It's Got A Ring To It

by Desconhecido(a)

  “So this is it.” He opened his arms, encircling the room. I took a once-over, finally seeing it for the first time. Industrial lacquered cement floors stretched to the ecru walls. Centering the room, a dense cream area rug outlined a plush gray sectional facing the stone fireplace. The atmosphere could have easily been misconstrued as cold or chilly, but there was contrasting warmth that resonated. Symbols of life adorned every wall, nook, and cranny. And though there was framed artwork and candid stills of family and friends, and plants blossoming, there was a stark silence, too. A void that could only be filled with the happiest noise that comes with love and a full house.

  Much more relaxed than I was, he welcomed me to make myself at home, which was much easier for him, since we were on his turf. Myles sat on the furthest end of the sectional and kicked his feet up onto the ottoman. Something about his leisurely manner and confidence made me less so. His lifestyle was one that would have been effortless to fall into. There was nothing complicated or cumbersome about it. Still, as simple and honest as it was on the outside looking in, it also seemed lonely. My heart ached to give him the happy noise that he deserved, but I knew it was both presumptuous and stupid to be thinking on those terms.

  Brooke, twirled her finger in a circle, urging me to wrap up the details and get to the good stuff, but she needed to hear about events leading up to the big deal for it all to make sense.

  “I’m getting there.” I shushed her, trying not to forget where I’d left off. Myles handed me a glass of water and positioned the portfolio between us. We were supposed to be finalizing the photo options for Lena’s wedding. With each turn of the page, I found myself concentrating on the muscles in his arms. The movement in his strong, capable hands. The bass in his voice, mesmerizing. Flashbacks of us on the side of my parents’ house kept running through my head, sending my body temperature skyrocketing. “I was trying to keep things professional,” I scolded Brooke, in response to her request as to why I hadn’t jumped his bones. “Water eventually turned to wine, and I began to loosen up.”

  I tried to make a long story short. Brooke’s patience was wearing thin. Talks of weddings and all things associated with them were long since over. By then, barefoot, I let my toes wiggle in the thick soft carpet. Even the blissful feeling of my hair being let down from a tight ponytail was nothing compared to the strength and fire his fingers breathed into my shoulders as he massaged my throbbing muscles.

  “Laila, have you ever thought about modeling?”

  “That’s more my sister’s thing. I gave it up a long time ago.”

  “You’d be great for print work. The symmetry in your face is perfect.” With his hand, he lined my face. “I’m looking to expand my business, so I’m thinking about creating a brochure. I would love it if you’d pose for some headshots for me.”

  “I’m flattered, but it’s been since I was a kid, I’d have no idea what I was doing.”

  “I’ll direct you through it—it’s like riding a bike,” Myles said nonchalantly, as if having my face plastered all over the place was no big deal.

  “In that case, sure.”

  We talked about everything under the sun. Politics, religion, pet peeves and so on. Our dialogue was fluid. We were both getting comfortable and personal, learning about each other and our families. We skipped further talk about our sisters’ upcoming weddings. Then things got serious when he talked about the loved ones he’d loss. First his parents and then several friends on each deployment.

  You’d have to be without a soul not to feel something for a man pouring out his heart. My instinct was instantly to nurture him. Next thing I knew, my hands were wrapped around his biceps, stroking away at his invisible pain. The more he spoke, the more I wanted to be there for him. My hands betrayed my thoughts. The left one caressed the nape of his neck while the right one rubbed his chest. I could’ve blamed it on the wine, but it was only liquid courage, giving me the wherewithal to do what I’d been thinking of all along. When his eyes met mine, empathy turned to lust like quicksand pulling me into him.

  Our mouths met like magnets, drawn to one another. “Laila,” he whispered my name and I was practically putty. For too long in my life I’d been doing what was appropriate and expected of me, but that night I wanted to finally do, without hesitation or second thought. Rising to my feet, my hand led him to do the same. We stood there with our bodies so close that they became one. I’d tiptoed on the line, but I hadn’t crossed it yet. The feeling of his lips sent me over the edge. It was going to be now or never, I decided.

