My Geeky Valentine

by Jeanne McDonald

  I bit down hard on his smooth, strong shoulder as I lost all control. The force of my climax halted my movements. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. All I could do was feel. Feel him twitching inside me. Feel his body encasing mine. His breath as haggard and forced as my own. It was overwhelming and frightening, yet never had I felt more alive. I kissed his sweet lips, feeling such passion for this man and I suddenly dreaded the moment I had to let him go.

  “Lucian…” my voice was muffled.

  His blue eyes lifted to meet my gaze. “I don’t want to let go, either.”

  “Then don’t.” The words escaped my lips so easily that I knew it had to be my heart talking. “Stay with me.”

  A soft purr escaped his lips. He shifted us to our sides, laying us down on the sofa. I curled into him, pulling my painters tarp from the floor and wrapping it around us. My eyes drooped closed, exhausted. The sensation of him smoothing my hair comforted me. What just happened between us had been in the making since we first met. The perfect combination of music and art.

  I drifted off to sleep not knowing what the future held for us, but knowing that no matter what, this beautiful man was mine.

  My eyes fluttered opened and I stretched, every muscle tense from sleeping on the sofa. Lucian’s grip tightened around me. I smiled, lifting my eyes to see his peaceful face. The urge to paint him, just like this, overtook me. I shimmied from his sleeping grasp, slipped his t-shirt over my head, and maneuvered to my easel.

  The early morning light filtered into the room, creating the most beautiful glow. With my brush in my hand, I allowed my mind to relax and began to place paint to canvas. Much like the night I first met Lucian, it was as if I was consumed. My inspiration held no boundaries.

  Only the sound of my cell phone stopped me. I reached over to the table and turned my back to Lucian and my canvas, answering the intruding device.

  “Ms…Shadow,” came a voice I was startled to hear on the end of the line.

  “Speaking.”

  “I’m sorry for calling so early in the morning. I hope I didn’t wake you. Your agent provided me with this number.”

  “It’s fine. I was merely working.”

  “Ah, well, I’ll be brief, then. This is Steve Solomon.”

  I rubbed my hands on a towel, propping the phone between my ear and shoulder. “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m leaving for Paris in the morning and I would like to extend an offer for you to join me.”

  I nearly dropped the phone. “Me?”

  “Yes. We would be gone for a few weeks, but I want your expert eye on a some pieces I’m considering for purchase.”

  “I’m not an art buyer. I’m a painter.”

  “Which is exactly what I want. I have a buyer. All she cares about is value. I want someone who understands the depth of a work. I wish to glean knowledge. This would also work to your benefit as an artist, for there are many dealers in Paris looking for a fresh style like yours.”

  This was an opportunity of a lifetime. I pivoted around to find Lucian standing behind me. His arms were crossed over his bare chest and the expression in his eyes almost broke my heart.

  “May I have some time to think it over?” I asked, locked in Lucian’s gaze.

  Steve huffed in frustration. “You have ‘til noon.”

  “Thank you,” I uttered.

  We disconnected the call and Lucian’s shoulders slumped. “You’re leaving me, aren’t you?”

  I licked my lips, taking a step toward him. “Steve Solomon wants to take me to Paris with him. He thinks he can get me in front of some major dealers.”

  Lucian rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze dropping to his feet. “That’s fantastic, Rochelle.”

  A sadness overcame my senses at the manner in which he said my name. “Nobody calls me Rochelle anymore. Not even my own mother.”

  He shrugged a shoulder, still not meeting my gaze. “Well, I do.”

  No argument there. I actually liked the way my legal name sounded coming from his lips. I moved a step closer to him. “If you want, I’ll tell him no.”

  Lucian sat down on the sofa and patted the seat beside him. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

  I slid down next to him, taking his hand. “You’re not asking, though. I’m offering.”

  He linked his fingers with mine. “Not much difference to me.” Lucian wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me into his lap, nuzzling his nose to my neck. “How long will you be gone?”

  “A few weeks.”

