How Not to Fall in Love (Love, Hate, and Other Lies We Told #2)

by Deirdre Riordan Hall

  I remind myself I'm a grown ass woman and pack my bag with the hope that perhaps he'll cancel.

  I leave instructions for how to take care of Mew with Tori, tote my bag through the hall, and go to work.

  Omar's waiting for a client and with a nod to my bag he says, "You decided to go through with it?"

  "He's picking me up here after I teach my lunch class."

  "He got off work early and he has a car?" Omar whistles. "Flexible and successful. Nice catch."

  "A BMW."

  He lifts both eyebrows simultaneously and waggles them a bit. "High roller. Does he have a brother?"

  "I don't know."

  "On that long car ride north make sure you find out for me."

  "Don't remind me about the car ride. Wait, do you have a brother who also happens to be a thug? I could hire him to strong arm Spencer in the alley. He could tell him that I'm spoken for; it was an arranged marriage and I forgot…"

  "I do have a brother, but I've also seen Spencer and the dude is bigger and probably stronger than me and my brother, combined."

  "He's just buff as you. You're made of steel."

  "Kat, I notice these things, okay. Trust me, the guy is pure muscle."

  "Yeah, I know." I sigh, shifting my weight between my feet.

  "You're nervous."

  A dark figure approaches the glass doors of the entrance.

  Omar raises his eyebrows again as though to say hubba hubba.

  I whip around.

  He's wearing a dark suit. It fits his broad shoulders perfectly. The middle button is fastened. The tie is as neat as a pin even as the wind ruffles his hair. The pants are tailored for the perfect fit.

  Yes, he's hot, but I can almost guarantee that it's not only the exterior that turns me on, but what's hidden beneath. Of course, I'm talking about his generous and kind heart!

  I bite my lip. The nervousness bubbles over.

  The door opens and then seals shut.

  The room is suddenly twenty degrees warmer.

  "You're early," I say, slur, mumble as he leans in and kisses me on the cheek.

  And he's a gentleman!

  "I wanted to take your class before sitting in the car for hours."

  "Smart man," Omar says, approvingly.

  Having met just once when we ran into Omar when Spencer was walking me to teach my class, they exchange pleasantries while I fight the fluttering in my stomach, my chest, my toes!

  I lead the students through yoga poses, making a last minute change from invigorating heart openers to mindful stillness, with long stretches and meditative silence. It's the best I can do to keep the shake out of my voice and the quiver in my fingers from being too obvious with Spencer on the mat a few feet away.

  Halfway through, I have a student demonstrate a pose and then go around the class, adjusting alignment. When I reach Spencer, pressed into downward dog, I see how tight his hamstrings are. Sweat pools on the mat beneath his head. His hands slip. I run my hand along his spine, indicating he lengthen more. I draw his hips back and encourage a bend in the knees.

  I take a breath. Maybe he's just as nervous as me.

  *

  Later, while Spencer weaves through traffic, I have my doubts—about his nervousness. He's all kinds of casual confidence with one hand on the wheel and the other on the gearshift. His jacket drapes over the seat in the back and the sleeves of his button-down shirt are rolled up while the heat warms us against the chill as we head north.

  On the other hand, I'm painfully aware we're sharing a car, not a cab. In the latter, if I needed to get out, I could tell the driver to pull over, but if I tell Spencer to stop on the corner and let me out, he'll just think I'm crazy. Plus he knows where I live. I have to walk by his door every day. It's not like I can avoid him.

  As the closely stacked buildings and bustling pedestrians thin, giving way to bridges and broader lanes, I notice there isn't a Starbucks on every corner. The familiarity and comfort fades as we cross state lines. I turn my attention to the interior of the car: a centering practice one of my yoga teachers suggested to help calm nerves and remain in the present moment instead of thinking about the future and weddings and commitments and heartbreak.

  Steering wheel. Windshield. Dashboard. A mix of guitar heavy songs—that aren't unpleasant—play through the speakers. It smells like new car scent. Then there's Spencer who looks too sexy for his own good sitting behind the wheel.

