Can't Touch This (30 page)

I grab her hand and kiss it.  Then I shrug.  “Things have been awful lately, so I don’t want to make a big deal out of it.  Turning twenty-six isn’t any kind of major milestone.”

“You’ll have to stop sleeping with a teddy bear,” Griz says with a grin.

“No, that’s when she hits thirty,” William kids.

I throw a pizza crust at him.

Griz contemplates for a minute.  “You know, it’s your golden birthday.”

“My what?”

“Your Golden Birthday.  Haven’t you ever heard of it?”

“No, never.” I say, my mouth full of pizza.

“It’s when you turn the same age as the day you were born.  You’re turning twenty-six on the twenty-sixth of the month.  Get it?”

“That’s pretty cool.  Is this another preacher’s daughter things?”

“No, it’s another one of my fun things.  We’ll have to do something tomorrow night since you’re leaving for the client party in Denver on Sunday.  We’ll have a golden time.  We’ll get you golden presents—”

“—Ooo, I like that.”  I’m starting to come back to life.  Nothing like a party to lift a girl’s spirits.

“We’ll invite all the people from the office and go to dinner somewhere that has a gold reference—”

“I’ve got it,” William interrupts.  “How about McDonald’s?  It has golden arches.”

“You are such a brat,” Griz yells, launching herself to attack him.  The two of them end up in a heap, tickling each other and laughing uproariously until Mr. Paulsen pounds on his floor.

“All right, all right,” William shouts at the ceiling.

“Leave it to me.  I’ll set up everything,” Griz says.

Hmm, a party.  People from the office. I pick at a mushroom and wonder, “Do you think Kyle will come?”

Griz bites her lip, but then smiles.  “I bet I can get Rick to talk him into it.”

Popping the mushroom into my mouth, I say, “No, I don’t want to force him to be around me, especially since he hates me so much.”  I cringe at the pang that crosses my chest.

“He doesn’t hate you,” she says.  “It wasn’t your fault Rory showed up in the office like that.  Leave everything to me.”

The next day, Griz makes reservations at the only place in the Boston metropolitan area with the phrase “golden” in the title.  After work, we take the T out through Brookline to the Golden Temple restaurant.  William meets us there, as well as a whole bunch of people from the office.  Even Reagan, happily employed at a new company, shows up to wish me well.

But I’m still looking for that one person.

And he’s not here.

Of course he’s not.  Kyle made it pretty clear what he thinks of my duplicitous behavior.  He knows about the stupid demo disk farce and blames me for the extra man-hours at work that have led to everyone not having a personal life.

Then I shouldn’t get to have one with him.

I don’t deserve it.  I don’t deserve work friends.  I don’t deserve this party.

My heart nearly leaps to my throat, though, when I eyeball the last guest to arrive with Rick Churchman.  Surprisingly enough, Kyle is carrying a small bundle of white roses.  He approaches cautiously and holds out the flowers.  It’s killing him to be nice to me.  I can tell by the forced smile, instead of his natural one.

“These are for you,” he says quietly.

“Thanks, Kyle, they’re really beautiful,” I say in one breath.  The flowers aren’t nearly as lovely as the tingly sensation streaking from the ends of my fingers to the tips of my toes as our hands brush together.  He has to feel it, too.

He breaks away from me and turns to talk to Reagan.  Feeling my heart will surely crumble into pieces in front of everyone, I take my place in the appointed seat Griz has picked out for me.  She’s decorated our huge table with gold confetti and a bouquet of golden balloons for the back of my chair.  She sits on my right and William on my left, but my attention is focused straight ahead across the table at Kyle.  The fact that he’s here means something.

Our group orders a ton of food and passes our plates around, sharing the barbecued ribs, Chilean sea bass, Chardonnay chicken, ginger scallion lobster, and plenty of wine.

Kyle and I play eye tag throughout the meal, acting like we’re not really looking at each other.  My heart trips along, yo-yoing back and forth every time there’s a connection.  I pray that he’s forgiven me.  The whole incident with Rory/Rodney has made me finally come to my senses and I realize that no handbook, rules, or regulations can thwart my feelings for Kyle.  Now, I just have to convince him that he still wants me.  I’ll do my best to win him over.  I don’t see how my life continue along on its natural course without Kyle Nettles being a big part of it.

