Chasing Vivi

by A. M. Hargrove

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Vivi, I know a scowl when I see one.”

  I tuck my hair behind my ear and paste on a smile.

  “I’m not.”

  “Okay, you’re not anymore. But you were. Don’t you like either of them?”

  “No, it’s not that. I don’t really know them.”

  “So?”

  “Nothing.” He is not going to wheedle a thing out of me, including my thoughts that they were just a bunch of spoiled rich kids, too.

  “Let me just say this, and we’ll drop it. Weston and Harrison are both stand-up guys. They would have my back in any situation—any kind at all. And whatever it is you heard about them, if it was bad, it was most likely false.”

  The strength of his tone and his adamancy has me believing him. I nod. “Fine, but I really don’t have a problem with them.”

  “Did they make fun of you at Crestview?”

  Sighing, I say, “I don’t remember. The girls were the ones who were the meanest. Can we drop this? It doesn’t matter anymore. All this happened years ago. I hated it there, but it’s over. I have no intention of ever going back for a reunion or anything, so what’s the purpose?”

  He lifts and lowers one shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe I want to make sure my best friends didn’t harass you.”

  “You’ll have to ask them. When you’re overweight in junior high and high school, everyone makes fun of you, so it all sort of blends together.” It’s strange that he’s suddenly become so concerned about this.

  His brows bunch at the bridge of his nose. He gives me a slight nod, but the creases remain. Then he blurts, “I … I need some space.”

  He jogs up the flight of stairs and disappears from view. I sit and wait, thinking he’ll reappear. But I’m wrong. An hour passes and he never returns. Eventually, I go to the huge empty bedroom, alone, and wonder how I’ll sleep in there without him to comfort me.

  Chapter 23

  Prescott

  A fissure has formed within me and it’s ripping me in half. One side wants to reveal every tiny detail about myself to Vivi, but the other wants to punt and run like the wind. And isn’t that exactly what I just did? Now I’m wearing out a path in the carpet, because I can’t relax enough to get into bed. Guilt practically has me running back down those steps, because I know she’s afraid to sleep alone, but I can’t find it in myself to do so.

  Why don’t I just tell her about me? It’s not that big of a deal. Only the voice inside me screams out that it is. It will show her just how weak of a man I am.

  I cram my hands into my pockets to stop them from shaking. What the hell was I thinking when I brought her here? I should’ve known this would happen. Vivi is astute, much more than most. She’ll see right through me.

  There’s not a chance in hell I’ll be able to sleep being this tense. The best thing I can do now is hit the treadmill. My problem is I don’t have any running clothes up here. Maybe I have something in the gym. I head in there to check and find a pair of shoes and some shorts hanging on a hook, so I don’t waste time in stripping.

  Sticking in my earbuds, I crank up the volume to drown out any remote possibility of thinking, and set the machine at a grueling six-and-a-half-minute mile pace. Fifty minutes later, I’m calm and levelheaded. Or at least I think I am, until the music stops playing. Vivi’s face instantly pops into my mind the moment it does and dammit if I’m not back to square one.

  A hot shower might calm me down, so I head there. Maybe if I rub a quick one off, that will help too. God knows she’s all I think about anyway. Ever since I entered that coffee shop, things south of the Mason Dixon line have been in a constant state of inflexibility.

  Stepping into the warm spray, it cascades over my skin, rinsing the sweat of my workout off. After I soap up and rinse off, my cock screams for attention. The ache in my balls has been there for at least a solid month now. Any time I’ve thought of easing it with another woman, a sour taste spreads in my mouth. I’ve never been one to feel particularly faithful toward anyone, likely because I’ve never been committed to a woman. But somehow Vivienne Renard has fucked up my life and ruined it for any other piece of ass. No more pussy-whoring for this man, unless I can get her out of my system, and the only way I see doing that is to fuck her. She seems in, but if I do, she’ll want more than just a quick fuck. And I have a real bad feeling I might, too.

