The Words We Leave Unspoken

by L. D. Cedergreen

  Better?” he asks as he leans over and kisses me on the mouth. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer and deepen the kiss, feeling the slow burn warm my insides.

  “Mmm, much better,” I mumble against his lips before I kiss him again. He pulls away and collapses on his side next to me, running a hand over my thigh.

  “God, I want you so bad. But I don’t want to give poor Marco a show,” he moans.

  “So how do you know Marco?” I ask while I run my fingers through his hair.

  “Fraternity brother.”

  “At UCLA?” I ask as I recall reading his bio when I took the job. Undergrad at UCLA followed by an MBA from Seattle University, which is where he met John.

  “Yeah, he owed me a favor.” Grey smiles and I know there’s a story there.

  “Do tell.”

  He rolls onto his back and folds his arms behind his head. “Well, our sophomore year, he rode his motorcycle to meet us at a bar in this little beach town just south of Westwood. After we’d all had a few drinks, he decides he’s going to ride his motorcycle back to campus and one thing led to the next and we were all daring him to jump his motorcycle off the top of this two-story parking garage. It was right next to the beach, so there was only sand below.”

  “Oh my God,” I say in anticipation of the end of the story.

  “Well he did it, lucky bastard barely had a scratch on him, but he buried his bike so deep in the sand dune, I thought we’d never get it out. The next thing we know a cop is laying down the law. Marco already had a few ticks on his record and I was sober by this point, so I took the blame. The cop let me go with a slap on the wrist, which wouldn’t have been the case if it had been Marco.”

  “What happened to his bike?” I ask.

  “We had to dig it out in the dark and park it. Wouldn’t start. The next morning we drove our buddy’s truck back and hauled it back to campus. His parents wouldn’t pay to have it fixed.” Grey laughs. “That damn bike sat outside the frat house for the rest of the school year.”

  “He’s lucky he didn’t kill himself,” I say with a frown.

  “Yeah lucky for us he’s alive and still owed me a favor.” Grey sits up and opens the cooler, retrieving two bottles of beer. He twists the cap off one and hands it to me and then opens the other and takes a long pull.

  “You mean lucky for you, I bet you bring all the girls here.” Images of Grey with other women cloud my mind, spiking a jealous burn. I know of his playboy reputation, but it has never bothered me before. Until now.

  “Nope, just you.” He takes another drink from the bottle and asks, “Hungry?”

  “Starved.”

  He sets his beer down and rummages through the paper bags, pulling out cartons of Chinese food, plates, utensils and napkins. Everything looks and smells delicious and we both eat in silence for a few moments.

  “You’re different tonight,” I say and then stuff a forkful of orange chicken into my mouth.

  “What do you mean?” he asks, pausing just as he’s about to take a bite.

  “You’re always so intense. Like in the office. And even in bed.” My cheeks warm as I admit this.

  “In bed?” he asks curiously.

  “Yes. You are seriously intense in bed. And I mean that in the best way possible.”

  “And tonight?” he asks.

  “And tonight, you’re so relaxed and carefree, playful. It’s nice to see this side of you.”

  “I’m always playful when I’m with you,” he says a bit defensively.

  “Sometimes, but not this much.”

  “Well this is what you get when you get to know me,” he says, flashing me a mega-watt smile and opening his arms out to the side. “You like?”

  I smile shyly and say, “I like.”

  He stuffs his fork in his mouth and chews, his smile still in place as if he’s pleased with himself. And then he takes another pull from his beer.

  “I’m the oldest of three boys, so I guess I’m a little intense by nature. My brothers are complete idiots so I grew up always looking out for them.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “I grew up in the San Fernando Valley, just north of L.A.”

  “Where do your brothers live now?”

  “Garrett lives in San Diego. He’s a surfer by day and a bartender by night. And Graham’s on his last year at USC film school.”

  “And your parents?”

  “They both still live in the house I grew up in. My dad still runs Preston and Simms, although he says he’s going to retire soon. But I’ll believe that when I see it.”

  I sit up straighter. “Wait, your dad is Preston of Preston and Simms?”

  “Yep.”

  Preston and Simms is the largest and most successful investment bank on the West Coast. I wonder how I never put that together. Grey is a financial genius, climbing the ladder to partner at record speed, the youngest at the firm. Everyone in the office talks about it. It all makes sense. Why did John not tell me?

  “Wow, how did I not know that?” I ask out loud.

  “Because it’s something I don’t like people to know,” he whispers. I’m still staring at him in amazement as he picks at the label on his beer bottle. “Despite what people think, I got to where I’m at on my own. I work my ass off.”

  “I’m just surprised is all,” I say.

  “So what about you?” he asks.

  I set my fork down on my plate and push it away. “What about me?”

  “I know you’re from Seaport, and I know you have an older sister, obviously. But what else? Is it just you and Gwen?”

  I pick up my beer and take a sip, stalling although I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because it is just Gwen and I. And for as long as I can remember, that’s the way it has always been. I don’t like to talk about my family or my past for that matter. It hurts too much. It hurts to admit that I was never enough to make my father stay. It hurts to think that my own mother couldn’t even look at me after he left, as if it was my fault that her life was falling apart; when in truth, she was the reason he left in the first place.