  "Have you been to Vermont before?" he asks.

  "A few times—to this resort and another further north. Usually I go with another yoga teacher or two, but they only wanted me this time. How about you?"

  "Used to come up here every winter with my family to snowboard. My parents sold the log cabin when they divorced. Actually, I haven't been back since. When I want slopes and snow usually I go out west."

  We talk about skiing versus snowboarding and west versus Midwest versus east as tiny snowflakes melt on the windshield. Despite the heat in the car, chills work their way across my skin. The grind of metal striking metal sounds in the distant past.

  "Can we slow down?"

  Spencer lets off the accelerator with a look of concern. "You okay? Car sick? I can stop."

  I should tell him about the accident, but I say something slightly less difficult only because if I think or speak about that fateful night I'm sure to cry. It happens every time. "I've never taken a trip with a guy before." No, it's a tie; they're both tough on the emotions and the ego.

  "You mean not this soon?"

  This soon as in the relationship? "No, I mean never." That's not what I meant about slowing down, or was it?

  He chuckles genially. "Well, clearly we should know each other better. Um, I'm Spencer Benedict Davis. I know, I have a pretentious name."

  "Not pretentious at all," I say with a shrug. "I'm Katya Aphrodite Kalonje. You can thank my Greek, Kenyan, Indian, and Russian relatives. All family names. Well, my second middle name is Arya, but then it just becomes a mouthful and I can't fill in the little boxes on forms." I will not be telling him about my Balinese nickname, thank you very much.

  "It's beautiful. Mine is boring. What would you name your kids?"

  "Um, kids?" My cheeks blister and my stomach flip flops.

  "Yeah, hypothetically. I ask only because I notice people with long names often opt to name their kids something simple and classic."

  "Then I take it your parents' names were John and Jane."

  He smiles. "Actually John and Ann, but you were close."

  "Seriously?"

  "Quite. They're all family names like yours. Tell me more about yourself."

  "Um, I teach yoga, live next to this hot guy, and my best friend and I have a soft spot for cookies. Chocolate chip in particular. Your turn. What's your job like?"

  He raises an eyebrow. "I work for an investment firm. You don't want to hear about it. Boring."

  "Except the quarterly trips to tropical islands. Navy mentioned it."

  "It's still work, though maybe you'd like to come with me sometime. I'm going to Turks and Caicos in the spring."

  One trip at a time, buddy, one trip at a time. The drone of the tires on the asphalt between songs punctuates the silence that follows our mutual hesitancy to talk more about ourselves.

  "My brothers and I used to play a game on the ride up here."

  So he does have a brother, more than one, meaning Omar is in luck. "I'm good at playing games," I say in a more sultry voice than I mean to. What? It's close quarters and I've had car ride fantasies that have gone unfulfilled living in a pedestrian city. But the fearful fighter in me prevails. The snow forms a thin layer on the road ahead, and I keep my lust clipped under the safety of my seatbelt.

  "It's called two truths and one lie. Since we don't know a ton about each other—I'll go first and then you'll get the picture of how to play. Just guess which thing I say isn't true."

  "Easy enough."

  "I've watched every episode of Sex and the
City. I lived in Japan for a year. That time I baked cookies and you came over was the first time."

  "Sex and the City."

  "I've watched every episode twice."

  "Should I ask why?"

  "Sisters."

  "How many Davis's are there?"

  "Five. Three boys. Two girls. Your turn."

  "What was a lie?" I ask.

  He doesn't answer.

  There are reams and scrolls and stacks of facts he doesn't know about me. "I was a fitness model while I was in college. I've watched every Harry Potter film twice." I weigh the last one carefully. I already told him I've never been on a trip with a guy before. I'm about to say that I've never been to Japan either, but I blurt, "I've never been in love."

  Chapter 7

  Cabin Fever

  In the next two hours, I learn that Spencer has been an extra in a movie, spends a week every summer with all his siblings and their families—he's the only one left who's single. He doesn't gripe about how this upsets his parents. In fact, he hardly mentions them at all. I do hear about Binxy his Labrador retriever and how he was the only one in the family the dog listened to.

