by Leigh Lennon
In less than five minutes, Liz is dressed; yoga pants and a tank top. Right away I see she’s put on a fucking bra, too. What can I say, I’m a guy still in love with a girl and her body is as fine as ever.
“Iz, you have five minutes to explain why and how. The why is why are you here? The how is how the hell do you know where I live?”
Leaning against her little excuse for a bar top, I sense a familiar look return to my face. I never knew I had this particular glance until it was instantly gone for fifteen years. Recently it’s reappeared. It’s my Liz look. It’s the cocky little smirk she’d comment on whenever I had something to say and I was being full of myself.
I begin with the familiar gaze of our past. “First, the why has been established. When my doorman told me a woman lookin’ like Kendra with purple eyes was outside my building, I knew it was you. Second, the how—do you even have to guess?”
“You called Lang who was out with Candace. I should have known.” She attempts to shoot a glare my way but I still see a little of the twinkle in her eyes, which was only reserved for me.
Nodding my head yes, she stays across the room, staring at me. Breaking the silence, she asks, “Why, Iz? You married a woman who could pass as my twin. Sure, I knew Kendra Kendal bore a resemblance to me, but seeing her now that she isn’t primped and air brushed for the magazines, besides our eyes, she’s me.”
I walk toward her and though she steps back, it doesn’t stop me. “First, she was not you, Liz. No one can be you. I loved Kendra. That’s why I married her. I guess you could say I have a type. I’ve always gravitated to tall blondes. Yes, Kendra does look like you and yes, I loved her, but, Liz,” now I touch her chin, tipping it up in order to see her violet eyes, “no one can ever be you.”
16 years ago
I immediately walk to a small table she has in her dorm and deposit the bags of liquids and medicine. She’s in bed but her stare is so intense, I feel it in my soul. “C’mon, Buttercup, first things first; let’s get you covered up.” She raises one eyebrow so high I can only laugh. “Oh, you doubt that I’m a complete gentleman?” Already pulling the covers back, she lies down as I put her sheet and comforter over her body.
I reach my hand out to touch her forehead and she doesn’t flinch. Most white girls are scared around me and I’m not sure if it’s my color or my size. Probably a little of both, but she smiles.
Making my way to the table, I grab a red solo cup, pour some Gatorade, and retrieve two Advil for her. When I’m standing above her again, I give her the cup and pills. She swallows them, slurping the Gatorade as if she’s dehydrated.
“Slow down, Buttercup,” I say. While she settles in bed, I take in her place. It’s small and she has a roommate, evidently a messy one with all her stuff sprawled out on the other side while Liz’s part is neat and orderly. Looking down at her end table, I see a little girl who’s maybe three or four. I wonder if this picture is Liz when she was little.
“Is this you?” I ask.
She only smiles. “No, that’s my little sister, Candace. I’d do anything for her.”
I thought it was odd, such an utter declaration of devotion coming out of thin air, yet she’s delirious so I grab a chair, sit close to her, and say, “Rest up, Buttercup, I’ll be here when you wake. If your fever hasn’t broken by then, I’m takin’ you back to the doctor.” No arguments from her and within two minutes she’s asleep, and I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.
9
Liz
His fingers caress my skin and still set my body into overdrive. When I step back to break the contact, he steps forward. I can’t escape him as I’m pushed into the wall. His gaze on me is the same it had been years ago. Sure, he’s aged. We both have. His face gives way to slight wrinkles but the way his lips curve up in a half smile that somehow lights his entire expression, it’s the Iz I remember after all this time.
I bend down and move around his body to not feel caged in like an animal, though his eyes tell me he’s on the prowl. I stumble clumsily toward my couch to sit down as a way to steady my body. Before I make my way to my sofa, only a couple steps from where I’m at in my small apartment, he swings around too fast to grab me, as if he was still on the field. He lets the moment pass, fully understanding I’m not ready for it. Standing in the same place, I watch him examine me. Do I break the silence and should I be the one to do so? I’d always been taught by Daddy that in critical areas of negotiation, the first person to speak gives the other person the power. It shows those around them they can’t take the awkward silence, thus being able to be the victim of the person that can hold out.
