by M. Mabie
“I saw you walk in. This is crazy, huh?” I smiled. “Looks like you're right across from us.” I tried to make a “that's weird” face when I shook my head like she was, playing along. Then I couldn't resist and went to her.
There was a bounce in my step for many reasons. Our booth was finished; hers was not. I'd had Troy and she appeared alone.
Things were working out.
“Is this all of your stuff? Do you need some help?” I asked.
She said, “I'll have more tomorrow, this stuff is easy really. I'll have some food on the table and someone here to help. I came today to register and make sure everything got here.” Then she looked at me in wonder. “How are you, like, here?”
“My company sent me. Thought it was good marketing or something. I do these shows all the time.”
“You do?” I imagined the wheels in her head were spinning, trying to remember me talking about these shows, but I never had. She never asked what I was doing when we text. How was she to know that I'd been in over a dozen cities in the last few months? If I wasn't at a show I was scoping out bars, hotels, restaurants and talking to distribution houses about getting us into their retailers.
“Yeah, I haven't been in San Francisco more than four nights in probably the last two months. It's been wild. Why?”
“I don't know. I just...I don't know. I've been traveling a lot, too.” She huffed. “I guess we were bound to run into one another. Me with the food. You with the drink. Makes sense.”
I hated that she rationalized it. It was more fun when she thought it might be some cosmic force, but no. She was only befuddled because she hadn't thought of it.
It was incredibly difficult to be in the same space as her and not have her in my arms. They ached to be holding her, my mouth was dying to kiss her, but I kept my distance. It was excruciating.
I said, “Let's get a drink. Let me help you get this all set up first.” She only nodded and smiled.
She was right. She didn't have much. Two, vertical signs like ours, and a cover for the table that had pictures of their client's restaurants. She unpacked a few pamphlets and propped up a few things and that was it. She'd said that there would be more tomorrow.
That was true.
I’d seen from pictures online a small buffet and some of their favorite signature idea dishes. They displayed food with before and after menus. It was genius. Their company overhauled older, tired restaurants into new fresh versions of themselves. It was actually pretty fucking cool.
As soon as she finished tidying things up for the morning she asked, “Can we walk around first?”
“Sure,” I said.
“Then we'll get drinks.”
“I said a drink,” I corrected, being innocuously argumentative.
She deadpanned, “I always overdo it when I'm with you. Why stop now?” Then laughed outright. “That was bad,” she said as she cackled. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”
I laughed, too, mostly at her laugh. It came straight out of her gut. Boisterous and loud.
My phone stole my attention away from her giggles. It was Aly. I silenced it and put it on vibrate. I didn't have time to talk to her. Not when everything was working out so well.
“So who is that guy with you? What does he do?” Blake asked me as we sat at the hotel bar in the early afternoon. We'd gone straight from the convention center to the restaurant in the hotel and bellied up to the bar. The hotel was full of other vendors and their inhabitants, making the bar loud and crowded, even for that early hour in the afternoon.
“He's an old friend. He doesn't actually work for Bay. He just doesn't have anything better going on and I got him to tag along. These things are better with backup.”
We didn't order drinks when we'd ordered our food. I didn't because she didn't. It wasn't until Troy swung by our end of the bar, that he coerced us into getting real drinks. And by coerced, he really only said, “Hey. You guys need drinks.” Then he lifted his half-empty Heineken in the air to be dramatic. “I'll buy first round,” he said. It definitely wasn't his first round.
The best part about a bar being loud and over-populated when you were there with a girl, was when it was so loud that you had to lean in to talk. I stood at the very end of the bar, because there weren't any more seats open and I let Blake have the one on the end. I stood and ate around the end side and moved back and forth as the wait staff came to pick up their customer's drinks. They didn't seem to mind though, so I didn't see any reason to move.
Blake ordered a BLT. She's a chef and she ordered a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich. Classic.
“Hey, I like what I like,” she said when I teased her about having a simple palate for a chef.
“Don't you want to see what that chef back there is really up to?”
“Nope. Not really,” she admitted while taking her last bite. Around a full mouth she spat, “I come in peace.” She tried to squelch herself from laughing at her own joke and a piece of bread flew from her mouth and landed on her plate. It was both disgusting and adorable.
When she finished swallowing and taking a drink of her beer, she said, “What’s amazing about a BLT is that they're always good. The perfect ratio of meat to veggie to bread. It does the trick every time.”
“Are you staying in this hotel?” I asked out of nowhere. All right, it wasn't out of nowhere. I'd been dying to know. I thought she would. I hoped she would, but I wasn't sure.
Even with my new flare for stalking, I recognized that would be too much.
Troy and I were staying there, but we had two rooms. It was part of his agreeing to come with me that he had to have his own room. Troy liked women and I didn't need to be around anything that might make me uncomfortable around possible clients and industry people the next day.
One time when we were in high school, he had sex with a girl on the floor of my bedroom. I knew he was a good dude, when he explained why he hadn't done it on the bed. “Dude, I didn't even know that girl. I wasn't about to mess up your shit. Besides the floor worked just fine.” Then he gave a few air humps to the closest wall for good measure.
