Made to Love

by Medina, Heidi

  I fell asleep with the knowledge that in less than twenty-four hours she would be back home and my mind would be at ease.

  Reagan

  September 19, 2003 started out much like the countless days that had come before it. After Buddy had stopped coming around, Mom had seemed to emerge from whatever drugged cloud she’d been living under, and began to put forth an effort. Small, and not nearly enough, but an effort nonetheless.

  The visitors had diminished to just a faithful few that came three or four times a week. The havoc Naomi Casteele had put on her body through her constant whoring and drug use had begun to manifest itself in lifeless, tired eyes, the occasional small sore on her face, the pale skin and the muscle that had gone soft. Perhaps her regulars had decided she was no longer worth the time and money.

  At any rate, she’d started to come out of her room more. She didn’t speak much to us; the occasional ‘thank you’ when I handed her a plate of whatever it was we’d managed to scrape together for dinner that night, or a “hi” when we returned from school, were often the only words spoken. But we’d settled into a routine of watching television together in the evenings on the nights she didn’t have any visitors. She’d even gone so far as to leave a few tens on the kitchen table, although sporadic, for our food needs so Jacob didn’t have to steal that week to keep us fed. Like I said, the efforts weren’t nearly enough, but they were there.

  I’d often wondered if she’d ever known about Buddy’s visits to me. The first time she had made a feeble attempt to embrace me, I had reacted by slapping her across the face. I’d done it before I could stop myself, my heart pounding so hard and loud I hadn’t been able to think clearly. She’d slapped me back, but then her eyes had welled with tears as she stared at me for several long moments. She’d shuffled off to her room, and nothing had ever been said. But I’d wondered if she’d known, and if she’d even cared. Surely she’d understood that something had happened to cause her daughter to react like I’d done when she’d touched me. It wasn’t normal. But then, had she even had a grasp on what was normal anymore? Perhaps she’d suspected, but had been afraid of the truth and that’s why she’d retreated in tears. Or perhaps she’d just been upset that I’d slapped her, and her tears were more for her own hurt feelings than out of any concern for me.

  On the morning of September 19, 2003, I had woken early and set about making a sandwich for Jacob, Alex and myself, using up the last of the bread Jacob had managed to snag from the outlet bread store. Mom wasn’t up yet, but she’d had a visitor the night before, so that wasn’t uncommon. Jacob, Alex and I had headed out for school, our one-sandwich lunch in hand. Just like the day before, and the day before that.

  It wasn’t until we’d arrived back home from school and Mom was still in her room that I began to feel a niggling sense of foreboding. Her staying in her room all day used to be her norm, but for the last several months, she would at least be laying on the couch when we came in. Jacob had taken Alex outside to play, while I had pushed my worry aside, and fixed a meager dinner of Ramen.

  Dusk was approaching when I had finally made the move to tap on her door. Receiving no response, I had turned the handle and entered the room, something I very rarely ever did. It was then that I learned September 19, 2003 was unlike any other day of my life, and would forever be seared in my memory.

  My mother, Naomi Casteele, was dead.

  The next week passed in a whirlwind.

  I had woken up the morning after my late night phone call from Nathan, to find a message from Isaac requesting I come home immediately. Apparently my mid-morning meeting with Tyler and his associates had been rescheduled for a later date.

  My initial reaction to the news had been to freak the hell out. What was wrong that I had needed to come home so suddenly? Had Tyler reported back to Elite that I was completely inept? I had flown back to New York, nervous and upset. I had tried to contact Nathan, but had only received his voicemail.

  I needn’t have worried though. Things with Tyler and his hotel had been fine, and my job intact. I had given an update on the Winston Suites project to Isaac and then jumped back into the swing of things at work.

  And then there was Nathan.

