I’m to hire at least two photographers to cover the event. I’ll hire Diego, who did such a great job last year, and ask him if he knows anyone else just as good. Then I’m to tell them both what shows we want them to pay the most attention to - but also insist they cover the little shows, too. You never know who is going to be the breakout success and lord help us if we don’t have the best pictures. They must get a LOT of photos with our logo in the background, with famous people in the foreground. And so it goes. Blech. I have a bad taste in my mouth about all of it.
You know, the thing is…I used to love Fashion Week. I did, when I was an audience member “nobody.” It was all glamour and excitement and yeah, yeah, whatever. I guess I wish I still felt that way. If I’m honest, I have to admit that I do enjoy seeing the runway shows. I am very interested in what is coming out, what the new colors are, what the patterns are going to be - and I love me a great gift bag. I shouldn’t complain. It just sucks working for such a prima-donna egomaniac.
I wish I could like her. I just don’t.
Her phone rings and she waves me off with her hand, dismissing the insignificance that is me. She loves to do that… call me over with an impatient wave, and dismiss me with a patronizing one.
I. Hate. It. So. Much.
I duck my head, turn on my heel, bite my lips in an effort not to tell her to go fuck herself and start walking back to the subway. As I approach the entrance to take the stairs down, my phone rings. Is it her? I look at it and am so preoccupied by my intense frustration that it takes me a bit to make out the name on the screen. When I see it, I can’t believe it. It’s David calling! What the fuck does that mother fucking cheating cocksucker bastard want? We haven’t talked in over two months. A text and a call in one day???!! He can’t have anything good to say. I stare at it and wait until it goes through to voicemail, my heart pounding. I almost delete the message but just as I reach to, I stop myself. I’m curious about what he has to say. I don’t want to talk to him at all… do I? No. Of course I don’t. Wait… do I? Dammit! I delete the message quickly, before I lose the strength. Why do men have such a pull on us?
I stomp down the stairs into the subway to head home, my buzz completely shattered. Standing on the platform, I’m surrounded by a familiar scene and I take solace in it, push the tears down. To my left and right are shut-down, closed off, staring into space strangers of all ethnicities, styles, ages. Over in a corner is a street-performer bearing her heart to us, largely ignored behind a beat-up acoustic guitar. I look down to see, scurrying in the darkness of the train-rails, a rat as it zig-zags to grab a half-eaten hot dog discarded by a little boy who watches it from above as he holds onto his mother’s hand. I strain to see what she’s reading – I know there’s no signal – and see its an ebook with the sepia-toned background setting. That’s the one I use, too. Seeing it helps me to breathe easier.
Truth? Manhattan? I love it all. I wouldn’t trade any of it. Well… I might opt for a larger income so I could take a cab more often. Probably. I give myself that luxury on rare occasions, but this – everything in this city – is so far from everything Michigan, where I’m from. I loved my childhood, but I needed this city even when I didn’t know it. Even the dirty, dark parts of the city, I love. I am a city girl. I was born this way, to be here.
Standing quietly, I ignore a guy who passes by and asks me for money. When he gets aggressive I tell him, “I don’t carry cash,” and watch him flip me off. I shrug and shifts my thoughts to the clawing question: Would David be would be trying to get ahold of me? First a text and not even two hours later, actually dialing and calling me? My brain goes in circles. I gave him back all his stuff, and the things that accidentally to packed he probably doesn’t know about, so what is it; some mail I forgot about? I know he’s seeing that stupid twat he met at the gym. I should have known something was up, when he started going so often. I never saw him go to the gym more than once a month. All of a sudden, it’s three times a week and then its spin class AND yoga AND Pilates. I’m an idiot. Especially since when I went to yoga, he opted out of joining me and stayed home to fuck her in our bed!! So much for healthy living.
Why didn’t I see it coming?
