by Maria Monroe
But when I stick my finger into my mouth to suck off the frosting, the trace of a smile on his face disappears. A muscle in his jaw tightens, and those eyes lose any bit of playfulness or humor they had. Instead they become dark, that darkness I remember so well; it always meant one thing only.
The moment grows and swells; it’s as though the rest of the room has disappeared, like only the two of us exist. Nobody else is here. Nobody else matters. I boldly stare into his eyes as I lick the frosting from my finger, then bite my lip as I take my hand away from my face.
"Lia." His voice is filled with warning, but the passion in his eyes—and the fact that he doesn't look away—lets me know he's got the same thing on his mind that I do. That even though years have passed, this moment makes it feel like it's been no time at all.
I don't know how long we stand there, just staring at each other. We're interrupted by Ben, who must have finally realized I'm not following right behind him any longer.
"Lia," he says, his voice boisterous and friendly. "Having a hard time deciding?" I break my gaze with Julian, and it feels like the hardest thing I've had to do in a long time. Like I could almost be OK just standing there like a statue forever, staring into Julian's eyes, not caring what the people around me thought.
"Yeah, everything looks so good," I mutter in Ben's direction, grabbing a gourmet cupcake decorated with bacon and maple syrup with my fingers and depositing it on my plate. Forget the tongs. I don't have the dexterity or focus to use them right now.
"What's up, man," says Ben, sticking out his hand towards Julian. "You a friend of Lia's?" His voice is all friendliness, without so much as a hint of competitiveness.
"We . . . knew each other in college," answers Julian, shaking Ben's hand.
I take a second to look at both of them, Ben bright and cute, smiling at Julian and making small talk. So friendly and funny. And Julian. His essence is dark, powerful, filled with suppressed desire, like he's a panther just waiting to attack. He's talking to Ben, but every few seconds I feel his eyes on me. I swear, even if I wasn't looking at him, I could feel my skin grow hot under his gaze.
"I'll see you back at the table," says Ben to me with a smile. "Pleasure meeting you, Julian."
Julian nods towards Ben, but his eyes are on me. I momentarily watch Ben's confident walk back to our table, then my eyes return to Julian.
"Your boyfriend seems like a great guy."
I can't make out from Julian's tone if he's being sarcastic or not, but I can sense he's fishing for information.
"He is," I say. OK, so I know I'm intentionally misleading Julian into thinking Ben and I are on more than a first date, but I can't help it. I feel like he has the advantage, and I'm just trying to level the playing field, even if it takes a small lie to do so.
"I didn't know you went for athletes," says Julian, his face cold. People are moving around us like a stream parting and flowing past two rocks holding steadfast in the current.
"There's a lot about me you don't know."
His eyes are appraising, like he's trying to figure something out. "Likewise," he finally says. It sounds almost like an invitation.
"Why did you transfer to Chicago?" I blurt out the question before I can even be sure it's what I want to ask, and once it's out of my mouth I regret it. It sounds needy, like I'm looking for a specific answer.
"A promotion I couldn't refuse." His words are simple, but his eyes are complex, flames burning behind the dark green, flashing a message I can't decipher.
"Did you know I was here?"
One corner of his mouth suddenly turns up in a sneer. "Lia," he says, his words dripping with condescension. "Do you really think I'd make a huge career move because of a girl I fucked a few times in college?"
I gasp, blood rushing to my face, my cheeks burning while my entire body goes cold. The sudden transition from friendly to flirting to nastiness has me reeling. Shaking, I turn and hurry back to our table, trying as hard as I can to retain my composure and dignity. I don't look back once.
"He said what?” Michelle’s eyes are filled with anger as I recount the conversation with Julian at the dessert table. “What a fucking asshole.” She shakes her head and shivers. I dragged her outside for some fresh—and cold—January air.
“I just want to go home,” I say. “I feel like the night is ruined. What’s the point? I can think of a million movies or books that would be way more fun than whatever else is going to happen tonight at this stupid gala.”
