by Layne Harper
When he’s done with his speech, he releases my chin but drags the edge of his hand up the side of my cheek. His presence is larger than this room. Instinctively, I lean into his touch, wanting more of him. Our eyes meet. There’s a connection or understanding of something more. My ribcage expands. The only way I can describe it is what it must be like when a blind person experiences vision. Emotions that I’ve never felt ricochet from my heart to my stomach and then move lower. I’m not sure if I’m going to cry or throw up or explode, but whatever it is will not be good and I don’t want Aaron to see.
Wobbling on my high heels, I stand and race for the girls’ bathroom. Thank goodness I’ve used it before and remember where it is. It’s not occupied so I enter, slamming the door behind me. Floral wallpaper decorates the walls—flowers so bold and bright they’re garish. There’s a chaise lounge to my right. I stumble to it and all but collapse. My head goes between my knees, and the loud pants escaping my throat tell me that I’m having a panic attack. I haven’t had one since I started my blog. My phone is in my coat pocket at the hostess stand so I can’t call anyone for help. I take deep breaths in and exhale, trying to stop it in its tracks.
My concentration image enters my mind. It’s chocolate chip muffins coming out of the oven. I imagine how delicious they smell. Aaron’s standing next to me and eagerly wanting one. No! Don’t think about him. Muffins. Think about muffins which are now cooled off enough that I can pop them out of the pan. The chocolate is gooey, and I’m licking it off of Aaron’s taut stomach, and I crave him like I’ve never hungered for another man before.
I lean back. “What’s happening to me?” The huge flowers on the wall don’t provide me with any information.
I’ve had one-night stands before. They’re between two people who are both horny and mutually getting each other off. These aren’t those emotions. Crazy thoughts ping-pong around my brain. The chemistry is real. Aaron is real. I’m falling for a guy, and I don’t know his last name. His touch. He wants me like I want him.
There’s a knock on the door. Oh God. I’m not ready to go back to the table yet. “Just a moment,” I call, attempting to sound as normal as possible.
“Open the door, MK,” Aaron orders in a deep, raspy voice.
He’s the last person I want to see right now. I’m not rational. I’m so confused. This level of crazy no one needs to witness. Is he feeling the same way? Is he as desperate for me as I am for him?
I don’t let myself go down that path. He’s a guy who’s just looking for another short-term fling. Guards up, MK. Don’t let your heart get trampled on.
“I can’t. Please just give me a moment.” I sound like I sucked helium as I silently plead for him to please give me that moment I asked for.
“I’m counting to three and so help me God, I will kick the door in.”
Well, that’s not very rational.
“Why? Why would you do that?” I ask, leaning against the cool oak door and begging him for space.
“One . . . Two . . .”
I fling the door open wide while I pray I can keep myself appearing normal.
He looks wild. His hair is tussled, and his eyes are wide. He steps just inside the door and closes it behind him. “Why are you hiding from me?” he demands. “Did I say something wrong?”
About five different replies flow across my brain, but instead I go with honesty. “Because you scare me. You say stuff and touch me in a way that makes me feel things, and I don’t understand what I’m feeling.”
Reaching up, he drags a hand through his hair. His head turns to the side and his shoulders relax as he starts laughing.
And so do I. “Okay. That wasn’t very well thought out.” I’m so embarrassed, and I know I’m about as red as a lobster. “Can I have another try at articulation?”
He sits down on the chaise, leaning back and crosses his right leg over his knee. “Sure, MK, because right now I’m feeling a bit like this is the inappropriate touch lecture in third grade.”
I love how relaxed he looks. His jacket has been removed and the top three buttons of his shirt are undone. His messy hair and playful smile tell me we’re back on an even playing field.
Standing in front of him, I sigh as he takes my hands. “This is hard for me.” Glancing at the ceiling for inspiration, I say “Here goes. So you see.” I shift my weight from one foot to the other.
He gives my hands a squeeze, and an amused smile plays across his lips. “Look, we’re in the ladies’ room of a locally popular restaurant. Whatever you need to say, spit it out so we can get back to what I thought was nice dinner conversation.”