  I tell him about my bucket list mountains—Elbrus among them and how my trip to Antarctica several years ago quickly taught me that I'd never scale the Seven Summits. I don't tolerate cold well—the reason I won't be hitting the slopes this weekend, but rather warming by the fire with a beverage and a book. Navy would approve—she got me hooked into a romantic comedy series and I was saving the next one for this weekend. I talk some more about my travels and what got me into yoga. However, there was no mention of my confession that I've never been in love.

  As the highway narrows to two lanes and then one, with trees on one side and sparse settlements on the other, the talk turns easeful. I realize I wasn't trapped in the car at all. In fact, it was kind of nice. But before I get too comfortable, I realize we're sharing a bed. Strictly speaking, this isn't a problem, but it will be in a cabin, which is larger than the car, but we're talking about sharing a space for three days. Three days! That means a lot of sex, but what else? What do two people do together for that long? It's a good thing one of the benefits of yoga is stress reduction. I guess the same could be said about sex too, so I'm not complaining because I'm sure there will be plenty of that, but in such close quarters, we'll be getting intimate in other ways. Bathroom and grooming ways. I start to devise a plan to get him out of the cabin when I need to, you know—don't give me that blank look. You know the thing everyone has to do in the bathroom at least once a day! Of course, I'm talking about brushing my teeth!

  "You okay?" he asks when we both notice I'm white knuckling the center console.

  "Yeah. We're just so far from—"

  "Civilization," he says, finishing for me.

  "Something like that." What did couples in the olden days do? Oh, right. There were outhouses. Whose idea was it to bring plumbing indoors and in such close proximity to the living area?

  The trees lining the winding road leading to the resort look like upside down hearts frosted in sugar. When we park, Spencer opens the door for me like a perfect gentleman, even carrying my bags. When the cold sneaks between the seams of my parka, scarf, and hat, I realize the people who invented indoor plumbing probably lived in the northern latitudes and were tired of freezing off their butts, among other things. If Navy, who always claims that I'm effortlessly sexy, could read my mind right now, she'd see how very unsexy I can be—especially with my building nerves about the bathroom.

  On the other hand, Spencer is the definition of magazine-spread sexy. You know the one often in a blue hue advertising cologne in a sparkling foreign city? He's wearing a peacoat and a knit hat. Against this Nordic backdrop, I could seriously swoon. Gosh, I miss Navy. She'd so get where I'm coming from right now, but she's too far away to save me from myself.

  The thought that while she and I lived together we didn't become privy to each other's bathroom business brings a little bit of comfort. The cold wind whipping down the mountain and dusting up the snow in cloudy whorls chills me. "It's as cold as the moon," I say. Navy and I would try to outdo each other with it's as cold as… jokes. She would have talked me into staying home this weekend and baking or reading or something much more sensible and solitary.

  Spencer, with our bags in one hand and his other arm around me, leans close and says, "Good thing you have me here to warm you up." His breath is hot on my cheek. If we were a couple, I'd lean my head against his shoulder, angle my head up a degree or two, and kiss him on the neck, the cheek, the lips...

  The walk inside to the lobby is short, under an overhang, and there are outdoor heaters because this is a luxury ski resort, but still, I shiver.

  Spencer looks right at home among the polished wood and rustic elegance of the lobby with stained glass and brass embellishments.

  "I was saying about warming you up," he starts after I check us in.

  "How about a drink and then we'll head over to the cabin." The idea is to delay the reality of how I'm afraid of sharing not only a room, but also an entire cabin, with him. I have a horrific black and white image of us playing house: me wearing an apron and cooking and him with his feet up reading the paper. A vision of my mother flitting around, tending to my father's every whim creeps in. Her turning her attention away from his dalliances… It's positively awful.

  The lounge off the lobby has leather seating focused around small tables with flickering lanterns. It's all very magical and quaint. He orders an aged whisky on the rocks and I get hot mulled cider—the alcoholic version. A fire blazes in the massive stone hearth. Music that reminds me vaguely of Christmas carols plays from the shadowy corners. This is the indoor version of a winter wonderland.

