The elevator dinged when we reached our floor and the doors opened.
To liven the chase, I skittered out into the hallway and down to our room. He followed close behind me, grabbing my ass and playing with the hem of my dress the entire way.
“Do you think you could wait until we get inside?” I teased, slapping his hand away.
When we reached the room, he wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me to his chest as he leaned his back against the door in the hall. I could literally feel how excited he was when he pressed against me.
His teeth nibbled at the sensitive area along my throat, sending a tremor through my entire body. I pressed my breasts against him, while threading my fingers through his thick hair. Brent continued to drag his mouth down my neck, past my collarbone, plunging toward my cleavage.
“Don’t…you think,” I said breathlessly. “That…we should…go in?”
“Probably,” he resigned, as his lips caressed the skin from my neck to my jaw. “But I’m too busy to find the key.”
“Brent,” I panted.
“Ruby.”
“Get the damn key.” My fingers tightly gripped his hair.
“You get it,” he challenged.
Keeping one hand at the base of his neck, I moved the other down his chest, along his tight abs, over his belt buckle, and grabbed the erection pressing against his pants.
“Ruby,” he growled, thrusting himself into my hand. “That’s not the key.”
“It’s the key to something.”
Brent sucked on my earlobe, as I stroked him in the hallway without any regard for who may see us. When it dawned on me that he wasn’t interested enough in finding the key, I took my hand from behind his head and reached into his pocket.
“Other one,” he barely got out. “It’s in the other pocket.”
Removing my hand from his hard-on, I searched for the key on the other side of his pants. With me stirring around in his pockets, Brent leaned back against the door and rested his palms behind his head, clearly enjoying how I was occupying my hands.
I found the key, but kept playing in his pockets and teasingly stroked him some more. His impish grin came and went depending on the amount of pressure I used.
“You can open the door now,” he insisted.
“You didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry to get inside before.”
“Oh, I’m more than ready now.” He lifted his eyebrows.
I teased him one more time along his length and then took out the key, reached around him and unlocked the door. He pushed it open with his back and pulled me inside with him.
Playfully, I broke from his grasp, making my way toward the bed. Without any warning, Brent grabbed me from behind as I stepped down the short hallway toward the main part of the room. I stilled, gasping, when his firm chest pressed against my back. My jacket was on the floor in one quick movement. His hand swept the blanket of hair from my back and over my shoulder. He then pulled the strap of my dress down my arm.
“I’m so sick of this dress,” he said urgently, as he tugged the other strap away from my shoulder. The stretchy material gave way, allowing him to pull it down, exposing my naked breasts. “Did you not wear a bra just to tease me all night?” he asked, referring the dress he complimented me on all evening at dinner.
“Maybe,” I taunted.
Brent’s quick hands continued to slide the dress down, over my hips, until gravity took hold and it fell to my ankles. I stepped out of the black cotton sheath and flicked off my shoes. Turning around, I laced my fingers together behind his neck and plunged my tongue into his mouth, moaning loudly.
He grabbed my thighs, lifted me up, and my legs hitched together behind his back. Brent took us to the bed and sat down. Leaning back in his lap, I unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his pants, and loosened the zipper. I reached around, yanking the shirt from his back and then pressed our naked chests to one another. His hands glided up my spine and pulled us closer together as he connected his lips with my own, tangling our tongues.
Brent lifted me effortlessly and laid me down on my back. He stood up and stared at me in the dark room illuminated by the city lights.
“What?” I giggled, placing my hands behind my head while lifting my foot to play with the waistband of his boxers.
His hands snatched my wandering foot and he began to smooth his palms up my calf to my knee. The look in his eye was so serious that it brought my giggly mood to a standstill.
“What?” I asked again, this time with no humor.
“Nothing,” he said with a smirk. “Nothing at all.”
His hands slid up the sides of my legs until they reached my panties. He hooked his fingers around the minute piece of material on each side, shimmied them down my legs, and tossed them to the side of the room. Quickly, with an evident loss of patience, he toed off his shoes and pushed his pants, along with the boxers, down to the ground.
Looking at him in and all his naked glory, I knew just how much I loved him. He truly was mine and I willingly, in every way, belonged to him.
Brent’s eyes roved over my body and I could tell he was having similar thoughts.
“I love you,” I told him with all of my heart and soul.
He smiled. “I love you, too.”
He leaned down and began to kiss me from my knees to my hips, over my stomach and between my breasts until his mouth landed gently on mine. Tucking his hands behind my back, he tilted me up to meet his chest and then rolled us so that I was on top of him.
“What? You didn’t want to be on top?” I smiled against his grin.
“It’s my birthday.” He smugly placed his hands behind his head. “My choice. I get what I want.”
“Is that right? Well, I hope you like your choice.”
I sat up and straddled his waist, tossing my hair while arching my back. Adjusting myself over him, I inhaled and lowered my body slowly until he was settled deep within me.
I rolled my hips leisurely at first, savoring the feeling, while palming his chest with one hand and gliding the other up my stomach.
“Good choice,” he stated, watching my hand as it continued upward toward my breast. “Amazing choice.”
