyes off of the table. Evan's cold, hard, hazel eyes glare at me. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing them away. When I open my eyes, blue concerned ones eye me.
"Are you sure you're okay, Zoey? I mean, if you're not sure about this, we can…"
"No. I'm fine. I'm sorry, Griffin. Tonight is fine, perfect even. I want you…I mean, this, tonight," I interrupt him, and of course my tongue and mind don't cooperate with each other.
He shakes his head, smiling. "Okay. And Zoey?"
I look up from the menu.
"I want you too and this, tonight, as well." There's playfulness in his tone.
It's my turn to smile and shake my head. Our server comes and takes our drink order. A silence, that's not quite uncomfortable, blankets our table. Jill, our server, returns, placing a glass of much-needed wine in front of me and a beer in front of Griffin.
"Are you ready to order?" she simply asks.
Griffin looks to me. Of course I'm ready to order. I knew what I was going to order when we pulled up. It's what I order every time I come here for dinner with…
I shake my head.
"I'll give you a minute then," Jill informs us and walks away.
I watch her leave, and when I turn my attention back to Griffin, he's just staring at me and his smile is infectious. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. It makes me feel special. It makes me glad I'm here. It makes me forget.
"What?" I question because he's still staring and smiling.
Did I mention how much I like his smile? I do. I really do. I really, really do. It makes me feel… Wait, he hasn't answered yet.
Focus, Zoey, focus.
Griffin is looking at me with an amused look on his face. He's done that quite often tonight and in such a short period of time. Ashlee is right; I am gaa-gaa when it comes to him. And it makes me come across as—what—insane, looney, crazy? The list goes on. He can put me at ease and make me nervous at the same time.
Kinda like…
"Zoey?" Griffin's voice brings me back to the here and now.
"Yeah?" I respond sounding soooo intelligent, I'm sure.
"If you're not sure what to order, I can definitely help with that," Griffin easily suggests.
"I would like that, thanks," I answer him.
Inside, a small battle is starting—should I or shouldn't I tell him I've been here before, that I know the menu like the back of my hand, that I could walk around the place blindfolded and still find the restroom without bumping into anything, that Evan and I usually come here once a week to catch up or to celebrate an event like when I first opened my bookstore Open Book? They say honesty is the best policy, but then someone came up with "what they don't know won't hurt them" because they thought that honesty policy was bullshit. See, a brewing battle in my brain.
"Okay, I think you might like…" Griffin begins, but of course, the honesty side of the battle squashes the "let's keep it to ourselves "side in a heartbeat.
"Griffin, there's something I need to tell you," I start.
Griffin puts down his menu. He looks confused and slightly alarmed.
Not the best way to start a conversation, Zoey. You are probably giving the guy a heart attack.
"Okaaaay." The word is forced from his mouth.
"Um, this isn't my first time here. Actually I've been here probably hundreds of times. Evan, my best friend, and I come here—a lot. I guess, well, no, it is our fav…I mean my favorite restaurant. The thing is, I was here the a few days ago, with him, and our lunch didn't go very well. We kinda had a big fight. So coming here I feel a little off. But being here, with you, that's helped—made things better, easier. I just don't want to ruin our first date," I say it all in one exhausting breath feeling as though I just ran a marathon.
Now I know how Ashlee feels—no wonder she looks so tired after she speaks.
Griffin's eyes light up. "Evan, he was the one at the party…"
"Dressed as Tarzan," I finish for him.
"Yeah. He seemed…" Griffin seems a little unsure how to finish. He has the look like he's solving the country's debt crisis in his head.
A look…
"Overprotective?" I ask, hopefully giving him the word he was searching for.
"That's, uh, a fitting word," Griffin returns, slightly squirming in his seat.
Fucking Evan .
I swear…
I feel my anger about the whole situation bubble just below the surface. I quickly grab my glass of wine and take a long-ass sip—effectively calming me. I feel the urge to explain everything to Griffin. And it's more than a need to; I want to. "We've been friends—best friends—a really long time. Evan has always been there for me, the one I've always turned to. I guess over the years and because of all that, Evan's become my protector, and at times, he takes his job too seriously. He's just afraid I'm going to get…"
"Hurt?" Griffin finishes for me this time.
I nod, taking another sip.
"Zoey, I totally understand. I'm like that with my cousin, Lindsey. We grew up together, only a year apart. So, I've always felt responsible for her, protective of her. And, of course, at times I took my role seriously. I guess I understand where Evan's coming from, to a point. I mean, you're a grown woman. I just hope his 'overprotectiveness' doesn't get in the way of what I hope is the start of something between you and me."
He pauses, taking a deep breath and reaching for my hand. I easily intertwine my fingers with his. The warmth of his touch makes me feel as though everything will be okay with him, with everything. Griffin looks intently into my eyes, almost as though he can see into my soul.