  A blessing and a curse, the timer on the oven buzzed incessantly, like a little angel on my shoulder begging me to rethink my rash behavior. Naturally, its devilish counterpart rooted for me to go all the way this time. It kept ringing and I was going crazy. I needed time to clear my head and think. The only problem with time, we’d lost our momentum.

  At the dining table, he poured us another glass of wine without ever looking me in the eye. Silently, we ate one forkful at a time. Bite by bite, the distance between us turned from a table apart to miles away. And with every inch, I was losing my nerve. Then, he reached for the pepper and slid his hand in mine, instead. His hand was easy and familiar. More than that, it was a sign that I had to either go through with it or live with regret. The possibility of “what if,” just seemed too great.

  By dessert, my need for him was urgent. When I could take it no longer, it was like the gods were in my corner. Or at least the god of wine. Myles’ shirt dripped with sweet Riesling and it was all I could do not to drink from his well. Without him asking, I rose to my feet and reached for his buttons. One by one, I was rewarded tenfold. I’d still had yet to meet his eyes, though I felt the heat of them warming me through. He wanted me to lead. And so I did. Gently, I hung his shirt over the chair. Moisture still glistened on his chest and I took pleasure in tasting the intoxicating mixture of the sweet wine and his sweet skin. Myles backed away to the couch and allowed me to do with him as I saw fit. Knowing I had the control only made me desperate for all of him. I removed his shoes and his pants with the same urgency and took in the full vision of him, ready to receive me. He didn’t shudder or cower in modesty. So confident and sure, he lay there like a fine sculpture of chiseled perfection even with scars scattered about. Lightly bronzed skin basked in morning suns. Full succulent lips. Masculine, avid hands, both strong and gentle. To be in them would be the only truth.

  Our eyes met, as if for the first time and I couldn’t take them off of him. I confidently began disrobing myself in silence. It was imperative for Myles to see every inch of my body, flaws and all, without my insecurities tainting his image of me. He surveyed my body in the brightest light without the veil of my own shame. In one fluid movement, my tank top hit the floor. As I unhooked my bra, my breasts slightly turned upward in response to the chill in the air. Turning for him, I slid out of my capris one leg at a time. I couldn’t help smiling as Myles seemed put off by the lace-lined red satin panties hitting the floor, so sensual and feminine beneath such casual attire. His eyes seemed to be tracing the arch created by the bend of my back and the roundness of my backside. I wanted him to study my body. The better he’d be able to determine his approach.

  Only when I was sure that his vision could take no more without touch, I gave myself permission to have him. Tasty kisses down his chest, while my hands got lost in his arms. Continuing south, my lips found something else to kiss. Myles moaned with pleasure. Still, the weight of his eyes never wavered. I wouldn’t be embarrassed or deterred. My mouth took all of him in until heat rose up to thaw the coolness of his demeanor. Moans and growls of yearning sparked in his groin letting me know that it was a satisfying pain. A carnal urge ignited within me as I rose to his peak alongside him.

  Breathless and damp, he seemed eager to see what I would do next. I led him to the floor. Politely I asked, “May I?” His eyes met mine, as I stood straddling him from above.

  Eager to oblige, Myles replied, “You may.
You seem to know what you want.” His words were matter-of-fact and distinctly pleasing.

  “I do. I’ve only just now decided to ask for it. It’s what I want and what I need right now.” I contended as I glided on the condom and lowered myself onto the length of him. My hips swayed back and forth in harmony with his. Letting my neck hang back, I rode the rising wave, while Myles held firmly to my backside, guiding me along. In and out. Up and down, I squeezed my thighs together, feeling every inch of him. Reaching. Searching for the spot. And then we found it together. I begged him through labored breath not to move. Trembling with longing, I let myself go, unearthing all the years of obedience and unleashing the stifled woman within. He lifted his mouth to my breasts and hungrily took each of them in while his hands guided my body from the arch of my back as he slid into a passionate rhythm.

  “Myles, I want you so bad.”