“Good,” I moaned. “So good.”
I leaned down to kiss him, but he tilted his head and took my nipple in his mouth instead. He cupped both of my breasts and his touch sent a warm sensation to my bones—exciting and enticing me more than I expected. My hips rocked harder in response.
“God, you feel good,” he groaned. “So good.”
He grabbed my ass, hard, pulling me down on him over and over.
“Ruby…” he panted.
“Oh, god.”
I kneaded my fingers into his hair, teased his mouth with mine, and continued to move my hips until we both reached that moment—that indescribable moment where we lost ourselves to each other.
~Present~
I jostle slightly in my seat when the bus makes a left hand turn. The chilly windowpane cools my cheek. Sitting up, I vacantly stare ahead, waiting for my stop.
I can’t deny that things were really good between us. Brent and I were something special. There’s no doubt in my mind about that. I haven’t felt remotely that way about anyone since him. Not that I’m looking or trying to find someone, but for me, Brent really is the one that all others compare. It’s not a conscious comparison. But while I have dated other people since he and I broke up, no one has ever made my heart soar like him.
The bus announces my stop and I get off onto Michigan Avenue. Veering around the corner, the wind blows fiercely and I see nothing but the crisp blue lake before me. My footsteps quicken, racing to find refuge from the bitter air. When I reach the door, I’m greeted by the doorman and take comfort from the heated awning.
I smooth down my hair as I enter into the lobby, searching for a place to sit. There’s a group of upholstered chairs near the stairs. I unbutton my coat, shove my gloves into my pocket, and take a seat. Pulling out my phone, I see that I h
ave ten minutes left to spare. I text Brent letting him know that I’m here and waiting in the lobby.
Tucking my phone back into my purse, I sit back and wait as patiently as possible. I fidget with the cuffs on my sleeves and tame my wind-blown hair some more. I cross my legs and bounce the top one over and over, unable to keep still.
Sensing him even before he’s even in my field of vision, I turn and see Brent walking in my direction. His stride is confident and strong. Not stiff, but not casual either. He’s wearing a pair of charcoal grey slacks and a dark green shirt, which is almost the same color as my dress. In one hand, he carries a black leather jacket.
I attempt not to smile, but my mouth betrays me when his expression ignites. Standing up, I grab my bag off of the chair and wait for him to meet me.
“Hi,” I say, adjusting the strap of the purse on my shoulder. The scent of his cologne intoxicates my senses.
“Hi,” he replies, shrugging on his jacket. “So, you said you know of a place we could go?”
“Yeah, it’s just down the street, but not too far.”
“You ready?”
“Sure.”
He waves his hand toward the door signaling for me to lead the way. I start out, fastening up my jacket as we descend a small grouping of steps.
“So, is this where you’re staying while you’re in town?” I ask, referring to the hotel.
“Yeah. The whole team is here.”
“Ah, I see.” I play with end of my scarf. “It’s nice.”
“The hotel? Yeah and the location is good, too.”
We make our way out of the hotel and tread silently together to the end of the street. When we reach the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change, Brent steps out in front of me so we’re face-to-face.
“This is weird, right?” he asks. “I mean, it’s not just me, is it?”
I let out a relaxed laugh, my tense shoulders dropping. “It’s completely weird. You have no idea what I was thinking about on the way here.”
“What?” he asks, captivated.
I shake my head, tossing my hair along my shoulders. “Your birthday.”
He tightens his lips, forcing them into a hard line, withholding…something.
“At The Drake,” I continue.
“Oh, I knew what you meant.” He wipes his hand over his mouth. “I was thinking about it all last night.”
I laugh harder. “No wonder you had trouble sleeping.”
“No kidding.”
The light changes indicating we can cross the street and I step off the curb with Brent next to me. When we’re almost to the other side, his hand touches my lower back and my stomach drops.
My heart wants to soar.
Nine
We ascend the escalator to the sixth floor of the shopping mall located on Michigan Avenue. Brent keeps his hands in his pockets, and so do I, but acutely notice our proximity to one another.
I’ve only been to this restaurant a few times before, but the food is really good. The first time I came here was with my cousin, Cody, when he came to visit about a year ago. The reviews were intriguing, so I convinced him that we should give it a try. My cousin called the food “snooty,” but found a way to devour every bite. He always has been a lot of hot air.
At the host stand, we check in. There isn’t a wait and we’re soon lead through the restaurant toward a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook Michigan Avenue. The hostess gestures to an empty table right along the view. I shrug out of my coat, hang it on the chair and then take a seat. Brent does the same. She hands us each a menu and tells us our server will be right over.
My nerves are more noticeable now that we’re sitting and unmoving. I open the menu and pick the first item that looks mildly appetizing, unable to give a lot of thought to eating, and then sit back watching Brent’s eyes sift through the food choices. He puckers his lips a few times and their tiny movements mesmerize me. His fingertips rub the outside of the menu over and over. I can’t help but smile. He’s nervous too.
“What are you smiling at?” he questions, still focused on the menu.
Caught, I relax my cheeks.
“Nothing,” I reply a little too quickly.
