Forever Shade

by Shayne Ford

  My eyes linger on her for a few seconds as she kisses her boy’s head.

  Her hair goes past her shoulders, a colorful T-shirt hanging loosely over her ripped jeans.

  She no longer wears dresses, heels or makeup.

  “Thank you for bringing him back.”

  “No problem. I love when he comes looking for me. He’s my buddy,” I say.

  Still grinning, I walk backward, my eyes trained on them when my back hits a wall of muscles, and my heel sinks into a man’s boot.

  “Oh... I’m sorry,” I say, spinning around and losing my balance.

  My hands shoot back, trying to grab something–– anything when my touch meets his jeans-clad thigh.

  Snaking an arm around my waist, he stops me from swaying and buries me into his chest.

  I straighten my back, my eyes quickly finding his.

  My mouth falls open.

  “Oh. I’m sorry,” I say with a softer voice, having a hard time to tear away from his embrace.

  A slow smile curves his lips as he registers my reaction.

  “No problem,” he says, his handsome features, and smoky voice, reviving memories I thought I lost for me.

  My smile withers away as he locks my eyes. I look at him, perplexed.

  It takes me a few good moments before I jolt back to reality and break away from him.

  He gives me a charming grin, my reaction to him–– as much as he enjoys it, clearly taking him by surprise.

  Speechless, I still stare at him.

  Way to go, Tara Hart.

  In my defense, I’ve never seen anyone looking so strikingly like him.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to startle you,” he says.

  His voice rolls out deep and nasal, with a touch of a rasp.

  “You didn’t,” I say before I clear my throat and struggle to collect myself.

  This goes from bad to worse as I sense the heat of a blush on my face.

  The man may be young–– somewhere in his early twenties, but he’s certainly not stupid.

  With his handsome features and athletic body, I’m sure he gets a lot of attention from women–– most likely this kind of reaction too.

  As much as I’d like to pretend that I’m unimpressed, I can’t stifle my reaction to him.

  My gaze dips, my eyes hovering over him.

  I clear my throat again and take a sharp intake of air, barely managing to lift my gaze when a cheeky smile purses his lips as he runs his eyes on me.

  Slowly, he takes inventory of my heels, my skirt, and my tailored shirt.

  He swings his gaze back up, stalling a moment on the outline of my chest, weighing me expertly.

  His eyes glint with mischief as he peels his gaze away.

  “How may I help you?” I ask going for a stern expression, that’s a complete failure.

  The man looks at me, unfazed.

  Clutching my hips, I raise my eyebrows and give him a pointed look, hoping to accomplish more.

  As if it works.

  The harder I try, the harder it is to keep my face straight, and the less impressed he seems to be with my effort.

  Grinning, he shoves his hands into his pockets, tricking me to dip my gaze below his waist.

  The moment I slant my eyes down, he pulls his low-riding jeans even lower.

  Hastily, I drag my gaze up, sweeping his hard, flat stomach, carved chest, and broad shoulders. His fitted T-shirt doesn’t help a bit. I finally bring my eyes to his face.

  He tosses a cocky smile at me.

  Patiently, he waits for me to finish my inspection.

  Way to go, Miss CEO.

  I couldn’t be more obvious even if I tried.

  “I’m here for the photo shoot,” he finally says, his lips curling into a lopsided smile.

  “A model?” I mutter, surprised.

  Only God knows why.

  “You sound disappointed,” he says with a nasal voice that plants in my head the image of him naked in a bed.

  He smiles amused again as if he’s privy to my thoughts.

  Narrowing his blue-green eyes, he studies me.

  His cheeks get flushed. My insides start to melt.

  “Are you flirting with me?” I ask, unable to stifle a smile.

  “Are you?” he tosses back at me.

  I’m losing this battle.

  Tearing my eyes away from him, I grab his elbow and nudge him down the hallway.

  “I can follow directions. There’s no need to escort me,” he says jokingly.

