If I Break

by Portia Moore

  I’m definitely going to have to explain about the boundaries of Lauren Brooks later on, if that’s his first date hug. Even though whatever cologne he’s wearing has hypnotized my senses; he smells so good it should be illegal.

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?” Hillary says pulling me by the arm without waiting for a response. I smile back at Cal helplessly and he winks at me—butterflies invade my stomach at the gesture before Hillary and I escape away to my room.

  “She’ll be right back. You can sit down,” she informs him. As we get in the room, she shuts the door and starts talking a mile a minute.

  “Did you see how he just ignored me? How fucking rude is that?” Hillary asks me sharply. I have to keep myself from laughing out loud at how serious she is.

  “I’m sure he would have spoken to you if you didn’t drag us out of the room in 0.2 seconds,” I try to appease her even though I’m extremely amused.

  “And what was with that hug? Didn’t you guys just meet? Who the hell does he think he is?” She says, resting her hand on her hip and for the first time ever I think my roomie-friend is a little jealous. I have never seen her jealous before. I also think how ironic it is that she’s saying all this when I know for a fact she’s hooked up with guys the first night she’s met them. One of whom she met just the week before.

  “But other than that, he’s fucking hot. Like hot as hell,” she relents with a contemplative smirk, returning to the friend I know.

  “Isn’t he?” I sigh, relieved that it isn’t just me reverting to a 15-year-old hormonal girl. Hillary looks at me, surprised. I’m usually not into a guy just based on looks. I couldn’t date anyone who I’d consider hideous but I’ve learned that a relationship can’t stand on attraction and the last two ‘hot guys’ I was with barely stood at all.

  My first boyfriend Daniel had brown eyes, matching hair and the most adorable dimples. I had known him since we were kids. My aunt always said he had the face of an angel and the mind of a demon. If only I knew how right she was. When Daniel and I first started dating we were both virgins and promised we’d be each others first and I thought we beat the odds until after I actually slept with him. Two days afterward and on my 18th birthday he reveals not only was he not a virgin but he wanted me to have a threesome with the other girl he’d been screwing while waiting for me.

  Then there was Michael. Of course that ended with me catching him screwing a girl where we both worked so in all honesty I should be running in the other direction from Cal. But there’s something else to him that makes me nervous and excited at the same time. It’s not the way he looks, aside from that he exudes this sexual magnetism that I can’t even describe—that I’ve never felt before and I’m kind of afraid of it.

  “Wow,” Hillary says, interrupting me from my thoughts.

  “What?” I ask curiously.

  “You’re blushing!” Hillary exclaims excitedly.

  “No, I’m not,” I deny quickly.

  “Lauren Brooks, if I didn’t know any better. I’d think you were in lust with him!” she says, her excitement growing.

  “Shut up, Hillary,” I whisper loudly hoping Cal doesn’t hear us.

  “Yeah you are. I may not know about love, but I know aaaallllll about lust and it’s all over you,” she giggles, thumping me in the chest with her finger accusingly.

  “You reek of it! Lust at first sight,” she bursts into laughter.

  “Shh!” I say again pressing my index finger to my lips as hard as I can. She’s never going to shut up about this. “Okay. Maybe I am just a little,” I admit and I start to I have doubts.

  “You know what? I’m not going to go!” I proclaim. I don’t know what I’m thinking. I can’t even think straight around this man. Why would I go anywhere with him alone? I don’t need a repeat of Michael mixed in with Daniel. Who knows what dumb decision I’ll make?

  “What? Why? Are you crazy?” she yells at me.

  I looked at her with a perplexed expression on my face. A moment ago she was just bad-mouthing him, but now since she thinks I want to sleep with him, she’s all for it.

  “But you just said earlier—” I exclaim, confused.

  “You’’ve fucked what two guys? Both of which you were in relationships with. And, sweetie that guy out there does not look like a relationship kind of guy,” she explains taking a seat on my bed.

  “Okay, so, again, why do you think it’s crazy that I don’t go out with him?” I say confused.

