by P. R. Paige
The Renegades
Written by P.R. Paige
Copyright 2016/P.R. Paige
Smashwords Edition
Episode One
Los Angeles International Airport
I have an epiphany, and not the kind that my sister says can be cured or eradicated by rubbing cream on it, but a real eye-opening epiphany. I have been kidding myself into believing that my weak excuse for not pursuing a relationship is because of my commitment to my writing career.
What writing career?
In the three years that I have been a disenchanted writer, my publisher has sold two copies of my memoir: one to myself and the other one also to myself, which I returned for a refund. If I'm postponing love for that kind of success, someone should sell me some land and quick, before I grow wise.
These are the thoughts that drift through my mind as I head into the Los Angeles airport, making certain to drop two dollars into the homeless man's cup. I lug my stuffed-to-capacity bright orange tote bag behind me, as energetic orange has recently become my color of choice.
Today marks the end of a six-day stint at my sister Kirby's house after coming here to celebrate the one-year anniversary of my divorce. It's been a busy, exhausting, and exciting six days of bumming on the beach, boozing it up, and philosophizing until the crack of dawn.
I have two hours to kill before my flight departs for Chicago so I check my luggage, go through security, and proceed to Gate Twelve. Eager to catch up on some journaling, I find an empty row of seats to make my own. I exhale a deep breath as the memories of my fabulous vacation are fading.
I am all out of excuses for not pursuing a romance, and make the decision to do something about it. Otherwise, I will be back in Chicago, living my humdrum existence, hoping and wishing for things to be different. While I enjoy my iced white tea from 95 Degrees of Heaven, I sit comfortably with my pen poised over my jumbo-size hardback journal. I am ready to make a thought-provoking entry about my glorious vacation, when out of nowhere, I hear a male voice say, "I want to see your panties."
Did I just hear what I thought I heard?
I can only hope that those words are not directed at me. I chuckle and jolt my head upwards, eyes widened. Then, my jaw drops while I tell myself that my eyes are playing tricks on me. But my eyes are fine. The person before me is exactly who I think he is: Rome Nicki, an old boyfriend who ran away. That's right. His handsome butt ran away from me and married someone else, but I digress. What's most notable is how much I wanted this man, and when I say I wanted him, I mean I wanted him bad!
How bad did I want him?
This is the man I wanted to make well when he was sick, the man I planned to curse out when he came home late, the man I wished to make love to on Mondays and Wednesdays and sometimes even Fridays, but most importantly, the man I wanted to stamp with the words Already Taken.
In short, love is my religion, and Rome used to be my church.
"Oh… My… God," I say to him. I am all smiles when I throw myself into a standing position and curl my arms around him. "I can't believe it's you."
Rome holds me close, and I soak up his just-showered scent. I'm totally preoccupied with sex now, and all he's done is hug me.
What would happen if he kissed me?
I have to control my emotions. I inhale a whopping deep breath and remind myself that what I had with Rome before is over. Today is a totally different day. The man is probably still married anyway. My mind is listening to my sophisticated logic, but my body has a mind of its own and is hoping that old times will be back again and soon.
With Rome's arms still wrapped around me, I don't want to let go of his warm body, but I force myself.
"Here we are together again, just like old times," he says, his haunting sienna brown eyes staring at me. "Do you care to take a trip down memory lane?"
Hypnotized by my attraction to him, a small moan escapes from my mouth as my insides melt. "We probably shouldn't."
"But it would be so much fun," he says to me in a whisper.
"I'm sure it would be."
Rome seems intent on weakening me, but I fight the temptation every step of the way. I inhale another much-needed breath and say to myself. Self-control. It's all about self-control.
"You enjoy flirting with me, don't you?" I ask him.
"Absolutely."
I fix my gaze on his lips, the kind I can kiss all day, and all night.
"I have thought about you… a lot." As soon as I hear the words escape from my mouth, I realize that I have done it now. Am I really bold enough to start something with this man again, knowing that I might regret it later?
I resume a sitting position and slap the seat next to me. "Sit down next to me so that we can catch up."
Rome is quick to oblige. "So, are you going to let me see those panties?"
With a soft smile, I shake my head, no. If only he really knew how I felt. Then, again, he probably does as the sweat above my upper lip is bound to give me away.
He wears a classic black narrow-brim Fedora hat and if that is not enough to make any woman swoon, he sports a seductive I-haven't-shaved-in-two-days look that I find utterly intoxicating.
He is one gigantic spoonful of sexy.
At this moment, I have a major hard-on for this man, if such a thing is at all possible for a woman. To halt the amazing memories of our past from running over, I ask him, "Are you on your way to Chicago?"
"Absolutely."
Rome is a successful film producer in his early 40's who has always spent his time between Los Angeles and Chicago. His impressive occupation is only one of the three things that drew me to him when we first met. His Fedora hat and half-shaven face being the other two.
I ask him what is front and center of my mind, "Are you still married?"
"You're going to just jump right in, aren't you?"
