Maybe Later

by Claudia Burgoa

  “What did you study?” I ask, waiting to hear something like sociology or perhaps psychology.

  “Economics, since pre-law was boring,” she says with a chuckle.

  “I can’t picture you as a lawyer.”

  Because all I can think about is you against a wall, under my body, or on top of me, riding my cock. Her long, dark locks scattered on my pillow, her sweet, sexy, fruity scent permeating my bed. My pulse quickens as I imagine tasting her lips, kissing her deeply while I …

  “I picture you as a financial guru,” she speaks, yanking me out of the R-rated thoughts I’m having about her. “A boring consultant who works from nine to five.”

  * * *

  Thursday, April 21st, 6:03 p.m.

  AWalk90: The delivery guy is in route to pick up the parcel, make sure it is at the reception.

  JSpear84: Give me a few minutes, I’m in the middle of a negotiation.

  AWalk90: Tell them you have to go and leave the ultimatum on the table. Everyone budges under pressure.

  JSpear84: If this fails you owe me.

  * * *

  “Em, I have to go,” I apologize, praying that Amy is right.

  “Because you’re in the hot seat?” she laughs.

  “No, it’s work related. When can we meet for coffee?” I insist.

  “Call me another day, my schedule isn’t always set in stone.”

  “Friday at eight,” I follow Amy’s advice. “See you at the French Pastry.”

  “That’s tomorrow?” she repeats absently.

  Thursday, April 21st, 6:05 p.m.

  AWalk90: Nope, I don’t accept the responsibility. Close the deal now.

  “Yes, tomorrow at eight. I can’t wait to see you,” I say and hang up the phone.

  Thursday, April 21st, 6:09 p.m.

  Emmeline: You never answered my question.

  Jack: I’ll do it tomorrow, got to go.

  * * *

  AWalk90: He’s approaching your building and won’t wait for you.

  AWalk90: Ready?

  JSpear84: Just dropped it by the reception. My assistant usually prepares the packages for me.

  AWalk90: I can find you a temp.

  JSpear84: Are you trying to get rid of me?

  * * *

  Emmeline: I haven’t said yes to the coffee meeting.

  Jack: Just one date.

  Jack: It’s not a meeting.

  Emmeline: See you tomorrow, just …

  Jack: Just what?

  Emmeline: Never mind, see you tomorrow.

  Chapter Twelve

  Emmeline

  Friday, April 22nd, 9:18 a.m.

  Is this the lowest point in my life?

  I don’t remember when I stopped interacting with others or why. All I know is that it became so much easier to stay in front of my computer and just chat with people online. The old me used to interact more and made friends quickly. There was a time when I was the life of the party. People expected me to show up because if I was there, it was the place to be. It never was, but people like to believe what they want. My friends weren’t the only ones who expected a lot of me, my parents—those two wanted too much from me.

  What I love about my job is that my clients only expect so much from me and when I deliver more than what they ask for, they’re grateful. Not many of them are demanding, and by the end of my assignment, they learn to be fair with their expectations and thankful for what I do for them. It’s my own therapy. I wish I could teach my parents to care for me as I am instead of expecting me to be the perfect daughter.

  Ever since I can remember I’ve had to meet specific requirements to deserve their love. I don’t think they ever thought I was enough. Having to be the best at everything was tiring.

  “Emmeline, you have to be the best dancer in the class,” Mom said once, when I was only four.

  But dancing wasn’t the only thing they wanted me to excel at. There was gymnastics, tennis, soccer, lacrosse, swimming. My grades had to be better than everyone else’s. Parents rejoiced when their kids made the honor roll. Mine expected me to be or there would be hell to face. I had to be flawless for them to notice me. They never had time for play, their children had to be perfect. They couldn’t handle us when we cried. They hated it when we threw a tantrum.

  Unfortunately for them, I grew up and began to care less about their demands and more about my own needs.

  There comes a time for every person when they have to stop living for their parents and start living for themselves. My sister hated when I snuck out of the house. She used my rebellion in order to become their favorite. I didn’t care. They wouldn’t keep me at home, in bed, on a Friday night.