  He’d been good on his word, and we’d spent the entire Saturday, after my return, together. He’d taken me to some bistro in downtown Manhattan for a late lunch, and then we’d spent the evening in Central Park. We’d ended the evening at a blues club; some hole in the wall place we’d seen as Nathan was maneuvering through traffic. We’d laughed, danced, and talked about everything and nothing for hours, and I’d fallen into bed that night exhausted, but insanely happy.

  That started the next week filled with those insanely happy moments. We easily fell into a routine. He’d meet me in the lobby at Elite each morning, a caramel macchiato in hand, and we’d ride the elevator together until I exited on the eighth floor, while he continued to his office. We didn’t see each other much throughout the day at work, both of our schedules not allowing for it. Which was really for the best, since I still had reservations about our friendship being misconstrued and therefore causing problems for me at work. So he’d taken to ‘checking in’ via instant message or text several times throughout the day. My heart fluttered and I couldn’t contain the cheesy grin that came every time his name popped up on my screen or cell.

  And we’d spent almost every evening this last week together. Dinner, the movies, driving around in hopes of finding another good dive bar. . .being spontaneous. Spontaneity, having a friend like Nathan, all of it was new to me. But I was slowly learning to become accustomed to it.

  Being with Nathan was thrilling, and not just because I teetered on the edge of wanting to rip his clothes off every single second I was with him. Which was true. The sexual tension had not lessened between us, but instead remained there like a downed electrical wire that sizzled and sprayed sparks if one got too close. Every meeting of the eyes, how I touched his arm too much and often unnecessarily, how he placed his hand on the small of my back as we walked into a restaurant, or when he’d reach up to brush the hair from my face. . .all of it was as if we couldn’t help ourselves. We knew there had been this barrier erected between us; this friend zone that I wasn’t yet ready to come out of, so we each danced around it, never completely crossing the line, but coming as close as we could.

  But that alone wasn’t the only thrilling part. It was the efforts Nathan was putting into our friendship, things he was doing to make me feel comfortable and at ease with the limits I had placed on us. I had sensed on more than one occasion this last week that Nathan wanted to kiss me, but he hadn’t (to my disappointment!). He was doing his best to respect my friends only rule, as hard as it had to be for him. The desire was there, I could see it. . .feel it. But he seemed to sense my need to take it slow. Which didn’t mean that he wasn’t calling me the second I left work, ready to get started on our evening adventures. As a friend, he did like to monopolize, but I wasn’t complaining. I didn’t feel like my day truly began until I left the office and was with him.

  It seemed something had changed the night of our late night phone call. I was learning about him, his likes and dislikes, what made him, him. But most of all, and more importantly, I was learning to trust him.

  It was Friday morning, a week after my return from Vegas. Nathan had uncharacteristically escorted me right to my office door, under the guise of getting yet another update on one of my various projects. The truth was I had just declined his offer of dinner at some fancy French restaurant he wanted to take me to, and had clearly thrown him for a loop. Our elevator ride had been too short for him to find out why.

  “What do you mean, no?” He followed me into my office and shut the door behind him, despite my warning look not to.

  “I kinda had something else in mind,” I answered. “Can you open the door?”

  “No. What do you have in mind?”

  Stubborn, much?

  I did my best to glare at him, bu
t then conceded. It was relatively early, and much of the department hadn’t made it in yet anyway. “Well, I was wondering if we could eat in instead.” It was an idea I’d been mulling over in my head the last few days. Brooke was still gone, so I didn’t have to worry about that, and after all the fun and excitement he’d shown me the last week, I wanted to do something nice for him in return. Cooking him dinner was all I could come up with, but that in itself was huge. It was something I’d never done for a man before.

  Nathan raised an eyebrow as he leaned against my office door, one hand in his pants pocket. “Eat in? Okay. Where?”

  “My place?” I hadn’t meant it to come out as a question, but I was suddenly attacked with the crazy notion that he would think it was a dumb idea. The man was used to dining at five-star restaurants, so perhaps the idea of a home-cooked meal held no appeal.

