by Portia Moore
He arches his brow and leans in, and I follow his lead, as if he’s about to tell me a secret. “I’d rather show you, but I think you’re the type of girl who would require a few more dates before that happens.”
I feel my mouth fall open. Is he referring to what I think he’s referring to? He’s watching me, waiting for my reaction. I decide not to push it any further, at least not directly.
“Hillary was a little irritated that you didn’t speak to her earlier.” I change the subject, wanting to know his thoughts. “She’s not used to a guy ignoring her the way you did.”
“I’m sure she’s not.” He chuckles, and I arch my brow questioningly. “But I’m not like most guys. It takes more than big tits and a face full of makeup to get my attention.”
I’m a little taken aback by his frankness.
He notices. “I just mean there’s nothing original about that. I see it every day. She’s hot, but I’ve seen her type.”
“And what exactly is her type?” I ask, irritation evident in my voice. Hillary and I see things through different eyes and we disagree a lot, but she’s still my friend. I won’t let him speak badly about her, no matter how incredibly sexy he is.
He sighs, noticing my defensiveness. He clasps his hands together. “Can I be one hundred percent with you right now?”
I nod apprehensively.
“Her type is usually empty, demanding, feeding on everyone else around them to boost their ego, jumping from one guy to the other,” he explains. “So absorbed in her own sense of self-worth that she doesn’t realize that any man who can stand her is doing it just long enough to get laid.”
I’m caught off guard by his answer. I won’t confirm or deny what he’s saying, and I decide to steer the conversation in a different direction. “So are you saying you’re not interested in sex?”
He folds his arms and flashes an amused grin. He leans in and, like a magnet, I do the same.
“Oh no. I’m very interested in sex.” His voice is low and sensual, and for a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me. I’m disappointed when he leans back in his seat. “That doesn’t mean I’d screw any girl who batted her fake eyelashes at me. So what about you?” He focuses those piercing gray eyes on me.
I smile to hide my nervousness. Most guys I know fail to look me in the eye, which I hate, but it’s as if his eyes can see right through me, and I don’t know which is worse. His candor is refreshing but unexpected. I don’t know how to answer his question; he’s been so honest, it would be hypocritical if I didn’t return the favor.
“Well, it’s been a-a while since the last time,” I say nervously.
“I actually meant ‘what do you like to do,’ but I’m sorry to hear that.” He smiles teasingly.
I think I’m going to die of embarrassment. “Oh, God,” I whimper, covering my face.
Then I feel his hands on mine, and he brings them down. I look at him, surprised, his touch giving me butterflies.
“Don’t ever hide those gorgeous eyes from me again,” he tells me.
I’m even more embarrassed, but this time it feels much better. “Well, I’m pretty boring, actually.” I laugh, slightly disappointed when he lets go of my hands.
“I’m sure that’s not the case.” He rests his arms behind his head.
“I like to paint, draw, sculpt…” I tell him.
“Oh, an artist?” He grins.
“Yeah, kind of.” I smile.
“So is that something you want a profession in?” Somehow, it actually seems like he’s interested, and not just for the sake of conversation.
“Well, sculpting and painting are more of a hobby, but drawing is what I love. If I could wake up every day and do it for a living, that’d be great. Unfortunately, there isn’t a demand for artists, so I don’t know how far I can go with it professionally.” I sigh.
“Are you any good?” he asks.
I’m a little caught off guard by that. “Well, I hope I am. It’d be kind of heartbreaking if I sucked at something I love so much,” I remark with a chuckle.
“So am I going to see some of this work of yours?”
“I don’t know. I’m sort of private about it,” I say apprehensively.
“If you want to stun the world, you have to show it first,” he says casually, and for the second time, I have nothing to say. “And you can practice on me.”
“Maybe.” I smirk. “So are you from Chicago?”
“I’ve lived here most of my life,” he answers. “What about you?”
“No, I go to school here at Chicago University. I was born in Michigan; Saginaw, to be exact,” I tell him.