  Fortunately, they were so old, they were asleep by nine. I climbed out the window so they wouldn’t police my social life. When Amy didn’t rat me out, but she played the innocent, defenseless flower all the time. I hated how weak she became to be loved by them. When I started high school, Dad forbid us to have a boyfriend until I turned thirty.

  Well, Daddy here I am, twenty-eight and boyfriendless.

  The biggest issue with my parents is that nothing I did made them happy, so at some point I gave up. But I didn’t realize I’d given up on myself too.

  After so many years, I am putting myself out there. I don’t know why I’m doing it honestly. Is it peer pressure? Laura is pushing me harder and harder to get out. She’s over the recluse person I became after all these years alone.

  Maybe I’m over myself too.

  Having one-sided conversations with my cats isn’t as fun as it used to be. They are adorable, but I need a lot more than a cat rubbing against my leg and purring for companionship. But if I’m going to start putting myself out there, I should start with an average guy, not a guy who might as well have fallen from Mount Olympus.

  He’s so perfect and not just on the outside. I love that he took some time to read Fitzgerald. I know not many like that book, but he made an effort to at least find something to talk with me about. I couldn’t say no—or change my phone number. Also, other than the insufferable Mr. Spearman, this is the first guy who I have connected with in such a long time.

  Maybe ever. I recall those times when I tried to date in college each and the guys who asked me out would expect me to drop to my knees and do as they said after a couple of drinks. College men are immature. I was trying to date the wrong men back then, and now, it’s too late to try to find Mr. Perfect.

  I’m sure I once cared about feelings, relationships, and fairy tales. It’s just that I’ve seen how one person can break another or even destroy their life.

  “Stop it!” I order before I fall back into the black hole of the past.

  Maybe Alistair is right. It’s about time to leave the past where it belongs.

  * * *

  Friday, April 22nd, 9:31 a.m.

  JSpear84: What are you up to today?

  AWalk90: I’m not sure what you’re asking.

  This guy confuses the hell out of me. Laura told me the other day I have a little crush on my boss. I denied it, but if I had to be honest, I’m actually fascinated by him. Not to the point of obsession, but I am determined to figure him out. There has to be a reason why such a successful man acts like an ogre.

  It’s as if he works overtime to keep everyone at a distance. Zoey, the receptionist told me the other day that he’s exchanged ten words with her in the two years she’s worked with him. He’s not rude, just cold.

  JSpear84: I don’t have any quotes today, so I’m wondering what’s wrong with you?

  AWalk90: Wrong with me?

  I stare at the screen. What does he mean? Just when I thought I was about to describe him as kind, he morphs.

  “Damn, you, asshole!”

  “Meow!” Sushi protests and goes back to sleep.

  “Sorry, I’ll keep quiet,” I grumble.

  AWalk90: I didn’t know you were expecting them every day.

  JSpear84: You once said it takes 21 days for a person to crea
te a habit. It’s a habit now. I was wondering what you had for me today, there’s nothing. Your quotes are like a horoscope. Not that I believe in them.

  AWalk90: I’m intrigued. What do horoscopes have to do with the quotes?

  JSpear84: Well, every day some people wake up and check their horoscope before they have their cup of coffee. Kind of sets their mood. Your quotes don’t set my mood, but I look forward to them.

  AWalk90: Ha! I knew it. You fell for my charm. Everyone does, Mr. Spearman.

  AWalk90: No, wait that’s not what I meant. You didn’t fall in love. Just you know, you like me now.

  JSpear84: Yes, I like you. If you allowed me, I’d hire you permanently. So how about my quote?

  AWalk90: I haven’t found anything yet; I’m in a funk today.

  JSpear84: What’s happening? Talk to your friend Jackson about it?

  AWalk90: We’re friends now? Well, it’s a complicated day. My past and present are having a party, and I just can’t come up with anything.

  JSpear84: You make them up?

  AWalk90: I wish it were Thursday so I could tell you to focus on Thankful Thursday. Let’s pretend. Find happiness, don’t focus on what we want but rather on what we already have, Happy Thursday!