Do I give Iz this power? No, I stay planted in my seat while he crosses the room, turning to me for a second and says again, “Like I said, Liz, no one can ever compete with you.” In less than three steps, he’s at my door, letting himself out. Now this is different, who gets the power when the person who spoke first leaves you breathless and alone?
The week progresses without any contact from Iz. Though he left me with many questions, the main one will always be does Iz still love me? But, with Langston now dumping three more clients in my lap, along with the first two, I’m too busy to think about him and what he’s said. Okay, that’s a lie. Though I’m busy, I can’t stop his words from permeating my mind. “There’s no one like you.” Not even a fucking world-renowned model?
I’m working with very little information concerning Iz’s previous marriage, just that Kendra Kendal doesn’t hold a candle to me. Which I fucking laugh at. My thoughts are deep rooted into the idea of this absurd claim when a knock wrestles me out of the silliness of it all.
My iPod is turned down low while listening to Hamilton’s “The Room Where It Happened.” I crane my head up from where my fingers are working the knot beginning at the base of my neck when I see the beauty that is Iz. “Liz, you have a neck ache?”
I try not to stutter because he’s been the source of my neck and headaches. One thought enters my mind—He. Cannot. Touch. Me. I try to shake my head no but he bypasses me. In one second I’m transported back in time. His hands have always been skilled at all things that were my body and with the gentle nature of his touch, he massages my aching muscles. I let a moan escape my lips.
“Be careful, Liz, that’s always been my kryptonite,” he murmurs and as his breath makes contact with my skin, my entire body breaks out in goose bumps. “Speaking of kryptonite.” Anytime my body broke out in shivers, it was his own clue that he’d just turned me on. Crazy and wild sex would follow and we’d be left breathless as clothes, shoes, and anything that got in the way of us coming skin to skin with one another was thrown to the side.
I stand immediately; my feeble attempt at creating distance between us. “Iz, what do you want?” My words are delivered with such brute force, I myself am almost knocked over by my coldness.
His smile never falters, those white teeth, one of the many turn-ons of Israel Laita, has me ready to throw myself in his arms. “First, tell me what the fuck you’re listening to.”
A laugh escapes my mouth. Music, or the lack of music we had in common, was always a source of entertainment for us. I don’t look back at him. My eyes are closed when I reply, “It’s the soundtrack to Hamilton. One day I’ll get to see it,” I claim as if I can afford the thousand-dollar tickets after all it took me to get my ass to L.A. My tone changes when I demand an answer to my question again, since my music has made him forget. “Iz, what are you doing here?” It comes out more forceful than I mean for it to sound.
His tone is as pure as it had been before. “Well, Buttercup, you always loved watching me play football. I’m heading over to the practice facility, something me and some of the guys do weekly. I thought you’d like to hang out for a while.” My eyes are narrowing in on him when his smile never wanes. “Please, Liz. It’s something I’ve never been able to share with someone important to me.”
You mean Kendra Kendal didn’t watch him? That’s what I want to as
k but I don’t. “Um, okay. You know how I love football.”
“Buttercup, you love anything of a competitive nature. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.” I’m frozen as I stare at him, not able to plan my next move. “And by the way, there isn’t anything about you I’ve ever been able to forget.”
My senses come back to me. Change my clothes—that’s what I forgot I needed to do. Iz still has the ability to make me stupid, unable to think, because when it comes to him my body may want to change out of what I’m wearing, but stay naked as we find our way back to one another.
I’m in a pair of yoga pants and my Stanford Football sweatshirt I love more than any other item of clothing; even more than my Louboutins. The sweatshirt has seen better days and it’s not lost on Iz that it’s the one I stole from him so long ago.