  My hand squeezes tightly over my dick, pumping up and down, imagining how it would feel if this were Vivi’s pussy. Warm and wet, tight and slick. I imagine her moaning as I thrust harder and harder, hitting her in the spots that set her off. Jizz shoots up and covers my fist just as the hot water rinses it away. Oddly, I’m not satisfied. The ache in my balls has only eased temporarily. It still lurks in the depths of me, seeking a permanent release, and my hand isn’t the answer it’s looking for. The solution lies in my bed, downstairs, where I left her. And aren’t I the brave guy, standing here, naked in the shower, with my dick in hand?

  Disgust coats me as I turn off the water. Every possible solution I come up with is shot down by my logic. After I dry off, I climb into bed, frustrated as ever, and know that sleep will be as attainable as going to the moon.

  The room eventually turns gray, then brightens, and I climb out of the bed that should’ve brought me comfort. Instead, all it held for me was a night of sheer annoyance. And I only have myself to blame.

  After another quick shower, I run down the steps and tiptoe into the bedroom, hoping not to disturb Vivi. At least one of us should be able to sleep. But when I walk into the room, my beeline for the closet is halted by her voice.

  “Where did you disappear to last night?”

  I turn toward her. “I, ah, slept upstairs.”

  “I see.”

  No, she doesn’t. Slipping into the closet, I quickly dress. All my clothes are perfectly organized. Shirts by color, then suits. Ties are arranged in drawers, nicely laid out and also by color. I’m picky about this because it makes getting dressed so much easier.

  I finish tying my tie and walk back out to face her.

  “Prescott, if I make you uncomfortable, I can leave.”

  “No, it’s not—”

  “Please don’t lie to me. I don’t want to stay where I’m not wanted. Put yourself in my shoes for a minute.”

  She’s right. I must’ve made her feel awful. But, shit, I feel awful too, and I don’t know how to respond to her.

  “Look, I’m running late this morning. Regina should be here any minute and will take care of you. If she doesn’t suit your needs, you can fire her. But I have to go.” And then I do the chicken shit move and leave.

  “Prescott,” she calls out behind me, but I don’t stop. My feet are on a mission, straight to the door and they keep right on going.

  “Prescott, wait,” I hear as the door closes. Come on, elevator.

  The doors open, I step in, and down we go, before she has a chance to stop me. When I get outside, a driver is already waiting for me. The ride to work is tense. I hated doing what I did to her.

  Then my phone dings.

  Nice move, Ace. What’s up with you? Tell me what’s going on. I need to know. You won’t even speak to me.

  My finger taps the phone. What do I text back?

  We’ll talk tonight. Just a lot on my mind. Big meeting today and I have to go to Atlanta on Wednesday. Let me know about Regina.

  Suddenly, I feel like the proverbial married couple that has issues and doesn’t talk them out, instead talking around them. Here I am telling her I have to go to Atlanta on Wednesday like it’s something I should naturally report to her. How weird is that?

  Lynn is already at her desk when I arrive and she lets me know in plain words I look like crap.

  “Is everything okay?”

  She’s fishing for information on Vivi. Should I bring her into the fold? I’m so fucking confused, I don’t know what the hell to do. I’m the twelve-year-old who just saw a girl he likes for
the first time. Fuck me. That has to be it.

  I’ve never done this—had a relationship with girls, that is—so I didn’t get the chance to go through the growing pains of relationship building. I’m so ill at ease I don’t even know how it’s supposed to work. All I know is to find pussy, fuck it, and leave the minute I tire of it. I don’t know what to do when I actually like a woman, and not just for the sex.

  “No, nothing is okay, if you want the truth.”

  She follows me into my office.

  “What’s wrong? Is Vivi okay?”

  How do I answer this loaded question? Lynn stares, and if she does it long enough, she’ll puzzle me out in no time.

