Mad Love

by Colet Abedi

  That was about all I could handle before turning around and running to Erik’s car like a bat out of hell. This time, Jerry didn’t try to stop me.

  The next battle, my parents. I didn’t want to disappoint them, but it was inevitable. Jerry is what my dad likes to call “a rising star.” He says Jerry exhibits this in his social life and in business. Unfortunately for me, they adore him even more than what the average person would deem normal.

  My mom was so upset by the break-up that I think if she had to choose between us, she would have chosen Jerry.

  The night I told them, I went home to their place in Brentwood for dinner. I walked through the front door and felt the familiar feeling of home and security, as I always did when I entered their cozy domain. The house is a traditional Cape Cod and my mom had designed the interior as if it were in the Hamptons. As was our ritual, she greeted me at the door.

  She always looks so good, never a hair out of place, always immaculately dressed. She’s like a little porcelain china doll.

  “Where’s Jerry?” she asked as she looked over my shoulder.

  “He’s not coming,” I managed to say through my dread.

  “Oh? Is he working late, dear?” she asked as she wiped her hands on her apron.

  I tried to muster up as much courage as I could.

  “Mom, Jerry is never coming with me to this house again.” There it was. Out in the open.

  “Whatever do you mean, dear?” My mom stopped in her tracks to turn and look at me, a brow raised in surprise.

  “I broke up with him.” I felt relieved.

  My mom was quiet for a moment, then she shrugged and said, “Lover’s quarrel. You’ll make up.”

  I hadn’t expected that. I needed to be clearer about this. Brutal. It was the only way to get through to her. “No, mom. We are never making up. I’m not in love with him.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “No, actually I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “Are you really trying to tell me how I feel? I don’t love Jerry!” I told her. I couldn’t believe we were even arguing about it.

  “Oh.” I could tell my mom was devastated. She didn’t say anything else, but walked to the bar and poured herself a healthy glass of scotch. She downed it in a second, like a pro. I was impressed.

  “Are you upset?” I asked as I watched her pour another drink, tap the bar with the cup, and take it down in one swig.

  “Why would you think that, dear? It’s your life, your choice.” I knew she wanted to add your mistake.

  “Well, thanks for understanding, Mom.” I tried to keep the sarcasm out of my voice, but I hoped that my innocent comment would make her feel bad.

  “Of course, dear. You know we’ll always support you in every decision you make,” she said as she headed into the kitchen. I thought I was home free, almost at the finish line, but then my mom can’t ever seem to help herself when it comes to me. “Even if you’ll never ever find someone as kind, intelligent and handsome as Jerry,“ she said over her shoulder before disappearing into the kitchen.

  Nice.

  I chose not to respond with an equally biting comment because I knew that if the two of us started down this road it would end in tears—only mine, of course—and in my mom inevitably convincing me of the error of my ways.

  I’m sure she wonders sometimes if I’m really her daughter or if the hospital made a mistake and swapped me for her real child. If you really analyzed us you would notice that the only similarity we have are our toes, and even those are questionable.

  “Speaking of your mom, where did she come up with name Sophie? It’s not like she’s French. She should have named you Maria or Monica.” Erik brings me back to the moment in a second. I’m so glad for him.

  “I’m named after my dad’s mom.”

  “I always wondered,” he says as he pulls out a Chanel face mist. He gives himself three sprays then holds it out to do my face.

  “Close your eyes.” I do as I’m told. The mist actually feels great on my skin.

  “Thanks.” I open my eyes and smile gratefully at my friend.

  Erik stares at me for a long moment. He knows me well. He has sat with me through endless tirades about my family, about Jerry, about my desire to be an artist, the many nights all blurred into one, giant, alcohol-induced haze.

  “So what’s on your mind? Why can’t you sleep? Please tell me you’re not thinking about Jerry the fairy.” He says the last part with a great deal of animosity.

  I snort out loud. “He’s not—“

  “So is. The man never ever tried to have sex with you—“

  “Lower your voice!” I hiss at him in agitation as I look around the cabin.“ He says he was being considerate.“

  “Considerate?” Erik pauses for a moment. “Do you believe the lies he tells you?”