“Beautiful, smart, and Saginaw—I’ve been there before,” he says.
“Really? I’ve never known anyone from Chicago who willingly went there,” I say, surprised.
“I used to know some people who lived near there,” he says, his mouth turning downward. “You didn’t like it?”
“No! I love it. It’s my home, where I grew up. There’s just not much opportunity there. Well, you’ve been there. You probably understand.”
He nods.
“It’s weird how you don’t appreciate something until it’s gone,” I continue. “When I was younger, I always dreamed about coming to Chicago and never looking back. But now that I’m here, I can’t wait until I’m able to go back for a visit.”
“So you’re a small-town girl?” he jokes.
“I guess you can say that.” I laugh. “Is that a bad thing?”
“Not at all,” he replies convincingly.
I glance down as my phone vibrates. I look at the caller ID and see that it’s Hillary. Why didn’t I turn it off, and why isn’t she texting me? I roll my eyes.
“I better get that,” I say with a sigh. Pressing the answer key, I say, “Hello?”
“Hi! How’s it going so far?” she asks, excited and loud. I know he can hear her through the phone.
I look at him, and he smiles.
“Excuse me a minute.” I laugh as I stand and walk to another part of the restaurant. “Everything is fine,” I tell her.
“So what did you do? Where’d you go? Have you kissed him? Tell me everything!” she demands.
“This couldn’t have waited until I got home?” I laugh.
“Well, yeah. But it’s one o’clock, and being that I’m the best person in the world, I wanted to act motherly and make sure you’re okay, of course.” More like nosey.
“Thank you, Mom. Wait, did you say one?” I ask in disbelief.
“Yeah! This is the longest you’ve ever been out, other than when you have to work! That’s why I thought I’d check on you. Oh, and FYI—your boss man has called here three times. He wants you to call him ASAP or something like that.”
What does he want? “Okay, thanks, Hill. I’m going to hang up on you in about three seconds. But I’ll talk to you when I get home,” I inform her jokingly.
“Wait! Before you do that, you have to tell me if you’re going to sleep with him,” she says giddily.
I roll my eyes and remain silent.
“Come on, Lauren! I’m bored as hell! Please, give me some kind of amusement. Give me something. I’m going to be here all alone tonight.”
I’m thankful to hear that. Now I know I can get a good night’s sleep.
“Hillary, I haven’t even kissed him yet,” I say, almost disappointed.
“Well, the night—or morning—is still young,” she sings.
“We’ll see. I’ve got to go. Talk to you later, Hill.”
“Yes, because you will tell me everything, or I’m jumping on your bed with you in it,” she jokes. At least, I think she’s joking.
“Okay, Hillary,” I say before I hang up. I walk back to the table.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“Yeah. Hillary was checking up on me.” I laugh.
He looks at his watch and frowns. “Yeah, we better get out of here.” He stands, puts on his jacket, and pulls out his wallet.
“You know, I can pay for this. You’ve already paid for everything else,” I say, getting my purse.
“I asked you on the date. That’s the point.” He laughs.
“But—” I protest.
“When you ask me out on a date, you can pay.” He winks at me as he puts a fifty on the table. I know our food didn’t cost that much. He looks up and sees my surprise. “Don’t worry. I have a pretty decent job.” He throws me a smile before he leads the way to the front door.
I quickly pull on my jacket and follow him. “I never asked—what do you do?”
I head through the open door he’s holding for me. He ignores my question, distracting me with the thrill of the bike ride.
I open my eyes, feeling the bike’s engine turn off. The lull of the engine and smooth ride almost put me to sleep. I look over to see that we’re in front of my apartment building. I let go of him and get off the bike. I have an urge to stretch. We’ve been on this bike for over an hour.
“I have to tell you I’ve fallen in love with this machine,” I say, only half-joking.
He looks at it and grins. “She has that way about her,” he jokes as he dismounts and gives the gas tank an affectionate pat. He walks me to the door.
“This is one of the most interesting days I’ve had in a while. I really had fun,” I tell him.