"Of course," I say.
"I could ask you the same thing," he says to me, avoiding the question. "Are you married?" He flashes me a cute smile, and I so enjoy the sight before me.
Even though he has yet to answer my question, I answer his, "No, I'm not married. Not anymore."
"Neither am I," he says.
"But you were married, weren't you?" I ask him.
"I used to be a lot of things and being married was one of them. I'm happily divorced."
Now, this surprises me. I was certain after his divorce that some lucky woman would have scooped him back up again.
"So, how's being divorced?" he asks me.
"Great. Wonderful. Fantastic. My only problem is," I say, "ever since my divorce, I have been… just… so preoccupied. You know what I mean?"
"I do know what you mean, and you were always like that," he says to me. "You can't blame that on the divorce."
I laugh, enjoying his witty remarks.
"I'm so glad I ran into you this afternoon," he says to me, "because I have something quite interesting I want to talk to you about." Rome stands and lifts his Michael Kors messenger bag upon his shoulder. "As a matter of fact, we have some time before our plane leaves. Let's take a walk, shall we. You're going to love what I have to say to you."
"I can hardly wait." Excited to be in his company after so many years, I gather my things, and we head off for our walk. I am all smiles as we stroll through the airport, my hormones racing, senses heightened. "It really is good to see you," I say to him.
"It has to be a sign," he says, "my running into you like this."
"I was thinking the exact same thing."
"Are you still writing?"
"I am, but nothing published since my disastrous memoir."
"What are you waiting for?" he asks me.
"I'm waiting for my creative muse to give me something different, something that
the publishers won't be able to say no to."
"Have you written anything about me, yet? About how good I make you feel?"
The memories come flooding back with a bang. "You know I did," I say.
"No, you haven't, because if you had, it would've been a hit."
His statement literally stops me in my tracks. "Come again, Mr. Ego. Are you serious?"
"Absolutely. You can call me a lot of things, but you'll never be able to call me ordinary."
I would like to disagree with him, but I can't. He's right. There is nothing ordinary about Rome Nicki. The Fedora hat alone makes him memorable to anyone.
"Are you still driving women crazy?" I ask him. My hands are sweaty.
"Not as much as before."
"I find that hard to believe."
As we continue on our stroll through the mass of people, I soak up his wondrous feel-good energy.
"You know," he says, "I've been thinking about you, dreaming about you, even."
"Oh," I say as I am beyond flattered. No. I am on fire. "Did you just say you have been dreaming of me?"
"That's exactly what I said." He stops, turns to me, and joins his hand with mine. "Listen to me, Thursday," he says with an authoritative air.
I inhale a breath and swallow hard. He is so serious.
"Like my college professor used to say," I say, "You had my curiosity, but now you have my attention, or was it the other way around?"
Rome then escorts me towards the wall, away from the hustling traffic, and says, "I want to recruit you."
I shake my head and gather my wits. "Recruit me? For what?"
"I can't get into the specifics right now, but trust me when I say that this will definitely be something to your liking."
I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "If you wanted to peak my interest, you have succeeded. Tell me more."
Rome and I resume our stride. I eagerly await his explanation for wishing to recruit me, but he says nothing.
"Well," I say to him as if to remind him that I am still waiting.
"Do we have time for a drink?" he asks me, his brown eyes searching for the nearest bar.
"There's always time for a drink. You know that."
Rome laughs. "That's right, I almost forgot how much you love a good bottle of wine."
"And it doesn't even have to be good."
Rome and I find a cozy spot at the bar at the Golden Eye Lounge. The bartenders are dressed as Somali pirates and have rifles wrapped around their bodies. I can only hope that the guns are not real.
After we place our order with the bartender, I swerve my chair in Rome's direction, yearning to devour every word that passes through his lips. He eyes me like a piece of caramel, and I so want to be his candy. By the moment, my temperature is rising, and there is a huge fire bursting in my belly. I wish to initiate an intelligent conversation, but I have nothing.
Silly me, can't think of anything to say. I'm blushing furiously under his steady scrutiny.
When the much-needed Chardonnay is served, I toss it down, and it does not go unnoticed by Rome.
"I'm not making you nervous, am I?" he asks me.
"Of course, you are."
"So I haven't lost my touch?" he says, seemingly flattered.
"Not in the least."
His freshly bathed aroma stirs an intense emotion in me. I want to bury my head in his chest, nestle my arms around him, and squeeze him like there's no tomorrow.
It's official.
I am under his spell again.
Episode Two
I scour Rome's magnificent smile and absorb his sexiness. I am captivated by the Fedora hat that he wears so eloquently.
Why must he be so darn enticing?
I want to stuff him inside a glass and gush him down nice and slow.
Unable to hide my feelings any longer, I gently fan myself. "Pardon my honesty, but I don't quite know what it is Rome, but whenever I'm near you, I just feel all warm inside."
"Maybe it's your thyroid," he says to me.
"I'm sure it's not."