  “Whatever.”

  “Oh honey, there is so much you have to learn.” He pulls a lip balm out of his Goyard make-up bag.

  I finally ask out loud the question that has plagued me since the moment Jerry and I started dating. “Maybe he didn’t find me attractive?”

  “Spare me the mental anguish! Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

  I look away from Erik. “You’re my friend.”

  “What I find so damn puzzling about you is how you can be so strong and confident about certain things and so insecure about your own beauty.” He shakes his head at me in disappointment.

  “Strong and confident because I don’t want to live a lie? I can’t stand law. I’m just so done with doing what my parents want. I want to live my own dream. Nothing makes me happier than painting. Nothing.”

  “Exactly. You walked away from law school in your second year and then you dumped the man your parents wanted you to be with because it didn’t feel right in your heart. That’s confidence, babe. That’s someone who knows what she wants and won’t settle. And yet you don’t see the hot woman looking back at you when you look in the mirror. I’m at a goddamn loss.”

  “Hot? Please.” He’s right about the confidence part. But come on, hot? Me? That’s not an adjective I would ever use to describe myself.

  Erik looks like he wants to strangle me.

  “You’re a knock-out. You’ve got an amazing body. You have perfect brown hair, which happens to have its own natural highlights. Most women pay a hair stylist a lot of money to get that color. You’re blessed with great skin, beautiful green eyes, spectacularly long, naturally curly lashes. If you were five inches taller you could have been a model.”

  “Thanks, I think.” I laugh again.

  “What? Five feet four inches isn’t so bad.” He leans over and whispers, “Maybe I can look into those surgeries that stretch people out. I think they do that a lot in Asian countries.”

  The flight attendant arrives with Erik’s drink.

  “Thanks.” He says and takes a sip.

  “I’m totally serious about the surgery, by the way.”

  “I know you are. But I’m completely okay with being average height.”

  “Actually, it’s called petite, babe.“

  Erik looks over at his sleeping boyfriend. His jet black hair peeks out from underneath the blanket he has draped over him. “Orie could use a few inches. Maybe we can get a two-for-one deal.”

  “You’re terrible.” I shake my head at Erik as I look on the sky map.

  Only three more hours to go.

  2

  My eyes are closed again and I’m stretched out in the waiting lounge of the W Spa and Resort. After we landed, we were ushered here by the welcoming committee, which would take us out to the resort in a seaplane. I changed from my plane pajamas into loose pants and a tank top because it’s really hot. Orie, who happens to be a famous hairdresser, has braided parts of my hair and artfully pulled it back, a look he tells me will make me blend right in with the island girls. I just go with it.

  It’s early morning in the Maldives and all I want to do is sl
eep. Jet lag sucks. I’m using my carry-on bag as a pillow, and Erik and Orie are to the left of me chatting away, completely adjusted and okay with the time difference. They look good. Really, really good. It’s unfair. After almost twenty-four hours of flying they look fresh and flawless. Orie’s black hair is perfectly combed back from his good-looking face and Erik looks immaculate. On the other hand, it’ll take a good scrub and a nap to make me feel like myself again.

  I hear voices and know that more guests have entered the resort’s private waiting room. I assume they’ll be on the seaplane with us to our destination. The guys are quiet for a moment and I know they’re checking out the new arrivals, evaluating the other people who’ll be at the resort. I decide to take a quick peek myself. I’m instantly glad I have my sunglasses on to conceal my blatant appraisal of the guests.

  Wow.

  Let me rephrase that. Holy shit.

  A vision of a perfect male specimen is in the room. He’s standing in a corner and talking to what I assume is one of his friends. He has light brown hair and cerulean blue eyes that are so bright they make my heart skip a beat. His lips are full, sensual, and he’s got a straight, perfect nose. His face is utterly masculine and hot. He’s tall, really tall, well over six feet, broad shouldered, and is sporting a natural tan that hints at a life spent out in the sun. He looks like he’s in his early to mid-thirties and he exudes worldly sophistication. I stop breathing. I can’t help it. I think I even might have forgotten how. He is the most good-looking man I’ve ever set eyes on. He literally looks like a walking piece of art. Erik puts his hand on my leg and squeezes hard. He sees what I see. I ignore him.

