by A. M. Wilson
Now, this guy sitting next to me has gotten my blood moving in a way nobody else ever has. He’s sexy, charming, sweet, and apparently feels something for me more than what we shared at the club, being wrapped in each other in a tangle of limbs and sweat as close to fucking with our clothes on as we could get. Here he is, taking me out to dinner, on an actual date. And I don’t have the slightest clue how I’m supposed to act and not seem like the big ball of crazy I feel inside.
“Did you hear what I said?” He asks, snapping me out of my inner monologue.
“I’m sorry, what was that?”
“I asked if Italian food was okay. There’s this intimate local place just up a ways that I really love.”
“Yes, I love Italian food. It’s my favorite, actually.”
“Good. Mine too,” he replies smiling at me, his cheek hollowing into a shallow dimple I’m fighting the urge to kiss. My heart does a little flip flop.
A few minutes later we pull into the parking lot of a small Italian bistro. My inner ranting had me forgetting all about the part where he said he would kiss me again, but the sound of the engine dying slams me back into awareness, along with my nerves. My gaze has been steady on my hands, and I barely have time to lift my head when his hands are on my face, stroking my cheeks, turning me to look at him.
“You are so beautiful,” he mutters, his words more than a simple sentence. I’m drowning in the depths of his eyes, deep pools of promise; an unconcealed testament to his thoughts.
Then he is on me.
His lips crash down against mine. Strong hands anchor my head in place as if he’s afraid I will try to pull away.
But I’m not going to. I may be terrified, but I need this. Even if it’s one kiss, it might be worth opening myself up. It might help me heal.
My hands come around to drape tentatively on his neck, lightly playing with the sparse hairs there. My fingers drift down beneath his collar and back up into his glorious locks. Up and down. Up and down. Slightly tugging on his hair as the desire courses through my veins. My eyes close; his heated breath whispering on my lips.
One of his hands slides down my face, down my chest to cup my breast, thumb brushing, stroking my stiff nipple. A breathy moan escapes my mouth into his where he swallows the sound.
His hand ventures further south to rest on my waist, fingers brushing the skin where my blouse pulled out from my skirt. His skin on mine has me squirming in my seat, pressing my thighs together to stem the warm ache blossoming there. He slows the kiss, one last swipe of his tongue on mine, pulls away, and brushes back in for one, two more presses of his lips against mine.
I sigh, eyes still closed, savoring the sensation and the taste of him on my tongue. I’d forgotten how much I loved kissing.
He presses his forehead against mine. “We should head inside.” The want in his voice is clear and slices through my strength like a machete. He’s struggling with his control as much as I am.
“Lead the way,” I say, breathless.
Elias climbs out, his long, hard body unfolding gracefully from the truck. As he rounds the hood, I can’t stop myself from admiring the lean lines of his torso, the incredible way his pants hug his backside. What am I getting myself into?
He opens the passenger door for me, and I hop out into the chilly evening air.
All the while my mind races a million miles a minute. Compare and contrast. Elias to Travis. Devise escape plans. Try not to pass out and make an ass of myself. Get him to kiss me again!
Gah!
The casualness which he holds himself is the complete opposite to my inner turmoil. He turns to walk towards the restaurant, but not before engulfing my small hand with his large one. The warmth of his fingers curled around mine bring the rampaging thoughts to a halt.
The restaurant is a small stucco covered building in a light cream color. It has a red roof and awning leading up to a pair of black double doors. When we enter, a podium is situated center to the doors. A pretty, red head hostess waits, smiling brightly at, well, Elias. I’m pretty much invisible to her.
Still, he holds onto my hand tightly, gesturing me ahead of him while she motions for us to follow.
It’s hard not to miss the deliberately excessive shaking of her ass as she walks in front of us while we are brought to a small two person booth in the back corner of the restaurant. Chandeliers are spaced throughout the ceiling, providing a dimly lit romantic ambiance. It’s been years since I’ve been out to eat at a place like this. I’m excited and nervous, but beneath all the turmoil, I feel special. As if I deserve this or something.
We take our seats opposite one another in the comfortable booth and stay quiet as the hostess sashays away. I swallow down the urge to chuck my rolled silverware at the back of her head.
“How old are you?” The question takes me by surprise, seemingly from left field. But then I remember we know next to nothing about one another, and I smile. He’s trying to get to know me.
Still, I have to give him a bit of grief. “It’s rude to ask a woman her age,” I respond with a slight tilt to my lips.
He smirks. “My birthday is April 27th. Does that make you feel better?” He reaches out his hand, palm up on the table, silently asking to hold mine. The gesture is sweet and makes me smile as I stretch my hand out, placing it tenderly in his. His fingers curl around my palm, rubbing, stroking my soft skin with his calloused ones.
“That doesn’t tell me how old you are.”
“It’s my Golden birthday.” Mmm. An older man. Travis was my age, so the concept is foreign to me. Elias’s cool confidence makes me believe the age gap is a good thing. He probably has his shit figured out.
“Well now, that’s better.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I’ll be twenty two on June 3rd.”
“You’re just a baby,” he replies in a soft voice that raises the color of my cheeks. Is it a turn off to be so young? Maybe he was hoping I’d be closer to his age.
