by Lisa De Jong
He removes his hand but not before running his thumb over mine, causing a slight tingle. “Ah...nice? The kiss of death. Women don't like nice guys.”
My brow furrows. “That's not true. I was married to a very nice man for quite some time.”
“So...you had a good marriage?”
“I did. We grew up together. He was one of my best friends. And he was a great dad. My children and I were very fortunate to have him while we did.” Tears pool in my eyes. I may not have been in love with him like a wife should be in love with her husband, but I did miss him when I thought about our friendship and the love he had for our children.
He reaches across the table and tucks my hair behind my ear, cupping my neck for a moment before releasing me. It's a possessive gesture, and I surprise myself by liking it. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you sad. I brought it up because I know you haven't dated anyone, so I was wondering just how you felt about moving on.”
I take him in—his sincerity, his charm, his good looks. He's the whole package: successful, kind, and intelligent. His light brown cropped hair is slightly wavy, and he has gorgeous blue eyes except that they immediately cause me to think of my favorite blue eyes. Damn it! I'm a freakin' mess! “I'm good,” I tell him with way more calmness than I feel. “I'm ready to move on, ready to date. But I think taking it slow is best for me.”
He gives me a half-smile. “I can do slow.” His words and the way he says them cause me to shiver a little. Maybe if I give him a chance and quit comparing him to Adrian, this could go somewhere good.
We finish the rest of our meal with mainly small talk about me. I tell him how I got into the decorating business. How I dream of nothing more than becoming a designer. How I thrive on making the things around me pretty yet functional. How I started way back when I was in junior high. I joke that I was on every organizing and designing committee known to man. I had to get it all out of me, for in my own home, I wasn't allowed to touch anything around me. My mother was meticulous and paid top dollar to the best in the business to decorate our home, the compound, and the firm. Even my own bedroom wasn't mine to personalize. I think that's why I let my boys run wild around my house. It may make for a messy home, but they love it and feel comfortable at home. It was the best thing I could ever offer them because I’d never felt that way.
****
“OH, THIS BAND is amazing!” I shout in Bradford's ear. The band is unlike anything I've ever heard. I love them! They are Dave Matthews Band meets the Foggy Mountain Boys.
“I'm glad you like them,” he whispers back as he moves in for a slow number. He pulls me close, and I can’t help but have my pulse speed up. Bradford's hips move in time with mine, and the warmth that seeps out of him and into me is refreshing and comforting. My hands rest on his forearms, and he pulls his arms back to take my hands in his and brings them up and around his neck. Running his fingertips down the underside of my arms, he causes a path of fire to quickly spread throughout my entire body. I look up at him in surprise, and he gives me a knowing grin. He continues his sweet torment by running his hands down my sides until they come to rest on my hips. He leans and places a soft, little kiss by my ear and tells me, “I'm really glad you're here with me and that you wore that amazing dress. Every guy in here hates my guts right now.”
I give a nervous little laugh. How can I want Adrian so badly yet be so affected by Bradford's words and touch? Am I that starved for attention? I feel confused all of a sudden. I swallow hard and lean back to take him in. “I don't know about that, but I do consider myself very lucky to be here with you,” I admit.
He gives me a glorious smile and then dazes me by leaning and resting his lips on my forehead before giving me a sweet, lingering kiss there.
As the concert wraps up, we make our way backstage. I'm about ready to jump out of my skin I'm so excited! I have a not-so-secret appreciation for rock stars.
We’re escorted into the VIP room to wait for the budding rock stars, and I’m in awe. For all my money, I’ve never had this kind of access before. There isn’t a surface in the entire huge room that isn’t covered in some kind of swag—giant vases of every flower imaginable with huge metallic balloons in the shapes of musical notes and instruments, t-shirts from every vendor in New Orleans, platters of food, champagne, lots of champagne—which is my weakness—and tons of other stuff. And these bands were just starting out in the States.
Bradford places his hand on the small of my back as he escorts me fully into the room. I feel him lean in and his warm breath on my neck sends shivers down my spine. “Will you be all right here for just a second?”