At one point during dinner, I lick barbecue sauce off my fingers and I see Kyle watching me, intently.  I nervously wipe the remainder off with my napkin.  He looks away and picks up another fork full of the sea bass.  My entire body melts in a mellifluous manner at the thought of a second chance with him.  Whether he admits it or not, I can tell the he’s still into me.

Course, maybe he’s simply appalled at what I’m wearing.  Griz dug an eight-year-old black and gold sweater—
is that lamé?—
out of her closet and insisted I wear it.  There’s enough shoulder padding to fill out a New England Patriots lineman’s uniform.  I look like a reject from the Dynasty Reunion show, but I play along since it means so much to her.

William breaks out the “Velvet Underground” dark chocolate cake from Rosie’s Bakery in Cambridge and dishes out ample helpings to everyone.  Everyone—including the restaurant’s staff—sings happy “golden” birthday to me.  Then, Griz presents me with a beautiful ivory Chinese vase with gold leaves nestled in colorful wrapping paper.  It’s very grown up.

“There’s more,” she says excitedly.  “Pick it up and dump out what’s inside.”

Sure enough, there’s something rattling in there.

“Don’t shake it, dump it,” she fusses.

“Here, Vanessa, I’ll do it.”  William spreads the rainbow wrapping paper on the table and pours out the jingling material.

Out pours a mound of golden dollar coins—the ones with Sacagawea on them.  The ones you get from the Post Office stamp machines but never know what to do with them.  Well, Griz found a use for the shiny change.

“This can’t all be for me,” I say, fingering through the shimmering coins.  There’s got to be over a hundred bucks here.

“Everyone pitched in.  A lot of other people at work anted up, too, because of all the great things you do for the company.  I wrote them all down.  Isn’t it the coolest gift?”

“You guys, I don’t know what to say.  You’re amazing.”  I look around at the fortune before me.  Not just the money, but the good friends who took the time to share in my special day.  As I look at the pot of gold in front of me, I can’t help but see the face that sits beyond, just over the rainbow-colored wrapping paper.  Kyle Nettles.

Despite the way I know he feels toward me, he smiles crookedly, causing my heart to do quite the flippity-flop.  Almost painful.  Is this what it’s like to desperately want someone you can’t have?  I’ve never felt anything like this before in my life and I find it hard to take in air.

To get a grip, I lean over and squeeze Griz, turn to kiss William on the cheek and announce, “Midnight martinis are on me.”

*****

A
fter dinner, the
group heads to Lansdowne Street to go dancing at Avalon.  Everyone buys me drinks and I can’t be more content.  It may not be the smartest thing, but I think I’m anesthetized enough to put a move on Kyle.  He wouldn’t be rude enough to turn down a dance with the birthday girl.

Kyle’s standing with Rick and Griz (who are all over each other) sipping a beer.  His eyes look me up and down and I swear I see a hint of a sparkle.  It’s probably something to do with the overhead strobes, but a girl can hope.

I reach for his hand.  “Aren’t you going to dance with me?”

He smiles weakly and resists.  “Do I have a choice?”

“Nope.  Guest of Honor demands it.”

Begrudgingly, he follows me out onto the crowded dance floor.  Students from Boston College and Boston University groove to the music, not holding their alcohol very well.  I was one of those girls not too long ago.  I’d like to tell them what’s in store for their real future.  Struggle, hard work, debt, corporate bullshit, mind games, heartache, and disappointment.  But no.  They’ll have to discover it for themselves, just like I have.  It’s nothing that can be taught in a college classroom, even by the most degreed professor.

Linking my fingers through Kyle’s, I pull him with me to a clearing on the floor.  We dance to a fast-paced song by Milky, followed by DJ Sammy’s “Sunshine.”  The lights coat me in a cloak of happiness, contentment, safety.  I almost get the impression that Kyle is forgiving me, forgetting what he saw in the conference room.  Disregarding the whole senseless situation.  I don’t want Rory.  I want Kyle.  I need for him to know what transpired and that I didn’t know Rory was coming to Boston.

I would think that my rabbit punch to Rory’s face spoke volumes.

Still, after each song ends, Kyle makes his distance, standing back and observing me cautiously.  Not quite dissecting my actions, yet staring at me in a way that tells me he’s experiencing some inner turmoil.