“Never mind,” I say, dropping his hands in frustration with myself and turning to leave. I feel so stupid. I just want to go home, put on my comfy PJs, and eat a gallon of ice cream. I’m too socially unequipped to go on a date. Now it’s clear to me why Bella was so harsh. They were the words I needed to hear. Tripp appreciates my awkwardness—and he’s probably the only one. That should trump chemistry any day of the week.
Before I can process what’s happening, Aaron pushes me against the wall and takes my mouth in an all-consuming kiss. Our teeth bang into each other making a clanking noise. His tongue doesn’t ask for permission and forces its way into my all-too-eager mouth. My toes literally curl in my shoes. I reach up and wrap my right hand around his neck, pulling him tightly against me. He grabs my behind and pushes me against his very hard erection. Time stops. It’s as if we’ve entered our own world. It’s just the two of us alone on this planet, and all I can think about is him. His other hand grabs my behind as he hoists me up against the wall. My gorgeous dress bunches around my hips while my legs wrap around his waist. We consume each other’s mouths as I hump him fully clothed. My tiny panties and the rough denim of his jeans keep us apart, but there’s no doubt he’s just as turned on as I am.
“Ride me,” he instructs as I press my breasts against him. “I feel the same about you.” He nips at my pulse point on my neck. “Confused by the attraction.”
“I want to fuck you,” I tell him as my fingers tangle in his hair. It’s just as soft as I imagined. I berate myself for saying what I’m feeling out loud. I don’t want another one-night stand. I just want more of whatever this is that’s happening between us, and I don’t know how to ask for it.
“Oh God, MK, shut up,” he pants. “I love your dirty mouth.” He trails kisses along my jaw, and a moan escapes my lips which is so loud I’m embarrassed.
Deciding that I’ll never see him again after this, I reach down and fumble with the button on his jeans so ready to have a one-night stand in a fancy restaurant bathroom with this guy whose last name I don’t even know. I’ve already blown any chance of a second date with him. Why would he want a fumbling, awkward, girl when he could have his pick of women? He doesn’t need to settle for someone who sounds like a bumbling idiot.
“Stop. We can’t do this.” He pants as he gently releases my behind and grabs my waist steading me before letting go. Aaron turns his back to me, and I want to cry. God, I’m so hot and bothered. My vagina throbs. I can’t ever remember being this turned on. Why did he stop? I just threw myself at him. Inwardly, I die a little. Am I that unattractive that he turns down a sure thing?
Beyond embarrassed, I shimmy my dress over my hips and smooth it down. Please God, send an earthquake to New Orleans. I’ll never ask for anything else again. Amen.
Aaron drags a hand through his luscious hair before he turns around to face me. His eyes are heavy with desire, and I can smell how much I want him. “You’re better than being fucked in a restaurant bathroom,” he says in a tight voice.
In my head, I scream, No, I’m really not. I can do public bathrooms, back seats of cars, or really any place you are. We aren’t seeing each other again so at least I’ll have a taste of what chemistry is.
Apparently the expression on my face says it all because he walks to where I’m standing and rests his hand on my cheek. His expression is soft a
nd angelic—his touch callused but tender. “Why do you doubt yourself, sweetheart?”
He takes my hand and leads me out of the restroom and back to our table. I self-consciously glance at the waiters. If they know what just happened, they do a great job of not revealing it.
Aaron looks unscathed. His appearance is sex-god gorgeous while I feel like a hot-wired bundle of nerves. A napkin drapes over his lap, shielding his erection while I wear wet panties. His face is relaxed, as if he’s watching a morning polo match. I feel like a cat on a burning hot roof. I want to go home so I can think about what just went down in the ladies’ room, but I don’t want to leave Aaron’s presence. I crave more time with him—more of his attention.
Seconds after we sit, our waiter shows up with food. As if I could eat right now.
“Sir, madam, paneed rabbit with spaetzle, wilted greens, turnip purée, and sauce grenobloise. Here is your pickle jar and side of hand-cut fries. Enjoy!”
