by Serena Grey
Larry arrives, and they both go into the back office. It’s supposed to be their studio where they create intelligent and artistic graphics for new t-shirts, but I soon hear the tell-tale sounds of the video games they’re both addicted to.
I try my best to focus on the things I have to do, and it helps for a while, but later in the day, when most of my work is done, and I have nothing to occupy my mind, it goes back to David, and even though my brain is warning me to control myself, I find my fingers reaching for the beckoning phone.
It’s not only because I want to hear his voice, I tell myself as my fingers dial the familiar numbers on the keypad. It’s not because I miss him. It’s only because I need to tell him that I don’t want his money. That is the only reason why I’m calling.
It suddenly occurs to me that he may not have my new number. What if he doesn’t pick up? I think in panic as the phone starts to ring on the other side. My stomach knots expectantly. My fingers are clammy and trembling, and there’s suddenly not enough air in the room. Maybe I really shouldn’t be doing this, I think frantically, feeling weak as his phone continues to ring. I’m about to stop the call when I hear a small click, and then the voice I’ve been longing to hear for weeks, deep and sensual, just the way I remember, and yet somehow, more incredibly seductive.
“Sophie.” That’s all he says, but in that moment, I completely forget how to breathe.
It’s the way he says my name. I think helplessly as my whole body starts to ache. It feels like a caress, moving from my ears to enfold me like smooth velvet. I feel paralyzed, overwhelmed by emotion. How can he make me feel like this with just one word? I should say something, but I can’t seem to find anything in my head that makes sense, all I want is to hear his voice again.
“Sophie?” He says again. This time it’s a question.
“Hello.” I choke out with a voice that sounds nothing like my own. I’m desperately trying, and failing to get my thoughts and feelings in order. He is silent, but I can imagine him listening, waiting for me to say something. I can imagine the frown on his brow. I can imagine every inch of his beautiful face, his perfect body.
“Sophie, are you all right?”
I hate that he sounds so concerned, because it makes me want to believe that he cares about me. It makes me want to admit that I’m not all right, that I miss him, that I’ve missed him every moment since I walked away from him.
“I’m fine.” I say through the sudden thickness in my throat. Somewhere in my brain, there’s the knowledge that I had a reason for calling, but I can’t seem to remember.
We’re both silent. I search for words, desperate to say something, to communicate anything other than how affected I am just by the sound of his voice.
“I was just thinking about you.” He says softly.
My chest suddenly feels too tight. I hate myself for how those words make me feel. I hate the hope that soars in my heart at the simple announcement, and the urge to convince myself that he wouldn’t be thinking about me unless he cared.
“David...” I begin tentatively, unsure what I’m going to say. My emotions are all over the place. I’ve never been so confused. He has only said a few words, but he’s already succeeded in stirring my memories, my body, and my heart.
Get real sweetheart, this has always been about sex.
The recollection of his cruel words pulls me out of my traitorous, yearning thoughts. I’m being a fool, I realize, in allowing myself to want him so much it colors my reasoning. Of course, he doesn’t care about me. He doesn’t love me. He told me so himself, and there no reason to assume otherwise just because he has a voice that sounds like temptation.
“You can’t keep sending me money.” I say abruptly, forcing all the yearning and desire from my mind. “I already told you I don’t want anything from you.” Except your love, I add silently.
When he replies, his voice is brusque. “I won’t argue about this, Sophie,” He says, “The money is yours.”
“Why?” I retort, annoyed that he would dismiss my request so swiftly. “As I remember, our marriage was always about sex, according to you, and I’d rather not be paid for sex, David.”
“And this is why I finally got a phone call from my darling wife,” he says, with a hint of sarcasm, “to be accused of paying you for sex, in addition to all my other crimes.”
I flinch at his tone. “I’m not accusing you of anything,” I reply stubbornly. “All I’m saying is that I don’t want your money.”
“Then do whatever you want with it.” He says dismissively, sounding annoyed. “You can burn it in the street if you like, along with everything else about me that you now find so distasteful.”
