Love Undiscovered

by Denise Wells

  “It’s not about suicide, if that’s what you’re asking,” she says.

  “Asking poorly, apparently. But that makes me feel better.”

  “It’s more like a fucked-up curiosity thing. An impulse that I would never give in to. I just wonder what that sensation would be like. Not with something like a ladder. That’s just a flat-out fear of falling and cracking my head open. But with bridges or balconies, and rooftops, it’s more about the jump itself.”

  “Okay, I’m trying to understand here, so killing or hurting yourself is not something you feel compelled to do?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  “That’s a relief,” I say, running a hand over my face. This got kind of deep in a small amount of time, but I still want more information. “Then why the jump?”

  “Clearly I’m not explaining it right. It’s kind of like the epitome of total control. Knowing that there is always a choice and that a split decision can cause such lasting results. Let’s say you decide to jump, once that decision is made, you’re done, right? You don’t get a chance to do it again. The consequences are what they are.”

  I nod, still not seeing how this isn’t about suicide somehow.

  She leans forward, a little more excited about what she’s trying to explain. “And then you have the action of what you’ve decided. To jump. And then you get to fall. And what must that feel like? And not just the weightlessness of falling, but that consciousness right beforehand. And then, of course, right after. I wonder if it’d be empowering to jump? Like would I feel invincible in that moment?

  “Or would I immediately regret it after? And then what if I died? Or worse, ended up a comatose vegetable? It’s not about creating a result, like death, it’s about making a decision with lasting consequences. I’m not explaining it right. It’s just… it’s silly. They’re just thoughts, nothing I’d ever act on or anything like that.”

  She’s put some thought into this for sure. And it’s deep. A little too deep for a Cosmo questionnaire. But, I’m going to roll with it as best I can. “I don’t know what to do with that.”

  She laughs. “I don’t expect you to do anything with it. It’s just how I feel. No big deal.”

  I smile at her. “Everything you feel is a big deal.”

  She looks down at the table and fusses with her napkin in her lap. I like that I can fluster her like this. But I also can’t stop myself from thinking about how I might be able to help her. Because even if this is a bet, there’s still a small part of me that is starting to care about her, more than I should. And that part doesn’t want to see her afraid of anything or thinking about jumping from anywhere just to see how it ends up.

  Either way, I don’t like the morbid ideas that are running around in her pretty head.

  Chapter 18

  Remi

  I take a few more bites of my lunch, completely regretting that I’ve shared so much with him about myself. I should have made something up. He’s going to think I’m a fucking nut case. Who thinks about shit like that without being crazy? It makes me feel anxious to admit my thoughts on jumping and falling to people. The only people I’ve ever talked about it with are Kat and Lexie. And even Kat said I was a nut job for thinking that.

  So, no more opening up to Chance Bauer.

  This is a bet. Nothing more.

  Something I keep forgetting when I’m face to face with him. The man must have the patience of a saint to put up with me. Because I know I’ve been a bitch. Part of me thinks he likes it, because he keeps coming back for more.

  Just don’t push your luck, Remi.

  “Did you like the food?” I ask, noticing he’s already finished.

  “It was fantastic.”

  “I’m glad,” I grin. “So, hey, what about you? What’s something you’ve been dying to try but have never done?” He gets a huge smile on his face and I feel the need to remind him. “Not something sexual.”

  The smile dies, but the twinkle in his eyes is still there. He does have the most beautiful eyes, so expressive and clear.

  “Hockey,” he says.

  “Hockey? Like the game?”

  “The sport, yes. I’ve always wanted to play hockey. But I don’t know how to ice skate.”

  “I can ice skate,” I say.

  “You grew up in California, how can you ice skate?”

  “There are ice rinks here, you know.”

  “Is that how you learned?” he asks.

  “Well, no. I learned by spending the winters in Philadelphia.”

  “Why were you in Philadelphia for the winter?” he asks. I’m already regretting opening this topic of conversation.

