Layers

by Sigal Ehrlich

  “Kids, food is ready!” I call out moments later.

  We’re all settled around the tiny spring-green kitchen counter digging into our plates of “poor” while Ian entertains us with hilarious anecdotes from his work at the travel agency, seasoning it Ian-style with drama and comic spikes.

  I can hardly get my food down; there’s a knot in my stomach from excessive laughter. “Shut up for two seconds, Ian, let us chew some food without the risk of choking to death, for fuck’s sake,” I beg.

  “That would be my line,” Daniel mumbles my way, making me giggle. Ian flashes me his boyish I-am-so-the-center-of-attention smile to which I respond with an air-kiss.

  “Stop that,” Daniel scolds me quietly and I chuckle. Is he serious?

  “You guys should hear some of Ian’s legendary runway show adventures,” Tasha says. Ian smiles at her approvingly, eager to continue his entertainment of the audience. Daniel tilts his head and raises a curious eyebrow at me.

  “Ian sometimes participates in modeling gigs,” I inform him. He shrugs, indifferent to the information. He resumes picking at his plate with one hand, nonchalantly resting the other on my inner thigh, making my blood surge toward the center of my body. And this is only with a casual touch; D, can’t wait to get you in my room.

  Being an offspring of a Japanese father and a Scandinavian mother, Ian has such a unique, exotic look that gets him constant offers to participate in random fashion events. I run my eyes over him as he tells the story of the time one of the models got her long curly hair caught in the mechanical epilator, his entire posture signaling I am Mecca. He looks way too young to be twenty-six. His slender figure and his angelic, nearly girlish facial features certainly help. He sits casually opposite us, his tall figure hunched on one of the orange stools, a head taller than me, almost Daniel’s height but not quite. His almond-shaped aquamarine eyes now twinkle in a lively way in response to our laughter. As dinner progresses Daniel seems more at ease. He’s sociable with Tasha and Ian, though he doesn’t grace Rob with a single look or any form of attention whatsoever, for that matter. Well, it’s not like I expected Daniel to hold hands with him and chant Kumbayaa. Guess ignoring will do in this case.

  “We’ll clean up,” Tasha declares, smiling at Rob. Nobody protests. I am slightly repelled at the few lonely morsels left floating in oil at the bottom of the depleted containers and can’t wait to get away.

  “There’s a phone call I need to make,” Ian announces.

  “Alerting the media,” Tasha and I respond simultaneously.

  “Biatches,” Ian snarls with a smile as he turns on his heels toward our wooden decked balcony for privacy. Booty call? I amuse myself. Familiar with Ian’s lifestyle, I am probably right.

  “You …” I front Daniel, who’s sitting next to me wearing a white button-down shirt. He has two buttons undone, revealing a part of his tanned neck and a small triangle of soft, golden hair. His jeans enfold his pelvis in the most salacious way. I take a deep breath, drinking him in. My palm runs across the prickly bristles that decorate his cheek. “You are coming with me.”

  “Am I now? Where to?” He smiles, causing a pang in my chest at his marked lip and those adorable wrinkles that form at the edge of his eyes when he grins.

  “My room,” I answer softly, and pull him by the hand to follow me. He casually lifts himself out of the stool, obediently following my lead.

  As soon as he closes the door behind us, Daniel empties his jean pockets. Phone, wallet and an Alfa Romeo key fob all settle on my bookshelf. He turns to embrace me, pushing us both back so we fall on my bed. I tilt my head back giggling. With the weight of him between my legs I sink into my white down-filled comforter. He raises his upper body by straightening his arms. Staring at me with his glittering, rebellious eyes, making me anxious, but yearn for him at the same time.

  “You played nice with the worker bees,” I tease, lifting my head to graze his square jaw with my teeth.

  “Mating, licentious worker bees that is,” he murmurs to my lips.

  I start to chuckle, but stop when his tongue insistently invading my mouth becomes the only thing that matters.

  “Hold on, baby,” he breathes, grabbing the remote from my nightstand, tapping play to bring my iPod to life with Snow Patrol’s, “Make This Go on Forever.” This song and you, D, what more can a girl ask for?