I attempt to make a joke. “You did learn a lot from my site.” I lean forward and grab a pickle. The food looks divine and smells even better but my stomach is way too tied up in knots to eat.
Aaron smirks. “Watch it, MK. I wouldn’t want to make you feel stuff again.” He says “stuff” with enough mirth that I have to laugh at myself. His joke seems to cut the sexual zaps of energy enough that I can actually look at my plate of food.
He takes a bite of the rabbit. “I like to try different meats when I travel.” The fork slips into his mouth, and I’m jealous that it isn’t my tongue.
“Do you travel a lot?” I ask as I cut a piece of meat.
“A fair amount. Eat, MK.” He takes another bite and sighs in appreciation.
I drop the bite of rabbit. “I don’t think I’m able.” Quickly, I reassure him that he made a good choice. “It’s just that my stomach isn’t settled.”
“Are you getting sick?” The troublesome V appears.
“I’m . . . uh . . . I’m . . .” I can’t finish. I don’t know what to say. I’m horny. I’m confused. I’m certifiably crazy and need to be locked in a padded room.
Aaron signals for the waiter. “This is wonderful, but my date isn’t feeling herself.” He cocks one eyebrow and gives me a smoldering look. “Would you mind boxing this and our dessert up and bringing the check?”
“Sure, Mr. Knite. Would you like the bottle of wine to go also?”
“That would be great.” He smiles confidently.
Our plates are quickly removed and the table cleared.
“You didn’t have to do that. You could eat.” I feel like a real jerk. Let’s add it to the list of faults I have. Poor guy put in so much effort and his date is crazy. At least he’ll have a great story to share with his friends.
“No need. This evening is about you and not the food.”
Did he really just say that? Was that a great line or does he mean it? “Your last name is Knite?” I ask as I fiddle with my napkin.
“No.” He looks perplexed. “It’s Emerson.”
Chapter Four
MK Landry @NoPinkCaddy
Why do I have to be me? Isn’t it my time to change from a caterpillar to a butterfly? #INeedAMetamorphosis
MK Landry @NoPinkCaddy
Can’t sleep. Can’t breathe. Can’t believe I’m such a first date failure. #I’mBecomingCelibate
MK Landry @NoPinkCaddy
Googling how to join a convent. #JustSayNoToMen
“So that’s it?” Bella asks at lunch the next day. I activated our emergency signal, only saved for dire circumstances like this, and she agreed this situation definitely was cause for a long lunch with wine.
“Yes. We got our food to go. There was a town car waiting for him. He gave the driver my address—it’s not like I told him. He walked me up the steps of my house, gave me an innocent peck on the cheek and turned around and walked back to the car.”
“And then?” she asks as she takes a sip from her glass of wine.
“And then I went inside and texted you the emergency code and took a cold shower, which didn’t come close to cooling me off. And I laid in my bed staring at the ceiling pondering why I’m such an idiot and putting it all on Twitter while I wondered if he joined Twitter and was reading my posts.” I push my salad away. I’d only been moving the lettuce from one side of the plate to the other anyway.
“Any conclusions?”
“I can’t explain it, Bella. I’ve never been this all-consumed with someone before. I can’t eat; I can’t sleep; I feel constantly agitated. Look.” I show her my hand. “I’m shaking. I’m a fool around him. It’s like I couldn’t form a coherent sentence. He’s got to think I’m the biggest dork who’s ever lived.”
“Have you Googled him?” she asks, grabbing her phone.
“No. That’s just it. The waiter called him Mr. Knite, but he said his last name is Emerson.”
“So Google, Aaron Knite and Aaron Emerson and see what happens.”
“No.” I shake my head and add my fork to the discarded salad plate. There’s no use pretending I can eat. “I think I’m too afraid to Google him. I mean, I know I should. He’s already cyberstalked me, but he’s not asking me out again. I mean, why would he? I ruined a very expensive and nice date he arranged. I’m sure he hates me or thinks I’m a total freak.”
She ignores basically everything I said and replies, “I’m not sure it counts as stalking if he viewed your very public website.”