“Maybe I will.” I fling back.
“For God’s sake!” He exclaims exasperatedly. I hear him take a deep breath. “Sophie,” he starts calmly, the anger in his voice suddenly replaced by something else, something soft, and tempting, something I don’t want… can’t bear to hear.
“I shouldn’t have called.” I mutter into the phone, interrupting whatever it was he was going to say, “I don’t know why I thought that anything I want would mean much to you. It never has and it obviously never will.” I sigh. “Goodbye David.”
I end the connection before he can reply.
All of a sudden, I feel tired, weak, and spent. If David can make me feel like this just from a phone conversation, I have to concede that there’s no way I can be hopeful of my chances of getting over him anytime soon.
The rest of the evening is uneventful. I have ample time and opportunity to obsess about the phone call and every word we exchanged. I’m still going over it in my mind when Jan emerges from the back office with a stack of sheets and hands them to me.
They’re all sketches for new designs. Sometimes, he or Larry would have a burst of inspiration and actually produce some new work, which they always ask me to look at.
“What do you think?” He asks as I look through the drawings. They’re not bad, just a little old fashioned. We always put the new designs up on the website, but people hardly order them. Our sales are from people who remember how the old t-shirts made them feel a long time ago, and order the same ones to try to recapture the feeling.
People living in the past, like me.
“They’re good.” I tell Jan. “I like them.”
“Oh well.” He shrugs, looking skeptical. “So…” His tone turns friendly, “What’re you doing tonight? Hot date?”
I almost laugh. “Not really, no.” I say, shaking my head.
He tuts. “Honey,” he says patiently, he calls everybody honey, even the pizza delivery guy, “You can’t nurse a broken heart forever.”
I frown. Is it so obvious then? Can everyone see the pain I’m feeling inside just from looking at me?
I take a deep breath, but before I can respond to what he said, I hear the sound of the door opening, and I look towards the entrance, ready to smile and say ‘Welcome to Empathy Zone!’ but the smile freezes on my face, and for the second time in one day, I lose the ability to breathe.
Chapter Three
I’M TREMBLING. I CAN HEAR the roar of blood rushing in my ears. My skin feels hot and cold at the same time, and my heart is hammering violently against my ribs. I can’t think, and I can’t stop looking at him.
David.
He’s standing in the doorway, with the late afternoon sun spilling in behind him, framing his tall figure like some sort of godly aura.
My body reacts immediately, every inch of my skin drawn to him like he’s some sort of magnet. I want to go to him. I want to touch him. I want to hold on to him and never let go.
I close my eyes and force some air into my chest. I must be imagining things. There’s no way David is actually here, there’s just no way. I know that if I open my eyes, he won’t be standing at the door.
But he is, looking as unbelievably handsome as I remember. Every feature, from his thick, wavy black hair to his classic nose, sensual lips, and firm jaw
, is achingly perfect. I’m staring helplessly, unable to control myself. He is just too devastating.
I hear an intrusive sound, and I reluctantly tear my eyes away from David, turning towards the source. Jan is looking pointedly at me. He clears his throat again.
I frown, confused, unable to get my thoughts in order.
He rolls his eyes. “Welcome to Empathy Zone.” He says to David.
I turn back towards the door, where David is still standing, his eyebrows raised as he looks at me, his expression expectant and faintly amused.
Embarrassment heats my cheeks. “Welcome to Empathy Zone.” I mutter.
He grins lazily and steps into the store, letting the door swing closed behind him. I find myself staring again. He’s wearing a dark suit, with a snowy white shirt and a light blue tie. His face is leaner than I remember, but it works for him, making perfect features stand out even more. No man should look this good, I think, unable to tear my eyes away.
David’s eyes never leave my face as he walks towards me, his gaze like flames licking at my skin, and his steps easy and confident. Jan may well not be in the room at all. He doesn’t stop until he’s standing in front of my desk, so close that I can smell the subtle hint of his familiar masculine cologne.
