by DM Davis
TWO DAYS PASS. I CAN’T BRING myself to face him. I’m embarrassed. Ashamed. Not only did I have an insta-orgasm ignited by the simple touch of his hand to mine, but then I rode him like a horny teenager who didn’t know better or have a moral compass. Like I wasn’t a woman who has been celibate for a reason. Like I was good with a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am hook-up.
I. Am. Not. That. Girl.
Never have been. Never will be.
But I’m also afraid. Afraid of what our bizarre connection means. Afraid of what will happen if I give in to it.
Afraid of what will happen if I don’t.
If I give in to our connection, I’ll lose myself.
If I don’t give in, I’ll lose him. Men like him wait for nobody, never mind someone as broken as me.
Yet, he said he’d wait…
Fear. Unrest. Doubt.
Feelings I know too well. Feelings that are at home in my body—in my mind—and take root far too easily, flourishing in detrimental ways, as evident by my waking in the throes of a nightmare for the past two nights. A nightmare I’ve had far too often. A nightmare that leaves me shaken and feeling even more alone and unworthy than ever.
Change is not easy. More days than not, it’s two steps forward and six steps back. But I won’t give up. As long as I’m still breathing and there’s blood pumping in my body, I’ll continue to fight.
However, since the incident with Theo, I’ve been in a six-steps-back kind of mode.
Doubt and fear are horrible companions. They cloud my vision, distance hope, and sequester truth. They lie to me so seamlessly it’s hard to see reality.
I didn’t tell Silvy what happened. I simply told her I couldn’t make tonight’s class and left it at that. She knows better than to press. Pushing me only pushes me further away.
Theo’s been texting and calling. Even though I don’t respond, he continues to reach out. There’s not been a single harsh word, though I’m sure he’s frustrated.
I finally replied yesterday, advising I needed a few days to get my head on straight.
I don’t recognize the woman I was on Wednesday night. I don’t like her. But the scary thing is, I don’t entirely hate her either.
Is she the new me? A sexually forward new version of me?
What happened to the girl who promised to wait until marriage? Who thought of her virginity as a gift to her husband? She slept with the first boy who gave her the time of day—that’s what happened. It wasn’t love. It was lust. It was loneliness. A desire to feel loved, cherished. A chance to fulfill those fantasies in my head of what a man’s touch would feel like. I traded a moment of pleasure, believing it was more than it was, only to discover I was blinded, unable to see it was just sex for him. It wasn’t ground-shaking, life-changing. For him, it was a nice time but not a forever after.
I can’t give in to it again. My heart simply can’t take it.
And a man like Theo is not going to wait for a girl like me—broken, confused, and a bucket of tears always at the ready.
I hate myself sometimes—actually, most of the time for my sensitivity, for my inability to hold back my tears. I want to stand strong, impenetrable. But I fail miserably over and over again.
No man wants that.
Especially not a god like Theo who can have any woman he wants.
He wants you.
No, whatever this thing—this power—is between us is making him think he wants me. He doesn’t. He can’t. Men like Theo don’t fall for girls like me.
It’s better this way. As miserable as I am now, it’ll be a thousand times worse if I let him in. If I believe it’s true. If I fall further in love with him, and then he realizes I’m not enough and leaves me.
Distance is what we need and why I’m at dinner with Tyler. He may not be the one or even interested, but he’s an amenable companion, and I’m trying not to be so antisocial.
It’s not a date. We had a late meeting and stopped for dinner afterwards before heading back to the office. We’re at an Indian place, the kind with the low tables with pillows strewn about for sitting and lounging.
“I’m stuffed.” I lean back, thankful for the corner table and the wall to support my overindulgent body that can barely sit up and wants to slip on yoga pants and a tank top—bra-free—and lie dormant until digestion is well underway.
Tyler chuckles, leaning against the adjacent wall. He scans my plate and then me. “Don’t take this the wrong way—"
“That’s a horrible way to start a sentence. Nothing good can come after that.”
His smile only grows, and my heart pangs for the man who’s not here and the sincerity in the eyes of the one who is.
“It’s not bad. It’s an observation, not a condemnation. I’ve never seen you eat so much.” He full-out laughs. “God, that did sound horrible.”
My aching soul laughs too. “It’s alright. It’s true.” I’ve never felt a need to restrict myself around Tyler, but it seems since Theo’s appearance, my need for food is overridden by my need for him. In the absence of Theo, my need for food is to fill that emptiness, to feed the sadness, and to stifle the tears by stuffing my face. Good times. My relationship with food has never been the greatest. It’s better than it used to be, but it’s easy to slip into old habits.
“It’s good to see you eat, actually.”
“Please, it’s not like I’m going to waste away.”
“Don’t talk like that.” The censure in his voice reminds me of Theo. He wouldn’t let me get away with that self-deprecating remark either.
Why do these two remind me so much of each other?
Admittedly, I am drawn to Tyler. I always have been. But it’s never gone beyond professional and occasional social events, a hanging-out type of friendship. He’s never looked at me longingly. He’s never made a move. He smiles at me the same as he does everyone else.