  “Yep, it’s just Gwen and I. My life’s not that interesting,” I say and then I start sifting through the paper bags, looking for something sweet.

  Grey laughs and I look up. “What are you looking for?” he asks, slightly amused.

  “Dessert,” I say pointedly.

  “In the small one,” he says, pointing to a smaller bag behind the cooler.

  I reach for it but he grabs it out of my hand before I can look inside. He stands up and makes a show of peeking inside the bag. “Aww, look what we have here.”

  “What is it? Is it chocolate?”

  “Of course. You think I don’t know about your sweet tooth? I pay attention, remember?” He raises one eyebrow and stares at me, waiting. I jump up and try to snatch the bag back, but he’s too fast. He runs and dodges and I chase him until I’m breathless. I collapse on the field somewhere in the outfield and stretch out on my back, looking up at the sky. Grey walks slowly toward me and sits down beside me. He opens the bag and pulls out a small container. He peels back the lid and holds a brownie with chocolate frosting at my lips. “Want some?” he asks.

  I nod and open my mouth and he very delicately feeds me a small bite and then another before devouring the entire thing himself. I lick the frosting from my lips and Grey leans over and kisses me softly. He tastes like chocolate. I bring my arms down from behind my head and run my fingers through his hair, pulling him closer until he’s lying down next to me. I feel his hand slowly trail up my leg until he’s gripping my ass underneath the fabric of my dress. Our breath becomes desperate, our kiss more heated as my body thrums under his touch. We lay like this for awhile, in the middle of the outfield, all hands and tongue, but nothing more.

  Just when I feel as if I might explode if Grey doesn’t take my clothes off and soothe the unbearable ache, he pulls away and mumbles, “Well at least I can say I made it to second base
at Safeco Field.”

  I punch him in the arm but he only kisses me again.

  “Grey, take me home. I need you,” I whisper against his lips.

  He slowly stands and grabs my hands, lifting me from the ground until I’m standing on my own two feet. He slips his arm around my shoulders and we walk slowly back to our picnic. I pack up all the garbage and stuff it into one of the empty bags while Grey folds up the blankets and grabs the cooler. I pull the thick sweatshirt off, feeling warm from chasing Grey all over the field, and fold it over my arm. We make our way back to the gate and he sends a text to Marco. Marco appears to unlock the gate.

  “Thanks, buddy,” Grey says as they do some kind of handshake.

  “Anytime,” Marco replies. “Nice to meet you Charley.”

  “You too. Thank you,” I say.

  We walk through the gate, Grey leading me with his hand on the small of my back and for most this would seem like the most natural thing in the world but I can feel his hand there, searing through the fabric of my dress, through my skin. Grey’s presence colossal and intoxicating.

  Marco locks the gate behind us and calls out, “Have a good night.”

  Grey waves his hand overhead as we continue to walk back in the direction we came. He reaches for my hand, intertwining our fingers and all I can hear are our footsteps until we get closer to the car and the loud noise of bar patrons fills the streets.

  We’re both quiet as we drive through the city streets and I wonder if Grey is driving to my place or his. But as soon as he turns onto Aurora Avenue, I know that he’s taking me home.

  He places his hand on my leg and says, “So... not so bad, right?”

  I lean my head back into the headrest and turn my face toward him, feeling content and realizing for the first time since the night began that I actually had fun. I survived a date with Grey and I don’t want the night to end. I’m not desperate to get home and wipe him from my memory but rather, desperate to get home and finish what we started on the baseball field.

  “It was fun, Grey. Not so bad at all,” I say quietly and I feel him squeeze my leg as a smile stretches across his face. And then I add, “Thank you.”

  We drive down highway 99 through the heart of the city in complete but comfortable silence as we pass the space needle, heading toward Green Lake.

  Grey parks his car in front of my little house, just as tiny raindrops begin to dot the windshield.

  He turns toward me and asks, “Can I talk to you about something? Inside?”

  My heart literally drops into my stomach and I think, Let it go Grey. Don’t ruin a perfect night.

  “Sure,” I say hesitantly.

  He follows me to the porch where I withdraw my keys from my clutch and unlock the door. We both step inside and I slip my shoes off and flip on the lamp next to the couch.

  We both sit down and he pulls me closer to him as if he needs to touch me while he says whatever is on his mind.

  He starts by saying, “Don’t freak out,” and I immediately start to freak out, but only on the inside. After a long pause, he says, “I don’t think we should work together anymore.”

  “What?” I ask, completely shocked. “We went out on one date and now you want to fire me?”

  “No of course not. I would never fire you. I...”

  “You want me to quit?”

  “No.” He tightens his grip on my leg. “You’re the best assistant I’ve ever had, but I think that working together complicates things, not to mention that it’s completely against company policy.” He shifts nervously on the couch beside me and I’m very impatiently hanging on his every word.

  “David and I are going to change things up a bit. Jenny will be on maternity leave starting the first of the month, so you’re going to take over for her as David’s assistant until we find something more permanent. Paul, our office manager, is going to be my new assistant indefinitely.”