“I'm staying here. Isn't everyone?” she answered.
I didn't give a fuck about everyone else. My only concern was if she was sleeping there. “Yeah, I guess they probably are.”
“Are you going to that thing tonight? That party thing?” Blake asked.
I didn't really want to.
What I wanted to do was take her upstairs and rip that fucking tease of a silk shirt off her. Every time the door opened, a breeze blew in and her goddamn nipples got hard. I damn near did, too. The way that silk hung tight to her breasts made me want to destroy it. I couldn't tell from her voice if she'd planned on going to the party or not. “Maybe for a little while. Best to get in and get out of those things,” was all I could get out of her.
“Yeah, that's a good plan. Tomorrow will come early. I should probably have an early night,” I said into her ear while leaning in and motioning to the bartender for another round. “We might as well enjoy the afternoon then,” I added with my best good-boy smile.
My mouth being that close to her face, her skin, was driving me mad. It was the same as the last time we were together. Probably better.
Wait. Probably worse. Worse because I already knew what I wanted. I already knew what it was like to not have it. To not have her. And I felt the loss of her every night when we were only texting, “Goodnight,” instead of kissing goodnight.
It was that thought that kept racking my mind.
That and... You Fuck, you think about this girl every night while you jack your dick in the shower. You figured out a way to be around her again. Quit wasting your fucking time. Touch her. If she doesn't want you to, you'll know. Then you can stop.
So I touched her, mostly to gauge her reaction. Well, that and because my arms were going to fall out of their sockets in protest, if I didn't. I ran my hand up the small of her back, and I felt the warmth of her body all the way to her shou
lder. I left my arm possessively draped there.
The bartender brought our drinks.
Blake looked at my arm.
The hairs on her bare skin prickled and stood. I knew it was because of me. The fucking prick-teasing door hadn't opened in minutes. Her doe-like eyes glanced over to her shoulder where my fingers held onto her, bridging my body to hers.
Blake returned her eyes to mine and said, “Is this going to get harder or easier?” There was an honest curiosity in her face. Her eyes were wide and a little glassy after having four—really stout—draughts. Her cheeks were flushed and her breathing shallow.
She reacted to my nearness.
Her body was saying to mine, “Where were you all that time? I've been right here.” But she was trying to not think with her body but with her head instead. Her head needed to shut-the-fuck-up.
I didn't hesitate to kiss her right there. The moment was just right. Before she could weigh the pros against the cons and therefore me against him. I was the con and we both knew it.
My lips met hers and she fell forward into my chest. Her arms wrapped underneath mine and latched onto each other behind me. She pulled me tight. I felt a sharp scrape against my skin as she tightened her grip.
As she kissed me she said, “Say easier, Casey. Tell me that if this happens, then it will be easier.”
“I don't know.” I told her. I didn't want to lie, but for me it was easy to be with her. There wasn't a thing in the world that would keep me away from her in that moment. Nothing else mattered. The dream I'd been having over these last few months was coming true and I wasn't about to analyze the why and how of it all. I wanted to live it. The hard part wouldn't come until Sunday.
Fucking Sunday.
Fuck only having a few stolen hours.
And to hell with it, while I'm fucking things up, fuck the motherfucking ring I felt digging into my back right now. I'd think about all of that later.
Right then the only thing I really wanted to fuck was my honeybee.
Friday, October 10, 2008
THE ONLY THING I wanted was to be with the man who had his arms around me. It was the only thing I'd been able to focus on since the moment I saw him that afternoon.
What was it about that guy? He was like a bad penny. Always popping up. If he were a penny, I would have put him in my pocket and called him lucky.
It was only five or so, but I wanted my bed and I didn't want to go alone. I asked him warily, “Can we go to my room?”
He pulled away from my lips, but what I'd just asked him didn't seem to register. He looked distracted by his own thoughts.
“Hmmm?” He queried running his nose up the side of my neck audibly smelling me. “You smell the same. You taste the same,” he said into my hair and he kissed my head.
“So do you. Did you hear what I said?”
He pulled away to look at my face, now that whatever he was thinking wasn't distracting him anymore.
His curly hair was longer than when I'd last seen him. His big fat curls messy and playful. They suited him. On anyone else they would have looked silly.
“Come up stairs with me,” I repeated, but I didn't ask the second time. I was past requesting what I wanted.
A fire lit in his bright eyes and all humor left his features. “You know what will happen up there, Blake. I thought you only wanted to be friends.”
“We just kissed in public. I think it's a little late for that. Let's call this what it is and not beat around the bush. I want you. You want me. We have some unexplainable attraction to each other. So, are you coming upstairs to fuck me or are we staying down here and getting shitfaced? It's your call.” I wasn't planning on laying it all out there like that, but we didn't have time to be shy. It was like the universe was handing me my favorite drug. And I was past pleasantries.
It had been months since I felt him inside me. Months since my body felt like it did. Months since I wanted to touch more than be touched.
I explained, “This doesn't have to be some romantic thing. It's anatomical. You're body wants my body and mine wants yours.”