  Lucian placed a gentle kiss where his shirt met my neck. “You should go.”

  I pulled away, holding his face in my hands. “What about last night? What about us? This is all new, but there’s something here. I feel it. Don’t you?”

  Lucian placed a sweet kiss to my lips. “I do. And it’ll still be here when you get back.”

  “It feels wrong to leave,” I whimpered.

  “It won’t when you get there. I promise.”

  I thrust my hand out toward the canvas I’d been working on. “What about our painting?”

  His hands slid around the base of my shoulders, drawing me to him. “Everything will be here when you get back.”

  I wanted to plead with him. To beg him not to let me go, even though I wanted to. Chances like this don’t come up that often, and it was a great opportunity to get my name out there. But what I felt with Lucian, it was all consuming. It sang to me. It inspired me. I even suggested Lucian join me, but he couldn’t because of his own job, though I sensed he felt relieved when I asked.

  The next morning I found myself on a private plane, sitting across from Steve Solomon, with a heavy heart and a beautiful memory of a sweet goodbye kiss from the man who’d stolen my heart.

  Three weeks turned into a month, and I was antsy to get back to Lucian and my painting. Steve hadn’t been exaggerating when he said I would make some serious contacts. Paris was crawling with art dealers itching to find the next big thing. Everywhere we went, Steve talked up my work. So much I’d started painting right there in Paris.

  But my heart felt as if a piece of it was missing. In the beginning, Lucian and I talked and texted all day long. Then work took over and I was constantly busy. Our conversations went from several times a day to once daily then every other day. And my mood began to sink with the lack of communication.

  Today it was worse than it ever had been. Steve told me we were staying another month. I couldn’t deny it was a great opportunity for my career, but I could only imagine how Lucian would take it. I cried for hours before calling him, but I knew what needed to be done. There was no easy way to handle it. I simply had to rip off the band-aid.

  With a heavy heart, I dialed his number. He answered after only one ring.

  “Hey, Lucian,” I answered, trying to sound upbeat, knowing I failed miserably.

  “What’s wrong?” he responded.

  I rubbed the back of my neck and started pacing the floor. “You know how I told you I should be coming home on Sunday?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “It looks like I’m going to be here another month.”

  “What?” His usually calm voice raised several octaves.

  “I’m sorry. There’s an art show coming up in a couple of weeks and Steve wants to display some of my pieces.”

  “Steve. Right.” His tone was clipped, aggravated. Not that I could blame him.

  I lowered to a squat, balancing on the balls of my feet. My whole body ached, as if I’d been standing in the middle of traffic and a semi ran over me. “It’s just a few more weeks.”

  “And then it’ll be a few more. Then a few more,” he snapped.

  My stomach churned. “Lucian, please understand.”

  “Oh, I do. But I have to know,” he paused a moment, “are you sleeping with him?”

  I jolted upward, my stomach rolling. “What?”

  “Steve. Are you sleeping with him?”

  I swallowed back the bile threatening to come
up. “What on earth would make you ask a question like that?”

  “Well,” Lucian growled, “he’s keeping you away for another month. You’re always together.”

  “We work together!”

  “In your hotel room? Don’t think I don’t hear when he comes by. I’m not an idiot, Shadow.”

  My heart sank. He hadn’t called me Shadow since the day he learned my real name. Tears pricked my eyes. How dare he assume such a thing about me.

  “Well?”

  I gritted my teeth. “For your information, no. I’m not. I happen to be in love with you, but obviously that doesn’t matter, does it?”

  The phone went silent. For a moment I thought he might’ve hung up on me. “Lucian?”

  Nothing. Utter silence.

  “Lucian, did you hear what I said? I love you.”

  “I’ve got to go.” And the line went dead.

  My world fell apart. The man I loved was gone. He didn’t believe me. He didn’t trust me. And why should he? I slept with him and left, then admitted my feelings for him over the phone. Hell, I’d dump me, too.