  “I’m not. It just happens that we’re both heading in the same direction.”

  “All right,” he says, sounding like a spoiled brat.

  I stop in front of the photo studio.

  Standing in the doorway, I motion him inside. He gives me his signature crooked grin again, and a slow once over that makes me feel as if his lips are all over my skin.

  A moment later, he walks into the studio.

  He glances over his shoulder, expecting me to follow him.

  Biting the inside of my cheek, I suppress a grin and wave him goodbye before I retreat in my office.

  He throws me another glance before he gets swallowed by a group of people, his focus shifting away from me for good.

  My phone lights up with a message.

  Maya: We’ve surpassed the sales projections for this month. Record website traffic. Over one million unique visitors.

  Me: Great.

  Maya: How’s life in the office?

  Me: Fun. Time for the fashion editorial shoot.

  Maya: Ha ha. Enjoy it.

  Me: Have you cast any male models lately?

  Maya: Yes, I did. When you were at the fashion trade show in Las Vegas.

  Me: A blonde, blue-eyed, model?

  Maya: You’re welcome. Doesn’t he look exactly like him?

  Me: He does. Not funny.

  Maya: A ‘thank you’ would suffice. Happy (photo) shooting!

  Laughing softly, I set the phone on my desk.

  I turn around, glance briefly in the mirror, and quickly scan my reflection while running my hands over my black skirt.

  Taking a long breath, I pull away from my desk and walk out of my office. Pulse racing, I strut to the other side of the corridor where a group of stylists and assistants work on every detail, making sure that the models are ready for the photo session.

  Carefully, I screen each and every one of them.

  Running my eyes on them, I take inventory of a bunch of short shorts, cut out tank tops, lacy bustiers teasingly peeking from under slouchy blazers, studded, ripped jeans, caged cropped tops, gypsy bangle bracelets, and silver tone heavy necklaces, as well as biker boots, jackets and rhinestone embellished leather belts.

  The models, hand picked by Maya and me, span a wide range of looks, yet they all have something in common.

  They look wild and unconventional. Bedroom eyes, unruly hair, and a tongue in cheek attitude.

  I make a few suggestions to a couple of girls who trade their jackets, accessorize a few others, and send one back to the hairdresser.

  I step back, turn around, and shift my focus to the male models.

  We’ve recently added the male clothing line to our core business. The sales picked up quickly, right from the get-go.

  Expertly, I move my eyes over them, making sure their jeans fit them right, their open jackets reveal enough skin, and their hair screams sexy and not stupid.

  I recognize most of them since I’m the one who booked them. Except for, well, the man who stands in the corner, his eyes glued to his phone, his earbuds in his ears, his hair a beautiful mess. His jeans are pulled down to his hips, giving me a clear idea of what strains against the stonewashed denim.

  Reluctantly, I raise my gaze from his bulge and let it wander over his bare, muscled torso.

  Silver rings wrap around his fingers, a matching necklace sliding low between his pecs almost touching his abs.

  I freeze for a moment as I realize how much he r
esembles Shade. The same wide shoulders and posture. The same self-assured, cocky attitude.

  Oblivious to me, he keeps his eyes glued to his phone.

  Glancing across the room, I flick my hand to catch the stylist’s eye.

  “I’ll be there in a moment,” she says.

  I swing my eyes back to him. He tilts his gaze up from his phone.

  I barely eat my gasp as I meet his so familiar eyes.

  “What’s the problem?” he mutters, his lips creasing into a slow smile.

  “You’re not ready,” I say flatly.

  “Oh, yes I am...” he says, pointing to the board behind him.

  He straightens his back and erases the space between us, the air suddenly thinning.

  “Ah... Okay,” I say, glancing at the board.

  Crushing a grin, I start checking his jeans and studded belt, making sure that they fit him right.

  The heat oozing from his skin rolls on me.