"I really like you, a lot, Zoey, and I think you like me too. I can honestly see this," he gives my hand a squeeze before continuing, "going somewhere. I just hope it's given a chance."
All I can do is nod my head in return. Griffin's words have left me speechless.
I suddenly feel like Sally Field—"He likes me, he really likes me."
Digging down deep, I find the courage to speak. "I really like you, too. And I'd like to give this a chance." I give his hand the same squeeze he gave me, echoing the sentiment.
Griffin's smile overtakes his features. It
's like he's just won the lottery. And I have never felt lighter, happier. Our date continues effortlessly. We eat, we drink, and above all, we talk—about anything and everything. I learn he works as the assistant to the travel secretary of the Chicago White Sox, that he's an only child, like me, and his parents are still together living in Florida. I tell him about my first love—my bookstore—and moving to Glenview where my parents still live and are happily married. We also exchange the basics—our likes and dislikes. Amazingly, we have so much in common. He just stares at me the entire time, hanging on my every word—my very own captive audience. And the entire time, I'm not nervous at all talking about myself at length like I usually am. Being here with Griffin is easy, fun, and everything I thought it was going to be and more. His words from earlier echo in my head—" I see this going somewhere"—and they make me optimistic for once when it comes to relationships.
If one of the others started this way, things might have been different. But, if one of them had, I wouldn't be here, with Griffin, enjoying everything about tonight—immensely. We stay at the restaurant and share a dessert before moving to the bar to continue our evening. Neither one of us want to interrupt our wonderful time together by changing venues. We are both so relaxed here. All my anxiety over "the talk" having happened here evaporated long ago. Griffin and I continue to get to know each other, but sadly, time has slipped away—we've actually closed the place. I haven't done that on a date in years. The ride home is quiet, our hands are grasped over the console. In the pit of my stomach, there's that unwanted feeling of having to say goodnight. I don't want tonight to end—ever. Griffin pulls up to my apartment building and easily finds a parking space in front. Like he did earlier, he gets out and comes to open my door, offering his hand.
Such a gentleman.
The butterflies invade my stomach as we make our way to my apartment. The air around us when we stop in front of my door is so sexually charged, it could probably light up most of Chicago. This is it—the goodnight. The kiss? The butterflies fight for more room. We stand facing each other, holding hands. His thumb grazes along my knuckles. I am so nervous.
Griffin is the first to shatter the silence. "So, I had an amazing time."
"Me, too," I quickly reply.
"I would love to take you out again?" he asks. As if I could or would say no.
"I'd love that, too."
"I'll call you, text you, email you, skywrite you, during the week," he chuckles.
"You better," I tease, stepping closer.
"I will. You can count on hearing from me several times this week."
"Goo—"
And before I can get the "d" out, Griffin's lips are fused with mine. I kiss him back with everything I have, silently telling him how much I enjoyed our date. I part my lips and sweep my tongue out against his bottom lip. Griffin's lips part, and he welcomes my tongue into his mouth. Our tongues tease and mingle. The feeling is heaven. The kiss continues for what seems like an eternity before we both pull apart, panting.
"Stay," I utter.
Griffin's eyes smolder, holding me captive.
"Stay," I say a little louder.
Griffin smiles and kisses me once more. My hand grabs for the doorknob and easily turns it as I stumble inside.
****
The morning sunlight filters in through the blinds, enlightening bits of twirling dust in the air.
Waffles.
I am in the mood for waffles. I leave the warmth of my bed, find way to the kitchen, and begin to gather the necessary ingredients as well as my waffle iron.
Mmmmm, waffles.
I turn on the radio, and the DJ announces it's the '80s hour. Madonna's "Lucky Star" begins to play. My hips begin to sway as I sing along with Madonna—slightly out of tune—but I sing just the same. I turn my attention to the task at hand—making waffles. I'm totally in my element. The combination of cooking and the music takes me away, and I am lost. Suddenly there's an electric charge in the air, and that's when I feel them—large, strong, yet gentle hands. They slide along my hips and over my stomach, sending cold—yet warm at the same time—chills throughout my body. I feel like I am sitting back at our table at the restaurant and the way he made me feel then. The sensation is overwhelming. The waffles abandoned, the music at one point shifted from Madonna to Prince's "Kiss."
