It was sincere, relaxing, and for reasons I had yet to define, being with Lauren made me feel like I was reunited with an old friend rather than just getting to know someone.
But I still had a couple of tricks left up my sleeve to reiterate my point about clichés, and barring any major mishaps, I could still pull it off. I’d been bucked from a horse, had my nutsack discombobulated, suffered severe CO2 poisoning, and would probably get some strange flu from the bird shit on my shirt. And it wasn’t even noon.
This weekend was shaping up to be one I didn’t think I’d want to remember.
“Where to?” the cabbie said, once we got off the pier.
“Bluewater off of Seventh, please.”
Lauren’s brow furrowed. “Isn’t that a seafood restaurant?”
“Yes. We have reservations at noon. You’re not allergic, are you?”
That would’ve been perfect. Finally, a win for Mike with the cliché debate. But alas, she wasn’t.
“Nope!” Lauren beamed another bright smile and I grumbled.
The taxi ride was fast, and within minutes we’d arrived. I handed the driver the money, and Lauren jumped out quickly.
“What can I get you to drink?” the server asked Lauren when we were seated.
“Merlot, please.”
“And you, sir?”
“Water. Just water,” I said with a curt nod, looking at the entrées on the menu with wide eyes. I wish I would’ve looked at the pricing online, because three digits for two crab legs was way out of my league. This afternoon would cost more than my plane ticket to Seattle.
The waitress left and Lauren winced, scratching her head when she opened the menu. She leaned across the table. “Michael. This place is really expensive. Not to mention the fact that I’m in jean shorts, and this isn’t a jeans kind of place. You have a bird shit stain on your T-shirt.” She laughed her plea. “Why don’t we just go to the café on the corner. I’m fine with—”
“Nope.” I put up my hand. “Today is about new experiences. And I don’t know about you, but,” I glanced down at the menu and pointed at the most expensive dish they had to offer, “I’m getting the lobster ravioli.” I winced when I read its description.
She looked down and scanned the items. “I thought today was supposed to be about proving that romance novels are stupid.” She raised an eyebrow. “And the lobster ravioli is served with squid ink.”
“Indeed it is,” I said with a grimace. “Sounds delicious,” I laughed. “Today is supposed to be about proving a point about romance novels. But not that they’re stupid, just that they’re cliché.”
“Are you sure you don’t just want to grab a couple of sandwiches and sit in the park?” Lauren pleaded. “I’m going to feel guilty eating anything on this menu.”
Her eyebrows pinched together, and from the small line across her forehead, I knew she was concerned. I’d begun to notice small things in her mannerisms: When she felt nervous, she fidgeted with her fingers and avoided eye contact. When she was thinking about something that made her happy, she’d stare off into the distance for a moment and chew the inside of her cheek to cover her smile. And when she felt challenged, she straightened her posture and tried to put on a tough façade. But I knew deep down it was all just for show.
She was adorable.
A part of me felt guilty. But another part of me rejoiced in success. I would’ve been happy to forego crushing the rest of the weekend’s budget on lunch. Only rich people could afford a place like this. And I lived in a doublewide with my mother.
Lauren looked around the massive dining room, which was decorated with high-end fixtures and panels of blue glass separating the bar from the restaurant. The table was adorned with a coffee cup, wine flute, water glass, and six pieces of silverware for each place setting, set on top of a white cloth napkin—the same napkin that she was rubbing vigorously between her thumb and index finger.
“I’ll go wherever you want to go, Lauren,” I said earnestly.
“We’re right by the café. Let’s get lunch there and take it to the park. We still need to find my glasses anyway.”
I nodded, thankful for her suggestion, and flagged down the server to pay for the wine that Lauren wouldn’t get a chance to drink.
Cliché Eight:
A hand-holding stroll in the park.
“How are you feeling after your fall this morning?” Lauren asked smiling, taking a bite of her BLT.
“My balls are still experiencing a post-traumatic vibration.”
She chuckled from the back of her throat with a mouthful of sandwich. After swallowing, she said, “So tell me about your writing. I want to know more about your stories.”
I shrugged. There wasn’t really much to say. I knew how to write, and I had several manuscripts I’d started but hadn’t finished. None of them were ready for an agent’s eyes. “I love reading mysteries. The suspense, the buildup. I love ripping through the pages, unable to get to the next scene fast enough. But those books are rarer these days. As you probably know, reading for fun and reading with a critical eye are two different things. It’s getting harder and harder to find books I can relax with. I’m always trying to figure out how they structured their sentences for flow, and whether or not they should’ve used a comma or a semicolon,” I said. “It’s not as fun as it used to be. And because I can’t really get into reading, my writing has suffered recently.”
“Not for me.” She shook her head and leaned back, looking up at the sky and taking a deep breath. “I can still get lost for days.”
The reflection of the sun hit her sunglasses, and the soft breeze swayed the branches above us, making the light flicker over her.
“I envy you,” I said. “Sometimes I wish I could go back to being a ten-year-old, when reading the dictionary was still an adventure.”