  “Winters. Plural. It’s where I went to school.”

  “You went to college here, same as me. First time we met, remember?”

  “Grade school.”

  “Your parents moved to Philly so you could go to grade school?”

  “They didn’t move. And high school.”

  “Okay, you’re going to have to explain this one, I know I’m the simpleton and all, but there’s something that’s not connecting here for me.”

  I don’t want to tell him the whole story. Not now. And maybe not ever. But he’s right, what I’m telling him now doesn’t make sense.

  “Shall we start walking back and I’ll explain?”

  “Sure.” He throws forty dollars on the table, which I know is way too much, grabs my hand and we are out the door. Saying thank you and goodbye to Adamo on the way.

  “So, Philly, huh? You an Eagles fan?”

  “No.”

  “Flyers?”

  “Who? No. It’s doubtful,” I say.

  “So,” he says. “Tell me how you went to school in Philadelphia while your family was here?”

  “Boarding school.”

  He stops us in the middle of the sidewalk and turns me to face him, one hand on each of my shoulders. His face is soft, and his eyes look concerned.

  “You went to boarding school all the way across the country for grade school AND high school?”

  I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, then turn to continue walking back to my office. I can feel the tension building in my shoulders. From unresolved anger and bitterness; longing for love from the ones who chose to bring me into this world to begin with.

  “Yes.”

  “Were you a bad girl?” he asks with a pretend gasp, which immediately lightens the angst growing inside me. I don’t like talking about my childhood. Hell, I don’t even like thinking about my childhood.

  “I don’t think so,” I say.

  “Then why?”

  “That’s a topic best left for another time. Besides, if we don’t pick up the pace, I’m going to be late back, and I hate it when I’m late.” I turn and start walking again, now only a few buildings away from my office.

  “Why didn’t you say so?” He picks me up in a fireman’s hold and starts running down the street.

  “Chance! Put me down!”

  “You said we had to hurry,”

  “Put me down!” I bang on his back with my fists. It feels futile even as I do it. “I swear to God I will kill you if I’m flashing anyone right now.”

  “I got you,” he says. I know he does, since one of his arms is at the base of my ass, holding my skirt down. He slows to a jog, and then walk, as we get to the front of my office building, stopping in view of the lobby.

  “You’d better hope no one can see us!”

  “Relax, Icy. No one is even paying attention.” He slides me down the front of his body. My skirt bunches between us and I move to smooth it down. He smooths the back for me, taking extra time with the part of the skirt over my ass. I have to laugh at him.

  “You’re incorrigible,” I say, trying to give him a stern look while I poke my index finger at his chest.

  “I can’t even spell incorrigible,” he says, bringing his hands up and placing them on either side of my face. “I can spell kiss though. Which is what I’m about to do unless
you say no.”

  I really want to say no.

  I think.

  No, that’s not true, I really want to say yes.

  God, it’s hard to think when he’s this close to me.

  With those eyes, and those lips. I nod. He lowers his head slowly to mine. I close my eyes and open my mouth slightly. I feel his breath before I feel his lips, so soft is his touch that I might have missed it were I not expecting it. His lips linger on mine, and long before I’ve had my fill, he pulls away.

  “I’ll see you Saturday, beautiful,” he whispers. Then he turns and walks toward his bike, which is parked on the street. He puts on his helmet and his leather jacket and takes off without looking back. I stand there for a minute, hands still on my lips, not quite believing what just happened and how much I enjoyed it.

  He has such an effect on me. Still. I don’t get it.

  I barely take two steps before I have to swipe my badge to get into the building. The coolness of the air feels good against my heated skin. Connie is sitting at the front desk fanning herself with a piece of paper.

  “That. Was. Hot. Remi,” she says.

  “That guy is trouble, Connie,” I tell her as I board the elevator.

  “That only makes it hotter,” she says as the doors close.