At that unfortunate moment, our waitress interrupts us. Like the hostess, she glues her eyes to Elias, leaving me forgotten.
“Hi, my name’s Jenny. What can I get you to drink?” she asks seductively, batting her eyelashes clumped with mascara.
“We’d like a bottle of Pinot Grigio,” Elias requests, his eyes never leaving mine. “If that’s all right with you, Marlee?”
Marlee? My stomach erupts in butterflies. Where did that come from? I like it. More than like it. “That sounds wonderful,” I squeak before taking a hurried sip of water.
“And are you ready to order, or do you need a few more minutes?” Again, she speaks only to Elias, her eyes boring holes into the side of his head when he fails to look at her.
“I’m ready,” I pipe in, tearing her attention away from my date. “I’ll have the Chicken Marsala, please.”
“Make that two,” Elias chimes in, keeping his attention focused on my face.
The waitress scoops up the menus and stalks away, obviously disappointed in his lack of interest. A rush of excitement washes through me. I can recall more than one occasion I’d caught Travis’s eyes wandering, brightening at the sight of a pretty woman or darkening at the sight of a nice rack or ass. To have Elias’s undivided attention is a rare treat I’m unaccustomed to, and it’s definitely sweet.
The conversation prior to our interruption leaves me ill at ease so I bring us full circle. As much as I hate confrontation, I’d rather not spend the next indefinite amount of time with Elias wondering if my age is a turn off. So I steel myself with a deep breath and forge on.
“Does it bother you that I’m so young?” My voice is a caressing whisper, and I watch Elias’s eyelids droop as if it’s delicately stroking his skin.
“No way,” he answers immediately looking not at all perplexed at my question. He must have understood I was feeling uneasy where we’d left off.
Well that’s a relief. Time to move forward onto the next nerve-wracking subject. I’m sensing a
lot of similarities between first dates and interviews. The suspense of where the conversation will lead is both exhilarating and anxiety inducing. I could use a Xanax. Or some Tequila.
His hand gives mine a gentle squeeze, which prompts me to move the conversation to safer territory.
“You play guitar?” I ask although I already know the answer by the rough callouses on his fingers. There is something incredibly sexy about a guitar player, and if he can sing, I’m done for.
“I do.”
“Hmm…” I let my response hang between us until curiosity wins and ask, “And do you sing?”
“I do sing,” he replies.
“I should rephrase that. Are you good at singing?”
“Ouch. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t tell you now.”
“This is really an important question. Because if you play guitar, that’s one bonus point, but if you sing, and sing well? That’s like, fifty bonus points.”
“Is it now?” Elias responds, his pupils dilating with a look that resembles hunger.
“It is.”
Elias just shakes his head. “I play at a bar downtown, so I must do all right if they’re willing to throw some cash my way.”
This pleases me. “Would you play for me sometime?”
“Come home with me tonight, and I will.”
Thinking about ending up at his place tonight has me nervous all over again. I’m not quite sure I’m ready for that. His hand tenses in mine so I look him in the eyes.
“I won’t hurt you.” His sincerity radiates off him. From his eyes to his posture, I feel it washing over me in droves. I allow myself to relax.
“I know.”
“I want to know something. What happened between you and your ex?” His eyes are tender but imploring. It does nothing to put me at ease.
My body instantly seizes again. It appears like he genuinely cares. But how do I answer that? My chest constricts. Talking about my past relationship is not where I wanted this conversation to go. I try to pull my hand back to my lap, but he clings to it tighter. “Please, I can’t talk about this.”
“It’s only fair, isn’t it? You used me to deter him the other night. I think I deserve an explanation.”
I try to hide my face by looking away, but it’s a failed attempt.
“Look at me, Marlee,” he commands, and I do. The sound of his voice pulls at something deep within me. An internal need to please. “You’re too beautiful to carry around that pain. I see it, you know. In your eyes, behind your smile. You think you’re hiding it, but you’re not.” He pauses, looking me deeply in the eyes, holding my gaze and punctuating his words with the depth of his stare. “I noticed it the first day I laid eyes on you. Almost as if you were afraid I’d embarrass you for running into me. You’re insecure, and I have a strong feeling that idiot made you that way. Talk to me. Let me help, because I can assure you, you’re worth so much more than he ever let you believe.”
“How can you say that?” I ask, genuinely confused. “You don’t know me. We’ve barely just met. How do you have any idea my worth?”
Elias’s gaze darkens, and suddenly he looks angry. “I don’t need to know you. You’re a woman and I’m a man, and any man who lets his woman believe she’s worthless is nothing but a piece of shit. You’re worth something, Marlee. You’re incredibly beautiful, but even if you weren’t? You’re sweet and enticing and feisty. And I don’t care what’s happened in your past, what made you the way you are. You’re a woman which means you have worth, and you deserve respect.”
“It’s a lot of heavy shit,” I whisper. “Not really date material, let alone a first date.”
“Then it’s best to get it all out there so we can move past it. If we ever see that sorry excuse for a man again, I can guarantee I won’t be so restrained.”