  The next morning, I sat alone in my room, lost in my own heartache. My body ached from all my sobs. Needing something, anything to make me feel Lucian’s presence, I slipped my earbuds in my ears and listened to the song he’d recorded for me. The melody was melancholy, filled with longing, despair, heartache─everything I’d felt while without him over the past few weeks. Everything felt within this moment. My heart was missing. It was back home with him.

  Then it hit me. I didn’t have to stay.

  Lucian and I could work this out. All I needed to do was get back stateside.

  I whipped my luggage out and began tossing my belongings inside. There was no way I was letting things end like this between us. I’d get home, find Lucian, and make him see how much I loved him. How much I needed him. My work suffered without him. The light I felt inside was gone and it was because I missed my muse.

  In mad haste, I raked my toiletries into my bag, not caring how they might affect my belongings. I could always get new stuff. I couldn’t get a new Lucian. He was one of a kind.

  A knock came at the door, stopping me mid-pack. Dammit. That had to be Steve. Well, I’d have to tell him sooner or later of my plans. Now was as good of a time as any. I moseyed to the door and opened it.

  My heart leapt from my chest at the sight of him. Lucian, his hand curling through his hair, stared back at me with those soulful blue eyes. There was no hi, how are you. No, I missed you. There was simply him, rushing into my arms and kissing me as if our lives depended upon it. His mouth moved against mine with promises of the future. All of the pain, the sorrow, the missing part of myself was made whole with the touch of his lips.

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered against my lips. “I didn’t mean it.” His kiss trailed down my jaw to my ear. “My behavior was foolish. I felt like an idiot for even suggesting such a thing.” The warmth of his mouth, so sweet and passionate, pebbled the skin of my neck. “And when you said you love me─”

  I held his face in my hands, pulling him so I could peer into those beautiful eyes. “But I do love you.”

  “And I love you, too, but I wasn’t about to say that over the phone. I knew, right then, I had to get to you no matter what.”

  “You flew all this way to tell me you love me?”

  That piercing smile of his donned his lips. “And to be with you. I couldn’t stand another day without you. And if it means being here, I’ll be here.”

  My hands moved to his hair, a part of me still believed he wasn’t really here. “What about your job? Your music?”

  “I called in some vacation time and my music,” he placed his hand over my heart, “is right here. Where I belong.”

  Three years later, I sat outside, sipping my tea at our favorite café in the heart of Paris, waiting for Lucian. The warm rose colored light peeked over the buildings, so beautiful and serene. I never ceased to wonder why the Expatriates of the Lost Generation chose France as their muse. Beauty filled the air.

  So much had changed in my life after that fateful day. It was for that reason Lucian and I returned to Paris each year for our anniversary. This was where we made love like it was our first time. This was where we finally admitted our love for one another. We spent a week here after he arrived and every night was more magical than the previous. By returning yearly, we reconnected to that moment, to that love, and always left refreshed, renewed, and inspired.

  Lucian thrived in his music, acquiring a coveted position with an orchestra in Hollywood. Stacy wasn’t too happy about us leaving her behind, but she ended up meeting the perfect girl, falling in love, and getting married. As for me, my art career flourished after leaving Paris. I had more work than I knew what to do with. Steve was a great boost to my career, but even he had to admit that Lucian was the muse my heart had always been seeking.

  Over the horizon, I caught sight of a tall shadow moving toward me. I placed my hand over my eyes to get a clear view of the man. My Lucian. My husband, was carrying our little girl in his arms. Her big blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight. My heart swelled with love and joy for my little family. I rubbed my swollen belly and grinned, knowing that soon three would become four. Where once I was a starving artist, now I was the richest woman on the planet. I couldn’t imagine my life being any better.

  Sloane Roberts is a senior in college with one goal in mind, getting into med school. Always dubbed the nerd, Sloane has accepted her place in the world, and is even proud of her accomplishments. Everything is on track, that is, until Emerson Hayes walks into her life. What’s a girl to do when she’s never been kissed and is caught in the friend zone with the boy of her dreams?