  *

  I meet the girls for dinner Wednesday, anxious to fill them in on Tuesday’s date. For no other reason than to prove that I’m holding up my end of the bargain. They’re both already there when I arrive. My favorite thing about being the last one to arrive is that my margarita is already there.

  “Ladies,” I say in greeting as I sit down. “Kat, you look fantastic.” She’s wearing a longer scarf around her head, with the ends pulled down over her one shoulder and twisted, like a side ponytail. She’s got a black floppy hat on over that, accessorizing an outfit of cuffed boyfriend jeans, black ankle boots, a loose white tee, black belt with a killer silver buckle, and a long tan cardigan.

  “Thank you,” she says. “As do you. I love that blouse!”

  “I’m doing casual Friday, just on Wednesday,” I say gesturing to my slim fitting blue plaid capris and white cap sleeve button-down, and white tennis shoes.

  “If that’s casual Friday, then what do I wear every day?” Lexie asks.

  “Winemaking clothes,” Kat says of Lexie’s jeans and Lovestone branded t-shirt and ball cap.

  “Hmmm,” Lexie says, not sounding totally convinced.

  “You always look good, Lex,” I say. “You have that natural effervescence that shines from within no matter what you wear.”

  “Thanks!” She blows me a kiss.

  “So, how was lunch yesterday?” Kat asks.

  “It was good, I introduced him to Adamo’s.”

  “Oh, I love that place,” Lexie says.

  “And?” Kat asks.

  “And, I’m seeing him again on Saturday, which will make three times. So start getting ready to eat your words.”

  “Come on, Remi, this isn’t all about the bet. Isn’t it nice getting to know someone?” Lexie asks.

  I really want to tell them about the kiss. At the same time, I don’t want to tell them about the kiss. Just like I do and don’t want to tell them about how he periodically texts me just to say something nice that always makes me smile. And how much I’m looking forward to our date Saturday night.

  I’m so fucked.

  “When you have a pair of Louboutins on the line, we’ll talk about whether it’s all about a bet,” I say.

  “You can act all hard-ass if you want to,” Kat says. “But we know you, and there’s something you aren’t telling us.”

  “You’re right,” I say. “There is something I’m not telling you. He had this ridiculous list of questions for us to ask one another.”

  “That’s so cute,” Lexie says.

  “What kind of questions?” Kat asks.

  “You know. Like do you like coffee or tea? How often do you visit your family? Stuff like that.”

  “What did you tell him?” Lexie asks.

  “Coffee, of course,” I say. “You know that.”

  “No,” Kat says. “What did you tell him about your family?”

  “That I didn’t talk to them.”

  “Did you tell him why?” Kat asks.

  “No,” I say. “That’s none of his business.”

  “What else did you talk about?”

  “Let’s see.” I tap my finger to my lips as I pretend to think. “We talked about my fear of heights combined with my jumping obsession. I pretty much emo-vomited all over him and now he thinks I’m crazy.”

  “You are crazy,” Kat says.

  “But good crazy,” Lexie says, laughing.

  “There’s no such thing as good crazy.” I shut my eyes and shake my head. As though ridding the memory from my mind will erase it from having happened.

  “Ohmigod. You like him,” Kat says.

  “No, I don’t. Why would you say that? Take that back!”

  “I will not take it back. You told him two things about yourself that are personal and true,” she says.

  “About drinking coffee? Please,” I scoff.

  “Kat’s right,” Lexie says. “You told him you don’t talk to your family and your whole issue with heights and jumping thing. You never admit things like that to people. You always make up a story about your parents and why you don’t see them.”

  “Didn’t you even start telling people your parents were dead? Which was so not cool to Lex,” Kat says.

  “It was okay, I get why she doesn’t want to go into it with strangers,” Lexie says. “But you didn’t tell him a lie. You just didn’t include the whole story, but what you said was true.”

  “That doesn’t mean I like him.” I’m tempted to roll my eyes. But I’m trying to tamper that habit. I know I do it excessively, I hate the idea of something so rote defining me.