I’m nothing special, and Tyler knows that.
Theo doesn’t.
And the crush I had for Tyler seem laughable in comparison to how Theo makes me feel.
“You’ve been so sad lately.” Tyler’s hand brushes mine. “Do you want to talk about it?” His eyes caress my face, and I feel it as though it’s the tips of his fingers. “Is it Holly?”
I shake my head. “No, it’s not Holly. Though…she’s never far from my mind.” Or my broken soul. I play with the discarded cocktail straw from Tyler’s drink, bending it into a joined triangle. “How are your parents?”
He huffs. “I guess that means you don’t want to talk about it?”
“Not particularly.” It’s not a no. If he pushed, I might open up to him, but I hope he doesn’t. It would feel like a betrayal to Theo and blur the lines with Tyler to talk about my love life—not that there is one—but, I suppose, that was my choice.
“My parents are good. Off on some cruise. My mom has been hounding my dad to slow down and enjoy life instead of trying to buy it.”
His dad is some kind of investor, money guy. Tyler told me, but it kinda went in one ear and out the other.
“You should go with them sometime.”
He frowns. “No thanks. The last thing I need is more time with my dad, giving him the opportunity to hound me about coming to work for him. We get along better the less we see each other.”
“I thought you were close to your parents.”
“I am, as long as we’re not talking about my career.”
“I’m sorry.”
His hand squeezes mine. “Don’t be. Other than that, we’re good.”
I let his hand linger longer than I should. The connection is nice, comforting, but there’s no sizzle. Maybe a spark that could become a flame, but compared to Theo, it’s nothing at all.
“Should we go?” Tyler lays cash on the table and offers me his hand as he stands.
“Thank you for dinner. It was nice.” And it was. It’s good to get out of my house and the memory of Theo there in my kitchen, on my couch, and the sight of him leaving after
I pushed him away—giving me what I wanted. What I thought I needed.
Hindsight is a hideous gift, full of remorse and the reality of bad choices.
Tyler’s hand grazes my back as we make our way to his car where he opens the door for me and holds my hand as I sit, scooping my skirt out of the way before he closes the door. Gentlemanly.
Another similarity between Theo and Tyler. Another reminder that falling for someone like Tyler could be easy, could be nice, could even feel good. But it’s not game-changing, panty-melting passion where the world stops turning and my demons fall silent.
It could be nice, but it would never be otherworldly.
She missed three self-defense classes, left me hanging all weekend without a returned call or text. I haven’t heard from her since her text last Thursday where she said she needed time. It’s the following Friday. It’s been nine bloody days since I’ve seen her, and I’m still as raw as I was when I left her place. It eviscerates me to think that I spent a month trying to find her, and when I finally did, I lost her in the same damn night.
This can’t be all there is. The connection between us can’t be for naught.
She visits me every night in my dreams—the same dream I’ve had most of my life. The dream I thought was only that until I met my apparition in the flesh. Now I know I was destined for her and she for me. She might not believe it, but she doesn’t have the proof that I have. I know she feels our connection, but perhaps it’s not nearly as strong for her as it is for me. If it were, I don’t see how she could deny us our future.
It’s taking everything I have physically—mentally—to not camp outside her door, ensuring she’s safe, remind her of our bond, and beg her to give me a chance.
I don’t beg. I don’t stalk. I’ve never had to work for a woman’s affections. Until now.
Lauren is different. I can see it in her eyes. I can smell in on her skin. And my soul recognized its other half as soon as it woke the fuck up in that coffee shop. All cards are on the table with this woman—and I’m going for broke.
Silvy made it to tonight’s class—alone—as she has the other two nights. I sent her off with Brian, only exchanging pleasantries at the beginning of class. I recognize the pity in her eyes and the apology on her lips. It’s not her fault. It’s not even Lauren’s.
The whiplash of our connection is scary as fuck, and with Lauren’s past—which I don’t even know but can sense—there’s so much pain.
I’m a patient man despite the agonizing ache in me to get her as close as humanly possible. Perhaps, even un-humanly. Who the hell knows what our connection is and where it comes from? We were born continents apart and yet managed to find each other.
“Anything?” Brian joins me in the room after letting the last student out and locking the door.
“No.”
“Fuck, man.”
My sentiments exactly.
“She’s into you. I know it. Silvy even said so.”
“It’s complicated.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
I stop cleaning and scowl at him, waiting.
“Look, you dig her. She digs you. You have an outie. She has an innie. BAM!” He slaps his palms together, his fingers interlocked. “Law of attraction. Enough said.”
Idiot. But he makes me laugh. “It’s not that simple. I wish it were.”
“Then you need to talk to her, Theo. Tell her what’s up. I’ve never seen you so torn up.” He wipes off the last mat. “Actually, I’ve never seen you give a shit about any girl. So, the fact that you’ve been a bigger grump than normal means something.”
“Arse.” I throw him his water bottle.