“Is that all that wants me? What about your ring finger, honeybee? Who does that want?”
Shit. My engagement ring. Wasn't that twisted? I felt ashamed of my engagement ring. Shouldn't I feel guilty about the thing I’d just said and the invitation I’d given to a man who wasn't my fiancé? But still, it was this ring that caused me to feel wrong and for all the wrong reasons.
“Don't do that,” I told him.
“Do what? I thought we were telling it like it is?” The hard set of his face wouldn't crack and I couldn't tell if he was teasing me or if he was serious. He looked serious.
“Maybe you're right. I shouldn't have asked. Forget it, friend.” I shrugged his arm off my shoulders and took a drink of my beer. I was irritated. I felt petulant. I felt like throwing a tantrum.
He grabbed my chin and held it front and center, his voice was low when he said, “First, don't call me friend like it's a swear word. It's mean. Second, we're going up stairs and we might miss the whole fucking party. Third, you're going to take the ring off. It isn't fair to the guy to fuck me while you're wearing it and I don't want it scratching up my back. Aly will see it. Get your purse.”
He pulled away from the bar, pulled a few twenties from his pocket and started for the lobby.
He had just said so many raw things that left my mind scrambled, but the one word I heard loud and clear was “Aly.”
I met him at the elevators where he waited for me. Casey stood facing the stainless steel doors and didn't even look at me when I came to be by his side. He knew I was there, though, because as soon as I stopped on his left, he reached his long muscular arm out to press the up button and the door immediately opened.
We stepped inside.
“What floor, Blake?” he asked, but it didn't have even the slightest hint of sweetness that I was so used to.
“Eleven,” I said on an exhale.
He pressed the button when I didn't make a move to do it myself, being that I was closer to the panel of numbers.
The joking fun Casey from earlier was gone. The Casey that wrote on mugs and sent me pictures of animals getting it on and crazy random facts, wasn't there anymore.
In place of him was a man who seemed taller, more rigid than my friend Casey from San Francisco. His posture changed from relaxed to guarded. His tone was one of a man about to take what he wanted. The change happened instantly at the bar after I called him friend. And I felt a little sick that my frustrated and shameful mouth was to blame for the switch.
His mind and silly personality drew me to him, but this new persona said no more fucking around and that ignited something deep within me.
The man I stepped onto the elevator with made me both boil with serious desire and want to run. His shoulders were set firmer, his spine straight. He changed into a different version of himself. I didn't want the old Casey to go, but in a way I'd pushed him into this. Playful Casey had a menacing air about him now that called to some part in my body that knew it deserved punishment.
I would try once to get back my friend, get back the smile I daydreamed about. If he didn't accept my plight, I would let him have it his way.
Or maybe he was just giving me my way. Only I knew that hindsight would tell me soon enough.
“You are my friend, Casey,” I offered as soon as the blurry reflection in front of us mirrored a mercurial man and a nervous woman.
He didn't answer.
The elevator began to move with almost no sound. We were alone. Just me, Casey, and a tension that made me sweat.
I wanted to look up at him, but anxiety froze me, eyes straight ahead. My index finger toyed with a piece of skin that framed my thumbnail; I itched to bite it.
“Why don't you keep saying that, Blake? You're only trying to convince yourself.” His unwavering timbre vibrated my bones and every molecule in my body heard his message.
He didn't like being
called my friend.
The lift slowed its climb as it approached my floor not stopping to let anyone on or off on our ride up. When the doors opened the sun almost blinded me. The hallway in front of us was long and at the end of it was an all glass wall. Through it was the sun setting over downtown Atlanta, the flaming dusk setting precisely in the center of our view. He didn't hesitate to walk straight out of the lift and then he paused, waiting for me to do the same.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
His expression was blank, but I could see a hurricane brewing in his eyes. If I were being honest with myself, I would have admitted to feeling the tiniest bit of fear. The facts told me that I'd only met this man a handful of times and had some long-distance conversations with him. Yet there I was taking him to my room, even though he didn't seem familiar.
He wasn't drunk, neither was I.
I didn't know what was going to happen. It was adventurous and scary as hell. My instincts told me Casey wasn't malicious and that I wasn't in any real danger. It was thrilling. It was arousing. It was fascinating seeing a new side of him, even though I didn't like the reason for its appearance.
“What's your room number?”
“1128,” I said and walked straight past him and into the sun.
He followed close behind and I, for once in my life, didn't have to dig for my room key. It was in the pocket of my jacket, which was slung over my purse. I slid it into the card reader and the green light flashed and the lock clicked.
The tension made everything more vivid. The beep of the lock. The smell of the recirculated air-conditioning that hit me in the face as soon as I stepped into the dark room. There were black-out curtains, which were closed, blocking out the fiery sunset behind them.
I could feel him just behind me.
I only made it in five or six feet before the sound of the door shutting caused me to jump. The darkness in the room seemed blacker than normal. Instantly I heard him kick off his shoes, then the tale-tell sound of a southward zipper. Pants hit the floor and spare change rolled out of a pocket. I made out the rustling of shirts pulling away from skin.