I clench my hands together to try to stop them from shaking. I can’t get my heart to stop pounding. I’m hot, sweaty, and confused. He’s mesmerizing, and I’m mesmerized
“Hello Sophie.”
His voice flows over me like a caress. His face is so close that if I just reach out, I can trace my fingers over every inch of skin I love so much. My mouth is so dry I can’t even swallow. I want to look at him forever. I want to cry. I don’t know what I want.
From the corner of my eye, I can see Jan looking from me to David, but I ignore him. I can’t tear my eyes away from David’s blue gaze, and I don’t want to. Jan clears his throat again, and David turns to him, releasing me from the singular intensity of his stare.
“I take it you’re not here for the T-shirts.” Jan quips half-jokingly.
David smiles pleasantly. “No, not really.” He says, turning back to me. “Sophie and I are …”
“Old friends.” I say quickly, cutting him off.
One eyebrow goes up in an expression that’s so heart achingly familiar, I have to look away.
“Yes we’re old friends.” David agrees, amusement sounding in his voice. “I’m David Preston.” He says, holding out a hand to Jan. “Sophie’s old friend.”
Jan takes it with a smile. “Jan Rippon.”
The door to Larry and Jan’s office opens and Larry steps out. He’s the total opposite of Jan, short, portly, with none of Jan’s gregariousness. Like Jan, he’s dressed like a college boy, with an Empathy Zone t-shirt, jeans, and trendy sneakers.
“Hello?” He says questioningly, looking from me to Jan to David.
“This is Sophie’s ‘old friend’,” Jan volunteers, “David Preston.”
Larry frowns. “Preston Corp?”
There’s only a short pause before David nods.
“I’ve heard of you.” Larry says, “Good to meet you.” I watch as they too shake hands. Maybe now they can all go inside the back office and bond over video games, I think sourly.
“So you and Sophie are old friends?” Larry asks.
“Yes actually.” David smiles charmingly. “I was hoping you would let her leave early today,” he says. “I’m planning to take her to dinner.”
My jaw drops, but before I can say anything, Jan beams. “Of course!” He says, “Sophie never goes anywhere.” He continues, turning to Larry, while I silently plot ways to murder him. “I’m sure we can manage for an evening?”
Larry nods enthusiastically. “That’s if Sophie doesn’t mind.”
They all turn to look at me. I don’t want to go anywhere with David. I don’t.
Under the force of their combined stares, I cave in.
“I don’t mind.” I lie.
“Great!” David smiles at my bosses, who finally decide it’s time for them to leave us alone together, and go back into their office.
David’s eyes find mine again, and I take a deep breath. He’s so close, every inch of my skin is tingling in anticipation. I’m assaulted by the memories of what it felt like to touch him, to feel his lips on mine, to feel his breath feathering across my skin.
“Aren’t you going to say anything Sophie?” He asks, looking slightly amused. His eyes are gleaming dangerously, sensual and provocative. “Not even hello?”
I swallow, feeling my pulse start to flutter wildly. “What are you doing here?” I ask with bravado I don’t feel.
He tilts his head slightly as he looks at me. “I believe we were having a conversation earlier,” He says with a careless shrug, “One that we didn’t finish.”
I shake my head. “I shouldn’t have called you.” I say tensely. “Maybe you should forget that I did.”
He turns away from me to look around the small store. I’m sure he’s not really interested in anything Empathy Zone is selling. I wonder what he’s thinking, what he’s going to say.
He turns back to me. “What if I can’t?” he asks suddenly, leaning forward on my desk. “I don’t want to forget that you called. I want you to tell me everything that’s on your mind.”
His nearness is doing things to me. “I’ve told you everything I have to say.” I retort, folding my arms across my chest in a gesture that’s supposed to be defensive, but which I know would be useless against him. “I don’t want to go anywhere with you either.”