  “Because you’re in lust with him Lauren!” she exclaims, as if it should be obvious. I rub my temples, becoming extremely frustrated with this situation.

  “Look, go out. Have fun. Fuck his brains out but be prepared to only hear from him when he wants…”

  I raise my hand up to cut her off. I can’t hear any more of this. She’s giving me a headache.

  But she continues, “Lauren, it’s not a bad thing to just hook up. Especially after all the boring let’s make vows to one another sex you’ve had. Trust me, it will be liberating! And how long has it been since you’ve gotten any? Have you ever even had a walk of shame before?” she asks like I’m seriously going to answer her.

  “Not having this discussion with you right now,” I say heading to open the door when she stops me.

  “Look, every guy isn’t going to be ‘the one’. Some guys are just meant to be good screws. That is why God put them on the planet! You’re a senior and haven’t even had the freshman experience,” she says, with a way-too-serious face.

  “And this Cal guy is like the perfect candidate,” she continues.

  I don’t even know where to start in how wrong this conversation is. “How do you know he’s even good in bed?” I ask her sarcastically.

  “Did you see how big his hands and feet are?” she says as if stating the obvious.

  “Okay, we’re going to go out there, and, Hillary—don’t stare at his feet anymore, please!” I say before opening the door.

  I walk out back into the living room to see Cal sitting on the couch on his phone.

  “We’ll have to take care of this later,” he says sternly into it and hangs up.

  “Girlfriend?” I say jokingly.

  He looks up at me. “Jealous?” he asks, a smile playing on his face.

  “You have a strange sense of humor,” I tell him. He winks at me before opening the door and allowing me to walk out ahead of him.

  “You two have fun,” Hillary sings out as we leave.

  "Have a good one," Cal says giving Hillary a little smile I'm sure that just made her day.

  “So, where are we headed today?” I ask him curiously as we walk outside.

  “You’ll see when we get there,” he replies leading me over to a beautiful, black motorcycle. I stop to admire the piece of sexy metal on wheels. It almost distracts me from the fact he hasn’t told me where we are going.

  “This is yours?” I ask surprised. I don’t know that much about bikes, but I do know that anything that reads Lamborghini on it doesn’t come cheap.

  “Lauren Brooks, meet Mrs. Scott,” He smiles proudly, patting her affectionately. Guys and their toys.

  “Well Mr. Scott. I tend to feel a tad bit more comfortable when I know where I am going with a stranger. Even one as tall and handsome as you,” I tell him honestly.

  He turns around and looks over at me, amused.

  “You think I’m trouble don’t you, Lauren?” he ask stepping closer to me leaving only inches between us. The same rush of heat I felt last time returns and runs through my body. I can’t help but swallow my nerves. I try to think of a way to say it without offending him. But, yes, I do think he’s trouble. I’m just not sure exactly what kind of trouble yet.

  “Are you?” I smile up at him playfully even though I’m nervous as hell. He cocks his head slightly to the right and pauses a moment as if he’s thinking about his answer.

  “Only as much as you want me to be,” A wicked grin rests on his face, and for some reason beyond me it
excites me. Then his smile softens. “But I guarantee, you’re safe with me,” he says, and he seem genuine.

  “So, I can assume you’re not a serial killer, ax murderer, or crazy psycho?” I laugh now only a tiny bit apprehensive.

  “Only if I can assume you aren’t,” he retorts, getting on the bike.

  I scratch my head. I guess it’s now or never. I’m already downstairs with him and he is on a bike, not driving a big scary van...and he’s incredibly attractive.

  “You know how to get on?” he asks, noticing I’m just staring at him on the bike.

  “Yeah...well, I think so. I’ve never ridden a bike, well, motorcycle before,” I tell him skeptically.

  “Well, I’ll be glad to help you with your first time,” he says as I get on. I can’t help but feel excited, and we haven’t even pulled off yet.

  “So what now?” I ask as if I’m getting a lesson.