  “You have me…” he whispered softly through staggered breaths, “I’m yours.”

  I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I was too involved to think about it at the time. “Take me.” Happy to turn over the reins, I let him lead as we rolled over. He took my mouth in his and our bodies melded into a purposeful tempo. My hands gripped him roughly. I wanted to be even closer still. Low growls gradually crept out as yells of full gratification. Behind closed eyes, fireworks exploded in sparking hues of red and orange. My body had been run ragged in the best way. Quakes of our volatile eruption simmered into aftershocks and subsided.

  “It was by far the best sex I’ve ever had. Yeah. So, that’s what happened with me and Myles.” The look on Brooke’s face was shock and utter disbelief. It’s no wonder, too. I never let an inkling of that side of me show. Not even in college, when being wild and crazy was socially acceptable. And definitely not when I was with Ethan.

  Her mouth hung wide open. “When in the hell did you ever…” Words clearly escaped her.

  “I’ve always wanted to. I just never had the nerve. It’s just something about Myles that lets me be the version of me that I want to be. You know how you like Drew, but you don’t want to?” She nodded. “Well, I have feelings for Myles that scare the crap out of me. I want to be with him, and it’s throwing me for a loop. I just don’t have a clue how this happened. And so fast.”

  “I’m so happy you finally got laid properly,” she said bluntly. “Hope you realize that the moment was great only because you finally let go and enjoyed yourself instead of running orders on an assembly line.”

  “It doesn’t matter anyway. He hasn’t called me today, so it must have been just sex to him,” I said, stifling the urge to pout.

  “You okay with that?” Brooke knew better than anyone, it was never okay with me. Being able to look in the mirror and like the person I saw was something I’d never been willing to compromise. There were no one-night stands. No friends with benefits, bootie calls or fuck buddies. And definitely not sex on the first date. Which is why, the whole insatiable attraction to Myles was just unheard of and inexplicable.

  “Not like I have much choice in the matter. I have to be okay with it.”

  “All that means is that we need you to meet more guys. Date. Have fun, like you told me. Just keep your options open.”

  “Right. Because it’s been so much fun already,” I teased, dripping with sarcasm.

  “Well, we’re in New York. Even if this layover is only for a day. Let’s make the most of it. Shopping on Canal Street, check out the sites or a few museums, if you want. I know I promised you that we’d see a play. I know how you love musicals.” The fact that plays periodically break out into song, never appealed to Brooke. So, her sheer willingness to hold up her end of the bargain was commendable. “Just might be able to get us tickets to Wicked. Or”—wait for it—“we could have lunch, and go shopping!”

  “Fine, we can go shopping, but I’m just letting you know now, you’re going to owe me big time.”

  “Aw. You’re such a good friend.”

  “Yeah, well next time we’re going to see Wicked and you’re going to sit there quietly while actors sing like sprites in tights, and you’re going to like it.”

  With the plans for our next trip firmly etched in stone, we were down for the count. It was no wonder Brooke mentioned lunch, instead of breakfast. After flying in on the redeye and talking to the break of dawn, we awoke feeling and looking like the living dead. Only after we finally decided to open the blackout curtains in the room and we’d had our second cup of coffee, we made headway on the rest of the day. It was as if not a day had passed since we were roommates back in college. We moved like a well-oiled machine. Brooke showered and I brushed my teeth and when she hopped out, I quickly washed up while she blow-dried her hair. The nice thing about traveling, there were limited clothing and shoe options for us to mull over, freeing up at least another twenty to thirty minutes we might’ve loss. We’d wasted away much of the day sleeping, but it was nice having nowhere particular to be. The heat of the day had already reached its peak, but the humidity lingered in the air.