He bends forward, coming closer until our faces are only inches apart. “Well I haven’t told you everything I have to say.” He whispers. His eyes are suddenly dark and fierce, searing into me. He’s not even touching me, yet I can feel him everywhere.
“How about ‘get real sweetheart, this has always been about sex,’” I give him a challenging glare, “or ‘you’re a liar as well as a fool.’” I snort dismissively, “I’d say you’ve said enough.”
He flinches, the expression almost imperceptible and very fleeting. Straightening slowly, he moves away from me. “We need to talk Sophie,” He says slowly, “I know you don’t want to see me, but I’m sure you can bear just one evening.”
If only he knew, I think as I shut down my computer and put on my jacket over my t-shirt, before following him outside. On the curb, Steve is standing by the black jaguar waiting for us. The familiarity of the whole scenario makes my heart ache.
Steve pulls the car door open for me. I smile at him, resisting the urge to tear up. “How are you Steve?”
His smile is warm as he replies. “Fine. Mrs. Preston.”
How long had it been since someone called me that? So long that I’d almost forgotten how it sounded. I swallow my reaction. “It’s nice to see you again.” I say before I step into the car.
Once inside, I deliberately don’t look at David. The car starts to move, and I struggle to conquer the tension gripping me as we sit side by side. He’s so close, too close. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see his hands spread out on his thighs, palms facing downwards, his long, graceful fingers tapping a silent rhythm.
His face is turned away from me, looking out of the windows. I allow myself the luxury of looking at him, letting my eyes drift from his smooth brow to the shadowed hollows of his cheeks, and to the lips I’m dying to kiss again. I’ve missed looking at him. I’ve missed touching him. I’ve missed so many things. I’m so aware of him I can’t focus on anything else.
My whole consciousness is fixed on the fact that he’s right there beside me. That if I reach out, I can touch him, the way my fingers are aching to.
I sigh. It feels so familiar to be here with him. If I close my eyes I can easily imagine that things are back the way they were and that we’re on our way to the apartment where he’ll carry me to the bedroom, slowly undress me and make sweet love to me until my body is totally sated.
My body, but not my heart.
I force myself to stop looking at him. It’s no use getting caught up in my feelings when they mean nothing to him. Steve soon pulls up in front of a glass-fronted restaurant with a wide awning over the sidewalk.
Stepping out of the car, I wait as David comes around the back to join me, and I catch myself admiring his beautiful body, shown to perfection in his tailored suit. As I watch, I realize that he’s stretching out an arm and that he’s going to put it around me, as if we’re a regular couple, as if we haven’t been apart for months. I stiffen, my stomach knotting tightly. There’s no knowing how my body will react to his touch, and I’m not eager to make a fool of myself again, where he’s concerned.
He must have seen something in my expression, because he pauses, cocking an eyebrow, as a dry smile curves his lips. He drops his hand and smiles wryly. “Shall we?” He says, gesturing towards the doors.
I follow him, silently wondering how I’m going to fit in an elegant restaurant with my jeans and ‘Welcome to Empathy Zone t-shirt’. David however, doesn’t seem to care. Once inside, the manager leads us through the main dining area to a curved stairway that leads to a private dining area upstairs. There’s only one table for two, and a set of wide windows that look out to a small park. It’s cozy and intimate, a room for a couple in love and eager for a romantic dinner alone. It’s definitely not the sort of place where I should be alone with David.
The manager pulls out my chair, and I sit, listening with half an ear as he and David discuss wine. After he leaves, David turns his full attention to me.
“I hope you don’t mind my picking this place,” he says, looking at me intently. “I know it’s a little… intimate, but I thought we should have some privacy.”
I shrug, schooling my face into a false expression of nonchalance. “I can’t imagine why.”
He lifts an eyebrow, then smiles patiently and leans back in his chair. “Because, as I said, we need to talk, and I’d rather not do that in a roomful of people.”
“You must have been confident that I would agree to come with you,” I observe, “reserving this place beforehand.”