Because I would never cheat, that’s why. It sucks. It feels really shitty being cheated on. Why? (I have given this a lot of thought.) It’s because they don’t give you a choice when they cheat. They make the decision, but don’t tell you about it. There you are, thinking the life you’re living is reality, but really it’s a fantasy created by them. You don’t know, because you weren’t told the rules changed, that another player was being tested out to replace you. You sure as hell weren’t told that the new player had fake perfect boobs!
Okay stop. I can’t go down this thought-train to insanity. A real train, of the subway not fantasy variety, arrives just in time to pull me out of my spiral. I maneuver my way through the throng of natives and tourists, hoping for a seat. My shoes are killing me. My mind is worse.
There is one seat left, which means it’s official…there is a God.
Seventeen Minutes Later
When I finally get off at 1st Street, my stop in the East Village, I have done a really amazing job of beating myself up and feeling sorry for myself. I am totally in my head, I know, but it’s too late and I don’t know how to stop. Whatever. I’m almost to my apartment building and I’m going to make myself a nice big bowl of ice cream and watch Bones on TV. I absently reach into my bag for my keys.
Then I hear my name.
“Jessica?”
I look up, startled. Standing in front of my apartment with a gorgeous bouquet of wild flowers is –
“Mark!”
“Hey you. I changed my flight. I was going to just drop these off, but you walked up and caught me,” he says, a little nervously. I am stunned to see him. Absolutely stunned. He looks so sweet and so incredibly handsome. I stop walking and we just stare at each other for a second, neither of us knowing what to say. “
“Wow. Umm…” I instinctively take the outstretched flowers and they’re really amazing. I’m a not a roses kind of girl, and these are not roses. How did he get it so right? I gaze down at the beautiful wild flowers. They’re all different colors; magenta, blue, purple, orange, yellow – and all different shapes. They work together because they’re all…different.
I see there’s a small card and I look at him, “Can I read it?”
He laughs and nods. His nervousness dissipates pretty quickly because it’s probably very obvious I’m really happy to see him. “Of course you can read it. It’s for you.” His hair kind of hangs over his forehead a bit and his eyes are smiling at me, little lines on the sides boosting their charm. I don’t think I noticed before that his teeth are so straight and white. While I still think he looks like Ryan Gosling’s brother, he’s starting to look more like Mark; his own person. I pull out the card from where it’s nestled. “Wild flowers for a wild girl – Mark.”
He’s got such an open happy expression that I wonder if this is really happening. I reach out and pinch his arm to see if he’s real.
“Ouch!” he says, laughing. “What was that for?”
“Oh, uh. Nothing… um… Sometimes I pinch guys I like. My inner child is still twelve.” I say lamely, embarrassed. Apparently he finds this sweet, because he pulls me to him and hugs me tight. It feels so great. I needed this hug. I wrap my arms around him and nuzzle his chest, relieved to be in the arms of someone who appreciates me, after my bad day. The flowers are carefully held behind him. I can’t squish them. It’s been such a long time since I got flowers. I breathe him in. His delicious smell brings back flashes of our night together, the steamy images making my body tingle. His scent is soap and a bit of some cologne I’m unfamiliar with. I almost don’t want to know so that it’ll just be known to me as his scent. I pull back and look up at him.
“What are you doing for dinner?” he asks me.
I smile. “Any plans I had just went out the window.”
“Good. I’m taking you out,” he leans down and kisses my nose. So cute.
“Um, okay.” I laugh. “I need to change, though.”
“Whatever you want to do. I don’t have to fly out until tomorrow night. Is that okay?”
“It’s kind of amazing, actually.” I pull away from him. It only then comes into my awareness, this just took place on a very crowded street with about eighty people walking by us; cars honking, busses making that loud bus-sound they make… and I heard none of it.
I turn my back to him to put my key into the deadbolt of my building.
“It’s broken, remember?” he says, stepping forward and putting his arms around me from behind. He bends and kisses my shoulder.