“You’re not as boring as you’ve made yourself out to be,” he kids.
“This is just me on a good day,” I say, giving a mock warning.
As much as I’ve enjoyed myself, this moment has been drifting through my thoughts all day. There have been a few moments throughout our date when I thought he was going to—then nothing. I know for a fact he’s not afraid or nervous about doing it. After all, he lifted me off the floor into a passionate hug when he greeted me. But he’s done nothing but surprise me the entire night. Maybe he won’t kiss me at all. I’m being ridiculous. I usually don’t want to be kissed on dates, and now that I do, it’s not going to happen.
“Well, thank you for everything,” I say as I make my way toward the entrance to my building. I want to get inside before he sees how disappointed I am.
“I’ve been wanting—” he starts, but my phone rings, cutting him off. “May I?” he asks, gesturing toward the phone.
I look at it uncertainly. Before I can answer, he takes the phone from my hand and answers it. I’m a little perturbed that he’s answered my phone without waiting for my response—until I realize it’s Michael calling.
Cal interrupts the confused voice on the other end. “No. This is Cal. Lauren’s going to have to call you back at a decent hour. Don’t you think it’s a little late at night to be calling a respectable woman?” he scolds playfully before hanging up the phone and flashing me an innocent smile.
I can’t help but laugh. I then wonder why Michael would be calling at two in the morning. He’s probably drunk and trying to apologize again, hoping I’ll cave in and ask him over. Not going to happen.
Cal shrugs innocently. He hands me my phone back. and I remember how he did that without my permission. I frown at him.
“You’re not mad, are you?” he asks, seemingly surprised.
I did think it was funny, but he shouldn’t have just assumed it was okay. What if I did want Michael to come over? Not that I ever would, but still.
“No. But it could have been important. And you asked but didn’t wait for my answer,” I say, my voice strong. For the first time all night, I’m not nervous. He laughs as if he’s shocked, and I’m a little insulted. “Good night, Cal.”
I turn to open the door, and he grabs my hand. “It’s just that—I don’t usually have to ask for things. So I’m not used to waiting for the answer,” he says in a joking tone, but his expression is serious.
“That’s probably something you should work on then,” I say sarcastically, glad to have my nerve make an appearance for the first time since I met him.
“Well, can I kiss you?” he says, stepping closer to me, his eyes flirting with me.
He makes me swallow my breath. He smells so good, but no—I’m going to ignore how good he looks and smells. Cal needs a lesson that he can’t get everything he wants or do everything he feels like. Now I’m going to explain the boundaries of Lauren Brooks.
“Cal, I like you, but you should th—”
Before I can finish, he pulls me toward him as he did earlier, but this time, he presses his lips against mine. I wrap my arms around his neck to keep my balance. I don’t know how to react, but my body responds as he sucks on my bottom lip. Before long, my mouth opens, allowing his tongue into play, and he begins coaxing out my own. I feel lightheaded, tingles running up my spine, as his fingers trace circles on my lower back.
I can feel him smiling as one of his hands runs through my hair and cups the back of my head, while his other hand makes its way underneath the back of my sweater. His skin on mine sends sensations through my body that I’m not ready to experience. His fingers linger, tracing the same spots as he was earlier, but now there’s no material as a barrier to the warmth of his skin, countering the cool wind. Heat flushes through my body. I feel anxious and… unsatisfied. If our kiss gets any deeper, I’m going to drift away. But I want more.
I wrap my arms tighter around his neck, my body demanding to be closer to him, almost acting on its own. In response, his hands move to both sides of my waist, gripping me tighter as he backs me into the door—or maybe the wall. I can’t say for sure. But now I’m pressed between him and something. I feel his heart beating faster, or maybe it’s my own. We’re so close, I can’t tell the difference. I run my hands up his chest, the cool leather of his jacket smooth against my hands. I’ve never wanted to feel bare skin so badly in my life, and I realize I’m thinking crazy things—like, if only I had a dress on, this would be a lot easier, and if only he drove his car, how fast we could have been in there. I wonder how hard Hillary is sleeping and if she’d hear us if I brought him up. I realize I’m close to doing something extremely stupid, and with every ounce of will power in my body, I prepare to break our kiss. But before I do, he pulls away. I immediately miss the warmth of his lips.