“I can turn off the critical side of my brain like that,” she said, snapping her fingers. “I don’t even care if the book was poorly edited. If the writer can write good characters, I don’t see the technical mistakes.”
“I wish it were that easy for me. I’m a punctuation freak. If I see more than two mistakes in the first few chapters, I can’t continue.”
She laughed. “Snob.”
“I guess we’ll just have to read books together then. You can be the creative right half of my brain to my obsessive left.”
“We’ll have to stick to Harry Potter. But the good news is that I hear there’s at least one more book to be released in the series.”
“Sold,” I concurred. “I’ll think of you every time a new Harry Potter book hits the shelves.”
My words lingered between us as her eyes swept over the park. She slowly got to her feet, and wiped her backside to remove the stray grass. “Hey, isn’t that where I fell? Over there?” Pointing in the direction of the path, she started walking.
I stood and caught up with her. “Yeah. I think it was right around here.”
We scoured the grass, bending over to inspect the area. “You don’t think a park volunteer would’ve picked up my glasses and thrown them away, do you?” she asked.
“I doubt it. Keep looking.”
We walked in circles around each other, rounding our way over the path and the grass that surrounded it. The light through the trees continued to dance over her, the shadows frolicking against her smooth legs. I was staring again, completely forgetting what I was supposed to do.
And she stopped, throwing her hands up in defeat, and I looked away quickly. “I can’t find them,” she shouted.
What is she looking for?
Oh! Her glasses. Right. That’s what we were doing.
I looked down, seeing a small piece of plastic sticking up from the grass. “Here they are!” I shouted. “Found them!” Plucking them from the ground, I grabbed too quickly and one of the bows busted off. “Shit.”
I dug the rest of them out from where the mud had dried, crusting over the lenses, and handed her two pieces. “Sorry. The lens
was already cracked, but I broke this part, here,” I added. “You know what? I’m just going to stop touching anything that’s yours. I seem to be jinxed when it comes to you and your…stuff.”
“Ha! Nah. I don’t really need them. I have an extra pair at home. My eyes aren’t that bad. Everything just looks a little fuzzy far away without them.” She looked down, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. “So just stay close to me for the rest of the weekend, and I shouldn’t have a problem.”
I swallowed, pushing my frames up the bridge of my nose, and smiled. “Deal.”
We walked through the park for the next hour, sneaking in glances, looking for any opportunities for small flirtations, and discussing the best and worst of college. She seemed interested in my graduate school experience, and we discussed what kinds of classes she’d be taking over the next two years. I didn’t want to admit that in such a short time I would’ve considered Lauren a good friend, but the more she spoke, the more comfortable I became, until pretty soon I began finishing her sentences for her.
The humidity from the morning waned, and every time the wind blew, it brought a faint scent of the ocean combined with the heady scent of her faded perfume.
I couldn’t remember having such a good time. In college, most women made me uneasy. Reserved. It wasn’t until I’d started experimenting with the dating scene that I’d even spent this much time with a woman. But those were all to test myself; I wanted to see if they’d let me into their pants by the end of the night. I realize it now: it was a dick move. But at the time, it was the very structured part of my mind that made excuses for it.
But with Lauren, however many times it crossed my mind, sex wasn’t the end goal. In fact, I shooed it out of my mind every time she’d laugh or brush her hand against mine or wipe the small beads of sweat from her brow.
We were both contradictions. Complete anti-clichés.
She was sweet, but not innocent. Smart but not egotistical. A geek, but in the coolest possible way.
And I was uptight but easygoing. Brave yet a little scared. And for as much as I wanted to take her back to the hotel to taste and touch her skin, which had been a distraction for most of the day, there was something about her that made the mere thought an intrusion.
“Well, this is where the walk in a park part of this novel ends,” I said as we sat on the dock watching the boats come and go. “It’s almost three o’clock, and I have a few more things I want to get done before we leave Seattle tomorrow.”
She grinned, tilting her head in my direction. After bringing her eyes from my groin up to my face, she looked back out into the water. “And what did you have in mind?”
Sex in the hotel.
Dammit! Shoo. Go away.
“A motorcycle ride.” My voice cracked.
She jerked her head back to me. “You’re going to take me on a motorcycle?” Her eyes widened. “Do you ride?”
I laughed. “Yeah. I can ride. There’s a place nearby where we can rent one. Nothing too fast, though, and probably just around the block once or twice. I’ve never ridden with someone before.”
That damn spark in her eye ignited, and I tried to take in all her beauty at once. But her energy was too overwhelming, and I had to look away. But I couldn’t stop my body from leaning into hers. She seemed oblivious to the fact that the moment was perfect for a kiss, and I made note that she was either just like me, missing the little moments in life that could change the course, or she really wasn’t interested in me at all.
I leaned in closer, and her eyes focused on my hands. I turned my palm up as an invitation, and she licked her lips, brushing her hair behind her shoulder to expose the length of her neck. The sight of it caused my head to spin, and I couldn’t seem to steady my breath.
But she hopped to her feet, breaking the connection between us. “I want to stop back at the hotel and change my clothes. If you’re going to be taking me out for a ride, I want to grab a sweater.”