I lean into him as I pull the key out. “Right. I forgot. You’ve got my brain all mixed up. You know…I was having a pretty bad day today.” I shoot a look back up at him as he reaches around and pushes the door open for me. “But I think it just turned around.”
When we step onto my elevator, there’s no one else in it. I hit button “7” and the door closes. It’s a newer building and the elevator is nice; clean, silver, mirrored back wall, able to hold maybe eight people. I stare straight ahead like one does in an elevator. I have never had a conversation with this man. This ‘Mark.’ I don’t know what to say.
He stands next to me, wearing grey jeans that look great on him, a brown belt and a button-up shirt that’s open, and a bit of white t-shirt shows through from beneath. I’m holding my flowers in front of me and all of a sudden it occurs to me that I’m holding them like a wedding bouquet. Oh my God. I quickly change positions, move them to my right hand only, more like a beauty queen, who’s just won. This makes me want to laugh, but I stifle it. Maybe he won’t get my humor. Better to hide that for now.
When we slide up past the fourth floor - almost to floor five - he reaches out and hits the stop button. The alarm goes off like gangbusters. I jump, totally shocked, wondering what the hell? When I see his face, I swallow and just look at him. It’s very obvious, by the desire in his eyes, why he pushed that button.
And then he is on me.
He grabs me and picks me up and I wrap my legs around his waist. He kisses me hard, with the type of kisses that tell me he’s wanted to do this since he saw me. I drop the flowers and wrap my arms around his shoulders, cradle his head in my hands so I can kiss him harder. His thick amazingly strong arms are holding me up; his hands are groping me, moving my dress out of the way. His fingers stretch out and he grabs my ass, massaging it to the matching beat of my heartbeat, boom boom boom…getting faster and faster. He tucks his fingers into my panties as his tongue plays with mine, our kisses hungry and breathless. I arch my back, press my breasts into his chest, throw my ass out behind me so that he has better access to my little girl and I moan under his touch when he grants my wishes and caresses her. I shiver.
He groans as he feels me and leans back to watch me react under his talented touch. I lock eyes with him and we both let each other know how much we want it. Here. Right now. Alarm blazing loudly and who gives a fuck.
Above us – or is it below? We hear the super yell in the distance, “Are you okay? I’m calling the elevator company!”
I look to Mark for what to do, but he shakes his head no. Don’t answer, his eyes beg me as his fingers take my breath away. I see us in the mirror, his hands hidden beneath the folds of my hanging dress, my feet, in heels, latched onto one another, wrapped around his waist, my arms clutching his gorgeous head.
I have to admit, I look pretty great like this. I’m a Midwest girl of normal attractiveness, but my dress falling off one shoulder and my eyelids half-closed and sultry – well, it’s improved my appeal tenfold. My legs look amazing in these heels hooked around him. I smile and look back to him thinking, wow. He nods and ravages me with kisses.
“It’s gonna be okay! We’ll get you out of there!!” the super yells… but I don’t hear him. Not really.
Mark supports me against the elevator wall. With one hand he unleashes his rock hard cock from his super sexy pants, pulls my panties to the side a bit farther so that he can slide up into me, where I’m all slippery and welcoming. He does this with the deftness of a man who knows how to make a woman boil. I bend as the sensation of being filled by this man rolls through me like waves. He captures my mouth again and takes it prisoner as his swollen pulsating cock thrusts up into me, his hips grinding with mine so deliciously. Held by him, shielded by the ever-present alarm, I find privacy in it and yell out. I feel the blinding orgasm, the contractions of my pussy as it squeezes him again and again and again. He grunts like an animal and throws back his head and yells out, too, as he pounds one final amazing thrust. We collapse forward, onto each other, panting, trying to catch our breaths from the tornado.
All of a sudden the alarm is much louder than it was. We look at each other and start laughing our asses off! I climb down and he pulls his pants up, pushes the button to silence the noise and we are both jolted with the jerk of the elevator as it comes miraculously back to life.