  JSpear84: I like it, but it’s Friday.

  AWalk90: Live with what I sent, Spearman. By the way, your package is en route. Your brother should receive it tomorrow. Never try to mail a package on such short notice. As I stated before I’m efficient, not a magician.

  JSpear84: It was an exception, as my brother needed those documents immediately to dissolve his partnership. What are your plans for this weekend?

  AWalk90: Not sure yet, I’ll make up something tomorrow.

  JSpear84: That doesn’t answer my question. You don’t talk much about yourself, have you noticed that?

  AWalk90: Hey, I have a lot of work to do, it’s Friday. My Monday 2.0. Let’s have a chat tomorrow.

  JSpear84: There you go avoiding my questions. You like to learn about me, but you don’t talk about yourself.

  AWalk90: Actually, I’m about to go to my therapist, and she charges me plenty to talk about my problems. There’s no point in telling others.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Emmeline

  Friday, April 22nd, 8:00 p.m.

  Today has been the slowest day in the history of the world. Each minute lasted at least ninety seconds. At least that’s how it felt for me. I haven’t been on a date in years.

  What was I thinking?

  Why did I agree?

  I’m insane. I wasn’t thinking. Planning a trip around the world would’ve been less stressful than going out with … him. If a person hasn’t driven in years, they should start with a sedan, not a Ferrari—or a Lamborghini. This guy seems like the Bugatti of men. What’s his horsepower? I bet he fucks like a wild horse in the middle of mating season.

  I clean my foggy bathroom mirror and stare at myself. “And what are you?”

  A woman with a collection of sex toys who hasn’t been touched by a man in a very long time. Why did I impose a sex embargo? Having sex means dealing with people, and I’d rather not.

  Em: Are women expected to have sex on the first date?

  Laura: I knew it, you’re freaking out.

  Em: Excuse me?

  Laura: Don’t deny it, I lived with you for six years.

  Em: Fine, I’m freaking out, and I have no idea what to wear. But my biggest worry is, am I expected to have sex?

  Laura: No, you don’t need to but make sure to carry condoms in your purse.

  Em: What should I wear?

  Laura: What are you wearing?

  Em: A towel.

  Laura: God, you’re not ready at all. Grab a pair of jeans, a nice top and wear those killer boots you ordered last year.

  Em: The Pradas or the Vuitton?

  Laura: I hate you so much! One day I’m going to raid your closet and take every shoe you own and have never worn.

  Em: Can we focus on me for a minute? What am I supposed to do? Are you aware that this man might be used to dating models and women who only eat lettuce?

  Laura: You’re insane.

  Em: He must date women like … Who is the hottest actress these days? I need to watch more ET and less Netflix.

  Laura: Gal Gadot is hot.

  Em: Yeah, like her. She’s poised and fun and … I’m just me.

  Laura: You are you, and that’s enough. If he can’t see that, then move on to the next guy.

  Em: This is it for the year. If he doesn’t work out, I’m retreating and planning ahead for next year’s date.

  When I check my closet, I sigh. Everything is outdated. Maybe I should change my wardrobe? How can I be like those women who look perfect every day?

  I don’t go to fancy places to get haircuts. I buy my clothes online. My clothes are comfortable-chic. Maybe I should try, Look Better Bitch. I know some of my client’s wives have a subscription. Only if I’m going to start dating. Am I going to start dating?

  Concentrate!

  I grab a pair of jeans, a black sweater, and Prada boots. Drying my hair takes a little longer than I want it to, but once I’m done getting ready, I’m happy with the results.

  Laura: Are you still there?

  Em: Yeah, I have to go.

  Laura: What did you do with your hair?

  Em: I dried it and left it wavy.

  Laura: Do not wear a hat!

  Laura: How about makeup?

  Em: I kept it basic. Mascara, eyeshadow, foundation, blush, and lip gloss.

  Laura: Good luck!

  Em: I need a miracle, not luck.

