Entangle

by Veronica Larsen

  “Hey, boss, just making sure you know I’ll be doing a site walk up in Irvine. If you need anything from me, shoot me an email. I’ll be back this afternoon.”

  “Thanks for letting me know,” I say.

  He bows his head slightly and winks at me.

  I try to keep my reaction neutral but I feel myself flush. It feels as if he’s sending me a wordless message.

  You’re the boss...in the office.

  But out of the office, all bets are off.

  Sometime after returning from lunch, I freeze at the doorway of my office, surprised at what I see perched on my desk. A bouquet of flowers, a beautiful and brightly colored arrangement. The verdant scent trails through my nostrils as I walk over to it.

  I’m reminded of when I worked at a florist as a teenager. The job was bright and fun, selling pieces of the earth to people. I looked forward to it, being around all that blooming life was a reprieve from the shit storm I faced whenever I went home. That was my life. School, work, shit-storm. Repeat. Maybe that’s why I never grew comfortable in social situations. I spent most of my childhood and adolescence cleaning up my mother’s messes. I didn’t have the time or energy left over to go to the mall with girlfriends, sneak off to parties, or do anything that normal adolescents do. While my classmates went shopping for homecoming dresses, I used up my paycheck to pay the past-due water bill before the service could get cut off again.

  I’m lost in thought as I stroke a finger across the petals of the Stargrazer Lilly in the center of the arrangement. It’s my favorite flower. But, of course, this is a coincidence.

  I pull out the card to read it.

  Can’t seem to get you out of my head.

  Can I have a second shot at a first date?

  -Jacob

  I hold up the note to my nose, hiding the way my mouth parts in surprise. I’ll admit, I thought the flowers were from Leo. I consider the card again. It’s hand written. Did Jacob deliver these flowers himself? He came to my office?

  I’m not sure I’m okay with that. It feels invasive. Is it invasive? God, it’s been so long since I’ve even gone on a date with someone that I have no idea what’s considered normal anymore.

  Once I move the bouquet of flowers over to the windowsill, I sit behind my desk and call Jacob from my cell phone.

  “Lex?”

  “Hi, Jacob. I got your flowers.”

  “Did you?” I can hear the grin in his tone. “Hope you liked them.”

  I try to keep my tone unassuming when I speak again.

  “They’re beautiful. Did you stop by to deliver them?”

  “I did. I hope that’s okay.”

  “It’s a little creepy,” I say without a moment’s pause.

  He laughs.

  “I’m sorry about that. Didn’t mean to creep you out. It’s been a while since I bought a woman flowers. Thought it would be romantic or something.”

  He sounds genuine, but I’m not all the way convinced he’s as unscripted as he seems. I soften my tone a notch, just in case.

  “It was very thoughtful of you, thank you. Can you give me a heads up next time, before you drop by?”

  “I can do that.” There’s a slight pause before he adds, “I guess this isn’t a good time to tell you I’m standing outside of your office window.”

  I take in a sharp breath.

  “I’m kidding, beautiful,” he says quickly. “I promise I’m not a stalker.”

  When I let out half a laugh along with a breath of relief, he says, “Seriously? Are you really that creeped out?”

  I shrug, though he obviously can’t—or shouldn’t—see me.

  “I watch a lot of crime shows. I’m kind of hyper aware of serial killer-ish scenarios.”

  He lets out a low whistle.

  “Man, this conversation is not going the way I thought it would.”

  “Sorry—I just wanted to call and thank you for the flowers.”

  “And to tell me I shouldn’t drop by unannounced.”

  “Yes.”

  “And to tell me you’re looking forward to our date.”

  I blink.

  “What?”

  “Did you read the card?”

  “Oh—yeah. That’s right.” I rub my forehead. “I really appreciate the thought, but I’m just not into the dating thing right now.”

  “What’s that mean? We were on a date the other night.”

  “Well, yeah, but that was for Julia.”