  But Erik’s movement catches the gorgeous man’s eye and he glances over him at me. His gaze slowly moves along my outstretched body, lazily assessing me, from my sneaker-clad feet to the top of my head. He stops at my face, staring intently, almost like he can see through me, and I hold my breath again. Does he know I’ve been looking at him? He can’t, I tell myself. He isn’t Superman, he can’t see through my shades.

  But his gaze remains fixed on me, staring so intensely now that it makes me incapable of movement. It’s the kind of look Daniel Day Lewis gave Madeline Stowe in Last of the Mohicans, when he literally devoured her with his eyes right before he dragged her off for the epic love scene. It is still one of the best love scenes of all time. I used to imagine what it would be like to have someone give me that Hawkeye stare. And now it’s happening, for the very first time, from the drop-dead gorgeous stranger.

  Erik has a death grip on my leg, clutching it so tight that I think I’m losing circulation. Clearly, he’s witness to this most incredible moment, so it can’t just be my jet lag or runaway imagination.

  The stranger’s bright gaze moves to my lips and they part of their own accord.

  He smiles.

  Oh my God! He knows I’m staring. I close my eyes and try to control the mortification that comes over me. How embarrassing!

  I count to ten then open them again.

  Shit. He’s still looking.

  Is my heart still beating?

  Since I will just look back I try to save myself the embarrassment and flip around so my back is to him. I need to get a grip. Good Lord, this has never happened to me before. I’ve seen hot men before. LA is filled with good-looking men and women. What is wrong with me?

  I hear a chuckle. His chuckle.

  It’s deep, masculine, and totally sexy. I know it’s him. I just know it. Oh Lord, is he laughing at me? Erik leans down nice and close to my ear and whispers in a not-so-very-subtle way.

  “Turn around and just stare, babe. He’s a shining example of what a sperm and an egg can come up with if they try really hard. He gives me a reason to contemplate breeding. Flawless. Impeccably dressed. And confident as hell. What more can you ask for?”

  Lord, Erik is right on the money. I slowly turn around to take another quick peek. My gaze meets his penetrating blue eyes. Oh my. I smile slightly and try to act cool as I look over at the people I think are his friends. He’s standing with three other men and two women. They’re all expensively dressed with designer handbags and luggage. They reek of sophistication and clearly come from a world of privilege. Suddenly I feel self-conscious in my baggy harem pants and tank top.

  There’s no smile, no welcoming look, just a piercing gaze like he’s trying to see into my soul.

  I take my glasses off and turn to Erik and Orie.

  “Have. You. Ever?” Erik asks me in a low voice.

  I shrug my shoulders. No, I have never. But do I want to say it out loud? What if Mr. Adonis hears me? Before I’m further tortured by my friend a woman from the resort enters the waiting room.

  “Welcome to Male. The seaplane is here to take you all to what we know will be a fabulous holiday. Please follow me.”

  I stand quickly and pick up my carry-on bag. Erik and Orie get distracted gathering their things and I’m blessedly given a reprieve. I keep my head down and start to walk toward the door. His friends follow the woman but Mr. Gorgeous lingers, almost like he’s waiting for me to catch up to him. But I know that’s just got to be wishful thinking on my part. I try to walk slowly, but I’m next to him in a second. He towers over me but in a good way. A really, good way.

  “Can I help you with that?” he asks me politely.

  I’m so startled by his question that I’m incapable of speech. I look up at him and hope my mouth hasn’t dropped open. Up close he’s even better looking. More appealing. How’s this even possible? It’s so unfair. It’s like dangling a piece of chocolate in front of a contestant on The Biggest Loser. I look around quickly to be sure he’s even talking to me.

  “Pardon?” I manage to stumble out.

  “Your bag. It seems heavy. Can I help you with it?”