  “This will give us some privacy with all your moaning,” the curve of his lip, pure tease. I roll my eyes and he smirks.

  “Where was I,” he mumbles into my slightly parted lips, covering my body with his. He brushes my hair to the side then leans into me slowly, fluttering his lips on mine. He pulls back to look at me, his eyes a tender hazel. His touch is now deeper, more demanding, as his tongue rejoins mine in a stimulating dance that starts pulsing currents in my very depths. I slide my hands under his shirt to stroke his firm back with the tips of my fingers, sensing his warmth against them, savoring the feeling.

  He rises to his knees and pulls me up to face him; we stare at each other with the slightest gap between us, our faces almost touching. He grabs my pink tee by its hem and pulls it over my head. I undo his buttons, parting the fabric, freeing him of his shirt, then hastily help him out of his white tee. I gaze at his bare, chiseled body, his molded chest, three even, alluring pairs of square muscles just above his tanned navel, the seductive maze tattoo wrapped around his shoulder, and I quiver in anticipation. He moves his gaze from my baby pink bra to my eyes with a scorching stare, liquefying my insides.

  Abruptly, as though possessed, we embrace, forcing our bodies together. His mouth doesn’t leave mine when he yanks my jean buttons apart; I copy him, unzipping his fly. Anxious short gasps come out of our joined mouths as we pull down our pants. Unwillingly we detach to hurriedly peel off our remaining clothes, then frantically embrace again, our bare bodies amplifying the feeling of skin on skin.

  Daniel pulls us down to the bed. He caresses me, stroking from between my breasts to the trail beneath my navel, till his hand halts between my legs, starting a fire in me. With a passionate, blazing stare and flushed cheeks he sinks into me in the most indulgent way. I cry out in ecstasy.

  Grabbing his face, holding his bristled cheeks, I pull his mouth to mine, exploring every part of it. I feel myself build up in response to the faint groans reverberating from deep inside his throat as his mouth collides with mine. I am lost in our proximity, lost in the intensity of our union, the way he methodically moves in and out of me, lost in his incredibly drugging scent, utterly lost in him.

  We devour, ravage each other, stroking every inch of bare skin. He grazes my back, my breasts, strokes my face. My hands comb into his soft wavy hair as I pull him deeper, wrapping my legs around him. We absorb each other, dependent on an overwhelming pleasure that causes my body to blister inside out. I am climbing up rapidly and shudder to a release at Daniel’s last thrust, just before he eases onto me.

  The exhilaration leaves my each and every organ in deep spasms. We pace our breath while Daniel is still wrapped on me. I could have him stay this way till my last day on earth.

  Lying with his head on my bare stomach he mutters, “You feel divine.” He pecks my navel, fluttering my skin with airy kisses. I play my index finger over the tattoo covering his entire left shoulder; my vision is fixated on the spiral-shaped phrases, three circles of inked cryptic letters. I find it madly erotic and am not able to take my eyes away.

  “What does it say?”

  “My tat?” he murmurs to my skin, planting yet another supple kiss on it.

  “Yes.” I continue my trip around it as though I am solving the maze on his skin while enjoying the pleasurable touch of his lips on my bare stomach.

  “It is the Lord’s Prayer in ancient Hebrew.”

  “It is so sexy.”

  “Now, that would be you,” he says, and runs the tip of his tongue over my bare skin; I move to caress his dusty blond head, feeling serenity settle over me.

  “W
hen did you get it?” I ask behind closed eyes.

  “Right after I signed the final papers to register my company.”

  I can’t help but contemplate what made him choose this specific theme. “I didn’t take you for a believer,” I say.

  “You were correct with your assumption,” he snorts. “The ink has a different meaning to me than its original context.”

  “Oh.” I shift my head to look at him.

  “For me it represented the end of an era, a beginning of a realization of a dream, gratitude.” He looks back at me and then asks, “Are you familiar with the way the prayer concludes?”

  Though my father would be disappointed at my answer, with years of trying to get some faith and love for God in me, I answer that I don’t.

