by Portia Moore
“Well. What is it? He doesn’t hurt you, does he?” Raven asks worriedly.
“No!” I say quickly. “That’s not it at all. Cal has never hit me, pushed me—he even hates to argue. He always just leaves. That’s the problem.”
“Well, honey, sometimes it’s best to leave, especially if he has a bad temper. A long walk…”
I knew she wouldn’t understand. She’d probably think I was silly or overemotional if I told her how I really felt. “I don’t mean it like that. It’s more than that. Cal, he’s…” I exhale. I can’t even say this out loud without sounding like an oversensitive idiot.
“Lauren, you can tell me anything,” Raven says reassuringly.
I go to stand at the railing on the other side of the porch. If I tell her this, I can’t look at her. “When we first met, it was like… it was like I was dreaming. He was this handsome, mysterious, rugged, intelligent man. All that I could ask for. I’d never felt as attracted to anyone as I was to him. My hormones took control and left my brain behind.” I look awkwardly at Raven, who has a small smile on her face.
“Go on,” she says, clasping her hands.
“It was like I wasn’t living in the real world. It was just us. In the real world, I wouldn’t just go with a guy I barely knew without asking any questions. But with Cal, I basically knew nothing about him, and I didn’t care. Because though I didn’t know facts, I thought—well, I felt like we were connected. I told him things I’d never told anyone.” I reflect on my many nights in bed with Cal, when I revealed all my soul, his eyes on me as if I were the only person in the world.
“God, his eyes… those eyes are what I fell in love with. They’re what make me forgive him a thousand times over.” I wipe the leftover tears on my face. “How can our marriage work if he doesn’t trust me? Today just proves it, and it’s not just today. He rarely tells me how he feels. He leaves when he’s angry. And then he comes back and thinks everything can be fixed with a good fuck!”
My jaw drops as I realize what I’ve just said. I look at Raven, feeling embarrassed, but I see that she’s not. She’s listening attentively.
“I-I just don’t know how to get through to him. I don’t know how to make him open up. He won’t let me in. I used to try so hard, then I got sick of being turned away or shut down. Today was just a reminder of that. If he doesn’t trust me, can you imagine the secrets he has? If he gets to pick and choose what I get to know and not know, I’m more of a child than a wife.” I take a much needed breath.
“Well, from what you’ve told me, his job is confidential in nature. That would explain—”
“It’s not the job!” I interrupt her, shaking my head defiantly. “It’s something else. I can feel it. Whatever happened today…” I trail off as I catch sight of the black Porsche pulling up to the driveway.
Raven walks over to me, puts both hands on my shoulders, and looks me straight in the eye. “What’s in the dark, will always come to light.” She gives me a reassuring smile before pulling me into another hug.
She then withdraws into the house, and I turn my attention to Cal getting out the car. His face is expressionless, and he glances at me as he slowly climbs the stairs.
“I don’t—” I begin, but he holds a hand up, stopping me mid-sentence.
“I’m not doing this with you tonight. If you want to fight, stay out here and argue with yourself,” he says disdainfully.
I look at him standing there, expressionless. As if I’m the one who likes to fight and argue all the time. As if I didn’t sit on this porch for hours after he left, worried about him, waiting on him to come back safely.
I think of how he has the nerve to stroll up as if he didn’t fly out of here like a bat out of hell after kicking me out of his car. I want to throw a fit and yell at him and not stop until he tells me what’s going on. A part of me wonders if everything earlier was an act, an excuse to get away. Maybe the answer is obvious—he’s a cheating bastard.
Yet, when I think of him earlier, how his eyes pleaded with me, how he was distraught and vulnerable, and that one moment when I saw the panic and worry I’d never seen before, I know he’s genuinely struggling with something. I fight every urge to smack him across the face. Instead, I hug him. I hold him close for a long time. Tomorrow, I will need answers. I’ll demand them. I can’t go on with him like this. Tonight though, I know he needs me, even if he doesn’t say it.
