by Anne Leigh
“Thank you for dropping me off,” she said, opening the passenger door and stepping out before I could go to her side and open it for her.
All throughout the twenty minute drive she was quiet. From time to time she made comments about the songs on the radio, “Great song,” “Like her music,” and “I listen to that once in a while.”
Emmett had to leave right away and couldn’t drop her off because her condo was out of his way. He felt really bad and offered to call a cab for her. Dia raised her eyebrows when I’d offered to drive Ava, but her opinion didn’t count. She could lose all of her eyebrows and I wouldn’t care. Her flight to San Jose left at nine and she still had somewhere to go before calling it a night. I had a strong feeling that she wouldn’t be pursuing anything between us any longer.
I didn’t hesitate to bring Ava to her condo, but Ava had looked like she didn’t want to be anywhere near me. She had been on her phone more than halfway through dinner and she had been quiet ever since. Dinner at the pizzeria was great. Emmett was an okay dude. Once he stopped being a pro-bowler, he actually made me crack up with his stilted views about the economy, traffic laws, and his comment that redheads looked like a lot of trouble which made Dia’s eyebrows shoot to her hairline, but he took Dia’s insults about blondes in stride. I’d never like the dude, but by the end of the evening I was less inclined to punch his face in and instead just rattle his snotty demeanor once in a while. As long as he kept his hands off of Ava I could actually hang out with him. Maybe once every leap year.
I jumped out of my car, catching her before she entered the building.
“Ava, what’s going on?” I asked. I thought we were cool. She’d been sending me weird vibes throughout the night.
“I have to go.” Her eyes left mine too quickly, her thumbs busily punching in the key code to enter the building.
“Thanks again.” She smiled, the corners of her mouth tight, her left hand holding on her small black purse and the paper bag where she had neatly packed her bowling shoes in.
What was wrong with her? She was putting up a front. She didn’t look back as she continued walking through the glass doors. Before the doors completely closed I stepped in, not caring if she had not invited me.
She walked fast to get inside the elevator. I barely made it before the elevator door completely closed. Her eyes widened in surprise as soon as she saw me inside the closed space.
“I’m not leaving, Ava. Not until you tell me what’s wrong.” I spoke determinedly, letting my words sink into her thoughts. “Now press the button.”
She pressed seven and still didn’t say anything. I closed the space, the gap between us, pulling her into a hug, wrapping her arms around my waist.
If silence was what she needed I’d give it to her. But I’d be with her in silence.
I felt the vibration from her purse which was sandwiched between us. She took it out, Emmett’s name flashed on her screen, and she slowly extricated her right hand from my waist. I watched her text him “Home now” and put her phone back in her purse.
The elevator stopped at seven. She stepped out of my hug, but as soon as we got out I held onto her waist, walking side by side with her. She slowly relaxed her head against my chest, walking along the hallway, and stopped in front of number 715.
She punched in a set of codes and the door opened.
So this was her home. Her domain.
There were shoe boxes on the beige-colored couch. An Ipad and a laptop were haphazardly on top of each other on a coffee table. Three opened cookie boxes were scattered on the side tables facing the huge entertainment center.
We walked farther in and I saw the mini-bar area where two soda cans, and magazine clippings lined the huge oak dining table in the dining area and there was at least half a load of dishes on the sink by the kitchen.
“This is a beautiful place.” It was. The walls were painted light yellow, artistic lamps and paintings decorated the walls of the living room and the kitchen area. “But duchess, you are one messy girl.”
She tilted her head up, her gray eyes crinkling, a hint of a smile forming on her lips. “You’re just a neat freak.”
Compared to her, I was.
I felt her body relax against mine. She stepped ahead of me, took her shoes off, and threw them to the side. The sound was loud against the marble floors as she walked towards the couch.
I followed her lead and sat with her. I tapped my hands against my legs, grabbing a small couch pillow, motioning for her to lie against the pillow. I was clueless about what I was doing with her, but I wasn’t going to stand by and ignore her, ignore the changes happening between us. She was bringing me a sense of peace, a thread of calm amid all the raging guilt and anger that I’ve been fighting against for the past few months. I’d be a fool to let go of what she makes me feel, even if her asshole of a father would think otherwise.
She followed without hesitation.
She commanded out loud, “Dim lights,” and the yellow lights dimmed.
She was quiet.
I was quiet.
The silence wasn’t suffocating, it was relieving. Somehow, sometime throughout the night, during my last few encounters with her, I was finally seeing her under a different lens. She was always concerned for me. It showed in her eyes, her demeanor. When I’d pulled on my left leg during bowling and I grimaced, she was the first one to ask if I was okay. When she saw that I had finished my soda, even when she was texting on the phone, she’d asked for the server to refill all our glasses. I remembered being irritated at her, annoyed at her many times in the past, but during the drive here, when I really thought about it, she didn’t make any disparaging remarks about me or towards me, our banters were harmless, funny, and almost a test of each other’s quick thinking.