Dammit! Kiss me! We were supposed to kiss just then. I know it!
I took a deep breath knowing I’d missed my chance, yet feeling proud of myself for not acting on it. For as conflicted as I felt about the entire weekend, she’d just answered the question I’d been asking myself since I first saw her.
She obviously wasn’t into me.
The blow to my ego turned down the corners of my mouth, and I stared at the grass in disappointment.
I’d fought my attraction to Lauren because of Jack’s ridiculous bet. And even though the thought of using Monica to win made me want to shove a sharp object into my stomach, it was looking like that might still be my best option.
But I couldn’t do that, could I? Not with what I had invested in Lauren in such a short amount of time. I didn’t know how it would make her feel, but I would imagine that my spending the night with Monica would’ve been the shittiest thing I could do.
I’d only be in Seattle for a few more hours—less than a day. I wanted to spend that time with Lauren if she’d let me, even if it never went past talking books and holding hands. But I still had to contend with the fact that after the weekend, I’d be headed back to Florida to live with my mother, and Lauren would be on the opposite side of the continent—in Vancouver, British Columbia.
I wasn’t going to take advantage of the situation like that. Not Lauren. And after spending time with a woman like her all day, I definitely wouldn’t consider doing it to Monica, either.
Jack would just have to win the bet, and I would go home jobless.
It’s the right thing to do. It’s my only option.
I exhaled. “Great. Let’s go,” I said, resolved in my decision.
***
We took the elevator up, sharing it with another couple, who pressed the third floor button. Lauren had appeared to be on the verge of saying something since our walk back to the hotel, yet hadn’t quite found the courage. But words lingered on the tip of her tongue.
We stood against the back wall, fighting our sideways glances toward one another.
“Thanks for today,” she said, fiddling with the strap of her purse.
“Oh, don’t think you’re getting off that easily. There’s still plenty of hours left in the day for me to prove my theory about the books you read.”
She laughed, and we watched the couple exit the elevator. The doors closed and she took a step closer to me. After licking her plump bottom lip and trapping it between her teeth, she whispered, “Is that what’s going on here?”
I shook my head, not picking up on the hint. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly. After a short pause, she sighed. “Look, I don’t want to be the chick who doesn’t get it. I mean, I understand that I’m naïve, and that I’m probably pretty easy to take advantage of, but don’t play me. If all you want is a night in the sack, just say it. There’s no reason to wine and dine me, because to be quite frank, I have no intention of sleeping with you before the weekend is over. No matter how sexy I think you are.”
Holy shit, the woman had a set of balls. How had any indication that she had that kind of courage get past me? And why the hell would she think that I’d be the kind of guy that would do something like that?
I paused the elevator, and with a sudden jolt, the floor stilled. “First of all, Lauren, I’d like you to know that I have no intention of fucking you, either.”
She took a step back and lowered her head.
“Not that I wouldn’t want to! You took that the wrong way. You’re beautiful. You’re smart. And I can say quite honestly that I’d thought about what your skin would feel like against mine over a hundred times before noon today, and it’s been hell! Excruciating! But I respect you. And I like you. And if I’m being honest, you’re way out of my league.” I thumbed the button to resume the elevator’s climb.
She huffed a laugh, her eyes opened wide in disbelief. “Me? I’m too good for you? You’re kidding, right?” she guffawed. “The whole weekend you’ve been author-name-dropping,
schooling me on your Virginia-Tech-graduate-school critiques, flexing your intelligence so that I’d take notice. But I’m out of your league? I’ll have you know that the minute I laid eyes on you at the bar I’ve been thinking about you. Those damn perfect lips. And what your hair would feel like wrapped around my fingers and pulling it taut until I made you scream my name. Don’t even get me started on the idea of the scruff on your jaw between my thighs, or it’s going to send me overboard. So joke all you want about how sensitive, fragile, or uppity you think my league is compared to yours. You’ve been doing a fine job of reminding me why I’ll never get a man like you.” By the time she finished, she was flustered, her were cheeks rosy, and her breathing had grown ragged and unsteady.
I blinked twice, pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose. I’d been wrong at the park fifteen minutes ago; it wasn’t the perfect time to kiss her.
But now? If there had ever been more obvious time, it had never presented itself to me the way this one did.
I was left with no other choice.
As the elevator doors dinged and opened, I took two steps forward, buried my lips into hers, and slammed her back against the metallic wall.
Our tongues invited each other’s to tangle, and her hand flew up to my hair. I paid no attention to the elevator doors close again, gripped her waist tightly with one hand, and squeezed her supple ass cheek with the other. She groaned—a sweet, sexy sound that traveled from my ears straight to my groin, and I squeezed harder, doing anything I could to hear her moan again.
A muffled sound of someone clearing their throat came from behind us. I regretfully tore my lips from hers. Her face and neck were flushed, and her short-winded breaths matched mine.
A large man stood, keeping his head down and his hands casually in his pockets. “Going down?” he asked with a smirk, blocking the doors so they wouldn’t close again.
Four Play: A Collection of Novellas Page 28