  It was nice being back in New York again. Not everyone’s cup of tea, but it suited me. The gum-smeared sidewalks flanking the streets like stars on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, were mile-markers of the people who’d made it to the Big Apple. Honking horns and the hum of bike messengers whizzing by were like music to my ears, welcoming me back to the big city. It was the city of fashion, dreams, and hope, partially because the last time Brooke and I were there, I was still single and full of hope. The Sweet Tooth was always in the back of my mind, but I needed to explore my talents, wear cute clothes, buy at least one pair of expensive shoes, and find unfiltered, raw love. Unfortunately, what I got was a few cracks in my heart, a costly pair of broken heels, and all signs leading me back to my candy shop. Still, being back gave me that same nostalgic feeling of freedom. I was once again single, in need of a good splurge, and strangely hopeful about the prospect of love.

  Between street corner stops, I sifted through deceptively good name-brand knock-offs and let my mind venture to imagine being there with Myles. He’d likely be held captive by paintings at MoMA, while I sorted through souvenirs in the gift shop. The two of us holding hands while our flowing conversation melded into the din of life all around us. Afterward, we’d have tons of pictures and keepsakes from the place where we fell for each other—the place we’d always go back to for vacations and anniversaries.

  As soon as I saw the number on the screen of my phone, I knew who it was. Frustrated still, I pressed talk and yelled, “You have the wrong number. Don’t call this number again.” When I clicked off, I realized that it wasn’t the poor person on that line that I was mad at. Misplaced anger had gotten he best of me. I wished he’d have called. Shoot, a text would have sufficed. But, nothing. Not a word from him. Every time the phone rang, it only emphasized that fact that everyone else had time for me, but him.

  “Hello? Earth to Laila,” Brooke stared at me as I clutched a Tory Birch bag. “Who was that?”

  “Uh…another one of Myles’ friends,” I through up in air quotes. Anyway, I was just trying to think of what I would wear with this.” I sputtered. She’d already paid for hers and the guy was putting it in a plastic bag. Quickly, I asked him to ring mine up, too.

  We followed up on our bargain-shopping blitz with a trek to the Upper West Side on Madison Avenue. We made it to Tiffany’s, Saks, and Bloomie’s, and I was pooped. Dragging my feet, I begged Brooke for mercy, but she had a list of the places she had to get to because she wouldn’t have another New York layover this month. In record time, she buzzed like a busy bee through Herald Square while I let my feet rest. By the time she waddled her way over to me with both arms flexed to capacity with shopping bags, I could have eaten a cow.

  Around the corner, we stopped in a quaint Italian restaurant called Pepolino on Broadway in Tribeca. The consanguinity of the food and atmosphere could never be questioned. In a comfy nook, it wasn’t overdone. Charming and graceful, easygoing. The eggplant and ris
otto were just mouthwatering. Brooke audibly enjoyed the gnocchi. Her eyes were closed most of the meal and periodically sighs of her gluttonous bliss seeped out. And the ricotta cheesecake? There were no words to describe it. For a dessert-lover like myself, it received the highest honor, the I’m-going-burst-but-I-can’t-stop-eating award.

  A nice after-dinner liqueur would’ve been just the ticket, but we decided to enjoy one last glass of the Chianti to stay in the spirit. No sooner than the waiter poured the wine, did my phone start ringing away. I was tempted not to answer, but part of me hoped it was Myles. Naturally, it was somewhere at the bottom of my purse hiding under all the junk I had jammed in there. I grabbed it but couldn’t quite get a hold of it. Then, I remembered that I’d put it the side pocket with the hole in it and my cell was shifting underneath the lining. Finally, I was able to get it out. It stopped ringing, but the face glowed. Missed call. Not from Myles. A missed call from Ethan. Confused, I looked up at Brooke.

  “Who was it?”

  “Ethan.”

  “Shit. What the fuck does he want?” Brooke is a dead-ringer Grace Kelly, but she’s got the potty mouth of a drunken sailor.

  “How should I know?” I questioned, knowing full well why he’d called. Why he’d been calling. But, I had no desire to tell Brooke that this wasn’t the first call. As a friend, she took her duty to hate people I hated to heart.

  “Spill it. I know you’re holding out.”

  Having a friend who always knew when you were hiding something really was inopportune when you didn’t want to talk, though it did limit lying.

  “Ethan’s been trying to get me to give him another chance. We talked on the phone twice, but I’m definitely against it.”