by Kim Karr
Averting my eyes from his gaze, I looked down.
After taking another sip of his beer, he set the mug down. He hooked my chin with his finger and tilted my head up toward him. His lingering touch seared my skin and left it tingling. He stared at me with his intense green eyes and chuckled a little. “Can we talk about you thinking I’m a Jack the Ripper type? I just want you to know, I’m definitely not. In fact, I think it’s safe to say you were staring at me first, but in no way do I think you’re a stalker.”
His touch made me quiver and my mouth dropped open. I was unsure of what to say. I knew he was right. I had stared first. I was surprised that he would call me out on it.
Cocking his head to the side he said, “So we can get past this; let’s just say I was staring first. Not that it really matters.”
We were looking into each other’s eyes as the bartender presented me with my bill. When I turned to pay for my drinks, the connection was broken. Handing my money to the bartender, I thanked him and told him to keep the change. This diversion gave me some time to think about how to handle this potentially dangerous situation. I also had to consider my love for Ben.
I watched River as he ordered two more beers, and I realized that I had to figure out these strange new feelings I was experiencing. I wanted to explore them further because our initial connection from a distance had intensified; not only from his nearness, but also from his total honesty and raw charm. I pushed aside any feelings of guilt about my flirtatious behavior. I handed him one of the shots and said, “Cheers.”
People were bumping into him, into me, but neither of us seemed to care. He looked down at my shirt and back up again before lifting his shot glass to clink mine.
“It’s a beautiful day,” he toasted before drinking his shot.
I tried not to show how turned on I was that he had just quoted the lyrics from one of my favorite songs. All of his irresistible gestures throughout this encounter were competing for first place in my head, but all of them deserved it.
Setting his shot glass down, he put his hand in his pocket. “So, does this mean you forgive me?”
The sound of his voice was strong, but soft, and made him even more tempting. I found myself thinking that he was not only adorable, but he was something else entirely. I knew I shouldn’t be doing this. I had a boyfriend that I loved waiting for me.
I raised an eyebrow and questioned, “Forgive you? Forgive you for what?” I was having a hard time concentrating on the conversation and honestly had no idea what the apology was for.
He shifted on his feet. “You know what? Never mind,” he muttered in my ear. His warm breath reached my neck and I wanted to feel it everywhere.
Looking me up and down, he changed the subject and asked, “What, no costume?”
Continuing with this dangerous flirtation, I glanced down my own body, motioning with my hands from head to toe. “How do you know this isn’t my costume?”
While tugging on my t-shirt and pulling me a little closer, he seductively whispered, “If that's your costume you’re definitely taking first place in the contest because it’s the sexiest one I’ve ever seen.”
We were silent for a minute; not even our heavy breathing could be heard. The noise from the bar and the crowd of the people around us had extinguished, but his words, his touch; they inflamed me, excited me, and sent fire through my veins.
“Where'd you get this anyway?” he asked, tugging at the knot on my shirt pulling me even closer.
It felt like the room was spinning and I wasn’t sure if it was him, the alcohol, or the fact that he just asked me a question I didn’t want to answer. “My dad managed The Greek and was a collector of concert t-shirts,” I said, trying to push back the emotion welling inside me.
He seemed to understand my hesitation, maybe from my use of the word ‘was’ or maybe from my body language. He nodded, cleared his throat, and once again totally changed the subject.
“So, have you ever seen Foreigner play?” he asked, now pointing to his own shirt and grinning.
As I looked at the bold white letters across his shirt, I pushed aside all of my sadness and focused on our conversation. We were just two people who had a lot in common, talking, or at least that was what I wanted to think. When our drinks were gone, he ordered another round. As I finished the shot, I accidentally slammed the glass on the bar, causing a loud crack and the bartender glowered at me. I mouthed, “Sorry.”