  * * *

  As I drive along University Avenue, I keep repeating to myself that I’m powerful, unique, and beautiful. Two truths and one lie. When I arrive at the cafe, I find a parking spot right in front of the it. It’s either fate or my lucky day. I check myself in the rear-view mirror after I turn off the engine.

  “Hair still looks good, lips too and … I forgot to put in contacts.” I exhale loudly. “Minus five points to the dork with purple frames.”

  Against my better judgment, I get down to face the day. My gut clenches as I get closer to the cafe. Is he waiting for me? Maybe he already left.

  Maybe he found somebody hotter while he was at Cherry Creek Mall. We’re only a few blocks away.

  What happened to you, girl? You used to be confident. I take a big breath and concentrate on myself.

  “Forget about it, forget about it, forget about it,” I say it three times and close my eyes briefly.

  It’s like Beetlejuice. You exorcize him by saying his name three times.

  “Hey, Emmeline.” I hear that deep, sexy as hell voice I can’t get out of my mind.

  Jack is as perfect as I remember him. Maybe even more handsome. He’s easy on the eyes and has one of the most delicious smiles I’ve ever seen. And when he says my name, I feel as if heavenly music plays. It gives me a little courage to just be myself.

  “Hi,” I greet him.

  He leans closer to me and dusts a kiss on my cheek. A mad kaleidoscope of butterflies flutter in my belly. Why does he affect me so much?

  “I was afraid you wouldn’t come. You didn’t sound sure about tonight,” he says. He is so close that I can feel his warm breath caressing my skin.

  I suddenly feel wobbly and my throat goes dry when the scent of his aftershave and expensive cologne linger around us. The only thing I can do is stare at his full lips and imagine how they kiss. Slowly, deeply, and passionately. Then, I make the mistake of looking at his big hands. Because I want them all over me.

  Well, to get more than a kiss, you have to start behaving like an adult and push away the insecurity. This isn’t your first date, and he might be hot, but you’re Emmeline fucking Lancaster. Get a grip, woman.

  “My schedule can be complicated,” I explain vaguely feeling more like myself. Imagining he’s just an old friend I’m catching up with—and might want to kiss too.<
br />
  “How are you?” I ask forgetting the crazy hammering of my heart.

  “I’m doing well, thank you,” he responds looking at me. “I’m glad you came.”

  “Well, you totally bulldozed me into coming today.” I say playfully, nudging his elbow.

  Wait, did I just nudge him? Who am I? I don’t go around poking people—or hot men.

  He gives me a quizzical look. “Come on, let me buy you a coffee to make it up to you.”

  I shrug playfully. “I’m just kidding. No one can force me to do anything I don’t want to, but you didn’t give me much room to negotiate.”

  “I heard it’s the best way to get things done,” he says with a smooth tone and winks at me. “What about that coffee?” A smile tugs at his lips.

  He tilts his head toward the door and says, “After you, mademoiselle.”

  The hostess seats us immediately. The cafe is small, with maybe twenty tables and a couple of booths on each of the walls. When I come here, it’s just to buy coffee and a few pastries to go. I’ve never stayed because they don’t have Wi-Fi.

  Jack pulls out my chair. He’s a total gentleman, and though the hostess is salivating for him, his attention is fully on me.

  It’s been a long time since a guy looked at me as if I were interesting. Or maybe it’s the first time I noticed somebody watching me so intently. Today, I’m not trying to be invisible. Usually, I like the anonymity. It’s so much easier to just be myself and not have to depend on acceptance from others.

  For a second, I’m transported to earlier today and my last conversation with Jackson Spearman. The man who is hiding in plain sight. We’re not so different from each other, are we?

  But what is he hiding?

  Or who is he hiding from?

  “Are you okay?” Jack asks, scratching his jaw.

  I stare at his handsome face and smile. Why am I thinking about someone unattainable when I have a chance to get to know this man?

  “Sorry, I was thinking about work,” I respond trying to forget Spearman and his big secret.

  “Any special case or just in general?”

  I stare at him for a second and then laugh. He still thinks I’m a lawyer. “You already know some about me. What about you? I guessed you’re a financial investor.”