by Michelle Lee
Shit, Saturday Chloe's bachelorette party.
Sure no prob.
How about 2nite?
Can't.
Why not?
Busy.
With what?
Damn it, she's gonna make me say it.
Dance practice.
With Chloe?
No.
Jason?
No.
Marshall?
With Davis.
Ohhhh. So it's Davis now?
Can it Blondie.
Testy Testy.
You have no idea.
Okay fine 2mor lunch then?
Sure.
And you better come with details.
Details?
Yes about your "dance practice" with Davis.
There won't be any details.
Uh Huh.
Gotta go see ya 2mor.
Don't do anything I wouldn't do.
Believe me there isn't a chance. L8r
God what is with everybody? Why are they all conspiring to hook us up? Just when I thought I had Chloe reigned in, stupid Blondie gets her game face on. Ugh!
The afternoon passes by quickly and when I notice the clock in my office says 5:12, I start to get all flustered and panicky. My time for dance practice with Davis is fast approaching and I’m not at all prepared for what that entails.
So you're gonna refer to him as Davis now?
Yes, is that a problem?
No it's just about damn time! Although Ryan would be better.
Don’t push it.
Okay, not pushing.
Again my inner self's mental arguments are perpetually giving me mental whiplash. Jeez!
I tidy up my office, after all it looks as if a tornado had hit, with files and papers stroon all over my desk, floor, credenza and chairs. It is basically organized chaos, but I can't leave it like this, if anyone were to walk in, the partners probably would rethink their confidence in me. Plus, it keeps my mind busy and it gives me something to do before I have to head home and get ready. Home to get ready for dance practice. I am not only a little apprehensive because I will be alone with Davis, but also because I am a klutz and I really don't feel like embarrassing myself, let alone in front of him. Yes, he has already seen me trip and tumble, but heck, once was enough; I don't need to have a repeat performance. Actually, it seems as if I am always getting a little embarrassed around him. First at the club…Wait does that count? Yeah it does, when he hit the nail on the head about my lack of a sex life, second, the first time at the studio, third, the second time at the studio and fourth the time when he gawked at me vacuuming in my panties. So why should tonight be any different?
If there is a God please let tonight be different. Give me grace and poise. Who am I kidding? Hell, I'd settle for a right and left foot.
5:40, time to head home for a quick shower and change and then head over to the studio. Ricardo was gracious enough to give us studio time at no extra charge. I think he is kinda crushing on Davis, who couldn't blame him really?
Crushing on Davis? Nope, not me. Chloe and Macy are completely wrong. Right? Right.
Are you sure about that?
Shut up you. I want no comments from the peanut gallery tonight.
I can't make any promises.
God after this wedding I am probably going to be committed.
***
I think that is probably the fastest shower I ever took. And for some odd reason it seems like it took a lifetime to decide what to wear. It is dance practice with Davis for Pete's sake, not dinner with the Pope. So, finally I decide on my usually attire that seems to work, yoga pants, tank, a hoodie, this time it is a little chilly outside, and Nikes. For the life of me I can't understand why I am stressing over this so much.
I know why.
Pipe down peanut gallery.
Crazy, crazy, crazy.
I arrive at the dance studio at exactly 7:00 and there is no Davis.
He said Tuesday right?
Yes, he said Tuesday.
Maybe he is running late or maybe he changed his mind. As a wave of panic starts to creep up from my toes, I walk over to the stereo, taking deep relaxing breaths, I pull out the CD Davis had given me, place it in the stereo and hit play. The sounds of Thriller start to echo throughout the quiet studio.
Michael does have a calming effect, which is exactly what I need. His music just has a way of making you forget and just have fun. It’s hard not to try to move to its steady rhythm.
Even though the studio has a wall of mirrors to watch my performance in, I decide against it. I know I am going to be humiliated enough, if and when he shows up, so, I don't need to watch the car wreck unfold right before my eyes in the mirror. So, I opt to face the wall of windows and watch the sunset and the moon creep up into the night sky.
As Thriller continues, I proceed to get my "zombie" on. I don't trip, I don't stumble, and I am actually pretty good. As good as I can be. And hey let's face it, no tripping or stumbling is good. I silently pat myself on the back as I continue to let Michael lead the way.
"Cause this is Thriller, Thriller night…." The song is contagious and I am caught up in the moment. Vincent Price gives his last cackle when I turn around to see Davis leaning against the door jam, smirking and clapping.
I must turn thirteen different shades of pink in that one moment, each more vibrant than the last.
"Very nice." He smirks as he continues to clap approaching me.
"Um, thanks, I didn't think you were coming." I cannot bring myself to meet his gaze.
Thirteen more shades of pink.
"Yeah, sorry I'm late, I tried to call, but my cell went dead."
"Sure, no prob."
"You actually looked pretty good just now, have you been practicing?"
"A little. No need to tempt clumsy fairies."
Clumsy fairies?
Sorry it's all I got.
As he continues to approach me, he takes off his black hoodie and reveals a tight fitting green tee.
Wow!!