  “Wow. Okay. Lex, I’m trying to get to know you better. If you’re not interested in me, that’s totally fine.”

  I shut my eyes.

  “You seem like a nice guy. I’m not dating at the moment.”

  “Let’s not call it a date, then.”

  My eyes spring open. Is this seriously happening to me?

  Deja vu, galore.

  Jacob does seem nice. As jaded as I am, as leery as I want to be about the things he says, he sounds disarmingly honest when he speaks. I’m not sure what he wants but, whatever it is, I’m sure I won’t ever be the one giving it to him.

  “I don’t think you understand, I’m not looking for any sort of relationship. Or anything that could possibly relate to that.”

  “Okay. I get it. The thing is, I really enjoy being around you. I mean, I know we haven’t been around each other much, but I find myself wishing I knew more about you. If you don’t want any, uh, relationship stuff, that’s totally fine with me. Can we be friends, instead?”

  I lower my voice in case someone can overhear me through the door.

  “Jacob, I’m not going to fuck you.”

  Coughing erupts from the other end of the line. I think, perhaps, he is choking on something. Maybe his own spit.

  “Wow,” he says, “I’ve honestly never heard those words before.”

  “I thought we should clear that up.”

  “Okay, I get it. Really. The message is loud and clear: my penis is persona non grata.”

  I press the back of my hand to my lips to stifle my snickering. This guy is funny.

  “Well, good. In that case, sure—we can be friends.”

  “So how about that non-date?”

  “That’s still a no, my friend.”

  He sighs into my ear and the sound is adorable. “Had to try.”

  XII

  Leo

  Alexis comes out of her condo, a siren in red high heels. I’m leaning on the hood of my car, watching her. She’s confidence on a pair of legs, daring my eyes to devour her if they can. Smiling coyly, she approaches me, swaying her hips as if the ground under her feet gives way to her steps. The black mini dress she wears goes right above mid-thigh. The material drapes around her like a second skin. It molds around her waist, enveloping the curves of her breasts and wrapping around one of her shoulders.

  When she reaches me, she throws her head back slightly to whirl her hair behind her shoulder. Her mouth parts in the wake of a greeting, but before she can speak, I pull on her waist, press her against me, and kiss her. Then, burying my face into the side of her neck, I touch my lips to the skin behind her ear.

  “Hi,” I say into her neck, sensing the way my breath stirs her. “You look incredible.”

  As we pull out onto the road, I glance at her and notice the way her dress hikes up a few inches further up her thighs where she sits. It’s distracting.

  “Where are we going?” she asks.

  “Nice little restaurant in La Jolla. It’s on a hill overlooking the cove. I think you’ll like it.”

  “Why exactly can’t we go straight to the hotel?”

  Her tone is casual and I know she means no offense. I offered for her to come to my place, but she insisted on a hotel. I’m sure she thinks it makes it all less intimate. As though fucking could ever be anything but intimate.

  She’s trying hard to pretend that this dinner is unnecessary. But I know the truth. While the mere suggestion of courtship seems to set off her self-preservation alarms, a woman like her wants her
mind enticed before her body can ease enough to follow suit. It’s really not hard for me to want to entice her. I mean, just look at her.

  Besides, we agreed this will be a one-time thing. I’m in no hurry to get it over with. This isn’t about getting off for me. Getting off is never the exciting part, it’s the torment of being right on the verge of it that I find most exciting. I want to take my time with her; I want to get her off slowly. I want to see her restraint slip away to reveal her unfiltered libido.

  Then the fun can start.

  “You know, for someone who is putting up such a big argument about dinner, you sure dressed nicely for it.”

  “It’s not the dinner I’m dressed for.”

  Her voice is all velvet and gloss.

  “Be that as it may, I want to wine and dine you first, if that’s alright.”

  I place a hand on her thigh and she doesn’t resist in the slightest. My fingers trail under the hem of her dress.

  “Is a dinner date a requirement for you to perform?”

