Authors: Multiple
“Were
there?” He sounded interested, but Annie didn’t want to go there.
“Something
like that.” They sat in silence for a moment, but it was a comfortable one. “I
know what it’s like, not wanting people to judge you on appearances.”
“Do
you?”
Whenever
he asked a question like that, he seemed to want to know more. A man with a
genuine interest in what she had to say was something Annie was unfamiliar
with. Perhaps it was just that she found it hard to believe a man when he was
looking at her. “Maybe not like you,” she said. “I mean, maybe it’s not the
same, but I’ve spent my whole life being the beautiful one, and it’s just as
hard as being unattractive. At least, you know, by society’s standards, or
whatever...” Her voice trailed off and she wondered how that had sounded out
loud.
“So
I shouldn’t hate you because you’re beautiful?”
She
laughed, embarrassed. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I shouldn’t have made
that comparison. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound conceited, but maybe I am, a
little. Maybe you can’t help it when everyone looks at you a certain way.”
“So,
how is it the same?” Again, there was that interest.
Annie
glanced once more at his hands. She loved a man’s hands—large, strong,
yet capable of being so soft, so caring. His long legs were stretched out
beyond the table’s edge, and she could see he was wearing boots. Darkness was
funny. The way your mind used shapes and lines to fill in the blanks, how you
could see some things and not others.
“Well,”
she began, “it doesn’t matter, attractive or unattractive, really. At either
end of the spectrum, people still judge you. They make assumptions about you
based on how you look. They treat you differently. Do you know what I mean?”
She found herself eager for him to understand. Her heart raced with the
wanting.
Relief
flooded her chest when he said, “Yeah, I do.” His fingers brushed hers in the
darkness. “You have beautiful hands, Annie. So delicate.”
She
flushed at the compliment, but didn’t respond, wondering if he had been looking
at her hands with the same ulterior motive. Compliments often felt more like
sharp barbs to her than anything else, but this particular arrow landed softly,
with precision.
“What
about that girl out there, the one sitting next to you?” he went on. His words
jarred her, and she turned to look at him even though she could only see the
outline of his profile in the darkness. “A little overweight, not
conventionally pretty...”
“I...do
you know her?” Annie asked, slinking down the wall a little.
“No,
not really.”
Annie
felt that flood of relief again. “I didn’t really mean it, you know. I wasn’t
trying to be cruel.”
“No
one tries to be cruel.”
“Well,
that’s an unbelievably rosy view of the world, isn’t it?” Regretting the words
immediately, she admonished herself and wished she could take them back. She
certainly wasn’t succeeding in making a good first impression. She found it harder
in the dark, and the irony didn’t escape her.
He
sighed. “Maybe I’m too much of an idealist.”
“Or
a romantic at heart. I can understand that.”
The
silence grew uncomfortable, and Annie tried to think of a way to say she was
going to get up and leave. This was just too strange. Besides, she needed an
aspirin. Her head was beginning to ache. She surprised herself when she asked,
“What’s your name?”
“Eric.
You?”
“Annie.”
“Well,
Annie, since we’re on the superficial questions, what do you do for a living?”
She
laughed, nudging him with her hip. She could almost hear him grinning. “I’m a
psychologist.” She enjoyed telling people that for the varied responses she
received, ranging from fear to curiosity. People were either afraid she was
trying to analyze them, or they asked her to.
“Should
I pull up a couch?”
She
laughed again, giving him another nudge.
“Hey,
I bruise easy, watch it.”
This
time she was sure she could hear the smile in his voice. She found herself
genuinely wondering for the first time what he really did look like. “What
about you?” she asked. She knew this was always the big question for guys, as
if everyone of the masculine persuasion was defined by his profession.
“Me?
I’m a matchmaker.” He said it without a hint of hesitation or pride, just a
simple matter of fact.
Annie
gasped out loud, covering her mouth with her hands in shock. “Oh, you’re
kidding!”
“Nope.”
“Oh
my god. Just my luck to be under the table with a matchmaker at a matchmaking
party. Did my sister hire you?” she asked suspiciously.
“No.
Which one is your sister?”
“I
have two. Chloe and Rebecca. In that order.”
“And
you’re the pretty one. Where do you fall?”
“At
the end, the baby. And I’m really not that pretty.”
“Don’t
lie. How’s your head?” There was that genuine concern again. In her
playfulness, she had nudged herself quite close to him in the dark, and she was
enjoying the warmth of his thigh, hip and arm touching hers.
“It
hurts,” she admitted. “I think I need an aspirin.”
“I
bet I can help. Do you want me to rub it?”
Annie
hesitated. That was a fairly intimate thing to be doing anywhere, let alone in
a dark kitchen under a table. Remembering how good his hands had felt when he’d
checked to see if she was bleeding and then had continued to rub the growing
knot, she relented. “Sure.” She suddenly didn’t care if it was sending him the
wrong message. Then again, maybe it wasn’t the wrong message at all.
“Come
here, then. Just put your head in my lap.”
Annie
lay down on the tile, resting her cheek against his denim-clad thigh. His
fingers slid through her hair, first finding then caressing the throbbing knot.
The sensation seemed to lift and change as he touched her.
“This
is cozy,” she murmured.
“Mmm.”
His concentration seemed too focused for him to say much more.
His
hands worked over her like magic. She closed her eyes and sighed happily.
Eventually the silence stretched too taut for her. “You know, it was
appearances that caused that whole scene out there in the first place.”
“Yeah?”
How
could he show so much feeling in just one simple word, one genuine expression
of interest? Feelings were the domain of her profession, for the most part, and
she was well-attuned to them. This man could emote without any effort at all.