“Oh, sure,” I assure him, “I’m going to grab a glass of champagne.
His hand moves to my hip to give it a light squeeze. My eyes meet his and he smiles big at the Wow! that I imagine is written all over my face. “Good. Be right back.”
“K,” I murmur as he moves away. I watch him walk away, and it’s a mighty fine view. I’d seen him in a tux, a suit, and now in his relaxed look. And he looks good every single way. Today, it is dark jeans that fit him perfectly with a tight, white Henley that draws my attention. I shake my head at myself and my thoughts. Again, I’m amazed that I can be drawn to two men simultaneously. I’m not quite sure how this makes me feel about myself.
I make my way over to the champagne-filled table, and as I’m approaching, a guy turns quickly from it and almost plows into me. I have quick reflexes so I’m able to dodge him before he makes contact.
“Oh, sorry,” he starts and then we make eye contact. He switches gears almost immediately. “Or not. Hey there, beautiful,” he says with an English accent. He gives me what I can only describe as a licentious grin.
“Umm…hi,” I can’t help but grin back. He’s gorgeous and every visible square inch of him is covered in elaborate tattoos. I want to study them.
“Sorry about damn near running you over, gorgeous. Where you headed?”
“Just beyond you. I’m after some champagne.” Oh, geez! I can hear the flirtatious tone in my voice. What the hell is wrong with me? Maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t had a man in so long. My libido has graduated from tapping me on the shoulder to bypassing the filter between thought to speech.
“Here ya go, love. It’s the least I can do for making you move like that.” He hands me his just-poured glass and turns to pour another. “Did you enjoy the show?”
“I really did. The opening act was amazing. I’d never heard of them, but I’ll definitely be hitting up iTunes when I get home.”
“Yeah, you liked ‘em, huh?”
“More like loved,” I admit. “I love discovering new talent.”
“Well,” he spins and taps his glass to mine, “To you and your mission of discovery. I’m ready and willing for your venture to start with me.”
“Huh?” I giggle.
I feel a hand on my lower back again and glance over to be sure it’s Bradford. With all these horny rock stars roaming around, you never know. “Drake, you flirting with my girl here?” Bradford winks at me. His girl? Hmm…has a nice ring to it. “Celeste, the man who is unabashedly hitting on you is the drummer for the Rising Sons. Drake, this is my date, Celeste.”
Drake slaps Bradford on the shoulder. “Damn, mate, you shouldn’t have left her alone for a second back here. What in the bloody hell were you thinking, man? Another thirty seconds and she would’ve been leaving with me tonight.”
I roll my eyes heavenward, laugh again, and say, “Drake, you really need to work on that low self-esteem of yours, you know? You really have a lot to offer a girl. No need to be so hard on yourself.”
“Yeah, babe. Hard is—”
“All right, all right, I can see exactly where this conversation is headed.” Bradford laughs and I feel his hand move around to rest on my hip. Yep, very possessive. I just hope it’s the good kind of possessive. “Drake, I just talked to Brian. The contracts are looking good and tight. We’ll get those over to your room in the mor
ning to be executed before y’all head out tomorrow.”
“Whatever, mate. I’m just here for the free booze and,” he winks at me and grins, “the hot women.” I can’t help but laugh at him.
Bradford claps Drake on the back and nudges me toward the crowd. “Come on, Celeste, the rest of the band is a little more civilized.” We say goodbye to Drake and make our rounds around the VIP room. The rest of the band has made its way down as has the main act. Bradford seems to know a little bit about all of them and is easy-going in their midst. I even get to talk harmonies with the lead singer and main songwriter for the band. It’s an amazing night for an aficionado like me.
After too many glasses of champagne and getting hit on by every male in the room, even though Bradford never left my side, we say our goodbyes and begin to head out. I turn to go out the way we came in, but Bradford gently guides me in the other direction. I raise a questioning brow, “I thought we were heading out?”
“Not quite yet. I have something I want to show you, though,” he says with a mischievous little grin.