  He tilted his head to the side slightly as his mouth curved into a smile, dimples creasing in all their glory. “Your place,” he repeated. “Does this mean you’re cooking or should I bring some take-out menus?”

  “Of course, I’m cooking,” I shot back. “Is that a yes?”

  Nathan didn’t immediately reply, but instead stared at me a moment, and I watched as his pupils dilated. The air around us shifted and I was instantly aware of how close we were standing. I needed to only lean in and my breasts would be pressed against his chest.

  When had I walked over so close?

  My gaze fell to his mouth. The full lips that I knew from experience were hot, soft and biteable were close. Oh, so very close.

  I didn’t think; I just did.

  I leaned in, placed a hand on the side of his neck and touched my lips to his. Every nerve ending in my body immediately stood at attention. This. This is what I needed.

  If Nathan was dumbfounded at my sudden boldness, he didn’t waste time trying to reason it out. Although he continued to lean against the door and his hand remained in his pocket, the second my tongue darted out to touch his lips, his mouth opened and he instantly became the predator. His other hand reached up and tangled itself in my hair, and pulled slightly, making me feverish with desire. Our breath mingled as our tongues danced in tandem with each other, exploring, licking, while our teeth gently nipped and scraped at bottom lips.

  His breath hitched as I stepped even closer to him, feeling the evidence of his desire pressed against my lower belly. His hand slid from my hair down across my collarbone and lightly grazed the sensitive skin of my breast, my nipple pebbling in his palm beneath the constricting fabric of my dress. He gently squeezed as I reached down and stroked his hard length beneath his pants, and sucked his bottom lip into my mouth.

  He stood up abruptly, away from the door and tore his mouth from mine, breathing in short, shallow gasps. My hand fell away, as he brought my forehead to his and we stood there, eyes closed and hearts beating rapidly in sync.

  “Shit!” he whispered, his fingers clenching in my hair. He was painfully hard, the feel of him hot against me. I ached between my legs, wet and throbbing, at the knowledge that what I needed. .. .wanted. . . was here within my grasp.

  Except we were at work. In my office, where anyone could knock or just come in.

  And we were supposed to be just friends.

  “I know, right?” My voice was shaky, coming out in a breathless whisper.

  “Reagan, I . . .this isn’t. . .”

  “I know. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have. I just—“

  His hand tightened on my hair as he pressed my forehead harder against his. It was as if he was hugging me, without actually doing it. “Don’t apologize. Please, not that. You can’t possibly know how much I’ve wanted to. . .” he stopped, and inhaled deeply, his breathing seeming to come back under control.

  He raised his head away from mine, and kissed my forehead before stepping away. I opened my eyes and peered up at him, not knowing what to say or where to go from here. It was obvious that by throwing myself at him, I had just negated everything I’d ever said about remaining just friends.

  Did this mean I was ready to move into something more? To actually date Nathan? I didn’t know. I wasn’t thinking when I kissed him; I’d just done it. I hadn’t been thinking about what it would mean for the two of us.

  Some of the slight panic I was now feeling must have registered on my face. Nathan nodded once, reaching over to brush a few strands of hair away from my face. “Dinner at your place sounds wonderful. Is seven okay?”

  I wanted to kiss him again in that moment. How did he always know how to put me at ease?

  “It’s perfect.” I stepped further away from him, creating some distance between us before I did something ridiculous like bite his bottom lip again.

  “Then I will see you at seven. It’s a date.”

  There was an edge to his tone, as if he was asking if it was okay to consider tonight a date; an actual, real date. It was a loaded statement, and one that had the potential to change the very definition of our relationship.

  And for the second time this morning, I didn’t think, or overanalyze, or mentally weigh the pros and cons. I just went with it.

  “It’s a date.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Reagan

  It was lunchtime before the anxiety hit me.

  Was I really going to cook dinner for Nathan, at my apartment? It shouldn’t really be a big deal. I had spent just about every night with Nathan this last week, so tonight shouldn’t be any different.

