Authors: Portia Moore
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 where I saw the panic and worry I never had before, I know that he’s genuinely struggling with something, I fight every urge inside of me 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.
May 11th 2008
Before today I’ve never been asleep and afraid to wake up and to 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 turn out to 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 is not so much like the endings I’ve read about, more amazing than I ever thought it could be.
I turn over on my back and wrap myself in the softest sheets that I’ve ever felt and smile, knowing that 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 whenever I think about them. All from a man who I know little of but made me feel as if he’s known me forever, like he’s spent an eternity with my body, knowing 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 was able to get me to share a part of myself I’ve been afraid to let anyone else see. The first time I’ve lost myself in a moment of passion that caused me to drop every reservation I’ve ever had, to let go of any inhibition I’ve experienced.
Michael always complained that I held back when we had sex and I know that I did. Something in me wouldn’t allow myself to fully let go--but last night was different. That feeling I never let come over me with another person washed over me completely, any hesitation of allowing it to happen 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 like 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 starting to beat 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 starting to wear off and my thoughts start to 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 can 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 guess 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 start to scan the room, looking for my clothes, 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 aloud, taking a deep breath.
“Please do. If you pass out, I don’t know CPR.”
His voice causes the hairs on my neck to 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 that same amused grin from the day I met him. A smile 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 both of his lips, seemingly to keep from doing so.
“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 but 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 down on the bed in front of me.
“As good as you look without them,” he says as he does a once-over on my entire body. “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,” I say, my eyes resting 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 that it’s only 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’ve had more experience with this kind of thing.
He looks down at me and his smile softens.
“I’m just surprised.” His chest now touches mine, and I instinctively step backward. “After everything you let me do to you last night,” he adds, again closing the distance between us. He bites his bottom lip and beams down at me and I know I’m turning every imaginable shade of red. His smile widens.
“I think you like making me nervous,” I say, and my back is now against a 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 from underneath his arms 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, going 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 my head gratefully. He steps back, but not before his hand slides down my back and he squeezes my butt.
"Too bad," he sighs before slipping out, I playfully roll my eyes at him demanding my body to behave.
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 a shower with two heads and a clear glass surround. There's his-and-hers sinks, the faucets flows down like a fountain. This place just gets better and better.
There are body towels and face towels 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 out 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 shower head 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 on the bed, hoping he might have left me a shirt of his to put on. But there's nothing.
I head down the stairs. I hear a television on. Cal's at the fridge, a container of orange juice in hand. Wearing an amused smirk, he does a quick glance over me.
"Pulp or no pulp?" he asks, shutting the fridge.
"No pulp." I chuckle as I sit down on the side of the island that's closest to me.
"Good choice," he says, pouring me a cup and sitting 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?" I ask curiously.
"Nothing," he says amused, the fridge hiding him.
"How was your shower?" he asks, at last fully appearing with a bowl. When he sits it down, I see it contains cut-up fruit, all kinds.
"It was wonderful. I definitely have shower envy," I admit, popping a piece of cantaloupe in my mouth.
He takes a grape, does the same, and sits across from me, on the other side of the island. 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 on 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, a wry grin on his face.
"It's just how casual 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, causing me to 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 up and walks around the counter. He’s heading towards 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 like I’m prey and he’s the hunter. But the doorbell rings, the spell is broken, and he lets out a sigh. He makes a beeline to the door, pointing at me as he walks away.
“Saved by the bell gorgeous,” he says, a residual smile resting 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?” he jokes.
The aroma when I open the container is tantalizing, and I have to stop myself from grabbing a piece and stuffing it in my mouth. I glance up at him as he stuffs a strip of bacon in his.
I watch him as we eat trying not to stare at him as I fill my empty stomach. 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 like he wants to say something but doesn’t. He’s seductive but has a boyish charm to him—well, that disappears when his eyes squint a little and lust clouds them. He’s blunt but seemingly mysterious about simple things. He seems to want me to be more assertive but is turned on by my reticence with him.
“What’s going on in that head of yours, Ms. Brooks?” he asks, his eyes 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 curiously.
“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,” he says playfully.
I frown at his playfulness, then decide to lay it out all on the table.
“You’re the first guy 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.” After I let out my spiel, 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 in insult.
“You pretty much do. If you think I’d sleep with you and 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 ok I’m sure this won’t be the last time you think I’m an asshole,” he says, tossing out his container, now empty. 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.