His fingertips dip into the waistband of my panties, and my body leans into him. He nuzzles my hair as his fingers dip further. My stomach churns in anticipation, and an ache swirls around inside me until it settles between my legs. The song shifts again, and Michael Hutchens oozes from the radio, telling me he needs me tonight. His fingers are slick and then not one, but two plunge deep inside me. A quick gasp escapes me. I need and want so much more. My nerve endings are on high alert—feeling everything. His fingers begin to play me like no has before, setting an almost primal rhythm. The build-up intensifies, and I feel as though I'm standing on the edge off a cliff, waiting to dive off. I can't fucking wait. Closer and closer to the edge I step as his fingers work me over—his extremely skilled fingers. A few thrusts and curls, he grazes that spot, and I…jump…right…off, spiraling out of control as wave after wave of pure unadulterated ecstasy washes over me. I rest against him for support. My Jell-O-like legs can't seem to hold me at the moment.
"Gri—" His name gets caught in my throat as my orgasm finishes ripping through me.
In a flash, I'm spun around, and instead of staring into blue eyes, lustful hazel eyes stare at me.
"Evan?" I question, completely and utterly confused.
A playful smile tugs at his lips.
"How? When?" I stammer.
I frantically search my memory, desperately trying to remember how Evan ended up here and not Griffin.
Griffin.
His name feels foreign to me.
"Ev—" His finger stops his name from coming out.
"It's always going to be me, Zoey. Only me."
Evan leans in, his nose touching mine; his warm minty breath fans my face.
"Only me," he repeats, his lips grazing mine.
"Only you?"
"Only me." His lips mold to mine, igniting a blaze deep inside.
"Only you," I echo into his mouth, welcoming his tongue.
His strong arms warp around me, pulling me closer, tighter to him. Part of me feels this is right; this is how it should be, how it's meant to be. Evan and me. However, another part of me feels guilty. Guilty, because of the wonderful date I just had with Griffin.
Griffin.
His name still sounds completely foreign. It just feels wrong.
My hands explore Evan, winding their way up his back to his hair; just needing to be even closer. I want to remember how he feels just like this forever. I've wanted to touch him like this since I got to know him back in high school. I was meant to touch him this way, and no one else. Evan's lips leave mine and trail their way along my jaw, nipping along the way until they reach my ear.
"Only me." His warm breath tickles my ear, while his words—those two little words—send shivers throughout my body.
Our mouths find each other again and the kiss is heated, passionate, and filled with so much more. So many emotions, too many to name. My head is reeling, my skin ablaze, and an ache swells inside me, desperate for attention. Evan's grip on my hips loosens and he starts to pull away. I reach out for him, my finger-tips briefly coming in contact with the muscular contours of his chest. He pulls further away. I grasp at nothing.
"Evan?" My voice is so small, yet it fills the silence in the room completely.
He has moved so far away it feels as though the Grand Canyon separates us. My favorite smile pulls at the corner of his mouth and calms me—momentarily.
"Only me." His voice is firm and his eyes—my God, his eyes—tell me the same.
My heart leaps in my chest and thrashes against my bones. Warm, salty tears fill my eyes, making Evan nothing but a blur. I reach for him, but my fingers feel nothing but air. I c
an't move; I'm rooted to the floor. And in that instant, I know what I've always known—Evan will always be out of my reach. My heart aches, and my hands clutch at my chest as my lungs cry out for air. I bolt up and find myself tangled in my sheets. My body is covered in a thin sheen of sweat, my breathing erratic.
It was just a dream, just a dream.
My chest heaves with each breath. I look to my left and it finally dawns on me that I am alone—Griffin never stayed. We said a long, very long good night at the door. Visions of the dream dance before me. I run the back of my hand across my forehead. "What the fuck?" In and out, in and out. Slowly, my breathing returns to normal.
What. The. Fuck.
I'm a fairly intelligent woman, yet I can't understand why I had dreamt of Evan. Why I originally thought it was Griffin, but somewhere in my glutton for punishment mind, turned him into Evan. On instinct, my fingers touch my lips. Somehow they remember the kiss—a kiss that they have never and will never experience. A long puff of air escapes me.
"No use dwelling, Zoey. You had a wonderful, incredible time with an amazing man last night. Remember that kiss."
And I do. A genuine smile forms under my fingertips and my eyes close. Behind my lids, scenes from last night play like a movie. My smile widens. The images continue to flash when they stop on our kiss—me and Griffin. My skin heats up, and my core feels like it is on fire.
I detangle myself from the sheets. "I so need to call Ash, but a shower is needed first. Right."
Talking to myself? Yep, I'm totally insane. It's confirmed.
And as if on cue, there's a knock at my door. I knew Ashlee couldn't or wouldn't wait for a phone call. I quickly make my way to the door.
"Ash, I knew you wouldn't wait, and I'm so glad for once you are impatient," I yell at the door.
I swing the door open, ready to pull Ashlee in, too tell her about my date and get her take on everything—dream included. But when the door fully opens, I am not met with Ashlee— it's Evan. I choke as if I swallowed an unwanted piece of gum. Evan just stands there waiting for my spaz-attack to end. I think he's trying not to laugh at me, by the way he's piercing his lips together.