He catches it without even looking. “Takes one to know one.” He smirks and throws the dirty towels at me. “Seriously. You leave a woman to stew too long, and the story she tells herself in her head gets all tangled up. You need to set the story straight. Be sure she knows where you stand. What you’re offering. What you’re not.” He hits me on the shoulder as he passes. “She’s not talking to Silvy. So, she’s either talking to someone else, which Silvy doubts, or she’s stewing. And a stewing woman is a dangerous woman.” He winks as he exits the room. “Don’t set her loose on the world. Go get your woman and save the rest of us mere mortals.”
Mere mortals? God, did he have to use those particular words?
“Come have a beer and think about it,” he calls from the front.
I could use a beer to unwind and figure out my next move. “Yeah, alright.”
THE KNOCK ON MY DOOR AT nearly ten at night has me jumping off the couch, clutching the phone, ready to call 9-1-1.
I scan the room, quietly listening, not moving toward the door.
My cell phone pings with a text.
Theo: It’s me. Please open the door so we can talk.
The last time he said we needed to talk I ended up straddling his lap and grinding on him like I lap dance for a living.
Me: I don’t think that’s a good idea.
“I promise, I only want to talk.” His voice filters through the door.
I move closer, hovering, calmed by the fact that it’s him on the other side and not anyone else.
“Please, Lauren. Don’t make me wait out here all night.”
I disarm the security system, then unlock and open the door. His troubled brow is the first thing I notice before relief floods his face.
The knot in my stomach, the one I’ve carried around since I pushed him out, eases with one panty-dropping smile.
“Would you really stay out here all night?”
He closes the gap between us as if no time has passed. “You bet your beautiful, sexy arse I would.”
I grip his jacket. “You haven’t seen my arse,” I tease.
His hands grip my hips. “Ah, but I’ve sure felt it, and I’ve a braw imagination.” The gleam in his eye softens to worry. “May I come in?”
“Yes.” I step out of his embrace, missing him more than I have these past nine days. I’ve been a stubborn fool. I regretted sending him way before he even drove off. But embarrassment over my behavior kept me from calling. And when that morphed into complete sadness and loss, I blamed myself for screwing it up. Pride and fear of rejection kept me silent.
Without my prompting, he locks and resets my alarm. Turning, he must catch my surprise. He motions over his shoulder, stepping toward me. “You wanted it armed, correct?”
I nod and move to the kitchen as he slips off his coat, setting it on a dining room chair.
“Drink?” I offer.
“Water, please.”
I skitter around like a nervous cat, grabbing a glass, then heading to the fridge. “Ice?”
His eyes lock on me, smiling. “Yes.”
He takes a long drink from my offering, scanning my face, settling on my captured bottom lip. He sets the glass aside, and his large hand wipes any remaining moisture from his mouth, casually running that hand down his jean-clad leg. He steps closer, reaching out to free my lip, but stops short of contact. His hand drops to his side. “I’m sorry for the other night.”
My cheeks heat at the memory. “I’m the one who’s sorry, and…embarrassed.” Humiliated. Ashamed. The list is endless.
His groan is pure agony to the thundering pulse between my thighs.
He steps into my space, two fingers lifting my chin. “Embarrassed? Why?”
I cant my head, my eyes flickering toward the living room. “That…that woman was not me. I have never…would never be so forward.”
He frowns, his eyebrows nearly meeting in the middle. He opens his mouth to speak, then stops. One brow quirks. “Never?”
I shake my head vehemently. “No. Never.”
Never.
Never.
Never.
As I step around him to flee the kitchen, his hand captures mine, pulling me back. Anybody else would have my heart beating in fear, but this man has it beating fiercely for a whole other reason—which is just as scary.
A whimper escapes my lips, and I squeeze my eyes shut. His dirty words and the memory of the other night dance in my head.
“Bloody hell.” His hand caresses my cheek. “Are you envisioning it now?”
Spinning me around, his lips capture mine. We crash against the entryway closet. I gasp for air as my hands find purchase on his heated, toned body. He clasps my thigh, bringing it up and over his. My hips grind, trying to make contact. He’s too tall. I groan my frustration, our bruising kiss eating it up, his hardness crushed against my stomach.
Then—nothing.
His warmth—gone.
I’m bereft.
I clutch my chest, trying to catch my breath as he stands in the entry of my kitchen, hands braced between the wall and counter, panting.
“Fuck.” His eyes roam my body. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.” His breaths deepen as he shakes his head. “I swear to you, Lauren. I did not come here for that.” He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, making me want to suck on it.
I shake my head and wobble my way to the couch, plopping down rather ungracefully.
A moment later, he sits in the adjacent chair. “After class on Wednesday, I wanted to take you out to talk. I was—am—elated to have found you, and needed to explain why I didn’t meet you after the marathon.”
The sexual haze that seems to stifle my brain function when he’s around lifts ever so slightly, enough for me to realize I never did hear why he stood me up. The fear of being recognized by that man and the reporters overshadowed my hurt of Theo not showing.