  He is talking to me. I’m so floored I don’t answer him.

  “Allow me,” he says.

  His voice is lyrical, low, sexy. He has a faint accent. Very faint. I wonder where he’s from. Even though he’s said only a few words, I could listen to him talk all day long. God, maybe being a twenty-three-year-old virgin has made me incapable of small talk with the opposite sex.

  “I’m good, thanks,” I respond as calmly as possible.

  He looks at me for a long moment as if he’s weighing my words then cocks his head to the side.

  “My name is Clayton Sinclair.”

  Clayton, I think dreamily to myself. Clayton. It’s a good name. Strong. Regal. The kind a hero usually has in a period romance novel. And I should know, considering the closest to sex I’ve ever gotten is from guilty-pleasure reading. I’d die before I’d ever admit that, thank you. I snap back to reality.

  Speak, Sophie. Words. Now.

  “Sophie Walker,” I say back softly.

  “Nice to meet you, Sophie,” he says with a smile then proceeds to take my bag from my hands. “My mom would be really angry if I let a woman carry a bag I’m perfectly capable of carrying.”

  He takes it from my hands and I just watch him in bewilderment and say the only thing that comes to mind.

  “You really don’t have to.”

  “But I do,” Clayton says smoothly. “After you.”

  Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.

  I try to smile, but I can’t. I’m just a quivering mass of nerves. I walk past him, acutely aware of my size and his, and wonder what it would be like to be wrapped in his arms. I know it would be a pure, masculine embrace one that envelopes you, sucks you into warmth and passion, then culminates with the kiss you’ve dreamed about all your life.

  Stop. Oh God, stop Sophie, I think in annoyance. My mind is like a bad drunk. Once it starts there’s no end in sight. Ever.

  I turn around to look for my moral support, Erik and Orie. But they are suspiciously absent and I’m left all alone with the most handsome man I’ve ever met in my entire life.

  I look up at Clayton, who cocks a brow.

  “Forget something?”

  Just my
sanity and the ability to breathe properly. God, why are you so damn good looking?

  I shake my head. “No. No, I think I’m good,” I say again.

  “You’re fine, Sophie. Don’t worry. You’ll be taken care of.”

  My heart flutters at his words. For the briefest second I think what it would be like to be taken care of by someone like him.

  Five minutes later I’m sitting across from Clayton on the seaplane. It’s hot as hell and I can feel the sweat dripping off my face as the propeller’s noise roars through the small cabin. Instead of enjoying the view outside the window, I’m worried whether I’m sweating in a really unattractive way. We’re all wearing life jackets in case the plane goes down—not a very comforting thought—and the additional heavy layer doesn’t help the heat situation. Erik and Orie are across the aisle taking pictures and having a ball but I’m so nervous about being in such close proximity to this man that I can’t even manage a smile or enjoy the experience of being on a seaplane for the first time in my life. His legs are so long they practically cradle mine. It’s so intimate I get an adrenaline rush. The windows are slightly cracked in the seaplane to allow a light breeze. Clayton’s white linen shirt billows in the wind, exposing a beautifully sculpted, tanned chest. He leans back and laughs at something with his friend, revealing his perfect white teeth.

  Seriously? Where’s the flaw?

  “Take a picture, baby!” Orie shouts out to me. “Smile, girl!”

  The two lean over their seats and pull me in close. Erik lifts me up with an arm and puts a hand on my leg, squeezing me into his body as Orie takes a snap shot. I’m surprised when I feel another hand on my thigh and it’s not Erik’s. It literally burns through the thin material of my pants. Hot electricity rushes up my leg. What the hell? I’ve never felt anything like that before in my life.

  “That’s really dangerous. You should sit in your seat.” I look from Clayton’s hand to his face. He’s leaned in nice and close to me. I stare at his perfect lips.

  Oh Lord, there goes my breath again. Erik doesn’t say a word as I move away from him and sit back down. Clayton assumes his position, legs inches from mine, and smiles like he’s won something. And I realize he kind of has. I just listened to a complete stranger’s orders. What in God’s name is wrong with me?