Woke

by Peggy Jaeger

  It made sense from a training aspect, but as I slid a glance at Cade, I thought it might be too much for someone who wasn’t gearing up for a marathon.

  His hair was sopping wet, sweat trickling down to the ends and his face mimicked a seasoned pink Zinfandel. While I was able to speak without too much of a breathing deficit, Cade had limited himself to one or two word responses for the past fifteen minutes.

  The spring day was beautiful and bright, a lovely afternoon for a run through and around Central Park. Sam had planned my route the day before, telling me the hills at the upper edge of the park would be a good workout for my hips and long muscles.

  He wasn’t kidding. As we approached the first one my body instinctively slowed down. Cade mimicked me.

  We picked up the pace again when we got to the peak.

  Thirty minutes later we stopped at the Bethesda fountain. The steps down to it and the surrounding area were packed with people, families, and walkers all enjoying the day.

  Luckily, Cade spotted a space on the rim and we plopped down on it. We each took a drink from the water bottles we’d brought with us.

  “Did we do the full ten?” he asked between gulps. Now that we’d stopped he was really sweating, his face and body bathed in it, the pulsing at his temple visible. The athletic shirt covering his torso was plastered to him and I got a good idea of all the honed and hard muscles underneath it as it clung to every groove and furrow.

  When we’d met at the Columbus Circle entrance to the park at my insistence – Cade had again offered to pick me up but I’d refused – I’d been pleasantly surprised at how he’d looked in his running gear. Trainers that I knew cost a small fortune covered his feet. Under his body hugging black pants, his calves were defined and toned, not bulging and disproportionally thick like some runners were. His waist and hips were narrow and now, when he lifted his shirt to mop at the sweat on his face and brow, a line of shiny, swirly, dark hair drifted down from his pecs, across his fabulous, trenched abs, and disappeared downward under the waistband of his pants.

  “Ten and half,” I told him after consulting my FitBit. “In ten minute miles. Not bad, but I need to get my distance up and my time down.” I explained about Sam’s training schedule.

  “Impressive. And grueling.” He clinked his bottle with mine in a cheers gesture. Then, he finished what was left in it, slid the bottle into the fountain and filled it, then dumped the contents onto his head.

  “Much better.” His eyes lit with laughter.

  I was tempted to do the same, but the thought of how my hair would look dripping wet wasn’t appealing.

  “What are you doing now?” Cade asked, shucking the water.

  “You mean aside from sitting here, with you?”

  He reached over and ran his index finger along the back of my hand. All the hair on my body stood straight up at attention. “What are you doing the rest of the day?” he clarified.

  I hadn’t planned anything, figuring I was going to be tired after the run. Surprisingly, though, I wasn’t. I was energized, not enervated. And I don’t think it was totally the endorphin rush from the exercise, either. No. The man seated next to me, dripping in salty sweat and looking hot – in the literal and the liberal sense of the word - was the true cause of my heightened hormones.

  I cocked my head and asked, “What did you have in mind?”

  His answer wasn’t immediate, but I didn’t need him to speak the words rushing through his head. His face told me every little thing he was thinking and all of it included another form of exercise that would get us all sweaty and…hot.

  I gave myself a mental pat on the back for not blushing and then doubled the pats for keeping my gaze even with his and not looking away.

  “A late breakfast or an early lunch,” he said at last. “At my place. Followed by your choice of a stay-at-home movie, a few hours at a jazz club, or a few games of bowling.”

  I’ll admit choice two was appealing, while one was certainly a favorite. But…bowling?

  “I grew up watching my parents bowl in a weekly league,” he explained when I asked. “Some of my happiest memories are when I joined bowling team in high school. We even managed to get to the state championships in my senior year.”

  The thought of him as a teenager made me smile.

  “What?”

  “I’m picturing you in a short sleeved, two toned, cotton shirt with a pocket protector with a bunch of pens in it, and polyester pants with back pocket buttons.”

  He winced and folded his arms across his chest. “Don’t forget the thick black eye glasses and leather-patched bowling shoes.”

  “I’m not.” I laughed. “I bet you were adorable.”

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. “That’s one word for it. Not the one I would have chosen, but…” He shrugged. “So, breakfast or lunch and…something else?”

  “Well, since I’m starving, I’d love to do early lunch. And bowling, something I’ve never done, by the way, but which sounds like fun, too. But I need to get home and have a shower first.”

  His eyes lit up. A quick glance at his watch and he said, “It’s ten thirty now. How about we meet at my place by twelve? Is that enough time?”

  “Sounds good. Text me your address.”

  While we started walking to the nearest park entrance he pulled his phone from his pants pocket and typed.

  My phone pinged a half second later.

  “Got it.”

  “What made you want to do a marathon?” he asked as we made our way through the battalion of park dwellers. “It’s a huge commitment, training and time-wise.”

  “That was one of the reasons. I needed something to plan for. Something to work towards.”

  “Like a goal?”

  I nodded. “With the marathon on my calendar I’ve got something to motivate me to keep running. And each time I run, I get stronger, so, it’s a double win.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “You mentioned something about life intervening when I asked you about college. And you’ve mentioned a few times working toward getting stronger.”