  “Don’t stick out your feet and hold on tight.” He hands me a helmet and I look at the ugly, bulky object. I imagine myself looking like the human fly with it on. Screw it you only live once. I shake my head, refusing it. He smiles with an arched brow as if he’s surprised by my response but puts on his sunglasses and takes the helmet back.

  “Hold on to what?” I don’t see any railing or handles.

  “To me,” he answers. I see his smile widen in the mirror. Duh, Lauren! I laugh at myself, and I hesitantly put my hands on both sides of his waist and try to brace my legs on both sides of the bike.

  “Ready?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I reply. I hear the bike start, and my heart starts to pound. He pulls out of the parking lot with ease, and our speed is pretty slow. This isn’t too bad.

  “This isn’t that bad. I was a little scared,” I admit.

  “Just wait.” A few moments later, he turns onto the freeway, and we speed off. I feel like I’m on a roller coaster. The space that was between us is now gone. I’ve involuntarily scooted as close to him as I can, my arms as tight as they can go around his waist. After a few minutes of being scared to pieces I feel like I’m flying.

  “This is great!” I yell, laughing.

  He nods his head. “It’s the closest thing to flying while you’re on the ground!” I look at the sunset. It’s absolutely beautiful. I can’t believe I haven’t done this before. I’m on a bike, going at least 70 mph with a man I don’t know much about. What I do know is that I haven’t been this at ease with anyone in a very long time.

  ***

  “I can’t believe you got me on the back of a motorcycle and bungee jumping in the same day,” I say with a laugh, taking a fry and dipping it into some ketchup.

  He just smiles and bites into his hamburger.

  I try to look at him without staring. I expected a totally different type of man. I mean, the expensive suit, the VIP section of the club, seemingly manicured hands and styled hair—it didn’t exactly scream motorcycle riding and bungee jumping.

  “You’re different than I expected,” I confess.

  He looks up at me with an arched brow and a smile playing on his lips. “You mean between me back at the club and now?”

  “Yes.” I smile.

  “Is that a bad thing?” he asks, those incredible eyes flirting with me.

  “No! It’s just—you surprised me. I mean, when I first saw you at the club, I didn’t expect for you to be the outdoorsy, leather-jacket-and-jeans-wearing type, I guess.” He doesn’t say anything but flashes that million-dollar smile of his.

  “So what other amazing things do you do?” I run my hand through my tangled hair, free from its earlier braid. I wonder if he can tell how nervous I am. He opens his mouth to say something and then stops.

  “What?” I notice his slight hesitation.

  “Never mind. You’ve already given me this bad rep in your head. So I’ll keep my thoughts to myself,” he says me, feigning hurt feelings.

  “Now my curiosity is quite piqued, sir. I’m sure it won’t change my view of you in any way. Tell me,” I demand playfully.

  He arches his brow and leans in, and I follow his lead, as if he’s about to tell me a secret.

  “I’d rather show you, but I think you’re the type of girl that would require a few more dates before that happens.”

  I feel my mouth fall open. Is he referring to what I think he’s referring to? He’s watching me, waiting for my reaction. I decide not to push it any further, at least not directly.

  “My roommate Hillary was a little irritated that you didn’t speak to her earlier.” I change the subject, wanting to know his thoughts.

  “She’s not used to a guy ignoring her the way you did.”

  “I’m sure she’s not,” he chuckles, and I arch my brow, questioning. “But I’m not like most guys. It takes more than big tits and a face full of makeup to get my attention,” he adds naturally. I’m a little taken aback by his frankness. He notices.

  “I just mean that there’s nothing original about that. I see it every day. She’s a cute girl, but I’ve seen her type.”

  “And what exactly is her type?” I ask irritation evident in my voice. Hillary and I see things through different eyes and we disagree a lot but she’s still my friend, and I won’t let him speak badly about her, no matter how incredibly sexy he is.

  He sighs, noticing my defensiveness. He clasps his hands together.

  “Can I be one hundred percent with you right now?” he asks, and I nod apprehensively.