“Still looks mighty fine on you, Liz,” he chimes. As he opens the door to the parking deck, I see his fucking huge Land Rover. Before I can help myself into his boat of a vehicle, he places himself between the SUV and me. “You forget, I always open the door for you, Buttercup.” Of course I do. He’s not the only one who remembers everything about the other person.
His station is set to alternative grunge when “Jeremy” by Pearl Jam flows through the speakers. Glad to see his taste in music hasn’t changed. When he lowers the volume of the melody I’m humming along with, I say, “You turned me into a grunge girl and I still listen to it, to this day.”
His chuckle causes me to clench my thighs together. How can one laugh make me this wet? I need to change my thought pattern and avert any idea of how he still charges my batteries. “Hey, remember the first time I realized you liked 90’s grunge music?”
“I keep on trying to tell you, Buttercup, I don’t forget anything about you.” He pauses, brushing his hand across my arm. Little pebbles pop up on my skin, as they had so many years ago with just his touch. He continues, after he obviously notices my reaction, “Yes, I remember. You were so surprised I loved alternative music that I said, ‘what, a black man can’t like grunge?’”
I still laugh at his statement. It wasn’t that it was overly funny but with the way Iz had raised his voice as if he were a girl was pretty hilarious. It was the first time we verbally acknowledged the difference in our skin tone. It was only addressed if it became other people’s issues. To us, our skin color never mattered.
“Let me guess, though, besides Broadway musicals, you still a country music fan?” he asks.
“Oh, Iz, you couldn’t change me that much. I still have to go back to my roots from time to time.” I reach over to change it to one of the few country stations I could find in L.A. and it’s appropriate when I hear, “I’d do it over and over again and again, even though we break up in the end.” Listening to the lyrics with Iz next to me makes the song even more powerful. I smile for a brief moment when my brain finally catches up with my heart. “What the fuck are we doing, Iz? After all this time, you still believe I left you for my daddy’s money.”
He looks left and right, pulling out of the parking deck. With a deep sigh, he answers, “I’m hoping you’ll help me understand. You claim it’s not about money but you never told me why. Fuck, Liz. I never thought after fifteen years apart, you’d still have this effect on me.”
I’m staring blankly out of the window. “It was never the money. Sure, what I have now was from Mama. I only got it once Daddy died, but I gave up everything that revolved around Daddy and all his conditions.” The fact I can’t look at Iz stems from many things. Sure, I needed him to trust me but I can’t be entirely mad at him, though I try. The person I’m most angry with stares back at me when I look in a mirror.
“Then help me understand why it’s you I’ve not spent the last sixteen years with, Liz.”
I look ahead when I slam my hand on his dashboard. “I shouldn’t fucking have to. I asked you to trust me.”
Iz takes one hand off the wheel. “Okay, Liz. I give up. Can we just enjoy today?”
His hand moves to my knee, giving it a squeeze and fuck, I’ve missed his touch.
“Sure, Iz. Whatever you say.” We drive most of the way in silence.
After an hour, I break the peace and quiet. “Where the fuck are we going?” Sure, it’s been a scenic drive. “Are you playing in Bum Fuck Egypt?”
“Girl, I’ve missed your dirty mouth.” He winks at me, which makes me smile. How can it not? Being with him comes as natural as blinking. “Nah, we’re not going to BFE. Just to Thousand Oaks. It’s the practice facility for the Rams. It’s open to us on the off season.”
My eyes dance at his words. “Does this mean I get to meet Sean McVay?” Lust seeps from my mouth when Iz shakes his head at me in disgust.
“Doubt it, Buttercup, their offices are in Agoura Hills. I’d offer to introduce you to him one day but that might be counter-productive for what I want.”
I laugh, because fuck, I’ve seen pictures of his girl and no way is he leaving me for her, but I play along with Iz anyway. “And what is it you want?”
“Damn, if you need to ask, then I’ve not made my intentions clear, Buttercup.”
My heart stops as my breathing levels. “You may want to make them clearer then.”