I adjust my panties and grab for the trampled flowers, which are not looking so good anymore. Mark tucks in his white shirt and points to the mangled bouquet with the shards of petals that it’s left behind on the ground, from where he accidentally stepped on it. He’s laughing so hard that it makes me laugh harder and I realize - he has my sense of humor!
Before I want them to, the doors open on the fifth floor. And there stands my super, Mr. Prizzi, looking very confused and worried. It’s a nice building so his uniform is a suit, but he looks like he’d be happier in a robe and slippers. He just has that vibe to him.
“Jessica! Are you okay? I don’t know what happened. We haven’t had a problem with this elevator since we renovated. How’d it start back up?” He looks from me to Mark. Mark, seeing the confused expression on Mr. Prizzi’s well-meaning, weathered face, takes over.
“I don’t know. One minute it was working fine and then bam. It just stopped. We sat on the floor for awhile…”
“Yeah, I accidentally sat on my flowers. I was really frightened there for a second.”
“I paid good money for those, too,” Mark reprimands me.
“I know. They’re beautiful. I’m sorry,” I say, and bite my lip, look to Mr. Prizzi with a befuddled expression, nodding my head uncontrollably.
“Who cares about the flowers! I’m glad you’re okay. The elevator company is on their way. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again,” Mr. Prizzi announces. We both nod and thank him.
“We should take the stairs up the rest of the way, maybe,” I offer, to add more weight to my whole “scared” lie.
“I don’t blame you! You two have a good night.” Then he mumbles to himself as we head to the staircase, “I wonder how this happened.”
Mark holds the door open for me and we go in. On the other side of the wall he grabs me and kisses me. I return his kisses, happily. I am so turned on by the fact that we can have fun together! He goes for my dress and I stop him, laughing, “No no no… I have to clean up and let me just say that, thankfully, I am SO glad I’m on the pill.” He follows me as I walk up the stairs.
“What, you don’t want to have my baby?” he asks.
I look quickly back at him to find that he’s kidding. Oh good. For a second there I thought maybe he was crazy. Men don’t say things like that when they don’t know you. Do they?
“Yes, absolutely, let’s have children right away.” I roll my eyes and keep walking.
“No, I saw you had the pill when I used your bathroom the other night. You left them on your shelves so...”
“Ha! Oh really… well, thank you. It’s nice to know you weren’t assuming things,” I go to open the door and he jogs up to open it for me. Nice. I smile at him, and receive a kiss, a nice soft one, where he holds my look for a moment.
“Where do you want to eat, Jess?” His face is inches from mine and he is open – no walls. So refreshing.<
br />
“There’s this Indian place I love…”
“Done.”
Forty-five Minutes Later
We are sitting across from each other at this little table in an Indian restaurant; every wall is covered with bright beads, fabrics, lights and every gaudy knick-knack you could imagine. Unbelievably, this is one of the more tame establishments in terms of decoration. About six or seven (I’ve never counted) sit side by side in this neighborhood, all brightly competing and beckoning, in mostly reds and oranges and greens; Sit. Eat. Enjoy.
“I work for this software company in San Francisco. It’s good. I like the people and the job is okay but…” he shrugs and dunks a bit of Naan into delicious eggplant goo.
“But…?” I encourage him.
He looks up from beneath his eyebrows, his forehead wrinkles up like James Dean. I’m having a hard time focusing on what he’s saying.
“I’m designing an app on my own that hopefully will be my ticket out there. I like it, my job, but I think I’d be happier on my own. Not working in a corporate environment. I don’t know.” He shrugs again, and smiles.
“I think that sounds great. I mean, I don’t know what the app is, but there are so many opportunities today, you know? So, why not try it?” The curry is a little hotter than I anticipated, but I love it. I reach for some water and he leans back in his chair and just looks at me. “What?” I ask, shyly. This man does something to me. It’s scary.
I Love My Healed Heart: 4 Book Box Set/Omnibus (Erotic Romance) Page 3