River reached out and grabbed a strand of my hair that had come loose from my ponytail. He very slowly tucked it behind my ear, sending shivers down my spine. Circling his index finger around my ear, he lightly tugged on my lobe. He sparked a heat within my body that I didn’t know existed. He did this in one swift movement, causing my scalp to tingle while my ear lobe was on fire.
Gulping the drink I didn’t need to be drinking, I hoped to extinguish that fire. I also hoped no one saw him touch me that way. Ben would be fucking furious. He was ridiculously jealous and we had many arguments about other men, all unjustified. At least until now.
As the strobe lights started to flicker and I leaned my hip against the bar for support, he put his hand on my waist and turned me so my back was against the bar. Had he noticed I almost lost my balance because of the flashing lights and my own dizziness? Moving to stand directly in front of me, he put his hands on either side of me and pressed his palms into the bar. He was effectively enveloping me, but I didn’t feel trapped at all. I honestly didn’t know what I felt, but I knew my heart was pounding out of my chest; my stomach was doing flips, and I got light-headed as the goosebumps returned.
He braced his arms on both sides of me and I thought he was going to kiss me as he stared intently into my eyes. I closed my eyes preparing for the kiss but I felt him abruptly pull away. Immediately, I heard a high-pitched voice squeal, “River, don’t forget we’re leaving right after the show,” and before I could catch a glimpse of the girl, she bounced away.
Smirking at me he said, “My little sister has the worst timing.”
I was going to respond when I heard a strange drum roll echo through the bar. Glancing around, I tried to figure out what it was for. With an amused look on his face, he rolled his eyes before shifting them to the stage and back to mine. “That would be for me,” he laughed, leaning in so we were face to face. “They want me back on stage. I’ve gotta go unless you'd rather I stay and we finish what we started? Because that certainly would be way more fun.”
I really hadn’t heard anything he said, but everything seemed to finally make sense. He was the enamoring voice I heard when I came into the bar, and right now he was so close to me I could feel his warm breath and smell his soapy scent. He was so charming, so captivating, and so aware of me. I was pretty sure I was drunk because I was feeling things I should not have been feeling. As I stared into his powerful green eyes, I knew I should’ve been trying to swim out of them.
Before I could say anything in response, he moved his head slightly back, lifted my hand, and slowly kissed it. Then he leaned into me and whispered right in my ear with his wet lips, “Guess not. Not yet anyway.” My hand was on fire, my ear scorching; I should have dressed up as the Wicked Witch of the West because not only was I pure evil, I was melting.
That same strange drum roll rumbled through the sound system again and he quickly dunked his head back to look at me. “I gotta jet.”
He was still holding my hand, as he looked straight into my eyes. “You'll wait for me until after the show.”
It wasn’t a question, more like a statement. And then motioning between him and me, he added, “Because this isn’t finished.”
At that moment I realized that what had started as harmless flirting had turned into a situation that had gotten way too dangerous for me; it was bordering on trouble.
He placed his hands on the bar, surrounding me in his arms again, but not touching me, and waited for a response. Since he hadn’t really asked a question that I wanted to answer, I just s
miled and said, “If you’re in the band you’d better go, you shouldn’t leave your fans waiting.”
He took that as a response, or maybe he didn’t, since he wasn’t really looking for one. Maybe he was just in a hurry. But either way, he gave me one last heart-stopping grin and then leaned in and kissed me. My body reacted strangely to his kiss. A rush of something I couldn’t identify surged through me. At first he only lightly touched my lips with his then for a few short seconds he pressed a little harder before pulling away. I didn’t kiss him back, but I was completely lost in the moment.
“I hope you’ve become a fan,” he said, winking at me before grabbing his hat. Then he turned and walked away.
I brought my fingers to the place he had just kissed and watched as his silhouette walked away; taking in the sway that had captivated me from the moment I laid eyes on him. I became vaguely aware of the music being piped through the sound system. The song Superstition was being played overhead, but I wasn’t really listening to it because my mind was on him.