  “And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil,” he quotes. “That part was just what starting my company was to my past.” Highly intrigued, I lift my head, but just when I’m about to ask for further elaboration about his past life, we’re distracted by the national anthem playing from my phone on the floor where my jeans are scattered with the rest of our deserted clothes. Daniel inclines his head to face me with an inquisitive stare.

  “What the fuck?”

  I burst up into laughter. How Daniel of you to phrase a question so subtly, Mr. Finesse.

  “That would be my phone,” I answer, still amused.

  “The national anthem?”

  “What? Disney’s hymn is a better choice?” I mock his “It’s a Small World” ringtone. He chuckles and presses a kiss to my bellybutton. I inhale, pleased, observing the way those muscles flex so alluringly on his back as he shifts to kiss my navel again.

  “Don’t you want to get that?”

  “Mmm.”

  He arches an eyebrow below messy hair; his skewed smile evolves to a full healthy grin. “And that would mean?”

  “Mmm, I am too self-indulgent to move. I don’t care.” Anyhow Tash, Ian, and you are here …

  He chuckles. And my phone persists yet again.

  “I’ll get it for you,” Daniel breathes, still lying next to me, sending his hand to my jeans on the floor, pressing me deeper into the bed on the way.

  “Daniel,” he answers.

  I laugh and then frown at him. “Hey, it’s my phone.”

  His demeanor quickly changes, now far from amused. I study him, concerned. “Who’s asking?” he questions.

  “David?” he repeats out loud for me to hear, and I immediately wave, urging him to hand me the phone. He gives me the phone with clenched jaw observing with rapt intensity; I pull myself higher on my pillow.

  “Dave hi, can I call you later?” I sigh. “No, I cannot talk right now. Yes, I’m busy. Okay, bye.”

  “Dave?” Daniel echoes me as I put down the phone.

  Trying unsuccessfully to avoid his stare, I mutter casually, “No one of importance.”

  “No one of importance?” His brows furrow. “And yet you jumped when I mentioned his name.”

  I bite my lip, looking under my lashes as I return his stare.

  “Someone I used to hang out with.”

  Daniel slides next to me; resting his head on his propped arm, he gazes down at me.

  “Someone you hung out with?”

  What’s with the third degree? “What is it that you want to know, Daniel?” I ask, somewhat annoyed.

  “Who’s the guy and how intimate have you been with him?”

  You’re kidding me, right? “You really want to know?” I question. Ridiculous doesn’t even begin to describe … whatever this is.

  Daniel, lacking any inhibitions, moves to sit astride my stomach, cuffing my wrists, lifting my hands above my head, holding them tight to the mattress. “I gather by this response that adultery is involved here.”

  “Adultery?” I can’t help the giggle that bursts from my mouth.

  “Adultery, Hayley Grace. Adultery. Even past events are now considered adultery.”

  I roll my eyes at him. “Did we get married and I wasn’t notified?” I tease. This entire situation is plainly absurd.

  “Hayley, I’ve asked a question.” He pauses and deepens his stare at me. “What is the nature of your relationship with this Dave?” he asks in a firm voice, putting on a repulsed expression as he says David’s name. Psycho.

  “If you really insist, and believe me I’m not sure why, but …” I shake my head with closed eyes. “We used to occasionally sleep together,” I declare dryly, without remorse at the bluntness of my words, given his intrusive interrogation. “Used to being the key words here,” I add assertively.

  “Occasionally … just fuck?” he asks, his voice slightly raised, his eyes open wide and annoyed.

  “You want the detailed definition of our past relationship? Well, we used to be friends with benefits,” I accent ‘past’ as I say it; his expression turns manic.

  “Were there more Daves, Hayley?”

  I sigh in irritation. “Come on, Daniel, this is starting to get ridiculous.” Will I ever hear the end of this?

  “Why the fuck did he just call, then?” Daniel snaps.

  I guess for some benefits? There’s no way I’m going to say that out loud.

  “I could just beat the living shit out of this fuckwad right now,” he murmurs under his breath.

  Of course you would. Nothing that a few years on an obscenely expensive therapist’s couch couldn’t fix.