  I nodded again.

  “Did whatever”—he flipped his hand in the air—“intervene, rob you of your strength?”

  I bit down on the inside of my cheek while I played for time to decide how to answer him.

  “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, or if it makes you uncomfortable.”

  Why the fact he was giving me an out actually made me want to tell him was something I’d have to think about later on. For now, just knowing I did want to tell him was surprising.

  But then the way I felt when I was with Cade was surprising, too. For some reason I felt safe with him. Protected, even. It was as if he’d been sent by some unknown entity to convince me it was time to move on with my life. To stop hiding in the shadows and to reclaim the years I’d been cheated out of.

  Strange, I know, but…

  We arrived at the 72nd Street park entrance and I spotted Murphy, parked across the street and waiting for me.

  “There’s my ride,” I said, pointing.

  “And there’s mine,” he said, doing the same towards the car I recognized from our ballet date. “Does it feel a little counterproductive that we just ran ten miles and we both have cars waiting to take us home instead of hoofing it?” he asked, hands on hips, and a wry lift of his lips.

  “Maybe,” I said. “But this way I can get home faster, get showered, and then be at your place before I actually do faint from hunger.” I stretched up and bussed his cheek, then wriggled my nose. “And speaking of showers…”

  I let the sentence dangle, but cocked my head toward him before I walked away.

  “Message received.” He grinned at me. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

  “Can’t wait,” I shot over my shoulder as I crossed the street to a waiting Murphy.

  Chapter Ten

  “This view is amazing.”

  And it was. Looking out of the floor-to
-ceiling windows of his fortieth floor condo on this clear, bright day, I could see all of lower Manhattan, the Staten Island Ferry terminal and even Lady Liberty. Battery Park was in full bloom and the tiny dots I spied I knew were New Yorkers out enjoying the lovely afternoon.

  “It was one of the reasons I said yes as soon at the realtor showed me this unit.”

  Cade came to stand next to me, a filled water glass in each hand. He gave me one and said, “Here you go. Lunch is ready. Let’s eat.”

  By now my stomach was gnawing with hunger. After Murphy brought me home I’d taken a shower, washed and styled my hair and spent a few minutes on dragging mascara across my lashes. Pre-coma Rory spent a great deal of time on her makeup and hair. A.J. went for fast and easy on most days. Since I was going to be seeing Cade again, though, I wanted to make a bit of an effort.

  “I called my housekeeper from the car and asked her to put something together.” He grinned at me as he held my chair. “Then I gave her the rest of the day off.”

  “This looks delicious. I’m impressed she was able to whip this up so fast.”

  He took his seat and nodded. “She was thrilled when I told her I invited someone for lunch. Usually, she cooks dinner for me and leaves it before heading home. She told me it was a treat for her to cook for more than just me for once.”

  I took a bite of the fresh salmon salad sleeping on a bed of steamed asparagus and sighed. “I was right, this is delicious. Has she been with you long?”

  “About four years. I hired her when I bought this place.”

  “Our cook was with us for almost forty years. My mother hired her when she and my dad first got married. A year ago she finally retired, but she was –is – family.”

  “You said the same thing about your driver. That he’s been with you all your life. That kind of loyalty is rare, especially these days. You’re lucky to be surrounded by people that you have such a strong history with.”

  “Where did you live before this?”

  “Brooklyn.”

  I tried not to show how surprised I was, but Cade was astute.

  “I lived in the home my parents bought when they first got married. Where I was raised. My mom still lives there.”

  “Our moms are similar in that regard. Mine still lives in the home she and my dad bought when they were first married, too. At least you moved out and on your own.” I sighed. “I still live with my mother.”

  “Have you ever lived anywhere else?”

  I shook my head.

  “Not feeling the need to be out on your own? To break free?”

  I hesitated before answering him and as I’ve said, he’s astute. Reaching across the table, he took my hand. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

  “No. Please don’t think that.” I squeezed his hand and then tugged mine free. “The reason I still live at home is a complicated one with a lot of backstory.”

  With his head tilted a bit, he said, “I’m not going anywhere if you want to share.”

  I considered it right then and there. Spill the whole story out. Tell him about my previous life, the coma, everything, once and for all, out in the open. I valued honestly above all else in people, and I knew I was being dishonest by not telling him.

  After a few moments of thought, I let out another sigh. Cade took it to mean something other than I’d intended.

  “Or not,” he said, with a half grin. “I don’t want to push you into anything you don’t want to do, Aurora. Or say, for that matter.”

  “Thank you. It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s more…” I shrugged. “It’s just a lot. I’d rather talk about something happy while we enjoy this amazing lunch.”

  So we did. Cade didn’t push, just as he’d promised. We spent the rest of the lunch talking about our parents, of all things.

  I learned Cade’s wealth and lifestyle were relatively new. He’d been raised in a middle class home in Brooklyn with a father who worked and a mother who stayed at home, just as I had. The difference: my parents were born to money while Cade made all his independently. I was impressed by that and told him so.

  “I got lucky,” he said as we brought our now empty plates to the kitchen.