  I raise my gaze and fall into his eyes, their blue light creating havoc inside me.

  “This looks good,” I say, laying my palm flat on his belt buckle.

  His lips part and tilt into a teasing smile.

  Flushed, I blow a strand of hair away from my face.

  He brings his hand to my cheek and gently, brushes all my hair away from my face, draping it over my back. .

  Pretending I’m not a melting mess, I tear my gaze away from his face and dip it to his abs, my fingers tracing the edge of his boxer shorts peeking slightly from beneath his jeans.

  He flexes his muscles, either as a reaction to my touch or to tease me. Perhaps both. The result is the same, so my knees begin to shake.

  We lock eyes for another moment, my hand glued to his belt, almost touching his groin.

  “You’re good,” I mutter distracted, taken with the way he slowly grazes his bottom lip with the edge of his teeth.

  Amusement flashes in his eyes, and then a flirting grin. As if we are alone. As if we share a naughty thought.

  A thought I haven’t had in some time.

  The stylist stops next to me.

  “He’s good,” I say, my voice shattered.

  Averting my eyes, I move away from him in a rush before I exit the room and vanish into my office.

  3

  TARA

  “You have to stop waiting for him.”

  Maya’s voice beams with frustration in my ear.

  “I’m not waiting for him,” I toss back at her, trying to hide my nervousness.

  Sprawled on a lounge chair, I shift my phone from one hand to the other and train my eyes on the horizon.

  Occupying the last floor of a residential building, my condo and the spacious terrace attached to it offer a lovely view.

  The sky darkens in the distance as the day draws to an end. My mind wanders away for a moment before her sigh rolls in my ear, pulling me back to our conversation.

  I take another sip of wine.

  “I told you that I’m not waiting for him,” I say.

  “You’re lying to yourself.”

  “No, I’m not. Stop bugging me. I can say the same thing about you and Shade’s friend.”

  Her answer comes promptly.

  “Nah-uh. It’s not the same thing. Besides, I’m not the one who spends her Friday evening at home, wrapped in a robe, a glass of wine in her hand, and her eyes rooted on the horizon.”

  I glance around, spooked for a moment before I breathe out a chuckle.

  “How the hell do you know all that?”

  She laughs.

  “I know you, Tara. I know how attached you are to him even after all this time. I know you’re waiting for him, hoping that one day he’ll show up or call you or give you a sign that he’s alive. It’s useless to deny it. I’m not blaming you, but you can’t live like that forever. You have to draw a line somewhere and let yourself enjoy life even without him.”

  My smile withers away.

  “I’m not waiting for him,” I say, frustration brimming in my voice as I set the glass of wine on the side table.

  “I don’t want you to get pissed and all. The only reason I am saying this is that you shouldn’t waste your life waiting for him when you don’t even know if he’d ever come back. He’s been gone for some time. He might be back one day. Yeah… He might. But until then you can’t live like a monk. I’m sure he hasn’t.”

  “Listen... I’m not waiting for him. Seriously,” I say, aggravated. “But I can’t just go out there and fuck someone to take Shade out of my system.”

  “That’s not what I was saying––”

  “I know... I know,” I say, cutting her off, frustrated.

  “All I want you is to have a little fun. Relax. Get in bed with someone else. Clear your mind. You’ll get a different perspective on things.”

  “Has it worked for you?”

  “No, it hasn’t,” she says sincerely. “But even if it doesn’t work, at least you give it a try.”

  “He’s not the reason why––”

  “Stop it,” she barks at me time, and yet we chuckle a moment later. “He is the reason you don’t let anyone else close to you. And it’s been too long. Come on, now…”

  “Yes. You’re right,” I murmur, my mind drifting away again.

  “What?” she mutters.

  “Next week will be exactly one year since I met him,” I say with a nostalgic voice before we both go silent.

  Looking back, that night feels like a completely different life.