Pulling into an open parking place in front of the practice facility, he cups my chin when his eyes lock onto my own. “Even after all this time and not knowing the full truth, Liz, it’s you. I want you.”
My eyes widen, my mouth is slack, and I find I’ve just placed my hand over my chest in disbelief. He still has it, after all this time. The way he holds onto the football, as he drops back looking for an open man. It’s in the way his feet lead him away from those wanting to sack him or how in a split second, he sees an opening and runs it into the end zone. This is my Iz, with his love, football—he never lost his moves. Sure, he’s playing a pick-up game but still, with these men, the same rough and tumble of Iz is present.
They’d been waiting for him as we strolled in ten minutes late. I didn’t officially meet the men but I’d followed football well before Iz and I sure as hell still followed it after him. Shane West is the other team’s QB. He may be five years older than Iz but just as competitive. He takes the saying silver fox to a whole new level with his tattoos reaching down his arms to where his jersey doesn’t cover. He’s still one fucking sexy man, and I mentally add to my list of five I’d have sex with if given the chance.
Though, with Iz’s big mouth, he made sure all the men knew I was taken. I keep my eyes trained on him even when Shane West’s team went out after three plays; never getting a first down. Still in the fun of it all, they had real fucking referees out on the field.
It shouldn’t surprise me. All these men probably have more money than they know what to do with. They all are still mighty fine to watch in their tight pants and muscles that still line every ex-football player out on the field.
When Iz threw his last play of the game and a huge as fuck man blocked him, almost being sacked, Iz’s excitement couldn’t be contained. “Take that, you motherfuckers,” he jests in fun with the other guys. “Thanks for the block, EZ,” he exclaims as the man removes his helmet. I’m face-to-face with Ezra Tackleson. I always thought a man with Tackleson as his last name was destined to play football. Walking with Iz to the stands I’d been watching from, he begins but I cut him off.
“You’re EZ Tackleson. Holy Hell! I hated that you never played pro but I followed your career. I’m a big Clemson fan.” His smile is so humble. “I’m Eliza, by the way.”
“Nice to meet a Clemson fan.” We talk for a couple minutes when I mentally add Ezra to my list as he walks away.
“Not one of those men will touch you, Liz,” he teases.
“Yeah, thanks for claiming me like you did. What the fuck, Iz? We’re not a couple.”
I try to storm away but he hooks his arm around my waist. “Only ‘cause you’re fighting it, Liz. Both you and I know, time is on our side.”
“Ah, if time is on my side, then you bet
ter give up the idea of us getting back together,” I claim and even hearing it in my own words, I know it’s a feeble attempt.
“Just keep telling yourself that, Buttercup.”
I haven’t said a word to him since leaving the practice facility. Call it my willful obstinacy but being told what I will and will not do is something I gave up when I left the palmetto state. My eyes are fixed outside, to anything but Iz, and he’s giving me my silence. After all, he understands me when I feel pushed back against a wall. Then when I think of being pushed back against a wall, I want that done by Iz himself.
What the hell is wrong with me? After being bossed around by Daddy and Neal for years, I can’t—no—I won’t allow another man to dictate my life, even if his proximity to me is causing me mini orgasms just from his touch.
When we come to a stop, I look up, trying to hide the little smile sneaking out from what had just been my pursed lips. He pokes my side, as he did every time he understood he’d pissed me off. I fail at staying mad at him and in one moment, he’s forgiven and he knows it.
“You remembered,” I say, looking at the yellow lettering of the place I’d eat every meal at if carbs were never an issue for me.
His lips curve upward slightly when he replies, “Buttercup, I’ve memorized everything about you.” His statement may be true but it doesn’t stop the fact that he remembers my love for a good Subway sandwich. When I try to open my door, he grabs my hand. “Liz, stop being so fuckin’ stubborn and let me get the door for you.”
Now I’m smiling from ear to ear because we fall back into the Liz and Iz way of life so easily, even if it’s been fifteen years since he’s last taken me out to eat.