  “My father used to say there was no such thing as luck, just preparation meeting opportunity.”

  “Maybe. Either way, I’m thankful. And I think I appreciate it more because I had to work for it. It didn’t come easy and although I can never really say I struggled growing up – my father always had a good job and we had a roof over our heads and plenty of food – we never had the luxury of new cars or family vacations. I think we were even the last people on the block to get a color television.”

  “You should give a talk about that at the women’s center. Let the clients know that you can come from any kind of lifestyle or background and still make a success of yourself with determination, hard work and preparation.”

  “You think it’ll be well received?”

  “I know it will.”

  He nodded, then closed the filled dishwasher and set it. When he turned around I was resting back against one of the granite counters, my arms folded across my chest. He’d caught me staring at his ass.

  I couldn’t help it. It was an exceptional ass, whether in running pants or his current cotton twill trousers. Tight and high with enough firm flesh that my fingers actually throbbed, wanting to grab it. His ass was the definition of fine.

  Eyes half closed, that sexy knowing grin tripping across his lips, Cade stalked to where I leaned against the countertop. My cheeks were on fire and I think he hypnotized me, because I couldn’t look away from his eyes.

  He came to stand right in front of me, so close in fact, I had to tip my head back to maintain eye contact. Each of his hands took one of my arms in it and unwound them. Another step and our bodies bumped. He took my arms and circled them around his waist, then did the same to me with his own.

  “So,” he said. We were so close there was no way he couldn’t hear the pounding of my heart as it rammed against my ribcage.

  I licked my lips, wondering if he was going to kiss me again.

  Well, maybe not wondering. Hoping is more honest.

  Cade’s fingers flexed against the small of my back when his gaze dropped to my now-wet lips.

  “So?” I swallowed.

  He dragged in a deep breath, his torso lifting with the effort. Anticipation galloped thorough me from head to toe as I thought now. Now he’s going to kiss me. I was so certain of it I arched my back a bit and started rising up on my tingling toes.

  When he’d kissed me so thoroughly in the limo he’d awaked all the senses and emotions in my body that had been dormant for so long. I felt…alive for the first time since waking up, which I know sounds ridiculous, but…

  No endorphin release from anything I’d done in the past few years compared to the rush I got when he’d kissed me.

  And I wanted to feel that way again.

  I thought his intentions were as clear as mine, but just to make sure there was no doubt, I pressed in closer.

  Right before my lids drifted all the way down in expectation of his lips meeting mine, Cade cleared his throat, then said, “So, bowling? You up for it?”

  It took me a full five seconds before his words penetrated through the sexual haze in my brain.

  My eyes shot open to find him grinning down at me, mischief skimming his gaze.

  “Bo-bowling?”

  He nodded.

  “You want to go…bowling? Right now?”

  Another nod, then his wicked grin turned mirthful. He pulled me into a bear hug and squeezed tight. “You’ve never been and I think it would be fun to teach you.”

  I didn’t respond right away. He’d cradled my head in that delightful notch between his shoulder and neck and I took the opportunity to breath him in. Whether it was the shower gel he’d used after the run, or the scent of the detergent his clothes had been washed it. Heck, it could even have been his own unique, manly essence
. Whatever it was I could have spent the entire afternoon just cleaved to him, inhaling.

  He rubbed a hand up and down my back a few times, the thrum of his heart beating against my ear. He let out a long, thick breath as we stood there, locked in a hug I was in no hurry to break.

  After a few moments he pulled back, his hands moving to my hips. To the question in his thoughtful eyes, I said, “I’d love to go bowling.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  “Now I see why you went all the way to the state championships when you were in high school,” I said a few hours later as we settled into the back of his limo once again. “You positively…bowled me over.”

  With a shake of his head, he asked, “How long have you been holding on to that one?”

  “It just came to me.” I grinned at him. “But seriously, you’re a natural, while I, on the other hand, am so obviously not.”

  We’d driven into Brooklyn, to Cade’s favorite bowling alley. For a Sunday in spring, the place was mobbed. Families with kids, groups of teens, even a couple groups of elderly men who were baiting and teasing one another mercilessly, filled the lanes to capacity. I was sure we’d have to wait at least an hour, but apparently my date was a local hero and alley-favorite. The moment the manager spotted us he came around from the shoe rental booth, pulled Cade into a man-hug and then tapped him on the back a few times. We’d been given the one empty lane at the very end of the alley and told to play to our hearts content. When Cade had tried to pay for my shoe and ball rental, the owner told him his money was no good and everything was on the house.

  The flush climbing up Cade’s neck was adorable.

  I’d deferred to him when it came to choosing my ball and he settled on a six pounder for me, calling it a Goldilocks.

  “Not too heavy, not too light,” he said, “but just right.”

  It wouldn’t have mattered if the ball were as light as air because I was, when push came to shove, a horrible bowler.

  “I’m lucky I can walk and carry on a conversation at the same time,” I told Cade after I’d thrown an entire game of gutter balls.

  He’d told me how to hold the ball, approach the line and then release it, but after telling me twice, he decided showing me how to do it would be better.