“Look." Michelle's tone is stern, and her face is set in a way that brooks no argument. "If you leave right now, you'll let him know he's won. You have to stay. At least until the end of the speeches. Boring," she adds, with a fake yawn.
"He won’t even notice if I leave! He’s a stupid asshole with a stupid gorgeous girlfriend. What makes you think my absence would register with him?”
"Lia. Don't play dumb."
"I'm not playing anything!" I argue.
"Of course he's going to notice if and when you leave. He'll notice everything you do."
"No. He won't. The way he talks about me is the way you talk about someone you're not interested in at all."
"Wrong." Michelle runs her hands up and down her thin arms and shivers. "If you're not interested, you ignore. And he's not ignoring you. Is he?"
I think about it for a second. "I guess not. He was the one who started our conversation by the desserts tonight."
"And talking about you having a sweet tooth? That's flirting, Lia."
"Then why did he get so angry and turn into such a giant asshole?"
She shrugs, her delicate shoulders moving up and down again lightly. "Because he's a guy. Like, an alpha guy. They don't like to admit their feelings, so they get all pissy and angst-ridden instead."
"Can't I just go home? Ben's hot. Darren will understand if you hang out with Ben instead," I pout.
"No. You can't. Just a little longer. And let's go in now. It's fucking freezing out here. You've had enough fresh air to clear your head or whatever it is you were doing."
"Clearing my head," I confirm.
"And our hair is probably all messed up now. Hate you," she says, but her tone lets me know she's just joking.
After dinner, Ben asks me to dance. He is my date, and I have to make it at least appear that I'm enjoying myself before I make an early exit, so I agree. On the dance floor, I'm pleased to find out that he's a confident and fun, if inelegant, dancer.
"I'm going to spin you now, Lia, OK?" he asks, grinning at me with those adorable dimples, his blue eyes sparkling.
"Ok."
"Are you ready?"
"Yes!"
"OK, let's do this. Ready? Three, two, one!" He extends his arm up over my head, allowing me to spin around like a ballerina before he pulls me back up against his body, laughing.
"You're a dork," I joke.
"Yeah? Can a dork do a move like this?" he asks. "Dip!" he commands, and bends me backwards over his arm.
"For a hockey player, you're really graceful!"
"If I tell you a secret, do you promise you won't laugh?" He opens his eyes wide, looking at me with fake fear.
"No."
He laughs loudly. "No?"
"No, but tell me anyway," I insist.
"Fine. I learned to skate because I followed my big sisters' paths and took figure skating lessons for years."
"Oh god! Like in that movie! What's it called? The Cutting Edge?"
"No, not like in that movie," he says as he spins me again, pretending to be angry. "That movie was the reverse. The guy could no longer participate in hockey, so he switched to figure skating."
"You seem to know an awful lot about an early 90s chick flick."
"I have two figure skating sisters. I had little choice," he laughs.
I giggle and let him guide me across the dance floor. He's so cute, his muscles bulky under his nice suit contrasting with his kind demeanor, and I glance up at his face for a second. His eyes
meet mine, and he winks at me and grins. I look away, thinking about how funny and adorable he is, how I wish I could conjure up feelings for him. But I can't when my mind keeps wandering back to Julian.
And there he is, dancing with Scarlet. One of his hands is on her waist, the other holding her hand as he expertly, effortlessly, spins her across the floor. I feel nauseous again. Scarlet is wearing a filmy green dress, gauzy material gracefully flitting around her hips and legs as she moves. Her hair cascades down her back and shoulders; her face looks dewy and pink and lovely, so lovely she should be a painting. Or painted. Or something to preserve her beauty for eternity. I don't blame Julian at all. If I were him, I'd date her too.
As if she can sense me staring, she looks my way, a smile of recognition lighting up her face. I see her whisper to Julian, then guide him over towards us on the dance floor. When she's close, she says, "Lia! It's so great to see you again!"