  At a young age, I learned a valuable lesson – romance sucks. It all started with a boy. But then again, doesn’t it usually start that way? I was five and I had a huge crush on Scottie Reeves. He was seven, and boy, was he cute. Unfortunately, Scottie didn’t see me in the same light. But I didn’t care. I was determined he would see me for everything wonderful, beautiful, and fantastic my father had convinced me I was.

  Valentine’s Day was quickly approaching, and I decided that was the day I would capture his attention. I painstakingly chose the perfect Valentine’s Day card for him. It was covered in small red and pink hearts, and in the center, it said, “Be Mine.” Attached was the perfect cherry lollipop in the shape of a heart. I was so proud of that card, and certain it would win over his affections.

  Just in case the lollipop wasn’t enough, I signed my name to the back of that card and added one small line – Do you like me? Yes or No.

  Okay, so that was probably a dumb move, but I was five. How was I to know I had set myself up for failure?

  When Valentine’s Day came, I slipped that card into my book bag and took it with me with me to school. I waited until recess when I knew I could catch Scottie alone. When he came onto the playground, wearing his bright red sweater, my little heart skipped a beat. I didn’t think. I merely rushed over and handed Scottie the card.

  ‘Til the day I die, I’ll never forget the feeling of standing there in front him. The look he gave me was that of amusement. He chuckled and accepted the card. Everything seemed okay. Sure, he chuckled, but that was friendly, right?

  Wrong!

  He flipped that card over and burst into laughter.

  My heart sank. I wracked my little brain trying to figure out what I wrote that could be so funny. Nothing came to mind.

  And that’s when he said the words that crushed me to the bone. Words that still resonate in my head to this day: “Why would I like you? You’re ugly!”

  There are no words for the amount of devastation I felt in that moment. Before I could truly register what he had said, he removed the lollipop from the card and ripped it up in front of me. The pieces floated to the ground like cardboard snow. If that wasn’t enough, he marched over to Cassie Langston, the biggest bully in first grade, and handed her the l
ollipop.

  My heart was shattered. I cried so hard, the teacher actually sent me to the nurse. My father picked me up that day, unsure how to handle me. Since my mother had died, it was just the two of us, and now he was dealing with an emotional child who wouldn’t even tell him what happened. I couldn’t. The humiliation was too much for my little heart. I idolized my father, and knew he thought I was beautiful. I didn’t want to tell him was wrong. That I was ugly.

  After that day, I basically warded off boys. They were the devil in disguise, and I had better things to do with my time. Instead, I placed my focus in learning. In books, I could discover faraway places without ever leaving the confines of my bedroom. Most of my best friends were fictional characters, but they understood me. Because of them I didn’t care when I was called nerd, geek, and whatever other derivative could be conjured to demean me. My brain was all I had, because obviously I was lacking in the looks department, and I was going to use it. And, yes, I realize that it was foolish of me to allow one little boy’s words to define me, but I was five, and didn’t have a mother to reassure me that he was simply that – a boy.

  Now mind you, I wasn’t lacking in friend department. Just because I studied constantly didn’t mean I had to be a hermit. And even a few of them were boys, but never had a boyfriend. I refused to date anyone. The heartache wasn’t worth it to me. Gretchen Malone, my best friend and next-door neighbor, spent most of our high school years begging me to go out with one guy or another. I refused. I needed scholarships more than I needed to lose my virginity.

  So, when I began my senior year at university, it didn’t strike me as odd that I had never actually kissed a guy, let alone had sex with one. Gretchen gave up on that quest somewhere around sophomore year, which was fine by me.

  It was like any other day. Nothing special about it. Class. Study. More class. Gretchen and I had a place off campus, not too far from my childhood home so I would be close to dad when he needed me. She drove us to school that day. In typical Gretchen style, she was head cheerleader, and all around most popular. No one could deny she was beautiful with her black and purple hair that somehow always looked absolutely perfect. She had the most intense lavender eyes, which was accentuated by her purple highlights.