  They both just look at me. Kat does that to me all the time to get me to talk.

  But Lexie surprises me, usually she’s jumping right in to fill a gap in conversation or uncomfortable silence. Kat must have taught her the trick to doing it or something.

  “None of this is as big a deal as you both are making it,” I say.

  Silence.

  Lexie is squirming slightly in her chair though, like she’s about to crack; that is if I don’t crack first.

  “Fine. I’m looking forward to seeing him on Saturday. Happy?”

  Kat grins big and swipes at her eyes, I don’t know if she’s got real tears or not. “Lexie, our girl is growing up.” She fake sniffles.

  Lexie claps her hands, bouncing in her seat.

  “Shut up,” I say.

  “I won’t,” Kat says. “Do you know how nice it is to see you have real emotions about something that doesn’t involve work, fashion, or us?”

  “I’m not having emotions about this.”

  “Remi,” Lexie says in a singsong voice. “Anticipation is an emotion.”

  “You guys are blowing this way out of proportion,” I say.

  “No, we’re not,” Kat says. “We’ve known forever that you guys like each other.”

  I can feel my cheeks heat slightly.

  Fuck it.

  “He kissed me yesterday,” I say.

  “How was it?” Lexie asks.

  “Soft. Fleeting. But it rocked my fucking world.” I actually feel a little relieved at being able to talk to them about it. “Even Connie, the receptionist, was fanning herself when I walked back in the building.”

  “He kissed you in front of your office building?” Kat asks.

  “Yes. And, he held my hand the whole way to Adamo’s and the whole way back.”

  “And you let him?” Lexie asks.

  “I did. But, guys, this is kind of freaking me out.”

  “I get it,” Kat says. “But don’t think on it too much. Just one day at a time. Relationships are only scary when you try to look at them in their entirety. And that’s too big, too
uncertain. All you can do is day by day. And trust me, Remi, you give good relationship. And good day-to-day.”

  “We have nothing in common.”

  “Opposites attract,” Lexie says.

  “He rides a motorcycle and my wardrobe consists of ninety percent skirts and dresses.”

  “So you’ll get some jeans,” Kat says.

  “He was in a Bob Seger cover band,” I say.

  “Cool!” Lexie says.

  “I forgot about that,” Kat says. “But that is pretty fucking cool. I do love me some Bob Seger. Can you imagine if you get to hear him sing? If he sings to you? Swoon!”

  “I guess.” I shrug, trying to stay noncommittal.

  “What are you going to wear on Saturday?” Kat asks.

  “I don’t know. I guess I’m going shopping for jeans.”

  “Did you thank him for lunch?” Lexie asks.

  “Of course,” I say. “At least I think I did.”

  “You think you did?” Kat asks.

  “Text him,” Lexie says.

  “No,” I say. “Why?”

  “She’s right,” Kat says. “You should totally text him and thank him for lunch.”

  “And tell him you’re shopping for jeans,” Lexie says.

  “Why would I tell him that?” I ask.

  “It shows him that you’re thinking about the next date,” Lexie says. “It’s a nice thing.”

  “It’s a relationship thing,” I say. “I may be looking forward to seeing him on Saturday, but make no mistake, this is not a relationship.”

  “Whatever you say, babe,” Kat says, patting my shoulder in a super condescending way. “But make sure you’re flirty when you text him.”

  So, despite this not being a relationship, I pick up my phone and text him.

  And I make sure it’s flirty.

  Chapter 19

  Chance

  I get a text from Alex on my way home.

  Alex: B-ball tonight. You in?

  Me: Hell yeah, what time?

  Alex: 4:30

  Me: See ya.

  *

  We win the game against the firefighters, which puts both Alex and I on a bit of a high. Kat’s Romeo, Brad Matthews, played this game, so I’m not surprised to see him and his buddy Ethan Shane at the bar for beers after.