It hugs his sculpted form, accentuating the muscles underneath. And Lord does he ever have muscles. The color of the shirt makes his eyes pop and sparkle the most beautiful shade of emerald I have never seen. It’s like looking at Emerald City in the Wizard of Oz in all is vibrant glory. If Jared's, that jeweler, could put this color in a stone, they would definitely make millions off of it. As he comes closer, I can feel the heat radiate off of him. My body begins to tingle and I swear my panties, which I'm sure I put some on before I left, feel like they were nowhere to be found. Just poof, I’m pantiless.
How the hell did he do that? He hasn't even touched me yet. What happens then? Hell, I'm gonna be a puddle of orgasmic goo at this rate.
"Okay, so, do you want to practice the waltz or Thriller?"
"Um, I think Thriller again. It's the performance of the night and I don't want to screw it up for Chloe."
Good call Marshall, no contact.
If he touches you right now you might fucking explode.
I know, right?
Right, now just relax, stay calm and focus. It's no big deal; he's no big deal.
Are you sure about that?
Well…
That's what I thought.
No more peanut gallery.
I shake off my inner conversation, only to find him smirking at me yet again, with a raised eyebrow, which makes me tingly all over again.
He seriously needs to stop that. God I wonder if he knows what he's doing?
"What?" Is all I can muster.
"Nothing, it's just…"
"Just what?" I pry further.
"You look cute, more like sexy even, when you're deep in thought. You get this line, right here, between your eyebrows and your nose kinda scrunches up." His slender finger traces the crinkle between my eyebrows.
Wait, he just called me sexy and then he just touched me right between my eyebrows and that small touch sent a shockwave of electricity pulsating throug
hout every crevice of my body. It feels as if I have just been ignited and the wave of pleasure that that one little touch gives me is not only unexplainable, but the best damn thing I have ever felt.
Holy motherfuckercheeseandcrackers. If his one, tiny, little touch can do that, what the hell will a more significant touch do? Holy shit, holy shit!! What the hell am I gonna do? Think Kassidy think. Shit, shit, shit. Okay, bring out the lawyer-tude that's when you're in control and the most comfortable. Will it work?
Hell, it's worth a try.
"Alright, just back up buddy. This is my personal space and this is your personal space." I motion with my hands my space and his space giving my best courtroom voice.
"Got it?"
"Yes ma'am."
"Okay, so why don't you go turn Thriller back on so we can practice."
Good, Kassidy, Good.
But don't sound too bitchy.
Right.
"Sorry, Davis that was kinda rude," I apologize as I realize I am biting my lower lip. For some reason I always do that, especially when I am apologizing or extremely nervous.
"Hey, don't sweat it, you can't help it if I get you all worked up," he teases.
Oh, he just didn't?
Oh, yes he did.
"You get me all worked up? Please," I try to say all casual like but anger seethes underneath.
"Um, yes, you all worked up. You were practically quivering in your panties."
"I was not!" Now the anger is beginning to boil and spill over. "What you mistook as getting 'worked up' was actually the repulsion to being touched by an asshole like you!"
Now I am officially pissed and only seeing red.
"Repulsive?"
"Yes, repulsive."
"Sweetie, wait let me rephrase that, Bitchy, nothing about me is repulsive. You are just too hard up to know the difference."
"Too hard up, too hard up? I will have you know…"
"Have me know what? That you spend your nights at home, alone, probably curled up with your 'vibrator'." He air quotes.
That's it, that's mother fucking it!
As I raise my hand to him, doing what I have seen a hundred times in those old black and white movies, he grabs me by the wrist and pulls me into him, tightly. And before I know it, his lips are on mine, kissing me with such intensity that I can hardly breathe. I try to push against him, to pull away, but he holds me so tightly that I can't—he won’t budge. I feel as if I am having an out of body experience. Suddenly, my inner self takes over and my lips are moving in unison with his and then his tongue juts out to find mine. His tongue is warm and full, as it caresses mine. He tastes sweet; he tastes like honey. The fire inside me grows, intensifies. He takes my bottom lip between his teeth and gently tugs. I moan in ecstasy.
This kiss is like no other kiss and the feeling I have from it was like nothing I have ever experienced. It seems like an eternity before I float back into my body and reality sets in, as I am ready to bitch slap my inner self.
The asshole, with his phone harem, is kissing me? I don't fucking think so. This will only lead to…I can’t…I won’t let him hurt…
I swallow the lump building in my throat and find the strength to pull away from him. When I finally do and look up at him he licks his lips and grins as if to say "I told you so".
That does it. I smile, cock my head, twist my lips into a teasing smile, and slap him.
"I hope you enjoyed it because that will never fucking happen again! I can guarantee it!" I am still seething not only at him, but also at myself for letting it happen.
I grab my hoodie and bolt for the door leaving him in the studio. I run out of the building into the crisp night air catching my breath.
What the fuck? Uuuugggghhhh! He is such a fucking asshole! First impression still stands. The things he said. The way he kissed me. The way he kissed me. Shit!!!
You liked it.
I know! But it doesn't matter he was an asshole, is an asshole and will always be an asshole.
I am totally flipping out and think of the only thing I can do. Like the crazy person I am, I run.