  Her tone is mocking. I let my hand respond.

  She takes in a sudden breath as I slide up her inner thigh and trail a finger over the lacy material of her underwear.

  When I bring the car to a stop at a red light, I meet her eyes and see her mouth is open and her breathing suddenly slow and arduous.

  “To answer your question: no. I rarely feel the need to. But I made an exception, just for you.”

  “I guess I should feel special.”

  Sarcasm seeps into her tone and I pretend not to notice. She’s trying to keep up any sort of defense she can muster at the wake of my touch. I’m going to peel away all her pretenses, one layer at a time.

  “You are special.”

  I return my eyes to the road, feeling around through the material that separates us, teasing around the outline of her folds to distinguish the tense nob of nerves. I begin to rub it between two fingers. I imagine the lace adds friction nicely.

  “Oh God.” The whisper seems to erupt out of her. She tilts her hips upward to grant me a better angle to work with. Moisture begins to seep through the lace and onto my fingers.

  “You’re wet, Alexis.”

  There’s another red light. I look over at her again. Her head is back on the head rest, her eyes closed. Her dress is hiked up to expose her underwear, which is obscured by my hand.

  She is gripping the door handle with her right hand and the edge of the seat with her other. I can see how her body has taken over her, moving in response to my touch, low moans trailing out between her parted lips.

  Interesting. She’s even more tightly wound than I could’ve imagined. I think she’s close to coming just from my kneading her clit through her underwear.

  I pull my hand away and begin adjusting her dress back over her thighs. Her eyes fly open.

  “That’s it?” she asks, her voice a hoarse whisper.

  “For now. Don’t want to ruin your appetite.”

  We are working through our appetizers. Alexis sits in front of me, put together and dignified. Pretending she’s not thinking of the way she squirmed around the car seat at my probing fingers. The air between us is tense, our silences jagged. I wonder if she’s considering changing her mind and asking me to take her home after dinner. The thought compels me to smooth out her discomfort.

  “Have you traveled anywhere?” I ask her conversationally.

  “Not really.” She pauses to brush her thumb along her lower lip. “Not at all, actually.”

  “Have you been out of California?”

  “I’ve been to Vegas. Does that count?” She shrugs at my incredulous smile and adds, “We’ve got everything here. Beaches, deserts, mountains, forests. Disneyland. What else is there to see?”

  I tilt my head forward and say, “Everything.”

  “I know,” she says, fixing the napkin on her lap. “I’ve always wanted to travel but never had the chance. I didn’t have money growing up and...then life happened...”

  She trails off and seems to swallow back the rest of her sentence. I’m sure she feels she said too much.

  I give her a polite nod.

  She asks, “What about you?”

  “I’ve been all over. Parents took us all on vacations two or three times a year. Greece, Italy, Spain—”

  “I’ve always wanted to go to Spain. Barcelona, actually.”

  She lets out a wistful sigh and I almost laugh because it doesn’t seem like the kind of sound she would make.

  “Barcelona is beautiful,” I say.

  “You’ve been?”

  Her interest peaks and seeing the excitement in her eyes draws a smile to my lips.

  I nod. “Many times. It’s my mom’s favorite vacation spot.”

  “Tell me about it,” she says.

  I look away and think. “It’s modern but rich in culture. I love the architecture. Huge, elaborate, gothic-styled structures, sprinkled throughout the city. There are these old sections with narrow, medieval-type roads that date back to Roman times. And the food tastes incredibly fresh, you know? Mediterranean seafood. There’s this dessert; I forget what they call it, but it’s this viscous hot chocolate, thick enough to stand a churro in it.”

  “Viscous, huh? What an appetizing word.”

  “Trust me, it’s delicious. You dip churros in it and you die a little with every bite.”

  She studies my expression as I speak, as though she can inhale my memories and use them to elicit her own experiences. Then she says, “I’m dying to go there.”

  “I’ll take you one day.”