My eyes wander towards the rifles on the shoulders of the bartenders. "You don't suppose those rifles are loaded, do you," I ask Rome.
"Of course, they are."
"And, so, why are we here?"
"To have a drink," he reminds me.
"That's right. I forgot."
Rome sips his Chardonnay and returns his focus to me. I enjoy being the center of his attention. He smiles at me and looks as if he is about to say something funny. "Are you wearing pink panties to match that pink bra?"
"How do know that my bra is pink?"
"Because I can see the tip of it underneath your blouse," he says to me pointing at my white blouse.
"What do you think?" I ask him. "Do you think that they match?"
"I would probably lean towards the side of yes, but since I'm not completely sure, why don't you show me?"
"And why would I do that?" I ask him.
"Because I'm asking you to, and I know how much you enjoy doing things for me." His statement is direct and suggestive.
"You must have me confused with someone else," I say to him.
"I can assure you that I know exactly who I'm talking to."
I humor him by giving his suggestion due consideration. "Tell me. How exactly would I show my panties to you? Do you want me to get arrested?"
"No, I don't want you to get arrested. Go into the ladies' room, slide those panties off that sexy ass of yours and bring them to me."
"You're so naughty, Rome," I say to him, my eyes gleaming.
"I love the way that you call me naughty with that heavenly smile on your face. I might start to think that you like the fact that I'm a little on the unconventional side."
"I wouldn't have you any other way," I say. I feel giddy, and I tingle all over.
This man is just too easy to flirt with. Our back-and-forth sexy banter tickles my fancy, and I want to play this game with him all day.
"Besides," he says. "I want to smell them anyway."
"You put the capital "N" in the word nasty."
"And your picture is in the dictionary right next to the word freaky."
"I'll have you know, I am not a freak," I say with conviction.
"If my memory serves me correctly, and I'm sure it does," Rome says, "I remember a certain someone, many years ago, asking me to dress up in all white and cast a magic sex spell on her. Does that scenario at all sound familiar?"
I laugh. It was funny then, and it's still funny today. "I may recall something to that effect, and I also recall a certain someone agreeing to do it."
"As a matter of fact," Rome says, "I have an idea on how we might continue that line of excitement."
There is a brief silence as I eagerly wait to discover what he has in mind, but he says nothing. Instead, he gazes at me, seemingly enjoying my anticipation. Then, "How about I let you audition for me, and you can do whatever it takes to convince me to offer you the part."
"And what makes you think I would want to do that?" I ask him.
"Because I know you."
My heart rate spikes. I'm definitely interested, but I don't let him know that. "But there is no part," I remind him. "I'm not an actress, and you're not a casting director."
"And your point is," he says to me.
"No point, I was just saying."
I think about what he is suggesting and, in short, I like it. I am intrigued. There is nothing that delights me more than a good dose of roleplaying. Yet still, I move away from the idea. I'm not sure I'm ready to open the door to something that could possibly lead me astray.
"I may have been interested in something like that a few years ago," I say to him, "but that was a few years ago."
"Are you sure about that?" he asks me.
I flip my ash brown hair away from my face and stretch my neck. "Yes. I am."
"That's too bad because I was certain that you were the perfect woman for that part."
; "You mean that imaginary part?"
"Yes, that imaginary part."
Rome finishes off the last of his Chardonnay, "So, are you going to let me smell those pink panties?"
"Absolutely not," I say with conviction, despite the fact that I am amused and flattered out of my mind.
If this man is anything, he's entertaining.
"Are you sure I can't change your mind?" he asks me, his hand on top of mine.
I stare down at his hand on mine, and I like what I see.
Where is all of this hand touching coming from?
Is he trying to start up something with me?
After a short silence, Rome goes into his pocket, pulls out five $100 bills, folds them neatly, and places them inside the center of my hand. He leans in and whispers in my ear, "Now go bring me those pink panties."
With $500 staring at me from the palm of my hand, I don't think about it anymore. I scurry into the ladies' room and do what I need to do.
When I return to the bar, I resume my position across from Rome and place my panties inside his hand just as he had placed the money in mine.
He is shameless as he smears my panties across his nose. "Just like I remember," he says with a flicker in his eye, before stuffing them into his shirt pocket.
"Do you remember the night we did it on the kitchen counter in my loft?" he asks me.
I feel the color in my cheeks bruising, and I exhale a long breath in an attempt to release the sexual energy circulating inside me. "I could never forget that."
"You ever think about what I used to do to you?" he asks me.
"I have never stopped thinking about what you used to do to me," I answer him, my forehead perspiring underneath my blunt-cut bangs.
"You ever think about going back in time?"
My breathing has now slowed. "I'm thinking about it right now."
Rome leans in towards me and flatters me with feather-like kisses across my jaw, my chin, and the corners of my mouth. He kisses me long and hard, his tongue penetrating my mouth, deep and fast. I inhale his warm breath and continue to kiss him again, again, and again. What a delightful treat it is.
In a whisper, he asks me, "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"