  “Her type is usually empty, demanding, feeding on everyone else around them to boost their ego, jumping from one guy to the other,” he continues to explain.

  “So absorbed in her own sense of self-worth that she doesn’t realize that any man who can stand her is doing it just long enough to get laid.”

  I’m caught off guard by his answer. I won’t confirm or deny what he’s saying and decide to steer the conversation in a different direction.

  “So, are you saying that you’re not interested in sex?” I ask, surprising myself.

  He folds his arms and flashes an amused grin. He leans in and like a magnet, I do the same.

  “Oh no. I’m very interested in sex.” His voice is low and sensual, and for a moment I think he’s going to kiss me. I’m disappointed when he leans back in his seat.

  “That doesn’t mean I’d screw any girl that batted her fake eyelashes at me. So, what about you?” he asks, focusing those piercing gray eyes on me.

  I smile to hide my nervousness. Most guys I know fail to look me in the eye, which I hate, but it’s like his eyes can see right through me, and I don’t know which is worse. His candor is refreshing but unexpected. I don’t know how to answer his question; he’s been so honest, it would be hypocritical if I don’t return the favor.

  “Well, it’s been a--a while since the last time,” I stutter nervously.

  “I actually meant 'what do you like to do,' but I’m sorry to hear that.” He smiles teasingly.

  I think I’m going to die of embarrassment. “Oh, God,” I whimper, covering my face.

  Then, I feel his hands on mine and he brings them down. I look at him, surprised, his touch giving me butterflies.

  “Don’t ever hide those gorgeous eyes from me again,” he tells me, and I’m even more embarrassed, but this time it feels much better.

  “Well, I’m pretty boring, actually.” I laugh, slightly disappointed when he lets go of my hands.

  “I’m sure that’s not the case.” He rests his arms behind his head.

  “I like to paint, draw, sculpt...” I tell him.

  “Oh, an artist.” He grins.

  “Yeah, kind of.” I smile.

  “So, is that something you want a profession in?” he asks. Somehow, it actually seems like he’s interested, and not just for the sake of conversation.

  “Well, sculpting and painting are more of a hobby, but drawing is what I love. If I could wake up every day and do it for a living, it’d be great. Unfortunately, there isn’t a demand for artists,
so I don’t know how far I can go with it professionally.” I sigh.

  “Are you any good?” he asks.

  I’m a little caught off guard by that. “Well, I hope I am. It’d be kind of heartbreaking if I sucked at something I love so much,” I remark with a chuckle.

  “So am I going to see some of this work of yours?” he asks.

  “I don’t know. I’m sort of private about it,” I say apprehensively.

  “If you want to stun the world, you have to show it first,” he says casually, and for the second time I have nothing to say. “And you can practice on me,” he offers.

  “Maybe.” I smirk. “So, are you from Chicago?”

  “I’ve lived here most of my life,” he answers. “What about you?”

  “No, I go to school here at Chicago University. I was born in Michigan; Saginaw, to be exact,” I tell him.

  “Beautiful, smart, and Saginaw—I’ve been there before,” he says.

  “Really? I never knew anyone from Chicago who willingly went there,” I say, surprised.

  “I used to know some people who lived near there,” he says, his mouth turning downward. “You didn’t like it?”

  “No! I love it. It’s my home, where I grew up. There’s just not much opportunity there. Well, you’ve been there. You probably understand.”

  He nods.

  “It’s weird how you don’t appreciate something until it’s gone,” I continue. “When I was younger, I always dreamed about coming to Chicago and never looking back. But now that I’m here, I can’t wait until I’m able to go back for a visit.”

  “So you’re a small-town girl?” he jokes.

  “I guess you can say that,” I laugh. “Is that a bad thing?”

  “Not at all,” he replies convincingly.

  I glance down as my phone vibrates. I look at the caller ID and see that it’s Hillary. Why didn’t I turn it off and why isn’t she texting me? I roll my eyes.

  “I better get that,” I say with a sigh. Pressing the answer key, I say, “Hello?”