I traced my fingers in her silky hair, her eyes fluttered close. She welcomed my touch. With Emmett, I’d seen her remove herself or stand a few feet away.
Just when I thought she was falling asleep, she said, almost too quietly, “My father has warned me against seeing you.”
“Why?” I asked, fully aware of what he said because he warned me against having her as part of the prize.
“I don’t know exactly why.” Her eyes were opening, her gaze searing.
“What do you wanna do?” Maxwell was my boss, but he wasn’t lord over me. True, I had to win so I’d get the money. But I signed a contract. Ava was not part of that contract. Staying away from her wasn’t a part of it either. I’d heard he was a poker player, it was how he got his head start in acquiring his millions. He could bluff his way out of a losing hand and outwit his opponents. But he was forgetting one thing; I’m a fighter. I was born one. I’d been fighting against the odds since day one, having been born a month and a half before I was due to greet this planet. No one threatens me and gets away with it. What Ava doesn’t know is that my cards will be on deck for her, if she chooses. She’d said I was her dream. I’d lost the ability to dream big since the day I threw my morals, my honor in the pool. Without her knowledge, she was slowly giving it back to me. Instead of the nightmares I’ve been having for the past six months, I dreamt of her.
“What I want and what I need to do doesn’t matter, Milo.”
“I didn’t ask what you need to do. I asked what you want to do,” I reaffirmed, removing my fingers from her hair. Trying to give her the freedom, the liberty to choose without me affecting it.
“I want to be with you.”
“That’s all I needed to hear, duchess. That’s all.”
Apparently I want to be with you meant I’m not touching you.
Since three weeks ago, Milo hasn’t touched me…naughtily, that is. Yes, he had given me kisses, very light and barely touching my lips for two seconds. He hugged me and kept me close to his side, but he didn’t pursue anything further.
I’d tried. Gosh I’d tried.
I wore my extra short light blue dress when we watched a movie. He held my hand the whole time and grazed my
knees with his fingers.
I made sure that Jacqueline, my Brazilian wax expert, had waxed, buffed and polished all nooks, crannies, in the middle, and everything in between. He hasn’t seen it yet.
I visited him twice in his gym at home in my skimpiest workout clothes – short shorts, sports bra, and my hair up. He stared at me for two minutes, complimented me that I was sexy, and went back to lifting weights.
I wore my Luscious Lips gloss and pinched my cheeks before I got out of my car every time I saw him. He always kissed my lips, but didn’t linger long.
It was all wasted effort.
I knew he was trying to take it slow with me.
His clone, his alien clone, his annoying celibate alien clone took over and was not letting him free.
Instead another side of Milo had appeared.
He always had a jacket or coat ready for me to wear when we stepped outside a building. He’s made jokes in the past that I wore the least amount of clothes. I had a feeling that he doesn’t like some of the clothes I wear, but he hasn’t made a comment about them.
When I went out, he made sure I called him as soon as I got inside my condo.
When I had traveled to Miami he asked me to text him every three hours to let him know I was okay. One night when a charity event had run late and I forgot to text him, Daria had whispered in my ear that Milo was trying to reach me. I had given Milo Daria’s phone number since she was my assistant and if he ever needed to reach me and for some reason couldn’t get a hold of me, she’d be the best bet to call. Of course I had briefed Daria that no one could know, especially my father. She was his employee, but she was my friend first. She’s been through almost every gauntlet that my father had thrown at me, and no matter what she stuck by my side.
To say Milo was upset when I finally spoke to him would be like saying that Miami didn’t have the best beaches in the world. He didn’t scream, he didn’t have to. All he said was, “You okay?” in a deliberate tone, concern and annoyance palpable through the phone line. When I responded with, “Yeah,” he then proceeded to lecture me about Miami being a wild party place, that women could get kidnapped, and that I needed to buy a newer phone. I waited for him to finish, and before hanging up, I gently whispered, “I’m sorry I didn’t call right away.” He was silent for a few seconds and requested for me to call him when I got settled in my hotel room.
That was the first night I slept with him on the phone.
We talked for hours about the most random, silliest, and trivial things. I learned of his love for extreme sports, obsession for Legos, and his passion for vintage cars and video games. I shared with him my love for fashion, obsession with fruity drinks, and passion for getting the best body massages and facials. He mostly laughed in his deep, masculine voice at my quirky comments. It was nice to see his face on my phone while we Facetimed – the way his green eyes turned lighter when he was amused and became deeper shades of green when I flirted with him.
I had asked him what he was wearing and he pretended not to hear me, so I showed him what I wore to bed. I was in my champagne-colored silk pajama set. He probably thought I wore nighties, but as much as I wore the skimpiest clothes in public, I liked to wear the most comfortable clothes in bed.
“Baby, you look so cute.” His green eyes flashed teasingly.
My heart melted at that. It was the first time he called me baby.