  “Well, it is not like we’ve published an engagement announcement in the Times,” I scoff. “And frankly, I didn’t find the time yet to send out ‘I’m taken’ email notifications to everyone I’ve ever been with.”

  “Maybe it’s time you did,” he says scornfully, half smiling, though his eyes remain disturbed.

  “How many ever been with are there anyway?”

  If he only knew …

  “I’m not dignifying that with an answer,” I say, resolute. He gives me an irritated look. Imperious, possessive psycho.

  “And, just for the sake of this exchange of words, I am not arguing with you, Daniel, I’m just explaining to you why I’m absolutely right. We both had a life before, and I’d much rather not recite our sexual histories scrolls, especially not right this second.” I look up at him sternly and am regarded with now softer hazel depths, brows mildly furrowed.

  Climbing off me he lays back with his head resting on my stomach. I can’t believe this entire conversation was in the nude. He leaves sweet little kisses on my skin, covering it with goose bumps. I guess some of what I said sunk in. Only he can alter from manic to sweet gentle kisses in a fraction of a second.

  “Anyhow, it doesn’t really matter, D. I’m yours now,” I say in a small voice, trying to further sweeten the atmosphere between us.

  “Hales,” he purrs quietly with closed eyes, his nose grazing my flesh.

  “I am so yours, more than I’ve ever been mine.”

  My heart expands to an almost painful level and I exhale an emotive sigh. Despite your crazy ways, if this is what love feels like, I think I’m in love with you, D.

  Chapter 22: Change of Location

  “Hayley, can you come over, please?” Josh’s voice reaches me over the noise and clatter coming from the occupied cubicles in the office’s vast open space.

  “What’s up, boss?” I pop my head into his room, holding the doorframe.

  “Have a seat.” He radiates his famous smile at me. Pensive, he fiddles with some male model portfolios, shuffling between three.

  “Remember Canada?” he asks, still looking at the pictures in his hands, running his fingers through his hair.

  “Of course, the roadshow you asked me to accompany you to.”

  “That very one,” he murmurs, knitting his eyebrows as he puts one of the folders aside, and spreads the remaining two on the desk in front of him, one next to the other.

  “Well, it’s not going to happen.” He finally raises his eyes to look at me.

  “Oh, really?” What’s with the stare, sho
uld I be disappointed or something? It’s just Canada.

  “Instead we’ll be on a modeling shoot on location in the Maldives with one of these guys,” he gestures at his desk.

  Holy hell. Really? “That’s nice,” I say, trying not to appear too enthusiastic.

  “You can smile now, Hayley, I’m also thrilled about it.” He grins a full blown Colgate smile. I try to mirror him. Try. Well, no one can really get to his level.

  “Check these two out: one will be on the cover of this summer’s special edition. Which one do you like best?” He turns the portfolios my way. Observing the two full-page photos I am completely shocked to find Ian’s familiar beautiful face staring at me from the one on the left.

  “What’s wrong, why did you freeze?”

  “It is just that this one,” I point at Ian’s photo, “is one of my best friends, so I don’t think I would be objective enough to help decide who’s a better candidate.”

  Josh smiles. There is some unclear glee in his eyes that could be interpreted as mischievous.

  “Fair enough. I personally tend to go with him, but we’ll run it by a focus group first before making the final decision.”

  I nod in consent. I believe that would be the right way to handle this, but if some almighty is listening, please let it be Ian.

  “I’ll let you know the exact dates when we finalize them.”

  “Perfect.” I grin at him. “Anything else?”

  “Yes, how are we with the ‘all pink’ piece I requested a background theme for?”

  “Almost done. I’ll send you the draft within the hour.”

  He nods, pleased. “Great. Just keep in mind the balance between text and images, as we discussed during that Hawaiian job.” Abruptly his stare wanders to the folders again.

  “That will be all,” he murmurs, his mind already elsewhere.

  Can I mention this to Ian? No, he would just get too excited, and if Josh ends up choosing the second-runner-up Ian will be disappointed for nothing. I’ll keep it to myself for now. Wow, I could end up in the Maldives with Ian and get paid for it. My grin widens at the thought.