"You too," I say, trying to make it sound like it’s not the biggest lie I’ve ever told in my entire life. When I sneak a peek at Julian, his brow is furrowed, his jaw tensed in frustration.
"Oh my gosh," says Scarlet, looking at Ben. "You're Ben Reilly! I'm pretty much the biggest Blackhawks fan of all time." She turns back to me with a pleading look on her face. "Lia, would you completely hate me if I danced with your date for five minutes?"
"Oh. No. Not at all." I stumble over my words, once again blown away by how nice Scarlet is, and how much I wish she wasn't. It would be easier to hate her and murder her in my fantasies, over and over and over again, if she were a raging bitch.
"Julian," she says to him, "please dance with Lia since I'm stealing her date for the rest of this song?"
"Of course." His voice is hard, his body stiff as he moves toward me.
"You two can catch up! It's been a while, hasn't it?" But she doesn't wait for an answer. She's whispering to Ben, who throws his head back and laughs.
"Let me get rid of this jacket," says Ben, slipping out of his suit jacket and tossing it onto the chair. "It's literally like a thousand degrees in here!"
"Literally?" I ask under my breath, because I'm frustrated and it's one of my pet peeves when people use literally and don't really mean it. I swear Julian's face lightens for just a second, the hint of a smile appearing before he gets all tight and mean again. Ben and Scarlet move off together, leaving me alone with Julian.
I am not going to dance with him, not after the way he spoke to me earlier. Without a glance in Julian’s direction, I head to the bar, eager to get off the dance floor and as far away from him as quickly as possible.
But he grabs me roughly, one hand squeezing my hip as he draws me to him.
“I don’t want to dance with you,” I hiss. “I don’t want anything to do with you.”
“Lia.” His voice is a perfect mix of stern regret. “Please. One dance.”
I glance up into his eyes and see a glint of compassion breaking through the hard coldness. Closing my eyes for a second I breathe in deeply, steadying myself, then nod slightly. “Fine.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry, about what I said before.”
“Whatever.”
His hand on my hips loosens, and the other hand grasps mine tight and holds it at shoulder level as we start to move slowly around the dance floor. I feel unsteady, my heels suddenly too high, the wine I drank suddenly too much. He smells like a hint of cologne and clean fresh soap, and I wonder if he still tastes like mint and chocolate. I remember the first time we kissed in my dorm room when he walked me home from a party, and he swore it would never happen again. I shiver remembering how many times it happened again, how even though he tried to resist he couldn't. And neither could I. Our attraction was magnetic, unavoidable, the strongest thing I've felt in my life.
"Cold?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.
I shake my head. "Just thinking."
"About?"
"College."
His lip twitches, and he pulls me a little closer so he can whisper into my ear: "Do you have any idea how often I think about that too?"
"You do?" My words are startled yet so quiet in the noisy room.
His breath on my neck is hot, and his voice rumbles near my ear. "All the fucking time, Lia." It’s almost like an accusation, and he moves his hand a bit lower, still holding me close.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, as though it’s somehow my fault that he’s haunted by memories. I can feel the warmth of his palm through the flimsy material of my dress, and despite myself, my whole body heats up under his touch. We continue to dance, and I feel like if I closed my eyes and somehow forgot all the history between us, this would feel right. His hand on my hip guides me around the dance floor so well I don't even have to think.
"Do you remember the last time we danced like this?" His words are low and fluid and so sexy it’s hard to think.
"At your awards ceremony?"
He nods.
I look up into his eyes, swallowing hard at the intensity I see there.
"You looked so goddamn hot that night, Lia. I wanted to rip your dress off and fuck you in the car on the way over to the dinner."
"Oh." It's a gasp; I can't find actual words. I remember how he touched me in the car, got me wet and hot, then stopped just before we had to head inside. My stomach swirls, and a throbbing begins between my legs, a physical memory of Julian and me in college. And a hope for what will come? No. There is no hope. He's got Scarlet, and I've got a new job I need to focus on. I try to catch my breath, try to regain control of my mind.