  “What?” I picture David Stein in my mind. He’s older and bald, round in the belly and a complete asshole to boot. His expectations are nearly impossible to meet. Jenny is the only person in the office who can tolerate him, which is why she’s been his assistant for years.

  “Why are you doing this?” I ask.

  “We’ve been looking for Jenny’s replacement for months and David asked for you. I actually think that you’ll work well together.” He smiles slightly and says, “You definitely won’t put up with his shit. I see it as a great solution to our problem.”

  “Our problem? And what exactly is our problem?” I scoot away from him on the couch so that I can look him directly in the eye. I feel angry and hurt and whether these are relevant emotions right now or not is unclear, but I feel them nonetheless.

  “Our problem, Charley, is that I really like you and I’m not sure what’s happening between us but I don’t want you to be my assistant anymore, because I want you to be part of my life outside of the office and you can’t be both.”

  And just like that the walls are closing in all around me. I stand and walk away from him, needing to put space between us. I can’t wrap my head around what he’s saying.

  “Let me get this straight,” I say heatedly, pointing a finger at him. “You decided you want more from me so you made the decision to transfer me to another partner without even consulting with me first. You didn’t even give me the choice to...” I stop short of finishing my sentence, suddenly aware of what I was about to say.

  “The choice to what, Charley? Choose between me and your job?”

  I nod and immediately regret it as I watch his face fall.

  “See that’s the thing Charley. Even if you were to choose your job, I couldn’t work with you every day, knowing that I couldn’t touch you or worse, knowing that someone else was. That’s how deep I am into this thing with you.”

  We both just stare at each other from across the room, the air so thick with tension that I can hardly breathe. My heart feels heavy and unsure.

  He breaks the silence and says, “Please don’t be mad. This is all happening regardless and I wanted you to hear it from me before they tell you at the office on Monday.”

  “Wow. Thank you?” I say as a question, feeling so frustrated with the entire situation.

  “I know you’re scared, Charley. I am so much like you. I’ve been so focused on my career. I push people away, afraid of any distractions. But then you came along and well, something changed.”

  “You don’t know anything about me,” I say, blankly, folding my arms across my chest.

  He stands and walks toward me. “I know that you push people away. That you use sex for intimacy and escape. I know that you have feelings for me but that you’re so scared of them you can’t even share something about yourself with me. You can’t let me in. Hell, Charley, you can’t even tell me your favorite color.”

  He moves closer to me and I take a step back.

  “I think you should go,” I say stoically, even though my emotions are welling up inside, tears threatening to exist.

  “Charley, I’m not trying to pressure you. Just take some time to explore what you really feel for me. But don’t push me away. Not like this.” He pulls me into his arms and I straighten, every muscle in my body stiff as a board but I take a moment to breath him in. I can’t let go of the anger though; it floods every part of me, drowning all other senses. I’m angry at Grey for making decisions for me, for redefining the simple arrangement we had, for wanting more from me when he knows I have nothing more to give. I’m angry that he thinks he knows me and a small part of me is scared that maybe he’s right. I feel too much, as if I’m going to explode. I put my hands on his firm chest and push him back, hard.

  “Go,” I shout. “Just go.” My lip is trembling and I feel like I might fall apart right in front of him.

  He gives me one last glance, with defeat written all over his face as if he already knows he’ll never win this battle and then he lets himself out. I quickly lock the door and move to my bedroom where
I curl up in a ball on my bed and replay the entire night in my mind right up to the moment when I knew that it was time to let him go. A predictable conclusion and yet, I feel like my heart has shattered into a million pieces and I’m not sure why. And this uncertainty is possibly the most heartbreaking part of all.

  Chapter 21

  Gwen

  It’s early. Way too early on a Sunday morning for Charley to be knocking on my door, but she’s here nonetheless. She called me late last night to tell me she was coming today, and I suspected that she was upset. A visit at eight o’clock in the morning tells me that my suspicions are correct.

  I open the door, still in my pajamas, and Charley practically throws herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Hey Gwen,” she whispers.

  “Hi Charley. Good morning,” I say, patting her on the back. She pulls back and I notice the dark circles under her eyes. Her hair is pulled back in a haphazard ponytail, strands falling out all around her face. “Coffee?” I ask her. She looks like she needs it even more than I do, as if she got less sleep than I did, which is saying something.

  “Please.” She steps all the way into the foyer and hangs her huge, puffy down jacket on the coat rack and then follows me into the kitchen.

  “It’s so quiet in here. Where is everyone?” she asks.

  “John and the kids just left on a donut run. It’s kind of their thing on Sunday mornings and I get to have a few minutes to myself,” I say as I fill two mugs with steaming hot coffee, adding a hint of half and half to Charley’s cup, just the way she likes it, and hand it to her.

  She takes a sip and leans her hip against the counter. “You make the best coffee,” she mumbles and then says, “It’s colder then a witch’s titty outside.”

  I shake my head at her, “God, you’re so crude.”

  “Well it is. It’s literally freezing outside. I had to scrape my windows this morning. You’re so lucky you have a garage.”