Chapter 8
May 11th, 2008
Before today, I’d never been asleep and afraid to wake up, open my eyes, and realize that what happened was just a dream. Too perfect, it had to be surreal. So wonderful it couldn’t have existed. That’s how I feel today. I can feel the warm sunlight beaming down on my face, and I’m afraid to open my eyes. I’m afraid when I do, I’m going to be back in my own bed and my night with Cal will have just been a dream. Fate’s cruel, artificial trick, a hoax being played on me because it was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I wish I could relive the entire day. My own personal fairy tale—being whisked away in a carriage, then swept off my feet in a dance—and well, the next part wasn’t so much like the endings I’ve read about, but more amazing than I ever thought it could be.
I turn onto my back and wrap myself in the softest sheets I’ve ever felt and smile, knowing these definitely aren’t mine. I could sleep in this bed forever… this bed that I didn’t get much sleep in last night. Where things were done to me that all next week, I’ll be blushing over whenever I think about them. All by a man who I know little about, but one who’s made me feel as if he’s known me forever, spent an eternity with my body, and knows the exact way to do each thing as if he wrote the instructions for my body’s creation. He looked into my eyes and made me feel things I never felt in any of my past relationships. I feel guilty somewhere inside because I don’t know him and he doesn’t know me, but I was still able to share a part of myself I’ve been afraid to let anyone else see. Last night was the first time I’ve lost myself in a moment of passion that made me drop every reservation I’ve ever had and let go of any inhibition I’ve experienced.
Michael always complained that I held back when we had sex, and I did. Something in me wouldn’t allow myself to fully let go, but last night was different. That feeling I never allowed to come over me with another person washed over me completely, any hesitation gone in the wind from the moment I agreed to let Cal give me everything.
I run my hands through my hair and massage my scalp. I barely know him, but I feel as though I’ve given him a little piece of my soul. His eyes hypnotized me into wanting him to experience every part of me, and my heart is beating faster as I fully realize this. I look over and see that I’m wrapped in this sea of sheets alone. The lull I’m in is wearing off, and my thoughts race at the idea of… what happens next?
This is the first time I’ve ever been faced with waking up in the bed of a guy with whom I’m not in a relationship! Here I am, having all these strange thoughts, and he could easily be counting down the minutes until I’m gone. What if I have to do my first walk of shame? After the most amazing night of my life, I’m going to have to walk out of this building, onto the busiest street in Chicago, in last night’s wrinkled clothes and wonder if I’m ever going to see him again. Ugh. Stupid!
Dammit! If this is one of the liberating experiences Hillary says I need to have, I’m going to kill her, because I don’t feel liberated at all. I’m horrified! What if he’s just left or is hiding somewhere, waiting for me to leave? But no guy would leave a strange girl in his house alone. Oh, gosh, I’m just a strange girl to him!
I scan the room, looking for my clothes and feeling a near-panic attack starting. I get out of bed and tiptoe around it, expecting to find my dress and underwear scattered on the floor, but there’s nothing. Where the hell are my clothes! Okay, calm down, calm down. There has to be a reasonable explanation for this, and why am I tiptoeing?
“Breathe. Just breathe,” I tell myself, taking a deep breath.
“Please do. If you pass out, I don’t know CPR.”
His voice makes the hairs on my neck stand up. I turn to see him leaning in the doorway, arms folded across his bare chest, pajama pants resting a little below his hips, and on his face is that same amused grin from the day I met him. A grin spreads across my own. I let out a sigh of relief until I realize the only thing I’m wearing is a smile. I quickly grab the sheet from the bed and wrap it around myself.
“Um, I—good morning,” I finally manage to say.
“Good morning.” I can hear him holding in a laugh, and he bites his lips.
“You’re laughing at me.” I chuckle at how ridiculous I must look, depending on how long he might have been standing there.
“A little bit,” he admits, walking toward me.