He smiles widely, releasing those wicked dimples and continues to look through the menu.
Knowing that I won’t be able to keep my unabashed ogling and curiosity under control, I stare out the window into the grey street bustling with early morning shoppers and tourists. People watching is always a good distraction. This morning, the sidewalk is filled with couples bundled together in their wool and leather coats, adorned with scarves, hats, and gloves.
Out of my peripheral vision, I see Brent has finished searching through the menu and is sitting back in his seat, watching me.
“What are you looking at?” he questions.
“People.” I reply, still angled toward the street below. “They seem so different from up here.”
Brent leans over in his seat, to gaze out the window. I dare to glance in his direction—and another—and another until I openly watching him. He’s lost in what’s happening below and I’m lost in his profile.
I can’t seem to help myself.
In the daylight, there’s a different side of him to take in. Since we’ve come back in contact, I’ve only seen him in the dim lights of the restaurant. This morning, I’m enthralled by all of his features captured by the early light. His deliberately messy styled midnight hair. His prominent nose, which used to be a little too big that now, fits in with the rest of his face. His mouth, that despite his defined jaw and chin, remains relaxed—soft.
With an imaginary finger, I trace the side of his neck to where it meets the green collar of his shirt. There, ever so faint, is a small nick from shaving. It’s a reminder that he’s real. Not perfect and calm, like he often exudes. Those were the things I loved about him the most—his humanity underneath all of his perceived perfection.
He always made heads turn, but all I ever saw was the way he looked at me, until that day we could no longer look at each other.
Brent swiftly snaps his head in my direction and I’m caught gawking, once again. He raises an eyebrow.
“Did you notice we’re wearing almost the same color?” I ask, redirecting.
“No,” he says with jest, settling back into his seat.
“We look like one of those couples.”
Brent unfolds the cloth napkin and lays it across his lap, not countering. Maybe the couple remark was too much. I didn’t mean anything by it. I was trying to be funny. Apparently, he didn’t get the joke, or didn’t like it.
Our waitress comes by and takes our orders. Brent orders a Belgian waffle with a side of fruit and I get an omelet. Then we’re left alone, with nothing left to do other than “catch up.”
I fold my hands in my lap, twirling my thumbs, examining the plate on the table. It’s white porcelain, nothing special, with minor imperfections due to the heating process.
Brent clears his throat and I lift my eyes to meet his through my lashes.
“So,” he starts. “What’s new?”
I laugh. I don’t even know what he’s asking me. Does he want to know about the last four years, or the last four days?
“I think you need to be more specific than that,” I tell him humorously.
“You know what I mean.” And there’s that charming smile.
I sigh, giving him a look.
“All right,” he chuckles. “Seriously though, how have you been?”
“Honestly.” I smooth my hands over my lap. “I’m doing really good and I can’t complain. I’m back at school, life is pretty steady and I’m on track to graduate this spring. Nothing too exciting, which is a good thing.”
“Is that why you came back to Chicago? For school?
“Sort of.”
“And you didn’t have any trouble getting back in?”
“No. They were really great about it. I had to take a few extra classes, but it was a
pretty smooth re-entry.”
“Yeah,” he huffs. “That doesn’t surprise me. You always did have the grades despite everything.”
I become stagnant, not sure how to react. That sounded like a jab.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.” He runs his hand along the cutlery on the table. “This is harder than I thought it would be.”
Dropping my shoulders, I lean my forearms on the table, clasping my hands in front of me. “What? Talking to me?”
“Yeah. I thought...I don’t know what I thought.”
I’m not sure why, but I reach out my hand and place it on top of his as he continues to play with the silverware. He stills at my touch and so do I.
“Let’s start over,” I offer softly. I’m not sure what I mean exactly as the words cross my lips. It could be construed to just this conversation or to us in general. I’m unable to commit to either thought fully, which is a dangerous feeling.
Not wanting to draw out the heart pounding tension any longer, or allow myself down that dangerous road, I pull my hand back to join the other.
“How’s your brother doing?” I ask, changing the subject.
Brent sits up straighter. “He’s good. Cohen got into UNC and has about two years left. He ended up going into chemical engineering and plans on applying to grad schools soon. Guess he got all the brains in the family.”
“That’s not true,” I object. “You got into a good school and you’re smart.” I tap the table a few times. “Plus, who cares? You get to do what you love and most people can’t say that. Can you honestly tell me that you’d rather sit in an office all day rather than play soccer for a living?”
“Hell no,” he chuckles. “I can’t even imagine.”
“See. It all worked out for the best.”
Brent tongues the inside of his cheek, glaring at his plate. Maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say, either. Man, I’m batting a thousand with him right now. Catching up like this is hard. There’s no handbook for this shit. Someone should make one.
“So how are your parents?” I ask, keeping the conversation rolling. “Are they doing well?”
“Yeah. My mom moved to Seattle a couple of years ago for work. They offered her a promotion with the West Coast division. And my dad, he remarried just last year. He met her, Julie’s her name, online on one of those singles sites. They live up in northern Michigan now. I try to visit them both once a year.”
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