CHAPTER 7
When I finally can't run anymore I realize I have gotten pretty far from the studio.
Shit.
I am trying to catch my breath and trying to understand what the hell just happened. Everything was going pretty well until he made that crack about me being all worked up over him and snuggling my vibrator. When he said that, I was taken back to our first encounter at the club. He was pure asshole then and he is being pure asshole now. But that kiss. Did he do it because he was stopping me from hitting him, because it was a gut reaction or because he really wanted to?
Does it really matter Kassidy?
Yes it matters!
Why did I let him get to me like that? No guy ever has crawled under my skin and taken up residence like he has. And I just can't understand why. I am fairly intelligent, hell, I am more than fairly intelligent, but why can't I wrap my brain around this? If I had been in the courtroom I would have squashed the crap out of him. But unfortunately everyday life doesn't take place in the courtroom.
You are totally screwed.
Thanks for your help. Shut up peanut gallery.
My inner self is finally silenced for once.
I know the way I reacted was probably an overreaction.
Probably? More like definitely.
What did I say?
Sorry, shutting up.
The run did somewhat clear my head, but I still can't understand what the is going on with me.
What, nothing to say? Well? Hello? All right forget what I said, I need help.
You need more help than I can provide. My inner self is becoming very insulting.
I know, but your point being?
My, your, our point being is you are a complete and utter dumbass.
Thanks.
You're welcome.
That wasn't meant…
I know, now you shut up.
Okay, okay.
You are so clueless and blind. Did you feel the electric jolt course through our body when he gave us the slightest touch?
Well, y—
Let me finish!
Fine.
That isn't the first time we felt it either. And that kiss. Holymotherfuckingshitballs that kiss!! We've been kissed before, but first never like that, and second we have never ever, and I doubt we ever will again, have had that intense of a reaction to a kiss. If you didn't notice the extreme chemistry, lust or emotion in that kiss then you are a complete moron and you, because I get it, don't deserve to ever be kissed like that again!
So what do we do?
I haven't thought that far ahead.
Figures, and I still don't see what you're talking or getting at.
Oh for the love of Pete! I give up! You are utterly hopeless!
Well, if I’m hopeless, you’re hopeless too because you’re me and I’m you. So…
We both simultaneously scream with complete and utter frustration.
As I am having my inner conversation, which I'm sure people walking by have noticed and are ready to call the men in the white coats to haul me off to Belleview, I find myself in front of the building where the studio is.
That didn't take long at all.
Of course not, crazy.
Again with the insults.
I don't know what I am thinking or doing but I find myself walking back up to the studio and standing in front of the door. As I go to test the knob to see if it is locked, I notice a piece of paper tucked in between the door and the jam. Something compels me to grab it and see if anything is written on it.
Kassidy,
I'm sorry for my stupid comments. I know we agreed to a fresh start and that was anything but. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. I would like a second, third chance. I hope you'll give this dipshit that chance to make it up to you. Call me.
Davis
I don't know what to think. Like my inner self's
chastising, Davis is having the some effect on me. On one hand, he acts like an asshole, then on the other he writes this note and becomes the complete opposite. What the hell?!
I am going to have lunch with Macy tomorrow and as much as I hate to ask her, maybe she can shed some light on the situation.
Are you kidding me? I give up!!! I'm done!
Okay, sure whatever, Drama Queen!!
Oh you'll see, you'll see.
I won’t hold my breath.
I leave the studio, with the note clasped in my hand, and make my way home. I have one of the most restless night's sleep ever. I keep dreaming of running after Davis, but he is always just out of my reach. And every time he turns around to look at me, he looks so pained it kills me. My heart aches and it feels as though it breaks with each tortured look from those green eyes. I only have one, or actually two people to blame, myself and Davis.
***
"Elaine, can you get Mr. Reynolds on the phone for me?"
"Yes Miss Marshall."
Thank God I have work, because after last night I most certainly could have checked myself in for a psychiatric evaluation. Work is definitely a welcomed distraction.
"Miss Marshall, I have Mr. Reynolds’ office on the line."
"Put him through."
"Sorry Miss Marshall he's unavailable at the moment. His assistant said to try back later this afternoon."
"Thanks Elaine."
Are you kidding me? Unavailable? We are due in court in three weeks and he has the nerve to be unavailable. Stupid, rich, I can buy my way out of anything, clients. They sure pay the firm well, but they are a damn pain the ass.
As I am shuffling through the stack of countless files on my desk for Mr. Reynolds's case, I am startled by a knock at the door.
Davis?
Wishful thinking. But at least you're starting to think like me. But no it's not him. It's another distraction.
"Kassidy?" he quietly asks.
I don’t have to even look up to know who it is. "Uh, hey Jackson."
"Got a minute?"
"Um," I ponder looking at the files scattered on my desk and in my hands, "yeah sure. What's up?"
"I was wondering if you wanted to get some lunch?" Hope tinges his words.
Great, just what I need now. I have to tell him no, again, because I'm meeting Macy and he'll probably see a pattern and think I am blowing him off. At least that's how I would see it.