With each step, I grow more nervous in the best way possible. His hair is tousled but almost perfectly so. His skin looks amazing in the sunlight, and his eyes are showcasing their green hue. I remind myself I’m twenty-one, not fourteen, and command my big-girl voice to make an appearance.
“Well, you did hide my clothes,” I retort as he sits on the bed in front of me.
“As good as you look without them…” He gives my entire body a once-over. “I didn’t hide them. I sent them to the laundry.” He rests his weight on his elbows, his eyes staring up at me playfully.
That’s a relief. If he wanted me gone super fast, I reason, he wouldn’t have done that. I breathe a little easier. “Thank you.” My eyes rest on my feet.
“You’re shy?” He chuckles and stands up from the bed.
Is it that obvious? Ugh, stop acting like a spaz. “A little,” I admit, laughing at myself.
I want to tell him I’m only shy around him but decide not to. He steps closer to me. My heart beats faster with each step.
“Not what you expected?” I say, wishing, at this moment, that I had more experience with this kind of thing.
He looks down at me, and his smile softens. “I’m just surprised.” His chest touches mine, and I instinctively step backward. “After everything you let me do to you last night…” He closes the distance between us, bites his bottom lip, and beams down at me.
I know I’m turning every imaginable shade of red. “I think you like making me nervous,” I say, my back now against the wall and his arms on both sides of me.
“No. I just like getting you all worked up,” he says and leans down, bringing his lips only an inch away from mine. His breath smells like mint and his skin like vanilla, and I realize mine doesn’t.
I slip underneath his arm, and he’s caught off guard. “Can I use your shower?” I ask, smiling at his surprise.
“Is that an invitation?” he asks, walking past me into what I assume is his bathroom.
He gestures toward it, and I follow. Once I’m in the doorway, a wicked grin appears on his face. I feel my stomach drop at the gesture. But whether he knows it or not, I’m too sore to even contemplate what he’s hinting at.
“Privacy?” He laughs, and I nod gratefully. He steps back, but not before his hand slides down my back and he squeezes my butt. I playfully roll my eyes at him, demanding my body to behave. “Too bad.” He sighs before slipping out.
When he’s gone, my mouth almost drops. The bathroom is huge, almost bigger than my bedroom. It’s stone gray and navy blue, matching the hues of Cal’s bedroom. There’s a deep stone tub in the center, and adjacent to that is a shower with two heads and a clear glass surround. There are his-and-hers sinks with faucets that flow down like a fountain. This place just gets better and better.
Body towels and face towels are neatly stacked on a bench. There’s a little cup on the sink next to what I assume is mouthwash, but the bottle matches the bathroom decor. I open it and smell the cap to make sure it’s the mint I noticed earlier. As I contemplate whether to shut the door or not, I peek into the bedroom and see that Cal’s nowhere in sight.
I swish the wash around in my mouth. It’s minty with a mix of something else I can’t put my finger on, but it’s mild, unlike the burning kind my aunt used to buy. When I’m done, I make my way into the shower. When I turn it on, I’m startled when the showerhead behind me sprinkles down my back. Once I figure out the settings, the shower is absolute heaven. I’m a little excited about smelling like Cal throughout the day, after using his body wash and shampoo. They both have the exact right hint of vanilla for him to smell good but retain his masculinity.
After I dry off, I wrap the towel around my body and head into the bedroom, which is still empty. I look at the bed, hoping he might have left me a shirt to put on, but there’s nothing.
I head down the stairs and hear a television on. Cal’s at the fridge, a container of orange juice in hand. Wearing an amused smirk, he glances over me.
“Pulp or no pulp?” he asks, shutting the fridge.
“No pulp.” I chuckle as I sit on the side of the island that’s closest to me.
“Good choice,” he says, pouring me a cup and setting it in front of me.
Before grabbing it, I secure my towel to make sure it will stay. I notice him laughing, and he shakes his head disapprovingly.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he says, amused, the fridge hiding him. “How was your shower?” He at last appears with a bowl. When he sets it down, I see it contains cut-up fruit, all kinds.