He guides me to an elevator, and we ride up a few floors until the elevator opens on the rooftop. When the elevator opens, I’m treated to tons of lit candles and a rooftop garden that’s to die for. “I think this is the real VIP area. What about you?” Bradford breathes from behind me. I can hear all the sounds of New Orleans floating up to us—the jazz bands, the street performers, the impatient drivers, the rambunctious revelers, the sirens. I wouldn’t trade this city for anything in the world. You couldn’t make this kind of thing up. I turn into Bradford’s embrace, for his hand still hadn’t left my hip. When I do, his hand drags across my entire back, leaving goose bumps in its wake.
“You did this? You set this up? For me?”
His pretty baby blues focus all their intensity on me. “Yes, you seem surprised by that notion.”
The truth tumbles out of me before I can help it. “I am. No one’s ever done anything like this for me.”
His voice turns raspy. “I’m sorry to hear that because you,” he says as he brushes a piece of errant hair from my forehead, “deserve this and so much more. But I will say I’m not sorry that I was the first do to such a thing.”
I give him a slight smile and back out of his grasp to turn and take it all in. It really bothers me that I can feel this attraction to Bradford when just a few hours ago Adrian had his hand up the back of my dress and I had been dying for so much more. It made me feel…like a cheat. And I’d never felt like a cheat before. “Hey, you all right?” I walk a little and turn back to him. He looks uneasy now. He raises his arms. “Is this OK?”
Nodding my head, I tell him, “It’s more than OK. It’s wonderful. I just don’t feel that I deserve this, I guess.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that,” he says with a grin. “Come here.” He guides me over to the wicker loveseat and helps me sit down, lowering himself in front of me. “These shoes are sexy as hell. But your feet have to be killing you.” He runs one hand down the back of my calf and the other over the top of my foot, giving me an inquiring look. I nod and he slips my shoe off and begins massaging my foot. I relax back into the loveseat as much as I am able because it feels amazing. More than amazing after a moment. Whatever part of my foot he is rubbing has a direct line to my libido. I actually moan when he slips my other heel off to work his magic on that one.
“That feels amazing,” I tell him. “I didn’t think my feet were bothering me until you got a hold of them.”
“You are amazing. I admire you so much, Celeste, and you deserve to be treated like a princess.” His look turns serious and he smiles warmly. “I’m sorry to sound so serious, but I was raised by a single mother. So I can appreciate your situation.”
My heart pinches and I smile wide. “Thank you for saying that, Bradford. Your mother did a fantastic job, by the way.”
“Anyway, I thought you might be a little hungry after all the dancing and cocktails, so I ordered us up some oysters. Kind of a midnight appetizer if you will.” Suddenly, I feel ravenous.
“Yes, I’d love some,” I tell him. He slips my shoes back on and lifts himself out of his crouched position to a table that contains beverages and, apparently, oysters. He brings the tray over and I see it’s raw oysters on the half shell.
“Madame,” he says as he presents me with the tray.
“Oh, my favorite, thank you!” My energy level has suddenly revived itself. I get so giddy over food that it’s ridiculous. It was one of the major transgressions my mother had scolded me for most of my life. “Sorry,” I tell him. “I just love raw oysters.”
“Don’t apologize. I love your enthusiasm.”
“Thank you. And thank you for a wonderful night, Bradford. I’ve loved every second of it.”
“Even getting hit on by all those rock stars,” he jokes.
“They were harmless,” I say.
“Yeah, only because I was there. If you’d have been by yourself, you’d have been in trouble. Believe me. They were going easy on you.” I laugh at the thought of Drake and the other guys turning their full charm on me. He’s right. I wouldn’t have stood a chance. “I think you like the thought of all those rock stars fawning over you, you naughty thing.”
I gasp at exactly how accurate his comment is given my earlier line of thought. My mouth falls open as I think of a way to protest but then I snap it shut. She doth protest too much and all that! “Whatever,” I say eloquently.
After squirting them with lemon juice and Tabasco, we get quiet as we devour the oysters.