"That night, Lia. That was the night I knew for sure that it wasn't a game for me."
"What wasn't a game?" I whisper.
"You. What we had."
"No, it wasn't," I agree, shifting my body slightly closer to his as we keep moving, dancing so perfectly together.
“I wasn’t done with you, Lia.”
“Done…What do you mean?” I stammer.
“There were so many more things I wanted to do with you. Teach you.” For a second, his hand travels lower still down the filmy fabric of my dress so he’s almost palming my ass. He puts just the slightest pressure on his hand, pulling me toward him almost imperceptibly, like a hint or reminder.
And I do remember. The way he touched me. Taught me. Opened me up, body and soul.
“But it was more than just an arrangement, Julian,” I whisper.
“I know.” He lowers his head so I can feel his breath on my neck, and then he kisses my tender skin, just beneath my ear.
Warmth shoots through me as I inhale sharply, but immediately his head is up again, so quickly I’m sure nobody noticed. Yet it was earth-shifting for me.
I don’t want the song to end. I want to stay in his arms forever, just like this, without any need for discussion or explanation or the real world to interrupt. I want this feeling of warmth and safety. But I know this is only one perfect moment in an otherwise messed up situation.
As if echoing my thoughts, Julian says, in a suddenly cool tone, “And then you ended it."
I look up at him, and any heat I saw in his eyes before is gone now. He's still holding my hand in his, still palming my hip with his other hand, but there's a huge distance between us.
"I'm sorry," I whisper for the second time. "It was complicated. I was afraid."
He shrugs, and his words are nonchalant as he says, "It was a long time ago. It doesn’t matter anymore."
"It does matter,” I exclaim. I wish I could just keep quiet, but my emotions tumble out of my mouth too quickly to stop them. "It does, Julian.”
“Fuck, Lia,” he whispers. “It did matter. But it doesn’t anymore. It was over a long time ago, and we’re different people now.”
We are different people now. A lot of time has passed. But in his arms, just for those few seconds, it felt like no time at all.
“And if it had mattered enough,” he continues, his voice even colder now, “you wouldn’t have taken the easy way out.”
I can’t deal w
ith this, the back-and-forth, the contradiction between when he says and how I feel. It’s all too much.
“You’re right,” I say. “I have to go.” I wrench my hand from his grasp and half run, half walk off the dance floor looking for an escape.
CHAPTER FOUR
On Monday morning I drag myself into work, my body sluggish and angry at me for getting out of bed at all. I had trouble sleeping all weekend, images of Julian's face switching so quickly from aroused to angry flashing over and over in my head. My parents insisted I come over for dinner on Saturday, and the effort of pretending everything was great, that I'm happy with living in the city and at my new job, just added to my exhaustion.
"Lia!" says Darren as I approach our set of cubicles.
"Hey," I mutter as I plop down into my desk chair.
"I told you, didn't I?" Michelle turns to look at me, one of her thin eyebrows raised as she eyes me.
"Told me what?"
"That Ben was a hottie?"
"Oh. Yeah. He is. For sure."
"You guys left kind of quick Friday night," she continues. "Eager to be alone?" She's teasing, but she's also curious.
"No. I wasn't feeling well," I lie. Well, it's not really a lie. I did feel sick Friday night, but it wasn't from anything real, like an illness or food poisoning. It was Julian. All Julian. I'd told Ben I had a bad headache, and, like the gentleman he seriously is, he immediately got my coat, called a cab, and rode with me to my apartment. We exchanged phone numbers, and I promised I'd call, but I didn't. And probably won't. I don't tell all that to Michelle, though. I don't feel like getting into it, at least not right now.
"You guys going out again soon?" she persists, playing with her hair, which is straight down today, so smooth I swear she must have ironed it like women used to do in the olden days.
I shrug noncommittally.
"He thought you were totally hot. You didn't mess things up with him, did you?"
"No! What are you talking about? I was… nice."
"OK." She eyes me suspiciously.