I shook my head, trying to rid the thoughts that should not be in there. I knew I had to leave, or I would end up doing something that I would regret. I had to leave for two reasons. First, I loved Ben, and second, Ben would fucking kill River just for looking at me the way he did. And then there was the kiss; yes, Ben would do more than kill him.
Knowing these things, I wondered why I hadn’t walked away in the first place. For a moment there, I felt as though I believed in love at first sight, which I didn’t. And how could love at first sight even exist when you were already in love with someone else? I didn’t want to analyze the events of tonight because I was confused as hell, and the answers would not be what I wanted to hear.
I smiled about my exchange with this enamoring stranger. He definitely was not a stalker. He was a guy that was adorably charming and utterly charismatic, a guy who had a simple ease about him that I really liked, and a guy I didn’t ever need to see again. This I knew for certain because our complete awareness of each other scared the shit out of me, and his touch did something to me. It made me afraid that the danger would win out, and I wasn’t going to let that happen. I had a boyfriend that I loved, and he was waiting for me at his house.
With thoughts of River swirling around in my head, I made my way through the crowd to the dance floor where I found Aerie with some kind of pink drink in her hand. “We have to leave. Now!” I shouted at her while pulling her off the dance floor.
“What? Why? Are you sick?” she asked, struggling for words.
Then she turned and pointed to the stage. “Because if you’re not, I want to see that hot guy sing first.”
I turned to see where she was pointing and sure enough it was at him, River, the guy who captivated me with his charm and attitude. It was then that I realized I’d never even told him my name.
Pulling Aerie through the crowd under protest, I heard the audience chanting River Wilde, River Wilde. I glanced up to the stage just in time to see him grab the microphone. Before the live music started we exited through the door, and Aerie started yelling obscenities at me. As we walked away I found myself thinking I had just met the most enchanting guy and knowing that I might never be the same.
IT’S NOT MY TIME
Looking into the future I see the plans we have
And the dreams that we both share
Happiness is what we believe
But we are in a world that tries to take it away
I wish it wasn’t my time.
March 2010…
I looked in the mirror, trying to decide whether or not the pearl necklace would take the edge away from my deep V-necked black cocktail dress. The bathroom counter was covered in different necklaces, our dirty clothes were in a heap on the hamper, and dirty towels were thrown all over the floor. I smiled when I glanced up and saw Ben’s reflection in the mirror. He was leaning with his shoulder on the bathroom doorframe, a wicked grin on his face, and a wild glimmer in his piercing blue eyes.
“Pearls or no pearls?” I asked as I watched him stride toward me in the mirror. I had known him since I was five years old, but for some reason the way he looked at me then left me breathless.
Ben wrapped his tan arms around my waist and started to kiss my neck. I could feel the soft, warm skin of his freshly shaven face. “Dahl, I’d prefer nothing at all to be perfectly honest,” he muttered while he began to unzip my dress.
“Hey, we’re going to be late,” I quipped. “LA is at least an hour drive.” I tried, unsuccessfully, to wiggle out of the one arm he still had around my waist as he continued to unzip my dress with the other.
Still watching Ben in the mirror, I saw him bite his lip as he let out a little groan. “Well, it’s my party, and I can be late if I want to,” he whispered in my ear then resumed kissing my neck. Ben looked incredibly hot in his black tuxedo with slicked back hair and a clean-shaven face. I felt a slight stirring throughout my body from his close proximity, which made me decide against wriggling out of his arm. Instead, I turned around to look at him.
I was so proud of how successful Ben had become in such a short time. He landed a job at the LA Times right out of college and proved his extreme confidence and ability in only a few short years with his focus and dedication to his job. Even though the commute from Laguna was tedious at most, he didn’t mind doing it, especially since he wasn’t required to go into the office every day. My fiancé was going to be receiving California’s Journalist of the Year award at a prestigious dinner in LA for his brilliant work in underground crime investigation. I knew I wasn’t the only one full of excitement, even if I was the only one who showed it.