I’d never in my wildest dreams thought this day would come. Young girls get over their infatuations, their childhood crushes. But not once did I think that Milo was a crush. Maybe that’s why I never found the desire, the will, the longing to sleep with just any guy. I had joked to Brynn many times that I’d join Steve at the 40-year-old virgin club and as much as I was joking, I was also telling the truth. A sense of foreboding washed over me as Milo’s face came into view after he excused himself to grab water from the kitchen – he was my dream. I had given him that power over me. And he had the power to break me, make me fall apart, and destroy me.
“You did not learn that move from Youtube!” I vehemently disagreed, shaking my head to and fro, while rolling my eyes, my right hand on my hip as I dropped my purse on the adjustable seat of the bench press.
I was watching him stand with his right knee by his chest then he whipped his leg and kicked outwards while spinning his body. If I was standing close, he’d be hitting my abdomen or my solar plexus with the heel of his foot. He did it three times then switched his legs, aiming the kicks higher.
Gah, he was a wonder to watch.
“Look it up. I just googled it and I learned it.” His shoulders vibrated in laughter. The bottom edges of his dark blue shirt had lifted up, creating an obvious separation from his dark blue shorts, and offering me amazing views of his striated abs.
I walked closer to him, reaching under his shirt, feeling his taut, muscled back. I glided my hands up and down his back as I gazed into his deepening emerald green stare, his pupils casting a bluish hue under the bright lights at his gym.
His hands cupped under my cheek and he brushed his fingers against my lips. “Ava, baby, I don’t wanna go too fast.”
“Too fast for who?”
“For you,” he answered. I touched my left hand on the stubble forming around his jaw.
“For me?” I repeated, my brows lifting. “Why would you think that?”
“Everything’s kinda happening fast.” His mouth was a hairbreadth away from my forehead, his hands caressing my back. “We didn’t even talk before. Not like this. You were always mad at me. I was always snapping at you. And now this…I just don’t want to mess it up.”
“Milo,” I started, my hands now finding their way to the front of his chest. I felt the hard bulges and dips of his pecs, the lean, well-defined cuts of his abs and hips. I’d seen him half-naked. I’d seen him naked. His V-shaped torso should be on billboards everywhere. His lats should be plastered all over newspapers. And his bulging arms should be trending on every social media site. He wasn’t model perfect. I felt scars and I saw the bruises before. Milo wasn’t the squeaky clean, photoshopped image of a guy. He was raw, powerful, and all male.
“I know you wanna wait it out. Until you’re done with fighting.” I still don’t know why he fought. He’s told me that this house, his parent’s house before they got into an accident, was fully paid so it couldn’t be about money. He rented out his Aunt Margie’s house in Henderson to a nice young couple before he moved to train in Arizona two years ago with Brynn’s consent. “But I don’t think you, we, are moving too fast. I think we’re actually going in slow mo.”
We both agreed we had to keep what we had, what we’re trying to have, away from my father’s prying eyes until Milo was done with fighting. I could tell he wasn’t a guy who liked to hide stuff, but he knew that my father might cause an unwelcome problem for us if he saw us together. Milo had divulged to me that my father has warned him against pursuing me. How my father had any inkling that Milo would be on my tail was something that slipped my mind because I was too busy wishing that he’d kiss me.
"Slow mo?” His dark stare burned, his voice huskier, raspier, hinging on a tiny thread of control. His hands gripping my hair harder, the action causing prickling sensations that I felt from the roots of my hair that radiated to the bottom of my feet.
“Yeah.” I swallowed, my lips opening up, wanting a taste of him. “You barely touch me. I…I don’t know if you still want me.”
I was baiting him, waving a white flag, dangling an apple from the tree of sin.
Without any warning, he tucked my legs around his waist, his hands supporting my butt, and started walking. I almost yelped, but he clamped his mouth against mine. His kiss was overpowering, his tongue asking me to yield. His steps didn’t falter as he continued walking. I wrapped my legs tightly around him, my arms lacing around his neck.
I wasn’t paying attention to where he was taking me. As long as he was taking me.
Oh crap, I should have worn my special under
wear. I really wasn’t prepared for this. I literally drove from spinning class to here. He had texted me that he was going to make me his special breakfast – omelets any way I liked it with toast and a mixed fruit shake. He had been making it for me when I was in town and I came over in the mornings before I left to visit my mom or do whatever Daria had planned out for me. I was still wearing my red gym shorts and a loose white shirt over my sports bra. Not necessarily seduction material.
“Milo…” I protested, my words garbled against his mouth. I clutched at his shirt, nudging him to let me come up for air.
He wasn’t letting my mouth go, so I tugged on his hair. I felt the strands curling around my fingers; his hair was getting longer and he needed a haircut.
“Huh?” He finally let go. “What is it, duchess?” It tickled me silly he called me duchess. Way better than princess. But so far baby was my favorite.