A while later, having given up my attempts to win Kyle over on the dance floor, I’m sipping a drink Jack bought me when a hand hesitantly skims my waist.  I realize it’s Kyle, so I suck in.  In my exhaustion from the evening, I lean into his chest, feeling his hardened muscles against my back.

“I’m heading out in a little bit.  I’ve got to pack for Denver,” he says over the music.

I turn in his arms and move in close to make sure he hears me.  “You can’t leave.  One more dance.”  My chest brushes up against his, causing my nipples to react on their own and stand at attention.

A Dirty Vegas song pumps out and Kyle takes the lead this time to tug me out to the crowded dance floor.  I hold on to his muscular arms as we sway to the song.  Because of the crowded space, I’m forced to loop my arms over his shoulder; hands behind his neck.  It takes every bit of willpower not to plunge my fingers through his thick hair.  He tenses at first, then relaxes.  I feel his sigh in my hair.  Then Kyle places his hands on my hips, steering my gyration in his direction.  A slow, rhythmic, sexy motion.  I struggle to breathe as his body brushes mine.  Touching sensually in the darkened, jam-packed room.

He leans his forehead near and says something.

“What?”

I see his lips move again, but the music is way too loud to understand.  So, I nod and smile.  I hope it’s the right reaction.

When the song is over and the lights stop flickering, he begins to move away.  Thinking fast, I cover his hand with mine and instinctively our fingers entwine.  It feels so good, so right, so natural.

“I really have to go, Vanessa,” he says against my ear, the whisper of his breath touching my skin.

“I know.”  Still, I don’t let go, gripping him tightly when another slow song kicks in overhead.  “One more?” I whisper.  “Please.”  It’s not a question, rather a request from my heart.

He takes a deep breath and then gathers me close as we move to the sensual, slow beat.  My head fits snuggly under his chin and I nuzzle against the open collar of his shirt, taking in his appetizing scent.  I’m not sure, but I think his lips brush my hair.  I tip my head up, looking deep into his eyes.  Nothing should feel this good, this comforting, this safe.  I praise the person who invented slow dancing, dark clubs, and cold winter nights meant to share with a warm body of the opposite sex.

When the song ends, he steps away like he’s been scalded with hot water.  My body screams out and the coolness of the club covers me, chilling the warm imprint left by his body.  The brief look of pleasure on his face is replaced with a tense scowl.  He scrubs at his cheeks, as if to get his senses back.  “Look, I can’t do this Vanessa.  It’s not right.”

“Yes, it is,” I say a bit pathetically.

He won’t meet my eyes, so I know he’s struggling with his emotions.  I was getting to him, wasn’t I?  “I’ve got to go.  I hope you had a great birthday.”

“You helped make it great, Kyle.”  I stand on my tiptoes and boldly kiss him on the cheek.  Embarrassed, I step off and let Kyle go.  No use begging.  Not tonight.

Feeling tears might overcome me, I press toward my roommate who hands me a bottle of water.  “You two look hot together,” William says.

Taking a deep breath to steady the rhythm of my heart, I admit, “Wills, I’m way past having a crush on this guy.”

From this point forward, I’m determined to get him.

I
 should never
drink that heavily before getting on an airplane.  As if my fear of flying isn’t enough, now I’ve got this killer hangover pelting my brain.  At least it deadens the thought of Kyle easily walking away from me last night.

On the flight across country, comforted by my trusty Atavan and several pillows, I think about how to turn things around with him.  We were so close.  Then I got stupid.  I put work regulations ahead of real adult feelings.  The first I’ve ever really experienced.  This isn’t a few dates with a frat guy or a college set up.  This could be forever and ever.

I have to right this.

I arrive at The Brown Palace Hotel and get to work on the details for tonight’s party.  At eight p.m., the clients arrive in the Onyx Room.  I run through my mental checklists making sure there’s plenty of wine, cheese, bread, and fruit to keep everyone happy.

“You clean up nice,” Jack teases as he helps with set up the nametags on the check-in table.

My earlier nap and shower paid off and I feel quite confident in how the evening will turn go.  I’m decked out in a blue short-sleeved Liz Claiborne dress I got on sale.  It comes to my knees and shows off my legs.

Kyle steps into the room and I sense his presence even before I see him.  It’s like an alarm going off inside my head. 
Hot man at twelve o’clock.
 My chest tightens in delight while I take in his appearance.  He’s wearing a black double-breasted suit with a crisp white shirt and a smartly designed silver striped tie.