“It was wonderful. I definitely have shower envy,” I admit before popping a piece of cantaloupe in my mouth.
He takes a grape, does the same, and sits across from me. I grab another piece of fruit and make sure my towel is still in place. He leans over on the island and tilts his head slightly to the right.
“You should take the towel off,” he says, his eyes beaming at me.
I bite my tongue instead of the fruit. Ugh! “What?” I laugh in disbelief at what he just said.
“What’s so funny?” he asks with a wry grin.
“It’s just how casually you said that and how serious you sounded,” I joke.
“I am serious,” he says, resting his chin in his hand. His eyes set on mine, making me shift in my seat.
“I’m sorry. I’m not going to sit in your kitchen completely naked.” I laugh off my nervousness. He can’t be serious.
He stands and walks around the counter. He’s heading toward me, and with each step, my heart pounds faster. I swallow as he rounds the corner of the island, turning in my direction, and I suddenly feel as though I’m prey and he’s the hunter. But the doorbell rings, the spell is broken, and he lets out a breath. He makes a beeline to the door, pointing at me as he walks away.
“Saved by the bell, gorgeous,” he says, a residual smile on his face. A moment later, he’s back with two containers. He hands me one before making his way to the other side of the island. “You were still asleep when I ordered, so I got pancakes and bacon, because who wouldn’t like that?”
The aroma when I open the container is tantalizing, and I have to stop myself from grabbing a piece of bacon and stuffing it in my mouth. I glance at him as he stuffs a strip of bacon in his.
As we eat, I try not to stare at him. I keep trying to figure out this enigma sitting in front of me. He’s young, but this house is decorated with the taste of someone older. He’s straightforward, but sometimes it seems as though he wants to say something but doesn’t. He’s seductive but has a boyish charm to him—well, that disappears when he squints a little and lust clouds his eyes. He’s blunt but mysterious about simple things. He seems to want me to be more assertive but is turned on by my reticence.
“What’s going on in that head of yours, Ms. Brooks?” he asks, squinting at me as he finishes off his piece of toast.
“You want me to be honest?” I ask bluntly.
“Always,” he says, just as bluntly.
“I—I guess I’m trying to figure you out. This out,” I admit.
He stretches his arms over his head, and for a moment, I’m distracted by his muscular physique.
“This?” he asks.
“This whole awkward, day-after-the-night-with-a-guy-I-don’t-really-know-how-to-act-around,” I ramble.
“The only thing awkward is you trying to eat and keep that towel up.”
I frown at his playfulness then decide to lay it all out on the table. “You’re the first guy I’ve ever done this with. And I know it sounds cliché, saying I’m not that type of girl, but it’s true, and I’m not sure what the etiquette is for ‘this.’ I don’t know what to make of you. I kind of thought you’d be hiding somewhere this morning, waiting for me to leave or something.” I take a deep breath and glance at him nervously, not knowing what he’s going to do next.
“So you think I’m an asshole?” He laughs boisterously and plants his elbow on the counter. I’m caught off guard by that.
“No, I-I didn’t say that.” I’m a little embarrassed. I didn’t really consider he’d take that as an insult.
“You pretty much do, if you think I’d sleep with you then hide from you in my own house. That would make me an asshole and a coward.” He counts on his fingers with a grin.
“Okay, I’m sorry. But I’m just trying to figure you out,” I admit, feeling more than embarrassed.
“It’s okay. I’m sure this won’t be the last time you think I’m an asshole,” he says, tossing out his now-empty container.
I feel my eyebrow rise.
“Well, unless you just planned on screwing me and never calling again,” he adds with an almost-knowing smile.
This time, it’s my turn to finish up the rest of my orange juice.
“It’s not that. I just…” I let out a deep sigh. “I like you, and I’d feel a little better about myself if I knew more about you,” I tell him honestly.