“Lauren,” he whispers in my ear, setting me back on the ground.
I’m in a haze. He can’t expect me to have a conversation with him right now. I need a minute to compose myself. Ugh, Lauren, let’s start thinking again, shall we? Way to show him your boundaries.
I look up at him, and he licks his lips, his palms on both sides of me. He leans down and rests his head on mine.
“I’m going to go, because if I stay here another minute, I am going to be trouble for you,” he says, his tone dangerously low. But his smile is so innocent it should belong to a Boy Scout.
I nod, unable to force any words out of my tight throat.
“Good night, gorgeous,” he says and kisses the skin beneath my earlobe, causing my heart to flutter. In a flash, he’s walking toward his bike, but stops midway and turns back toward me. “Oh, and I’m going to work on the asking thing. I promise.”
A smile spreads across my face. He gets on his bike, pauses, and leans on the handlebars.
“Are you going in, Ms. Brooks?” he asks, a hint of sarcasm in his voice and a glint in his eye that’s daring me. My body is screaming, Hell no, I’m going with you, and as if he can read my mind, he says, “Or are you coming with me?”
I contemplate the question. I’m actually contemplating it! But my mind wins out over my body’s insistence, almost as if recovering from a knockout punch. “No, you said yourself it’s a little late for a woman of my respectability to be out,” I tease him.
He laughs, relenting.
I take out my keys and open the door. “Good night.”
Before I shut it, I look back at him. He gives me a wave, a tickled grin on his face. I close the door, hoping I’m not wearing a big goofy grin.
My phone starts to ring again, and my heart beats rapidly, thinking of Cal. My heart sinks when I see th
at it’s only Michael. He’s probably steaming right about now over what Cal did, but so am I, for an entirely different reason of course, and in a very different way.
As I let myself into my apartment, I hear the roar of the motorcycle’s engine, and I run to the window. I catch a glimpse of Cal turning the corner, and for the rest of the night, I dream about what would have happened if I’d ridden away on it with him.
Chapter 3
May 5th, 2011
“Are you freakin’ kidding me, Cal?” I make sure the disbelief in my voice is apparent to him on the other end of the line. But coming from Cal, I should expect this.
“Calm down, babe,” he says steadily.
“Don’t fucking call me babe! You said you were coming home Monday. And it’s Thursday!” I yell, pacing the room.
“I know. Things came up,” he explains. He sounds distracted, which sets me off even further.
“Things came up, huh? What the hell has surfaced from out of nowhere that has kept you there almost a week?” I scream into the phone.
“You know what? I’m going to talk to you when you calm down.” He hangs up on me.
Again.
I growl and throw the phone on the bed in frustration. As usual, our conversation ends with me ready to punch a face that’s conveniently not here.
He hasn’t called at all, just sent a text that asked if I was behaving—whatever the hell that means—and telling me he’d be home today. I don’t know where he is or who he’s with, and when we do talk, he never grasps the severity of the situation and thinks hanging up is going to stop me. Oh, he’s wrong! I’m so not done. I snatch the phone back up, hit redial, and wait for him to answer.
“Yeah,” I hear him say shortly.
“Cal, you are such a selfish asshole!”
There’s no response, and I glance at the screen on my phone and see that the call’s ended. I direct a kick into the side of bed and throw my pillow across the room. He almost never argues with me! I can’t seem to get a human response from him. He ignores me, laughs at me, or when he is home, picks me up and takes me into another part of the house, which pisses me off even more. How do you argue with someone who won’t say anything? But considering that in order to argue, you have to communicate, it’s no surprise that he won’t do that with me either. He’s a brick wall, and I’m tired of trying to break through.