Thinking for a moment, “I guess you’re right. It’s just the first time that someone I’ve dated has admitted to viewing NoPinkCaddy. It felt odd.”
“I think you should Google him. You don’t want to get too far down the rabbit hole and find out he’s not a good person.”
Instinctively, I trace my star tattoo. “You’re probably right, but you’re not listening to me. He’s never going to ask me out again. He thinks I’m certifiably insane.” I down the rest of my wine.
She drops her fork and leans in. “Listen to me, Mary Kay Landry. I love you more than my own sister. You’re not crazy. Not always eloquent and a little quirky, sure. Stop berating yourself.”
Flagging down the waiter, I order another glass and pick up my phone to let Sandra know I won’t be at work for the rest of the day. I use being ill as my excuse, which she doesn’t question. I barely slept two hours last night so I know I look like hell.
“Put this in a post,” Bella suggests. “I’m sure you’re not the first person to become hot and bothered on a first date. Readers can relate. This is good stuff.”
She’s right, as usual. “Good idea. But, it was more than just wanting to hump him in a public restroom. It’s as if I discovered this other part of my heart or brain or whatever that I didn’t know was there. Imagine living in the same house your whole life and then realizing there was this other wing that you never knew existed. I can’t explain it, but I feel completely different. I guess that makes me a moron, right?”
Bella smiles. “That’s the chemistry you’ve been looking for.”
“Really?” I tilt my head. “I don’t know this guy. I guess it could be chemistry. I did see fireworks.”
Bella just smirks.
I catch the waiter’s attention. “Instead of the glass I asked for, make it a bottle to go.” Then I excitedly grab Bella’s hand, “Now, tell me about the wedding plans . . .”
“In a minute,” she says. “What happened to the food you took to go and the bottle of wine?”
I laugh. “Umm . . . I left it in his town car.”
Her eyebrow cocks. “Girl, the number-one rule of dating is you never leave free food or booze. Just think—you could have had it for lunch instead of pushing around a pile of lettuce.”
“Noted,” I reply, staring at the bowl of leaves. “The rabbit would’ve been so much better.”
Two hours later, I’m home. Instead of hanging up my purse, I throw it down on the marble coffee table that I found at an antique store. It’s amazingly gorgeous. Tripp sent two of hi
s employees to help me get it back to the carriage house because it’s so heavy. Grabbing my computer, I settle into my over-stuffed fluffy chair. My half-drunk bottle of wine rests next to my purse, tempting me, and I prop my feet up.
Okay. Time to pour my heart out to my readers in a post instead of 140 words on Twitter.
I think I may have fallen in lust I type, but then quickly erase it. That feels almost demeaning to what I experienced last night with Aaron. I’ve had lustful one-night stands and none of them held a candle to what happened in the public restroom. It’s like Aaron found a way to mentally and physically make me crave him.
I’ve met someone. I delete that also. That sentence feels too heavy. It’s the kind of sentence that one writes before they announce an engagement. We’re certainly not at that step.
Have you ever fallen head over heels in lust for someone? I read it and reread it. Once again, it’s not quite what I mean, but I determine it’s good enough. The wine bottle is distracting me so I pull out the cork and drink straight from it.
Have you ever fallen head over heels in lust for someone? I think I have, and I’m not sure what to do about it. He’s all I can think about. I haven’t slept or eaten in two days. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and I don’t recognize my own image. My skin is flushed. My eyes are wide. My lips are swollen. I have crazy thoughts like showing up at his doorstep (I don’t know where he lives). I fantasize about what it will be like when we make love. I don’t recognize me, and I don’t know what to do about it.
Bella says that I need to Google him and learn all of his dirty secrets. I need to make him real instead of a fantasy. I can’t bring myself to type his name in the search bar.
Remember what it was like when the kids at school said that Santa Claus wasn’t real? You didn’t want to believe it. You put blinders on and hoped against hope he wasn’t your parents. That’s how I feel. If I don’t Google him, then he can stay my perfect mythical person, and I can enjoy being head over heels in lust with someone for a bit longer.