Bradford is the first to break the comfortable silence. “You have to be getting tired by now? I know those three little boys keep you on your toes.”
“Do they ever. And yes, I’m starting to become quite tired. I’ve had a lovely night, Bradford, really. Thank you so much.”
“It was my pleasure, Celeste. Thank you for the wonderful company. Would you mind if I followed you to your house? You know, to make sure you get home safely and all?”
“Oh, sure. That’d be fine, but I don’t live far from here at all. Just off Carrollton.”
“I know, but I’d feel much more chivalrous.” He gives me that dimpled grin again. Boy, I bet that grin has gotten him his way a lot over the years.
“All right then. Ready?”
“I’ve never been more ready,” he replies, and I tremble. I give him a tilted smile and let him help me from the loveseat.
****
AS I PULL into my driveway and get out of my car, I give an idling Bradford a wave. I’m so grateful that he respects my boundaries. I’m just not ready to take things any further than our few innocent touches and glances and foot massages. Not until I’ve firmly pushed Adrian from my mind.
I slip my shoes off and begin to make my way up my porch steps. I’m nearing the top when I hear Adrian’s voice cut through the somewhat still night. “Have fun?”
My hand flies to my throat as I gasp. “Adrian, you frightened me. What are you doing out here?” His elbows are planted on his knees and his head rests on his fists as he sits on my porch swing not moving.
“Oh, nothing. Just enjoying the night. It feels good out here. Why don’t you come sit with me for a minute?”
“Umm…”
His voice turns husky. “I promise I’ll behave myself.” Yeah, sounds like it, I think. Of course, that’s the crux of the problem. I don’t want him to behave.
“Uh, all right. Let me go change.” I know my limits. There is no way I could sit next to him in this dress.
“Hurry back.”
Eager to get back to Adrian, I dash into my house and into my bedroom. I’m yanking my belt off as I traipse through the living room. As my door is closing behind me, my dress is over my head and off. I grab my favorite Loyola hoodie, a pair of panties, and yoga pants from my bureau. I quickly put them all on and am heading back out when exactly what I am doing and thinking hits me. Shit!
I turn back into my bath
room and give myself a long hard stare. “You can’t have him,” I tell my reflection. Closing my eyes and shaking my head at my own stupidity, I reach out and grab my contact solution, case, and glasses. After popping my contacts out and putting my glasses on, I throw my hair up in a bun. Smirking at myself in the mirror, I think, I’ve made myself less attractive. I’ll just go and enjoy his company. Rushing back to my bureau, I grab my favorite fuzzy, warm socks—definite defense mechanisms.
Making my way out to the porch, I catch Adrian leaning over the railing. His arms are splayed wide and his head is hanging down slightly. As I gently close the door, he turns toward me, leans against the railing, and folds his arms across his chest. I’m mesmerized by his every action. He gives me a little grin as he takes in my appearance. His eyes run up to my bun and down my body to my socks.
“Cute socks,” he says with a laugh.
“Cute and warm. It’s starting to get a little breezy out here.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I move over to the swing—my absolute favorite place to sit in the world. I could sit here and look over my neighborhood all day long. The large, sprawling oaks, the wrought iron, and the wisteria, when it blooms, are all utterly magnificent. Getting lost in all that for hours is instant, effective therapy.
“So you never answered my question. Have fun?”
“I did. Thank you. Only a few rock stars hit on me,” I joke.
His jaw ticks a little as he stares at me.
“I’m kidding, Adrian.” Well, not really, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“Do you see things getting serious with Bradford?” he asks.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Maybe. He’s a nice guy.”
“That’s what Louis said, and I trust Louis.”
“Thanks for trusting me,” I snap.
“That’s not what I meant. I just meant I’m glad that someone I trust knows him. I’m sorry,” he murmurs. He runs both his hands over his face and up into his hair.
I decide to change the subject. “Your hair’s getting long.”
“Yeah, I guess it is,” he says as he grabs at it a little. “I can’t seem to keep it short since I got out.”