Lower lip trembling, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You know how in day-to-day life it’s easy to form routines? Wake up, shower, work, gym, supper, bed, repeat. Then after a while, because of laziness or comfort or convenience you grab breakfast on the way to work even though it’s expensive and unhealthy, just so you can sleep in later. Or you skip the gym so you have more time to unwind after work before bed. Even though you know it’s bad for you, it’s easier and becomes comfortable.
“That was my relationship with Travis. We should have ended things a lot sooner, but it was so easy being around each other at first. I spent all my free time with him, and we happened to develop this routine in our lives that revolved around each other. And over time, I got so relaxed letting him take the lead. I let him choose what we did, where we ate. It evolved into him choosing when I saw him and what I did with my free time. I let him become controlling. It was my fault. He presided over my life. And if I deviated from his plans, Travis punished me. Not physically, but he’d withhold his time from me, have me sit at home alone until he said I could see him…”
I trail off, losing myself in the memory of all that alone time, wondering what he was up to while I waited by my phone for him to return my call or a text message. He made me weak, and I disgusted myself with what I had become. Over the months since we’d separated, I’d been slowly working on getting my independence back. My self-reliance is important; I don’t think I’d survive if I ever gave up control again.
“Did he ever hurt you physically?” Elias leans back, studying me. He still has a firm grip on my arm, anchoring me to himself. I couldn’t run if I wanted to—but I don’t want to. It feels good to get that off my chest even though I’m certain I’ll scare him away. It’s a risk I have to take.
“Twice.”
His face visibly darkens, and his hand clenches in mine so tightly I feel as if I’m holding a prosthesis made of the strongest titanium. I continue speaking, knowing if this will push him away, I’d rather get it over with now than two months down the road when I’m emotionally invested.
“They were stupid incidents, partly my fault. I deliberately pushed his buttons. I knew he was angry, but I got in his face anyways. The first time, he pushed me and I fell backwards over the end table next to my couch. I don’t even remember what we were arguing about, it was that stupid.” I have to pause for a deep breath. This is heavy stuff.
His hand tightens around mine, a reassuring squeeze, so I continue.
“The second time was worse. We had been fighting in the bedroom. He wanted me to leave, but I wanted to stay and fight. I was sick of never having control, of giving in all the time, and I hated the way he would decide when an argument was over. This being one of those times. He was sending me away so he didn’t have to deal with whatever I had to say.
“Anyway, I refused to leave. He grabbed me by the hair, dragged me down the stairs, and out the front door. He locked me out of the house without my shoes or purse. I had to walk several miles home in the middle of the night in December.”
“So you didn’t live together then?”
“No. We did for a while, but he asked me to move out. It was strange. Like, he wanted to be with me still but said he needed space. I always suspected he was cheating on me.” I glance down at my lap, feeling incredibly stupid for being so gullible. Elias doesn’t respond so I peek up at him and see him watching me carefully. As I bring my gaze fully back to his, he nods his head then continues with the questions.
“What happened next?”
“Immediately after, I felt like I had to apologize to him for pissing him off.” I raise up my hand to stop his protest. “I know how ridiculous that sounds now, but at the time, I blamed myself. He always had me blaming myself. Anyway, just after Christmas my friend forced me to call so I could get my things and my car from his place. He apologized, said he was sorry for getting so angry with me, that it wouldn’t happen again. He told me I should come over the next day to get my purse, and he would make it all up to me. I wasn’t so sure about the making up part, but I needed my purse so I told him I’d head over the next evening.
“The next day my friend dropped me off, a
nd I let myself in because he wasn’t answering the door. When I got up to his bedroom, I walked in on him having sex with his neighbor, who happened to be a mutual friend of ours. He looked over his shoulder long enough to say, ‘Your purse is on the kitchen table,’ all without missing a beat. Just kept on screwing her right in front of me.”
I don’t even notice I’m shaking until Elias slides into the booth next to me and wraps his arms around me, pulling my head to his chest. I release a long, slow exhale, holding back the tears that threaten to spill over. God, I was so damn stupid.
“I’m sorry. I hate him, but it still hurts.” The fact is, that is my past, my life. It haunts me to know I was once so weak that someone had so much power over my actions. And here I am, sharing that baggage because it helped shape who I am, while simultaneously praying it won’t scare Elias away.
“He stripped you raw. I can understand. I’m sorry I asked you about it, but I’m glad you told me. That was brave of you to put yourself out there like that, trusting me so blindly.” He kisses the top of my head, his lips pressing tightly, lingering in my hair. His praise engulfs me, warming my frigid insides.
At that moment, our waitress arrives with our food. She sets my plate down in front of me, and with a smirk, places Elias’s plate across the table at his empty seat in the booth.
Elias remains seated next to me, which is nice, comforting even. I appreciate him wanting to make sure I’m okay.
But his face is fixed in a disgusted sneer aimed the waitress’s way. “I’ll take my plate over here if you don’t mind not trying to dictate where I sit.”
Humiliated, I’m sure, she moves his plate and places it in front of him, muttering a quick apology without looking either of us in the eye. She scampers back towards the kitchen.
I stifle a laugh at the way he called her out. “That was awesome.”