That intrigued and disarmed her.
She
sighed. “My sister’s husband, John. He came on to me for the first time at
their engagement party, drunk off his ass and feeling me up on their own bed
while I was looking for my coat. He’s never stopped. Sometimes I think my
sisters got what they settled for in men, you know?”
“You
don’t have a very high opinion of men, do you?” His fingers slipped lower,
digging into the soft curve of her neck. She sighed, letting out a soft moan as
he worked out the kinks. “Like that?”
Annie
nodded. “Anyway, tonight isn’t the first time he’s pulled something like this.
He made that huge scene out there because he wanted to kiss me instead of that
sweet little redheaded girl,” Annie sighed, listening to the sounds of the
party still going strong just outside the kitchen door.
“Now
she’s sweet, not fat?”
The
sound of his chuckle delighted her, but his comment made curl inward. “I was
making a point. Let me tell you, it was for his sake, not hers.”
“It
was quite a point. Game. Set. Match. But I think you may have missed your
target. That’s the thing about going for the win like that. You need to have
good aim.” His fingers worked their way down her spine, his other hand fanning
her hair out over his thighs.
“Ouch.”
Eric’s
hands paused. “Am I hurting your head?”
“No…my
heart.”
He
continued to rub her head in the silence, and slowly she found that the pain,
at least the pain in her head, seemed to dissipate.
This
time it was Eric who broke the quiet. “So, do you get along with your sisters?”
“I
love them. Sometimes I can’t stand them, but I love them. They both set up this
whole Valentine’s party to try to get me a man.” Annie giggled at the irony.
She was now secreted in the kitchen with a matchmaker, despite her sisters’
Herculean efforts to line up all the single surgeons, tax attorneys and
actuaries they could find—courtesy of Rebecca’s once-famous little black
book.
“Sounds
like you can get your own.”
“It’s
not as easy as it sounds, actually,” she told him. “Ow, ow, too hard.” His
touch became lighter, almost feather-light, and it made her shiver. “Most men
just want one thing.”
“What’s
that?” He sounded distracted as his hand stroked her shoulder.
“Um...”
“Oh,
that. Right.”
Again,
she could hear his smile. She had never noticed how much one could tell about
someone’s expression even in the dark. That would make therapy interesting.
“And
if I’m being honest, it’s not even that. I’m not averse to sex,” she admitted.
“Good
to know.” It was a veritable grin now.
She
smiled, too, letting that one slide. “If we could get to the sex that would be
great, actually. Most men are, well...intimidated by me.”
“Is
it your gracious charm?” He stroked her cheek with his fingertip.
She
couldn’t even pretend to be angry at him with his hands doing such kind and
generous things to her body. “Don’t be mean. I’m really not like that.”
“I
know,” he said, and she believed him.
“Still,
it’s funny how sometimes the prettiest girl in the room never gets hit on. Both
of my sisters are married, and I’m by far better looking—at least that’s
what everyone says.”
“You
know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were conceited. Who is everyone?” He
traced the shape of her jaw, trailing his fingertip down her throat.
“I’m
not conceited. Maybe I do sound it...to someone...like you...” she hesitated.
“I just mean, you know, someone who feels like he wants to hide under a
table...”
“Who
is everyone?” he asked again.
“Oh,
everyone.” She sighed. “You name it—my parents, my sisters, teachers,
friends, family. The thing people say most often about me is: ‘Annie is the
pretty one.’ It’s always followed by that silent assumption that I’m an idiot.”
“Hence
the degree in psychology,” he mused. “Let me guess, you’ve got a doctorate?”
“Yes.
How did you know?”
“Law
of compensation.”
“Very
funny. So, do you have a degree in matchmaking, then?” Annie rested her hand on
his thigh and snuggled up a little closer. The tile was getting cold under her
hip and his warmth was comforting.
“They
didn’t offer it where I went.”
“And
where is that?”
“Olympia.”
Annie
snorted, letting her Ivy League pretension show. “Are you kidding? Did you
really go to Olympia? Which degree, medical transcription or vet tech?”
“Massage
therapist.”
“Oh...”
Annie tried to cover yet another unintentional, but clear, insult. “Well, that
explains why my head feels so much better.”
“Does
it? Would you like me to do your shoulders? You’re pretty tight.”
“Eric,
that’s gotta be the oldest line in the book for you massage therapists.” She
laughed. Looking up at him, she could see the outline of his face—and
yes, there were glasses—but she still couldn’t really make out his
features.
“Perhaps.”
This time she saw the flash of his teeth.
She
smiled back. “Well, it’s working.”
“Then
come here and sit between my legs.” His voice was warm and inviting and she
flushed like a school girl as she delicately felt her way over his thigh,
sensing him adjust to her shape as she settled herself.
“I
haven’t been between a man’s legs...”
“In
too long, I’d gather.” He chuckled.
The
sound of his short laugh was rich and deep and it thrilled her again. She
wondered what he would sound like if he really laughed out loud and she longed
to hear him do so. His hands massaged her shoulder blades open as if they were
wings she was just beginning to spread. She sighed, rolling her neck and
inching back toward him. She heard his sharp intake of breath as she clutched
his thighs.
“I
take back what I said about Olympia,” she murmured. “Great school.”
“Is
that a compliment?” He brushed her hair from her shoulders for better access.
“If
I was a religious kinda girl, I’d say I’d died and gone to heaven,” she
breathed, feeling both of his hands spreading over the entire expanse of her
back from spine to ribs. “Ahhhh god, Eric, that...feels...incredible...”