  Except, it was different. Everything about it was different. I had reached out, initiated intimate contact with him, after my firm stance that we not venture beyond the friend zone. And he had done nothing but respect that. It was I who had changed my own rules. And now I had opened the door on something we both had already admitted we wanted, but something I was very much afraid of.

  There was a level of intimacy in having him over to my apartment, especially after that kiss. It was almost as if there was this unspoken acknowledgement between us that tonight would officially cement our leap from friends to something more. No, we hadn’t talked about it—we hadn’t spoken since he’d left my office that morning—but it was there. When a girl kisses a guy like that, and then invites him over to her place for dinner, it was pretty much a given that certain things were expected—even I knew that. And I’d made a move; of course he was going to want to see where it led. I couldn’t very well back pedal and be all “Just kidding! Let’s go back to being friends” like some desperate freak off her bi-polar meds. Nathan wouldn’t be able to run away fast enough.

  So, I kinda had to see this through. And that was scaring me. What if he tried to hug me again? What if I had another panic attack like had happened when I’d been at his house and he was the one cooking? There was no place to hide should things go south. Did this mean I needed to have the talk?

  Was I ready for that?

  This is what I get for my impulsiveness.

  I picked up my phone and scrolled through my contacts, hovering over Dr. Peter Walker. Therapy had been a large part of my life after coming to live with Helen, but in the last few years, had lessened to a visit every few months or so. I had been doing well, and would have probably ceased going altogether had it not been for Helen and her fear of a relapse. Dr. Rowland’s office had recommended Dr. Walker here in New York once they’d learned I was moving. I hadn’t made an appointment since I’d been here, but the stress and change that came with moving, as well as my recent bout of panic attacks, made me think perhaps I needed to.

  I tossed my phone down with a sigh. I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to be so messed up that I needed therapy to just navigate a simple relationship with a man. And I’d be damned if I was going to sit and listen to a complete stranger tell me how my painful past was preventing me from letting Nathan in, and agreeing to fully move forward into a healthy, successful relationship. Or that I had trust issues.

  I already knew all that.

  So really, it was time to mov
e on to something I didn’t know. I didn’t know if I could handle a relationship with Nathan. I didn’t know if we had the potential to create something that would last, or if we would crash and burn. I didn’t know if I would ever be able to let him put his arms around me the way I knew he wanted to.

  There was a lot about Nathan, and myself, that I didn’t know. But I was suddenly tired of living my life based on a series of what if’s. I wanted to live. . .feel. . . and be.

  So Nathan was coming over for dinner tonight. And yeah, probably looking to score.

  And I was going to let him.

  I was distracted from the very real image of Nathan, naked and throwing me on the kitchen table, when the very object of my thoughts popped up on my screen.

  NPreston: Please don’t kill me. I have to head to Boston again tonight. Can I get a raincheck on dinner?

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Here I was, giving myself the pep talk of the century, determined that I was going to give in to what I’d been fighting for weeks, and Nathan cancels. It was as if the universe was laughing, saying “Yeah, right. That’s what you thought!” It was just my luck.

  But Nathan was busy. I understood that. And it wasn’t as if he was aware of my sudden epiphany. I pushed my disappointment aside.

  RAndrews: :( Yes, you can. When will be you be back?

  NPreston: Sunday, probably. I’m sorry! Dinner when I get in?

  RAndrews: It’s okay! Just means I have more time to practice. Call me when

  you get back.

  NPreston: Practice? Should I be afraid? ;)

  RAndrews: We’ll know Sunday night, won’t we?

  I couldn’t wipe the ridiculous smile off my face as I attempted to focus on work. It wasn’t working. All I wanted to do search recipes on Pinterest and make grocery shopping lists in preparation for Sunday. The only people I had ever cooked for had been my siblings, Helen and now, Brooke. Certainly never a man. This was, yet again, something entirely new to me. There was something wildly domesticated about it all, but I was more excited to use it as the first step in my plan of seduction. The way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. . isn’t that how the saying went?