  He settles into the chair, his head balanced on his fist, his long legs splayed. "So, we made it out of the city."

  "I try to make a habit of escaping every now and then, but emphasis on every now and then."

  He raises his eyebrows and takes a sip of his drink. "You grew up in Manhattan?"

  I nod. "You?"

  "Boston, Newton, if you want me to be specific. Lovely, snooty—" he rolls his eyes. "You like the city pace?"

  I shrug, never really having thought about it before. "When it's not ski season, what do the people do around here? Where do they get their coffee?" I ask.

  "No Starbucks for miles," he says as though he likes the idea. "But I can think of a thing or two the locals might do to pass the time." He arches an eyebrow and makes a slow jiggle of the ice in his cup.

  Even without the cookies, everything about him is delicious.

  "You said that you used to visit the remote northern reaches like this. Tell me, Spencer, what do the locals do? In detail if you please." The edge of my boot creeps under the hem of his pant leg.

  His lips quirk. "To hold cabin fever at bay, they're likely to keep each other amused, content, entertained..."

  "And just how do they accomplish that?" My eyes say the rest.

  Another couple enters the lounge and sits a few places over.

  "We could ask."

  "I'd rather hear it from you," I say.

  "I could show you…"

  When we step outside, we get the full winter wonderland effect. The night sky is clear and stars pierce the boundless black like lace. The lantern-lit paths glow halos onto the drifts of snow. The air is somehow soft when I exhale.

  Spencer guides me with a hand on my low back as I maneuver on heels to the waiting shuttle to take us to our cabin. It's outfitted to look like a toboggan. When we sit on the bench seat in the back, Spencer's hand drifts like the snow to the inside of my thigh and works higher each time we go over a bump. The driver gives us a tour of the grounds as we pass various lodges, cabins, ski trails, and event halls. Spencer gently rubs between my legs. Goosebumps pebble over my skin, but not because I'm cold.

  "You can download the app to your phone or call from your room anytime you need transport," the driver say
s when he stops in front of our cabin.

  I can focus on little more than what's going to happen when we get into the cabin.

  Spencer tips him and then carries our bags into the cabin to the driver's protests. "I want us alone, now," he whispers in my ear.

  I fumble with the key in the lock as he finds a little patch of skin between my hat and the collar of my coat, pushes my hair to one side, and lays kisses along my neck.

  When the door finally swings open, from what little I can see, the cabin is decorated in shades of cedar and cinnamon. Spencer closes the door with a polite wave to the driver. I'm sure I'm the only one who hears the low growl as it passes from his throat. After all, it's intended for me.

  Spencer seamlessly shifts from charming gentlemen to sexy animal.

  The cabin smells of winter and wood smoke. The low firelight illuminates the edges of the furniture so we don't bump our shins, but before I can find the light switch, he presses me against the front door. Our mouths mash together. He tears off my coat and pins my arms over my head, but that's short lived as he paws the rest of my clothes.

  "I want you naked," he says gruffly.

  "I want you now," I reply.

  Like a magician pulling a tablecloth from under the place settings, he removes my top. Like a woman named Katya, desperate for something big and sweet, I pull at his belt and manage to have his pants off in record time.

  He kisses my chest and between my breasts. I crook a finger and draw him to the fire, pushing him onto the shaggy rug in front of the hearth. Then I do what I would have liked to in the car had I not been afraid we'd go off the road.

  He moans and I glance up. The golden light from the fire captures him during the exact moment of ecstasy when he comes undone, his expression flitting to intense, carnal pleasure. He catches his breath and then in one skilled movement, flips me over, once more kissing, kissing, kissing me everywhere.

  I'm pretty good at receiving pleasure. My mind stays in the moment, feeling every impulse, spark, and jolt. However, about half of the time there will be random pops of thought, pulling me from the present: I have to get home to feed Mew. I forgot to call my mother back. There's that pair of black studded heels I've been wanting. I should try them on again…