  Our eyes meet and she gives me a hesitant smile. I’m not sure what compelled me to say that, but I regret it. Making promises of a future we agreed isn’t happening is stupid.

  She clears her throat. “I bet it’s eye opening, to travel that much.”

  Her tone is now overly casual but I’m glad she doesn’t linger over the awkward moment.

  “It is. I did a study abroad in South Africa. Talk about eye opening.”

  She raises an eyebrow at me. “Really? South Africa?”

  It’s obvious she’s trying to keep the conversation on me. But I have different plans.

  “What’s your story, Alexis?”

  She tilts her head at my question. I think she knows what I’m asking and is simply reserving the right not to answer.

  “What I mean is, your reluctance to go on a date...I have a feeling it’s not because you’ve reached your lifelong quota of Prince Charming interactions.”

  “That is an accurate observation.”

  “Care to elaborate?”

  She cups her chin in her hand and her index finger taps at her bottom lip a few times. Her green eyes consider me, trying to gauge the likelihood of me dropping the subject. Not likely. I’m curious enough to muddle through her reluctance to speak. I’m not sure if it’s because she purposely remains distant, or because she isn’t a good conversationalist.

  Her tone is playful and unbothered when she finally responds. “Okay. Let’s say that something happened. This...thing...”

  She trails off, trying to come up with a lighthearted term for it, I’m sure. It’s obvious we are at the borders of a touchy subject for her. It’s also obvious she’s much too proud to let on how touchy it is.

  “A thing?” I ask. “What, like a massacre?”

  I watch her lips spread into a smile.

  “Of sorts.”

  “Okay,” I say. “What was the damage like?”

  Her smile falters a hair, but only in her eyes. I realize too late how personal the question is. I don’t expect her to answer but to my surprise, she does.

  “Pretty extensive.”

  Her words, the way she says them; it all shifts the weight of something inside of my chest. Even though she holds her smile, I can see a tinge of sadness flicker across her expression. I can almost see the invisible strings that hold it up straining under a weight. Some bastard broke this beauty’s heart, warping the pieces until she
couldn’t figure out how they fit back together again. Whatever happened, she’s clearly not over it. I shouldn’t have asked.

  She glances away, takes a sip of her wine, then says, “My turn to ask an invasive question.”

  I wait.

  “How is it you’re single? What’s wrong with you?”

  Amusement grows in her eyes in the silence that follows.

  “How is it you’re single?” I ask her in turn, my tone playful. “What’s wrong with you?”

  She laughs and says, “I guess that’s a question for my ex-husband.”

  Seems like I keep walking into dangerous territory. I try to back pedal.

  “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you from where I sit.”

  Tilting her head in a half shrug, she says, “I didn’t say there was.”

  I dip out of the conversation without preamble.

  “What are you into, Alexis? In bed, I mean.”

  Her lips part then close and the ghost of a smirk creeps in. She nips along the inside of her thumb with her teeth and watches me steadily. I can see the mere mention of sex with me seems to twist her, tugging at a deep frustration. And I’ve yet to say anything interesting.

  I go on, “Did I ever tell you? I have this thing, this...sixth sense, if you will. I can tell how a woman likes to be fucked just by looking at her.”

  She takes the bait immediately. I know she can’t help it. I notice the way she uncrosses her legs only to cross them again. She’s squirming at the mere suggestion. A slow smile builds on her face, her lips parting a few seconds before she lowers her voice to speak.

  “Go on, then. Tell me how I like to be fucked.”

  The way she says those words, I nearly hurl the entire table aside just to reach her. Somehow, I manage to keep my hands unflinching on the table, though I’m hurting to touch her. I’m not sure how I’m going to make it through this dinner, having her this close and so willing. Whose idea was this anyway? Why aren’t we fucking right at this very moment?

  I let my eyes take her in, greedily, as I speak. “You, Alexis...are used to being in control of every aspect of your life. But in bed? I think you don’t want to be in control anymore. I think you want to feel absolutely compliant.”