Ben’s lack of enthusiasm toward the honor he was receiving wasn’t like him. In fact, he hadn’t been acting like himself all week. He wasn’t acting different in a good way or a bad way—just different, and I had been trying to figure out what was driving his mood. I wasn’t sure if I should be concerned or touched by his actions. They were definitely a little strange to tell the truth. He had been sweeter than he usually was; he sent me flowers, he bought me candy, he spent every night at home with me. He had even shown up at my office every day to take me to lunch.
Ben was never the type of boyfriend to dote; he wasn’t a flowers and chocolates romantic kind of guy, and I wasn’t the kind of girl who needed that. I liked my independence and so did he. He had always taken care of me and loved me in his own way, but never in all our years together had he done the types of things he’d done that week.
Once before, he came close to acting like a doting boyfriend, but technically he wasn’t my boyfriend at the time. I’d broken up with him and because of his borderline doting then, I was always wary of this behavior from him at any time.
The event leading up to our breakup and its cause will forever be ingrained in my mind. I remember clearly the day I popped into Ben’s room at his frat house. It was the end of the first semester of our senior year at USC. I stopped by to tell him I’d finally gotten the internship I really wanted at Sound Music. I was so happy that I wasn’t going to have to intern for Drake anymore, and I knew Ben would be thrilled. He wasn’t in his room when I got there, so I sat down at his desk to send his sister, Serena, a quick email to share my news with her. I knew she’d be excited for me.
I pressed the space bar on his computer and his email account was already opened, so I figured I’d just type my quick note from there. Instead of hitting compose I accidentally clicked on the trash folder. I noticed the date October 31st, 2006 right away. As my eyes scanned the screen, the words Reply to: S’belle, later tonight, green eyes, touch, copper, and your apartment were all that registered before he came over and quickly right clicked, hitting the delete button. His presence startled me as I hadn’t heard him walk into the room. I gaped at him in astonishment that he just deleted that email so quickly in front of my eyes. I hadn’t had a chance to read the whole thing, but I knew he must have been hiding something. Was he really making plans with another gi
rl? Plans that were not in the least bit platonic?
He admitted to emailing this girl and socializing with her but assured me nothing sexual had actually happened. In the end, he confessed that their relationship was inappropriate. He swore he would end it, and I’m sure he did; but I couldn’t trust him, so I broke up with him.
Everyday from that day forward he called me. Over the next three months, little ‘remember me’ items turned up almost daily. He was trying so hard to convince me to forgive him. He left notes on my car, flowers at my door, voice messages with profuse apologies, text messages confessing his love, he showed up anywhere he knew I would be, and he even bought me a silver-plated coffee cup with a note saying ‘To brighten up your mornings’.
It was a long, hard three-month separation. I never realized just how much I would actually miss him, but I did—a lot. So I decided to trust him and move past the dishonesty. I really did love him, and I knew he loved me. Perhaps I also felt a little guilty about my own encounter with a certain singer of a band that wasn’t exactly innocent.
So yes, the doting alarmed me, not that I didn’t appreciate his kind gestures, but it just made me think something was wrong. Was there something not right in our relationship, a relationship that already had its share of ups and downs? Maybe this behavior was just one of the ups, or maybe Ben’s sudden emergence into romance had something to do with wanting to get married since we had never talked about setting a wedding date.
The one thing I was sure about was our love and commitment to each other. We grew up together. We had been boyfriend and girlfriend since we were sixteen, and we had been engaged for two years. We may have disagreed on many things and argued more than I preferred, but we always fell back on our longevity; especially since the root of most of our disagreements stemmed from something I could not fix. Our arguments were usually the result of Ben’s jealousy or self-concern. Ben would be jealous if another man so much as looked at me, which was ironic because Ben himself was always very flirtatious. He was also self-centered. This trait was more a function of who he was; a man with drive and determined to get ahead, although sometimes I wondered at what cost.