  I’ve tried to stay away from his memory, yet the more I pulled away from it, the deeper I get caught in it.

  Nothing prepared me for what he left in his wake when we parted ways. The memory of that day still haunts me. It’s like a hole in the fabric of time that has remained a mystery to me.

  Up to this day, I still can’t make much sense of it.

  After all this time, I have more questions than answers.

  I never thought that he’d walk away from me like that.

  Caught in the spiral of events, I felt guilt and heartache, torment and confusion, and yet, I was nowhere as crushed as I was when I realized that he would not go back to his family to mend his relationship with his parents or make an effort to get back his old life.

  I thought he would stay and try to fix things. That was that whole reason why I stepped away from him.

  I wanted to make things right for him. And me.

  But my sacrifice was in vain.

  He walked away that day as he had probably planned on doing for a long time. And that was that.

  As the time passed by I felt even more hurt and then stupid for even thinking that he’d do what I expected from him.

  For weeks and months after he left, I waited for a sign from him. I was convinced that I’d hear from him, but the sign never came.

  Adjusting my expectations proved to be a tedious process. I went from shock and surprise to denial and disbelief, and in the end, I had no other choice but to accept the state of things.

  He was not coming back.

  As the silence, space and time separated us, a heart-wrenching suspicion ripped through my heart.

  What if he knew that I’d let him down?

  What if he expected it?

  Not only that I’ve never heard from him, but Maya hasn’t heard from his friend either.

  And then there was the note I found in the bag he left with me that day. And the stash of money–– almost 100K tucked in that duffel bag.

  ‘If you read this, I may or may not be around. This is a little help for you to start building your dream. You’re as good as they come, Tara. Trust yourself and spread your wings.

  You’ll succeed.

  You’ll see.

  Sometimes you need to try it to see if it works.

  Love, Shade’

  I tried. And it worked.

  A couple of months after we split ways, I started my business.

  Three months later, I broke even and by the end of last year, I had
a booming business in my hands. I made his money back, put it back in that bag, and never touched it since.

  From that point on, my business became the main focus of my life–– a life emptied of him, and nothing else mattered to me.

  I wish I knew if he broke free. If he had built the life that he always wanted.

  “I don’t expect him to come back, Maya,” I finally say. “That’s not why I don’t hook up with other people. And I’m not stupid. I know that a lot of things could’ve happened since he left.”

  “And yet you told him that you’d wait for him. And I know you. When you give your word, you mean it.”

  She may have just rolled her eyes–– I think.

  I breathe out a soft chuckle.

  “I said it because I was stupid. At the time, I thought that things could work out. Obviously, he had other plans for in mind. And who knows? Maybe he had second thoughts about me.”

  “You were the one who broke up with him.”

  “Yeah… And yet, as hurt as he was he kinda expected it,” I say, frustration lining my voice.

  A few moments of silence slip by.

  “Let’s say that he asked you to go with him––”

  “That’s not how these things work, Maya,” I rush to make a point. “He had no money and no future and it was mainly because of me, of us. It’s not as if I wanted to lose him, but what I had to do my part and let him get his life together. The last thing I wanted was to be the person who pulled him down.”

  My voice starts to break as guilt and regret barrel through me.

  Silence comes from the other end, fueling my doubts.

  “And to go with him where?” I ask with a different, softer voice.

  “You couldn’t trust him,” she says, disappointed. “And he must’ve anticipated. That’s why he had the money for you,” she adds.

  “What about him trusting me?”

  “He did.”

  “How can you even say that?”

  “He wanted you to go with him.”

  I remain quiet. She doesn’t say a word.

  “And then he left me. And never called. See, that’s why I am more and more convinced that he was the one who couldn’t trust me. In retrospect, I’m not so sure that he had it all figured out. Maybe he had. Maybe he hadn’t.”

  “Why are you still waiting for him then?”

  “Ugh. I’m not waiting for him...” I burst out. “Stop saying that.”