  “Talk to me, Prescott. You look like you don’t know what’s up or down. And if you don’t stop with the hair thing and rubbing your chin, you’ll have a bald spot and a chafed face.”

  “You certainly pick up on cues, don’t you?”

  “My husband says I should’ve been a detective.”

  “I don’t know what to do with her.”

  “Vivi?”

  “No. Queen Elizabeth.”

  “Smart-ass. What do you mean?”

  I can’t bring myself to speak.

  “Does she want to take walks or something?”

  “Oh, Jesus, you are so far off base, it’s not funny. And of all people, I thought you’d jump on this train and figure me out.”

  She laughs. Totally cracks up. What the hell?

  “Prescott is at a loss. I love it. You of all people, who always have women falling at your feet.”

  “I do not,” I huff.

  “You don’t think I notice all the girls in the admin pool who practically throw themselves at you? But you’re smart as a whip and know better not to tangle yourself with them. However, they still do it. You could have any woman in this town. All you’d have to do is snap your fingers. And you, my dear boy, are at a complete loss as to how to handle Miss Vivi Renard. Do you know why?”

  “No! Isn’t that the point of this conversation?”

  “You are falling for the poor girl.”

  “Poor girl? So you feel sorry for her?”

  “Yes, because I’m afraid you’re going to allow her to open one of your many doors—and you don’t think I know that you have more than one, but I do—and when she gets one foot in, you’ll slam the thing on it and break it into a million pieces in the process. And stop scrunching up your brow so much. I’m going to have to send you to my plastic surgeon for some Botox if you don’t quit.”

  “Can we please stay on topic for a second? Why do you think I’ll break her foot?”

  “It’s her heart, you big dummy. I was using the door and foot image as a metaphor.”

  “Whatever. Why do you think I’ll do it?”

  “Because you’re scared. Look at you. Have you looked in the mirror? Mr. Confidence has morphed into Mr. Confused.”

  “You’re not helping.” And she’s not. I’m looking for advice, not criticism. Then again, I’m not giving her much to go on.

  “What exactly is it I’m supposed to help with? I just gave you my opinion. What more do you want? You’re afraid to let yourself go. Do you want to know what I think you should do? Is that what you’re asking?”

  I rub my chin and scratch my head. She grabs both hands and pulls them down. “Stop it already. You’re acting like you have fleas or something.”

  “I give up. What do you think I should do?”

  “Court the woman.”

  “Court?”

  “Date her. Don’t try to screw her brains out like I know you usually do.”

  “I do not.”

  She huffs, “Oh, come on. I’ve smelled you reeking of sex after some of your little lunch trysts.”

  I take a step back. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  She shrugs. “Anyway, back to Vivi. She has something that most women don’t. Do you want to know what it is?”

  “Yes. And just say what’s on your mind and stop dragging me along like this.”

  “Okay. She has integrity, brains, and she doesn’t give a damn about who you are, how much money you have in the bank, or what you do for a living. In other words, Prescott Whitworth Beckham, if that woman ends up falling in love with you, she’ll fall for you and not your name, connections, or how much you’re worth. And that’s exactly why you should go after her with everything you’ve got. Woo her, but gently. And bare your fucking soul to her. Get rid of your demons. She won’t hold anything against you. Vivi has a pure heart. Don’t you see it?”

  “I don’t know if I can do it.”

  “Then it will be the gravest mistake of your life and the greatest loss you ever sustained.”

  She turns away and leaves, closing the door softly behind her.

  Maybe she’s right. What if I dove in head first? The worst thing that could happen is she’d look at me differently and then what? She’d leave and I’d never see her again. We run in different circles so not a problem, right? Except, it’s a huge problem, because I want her.

  Bad enough to change my entire life, though?

  Taking a risk for Vivi shouldn’t be this difficult, but it is. How will I ever shed my cowardly skin and get brave enough to do it? The only way I know is to try. Only I don’t know if I have the balls to do it.

  Grow some, motherfucker, grow some.

  Chapter 24

  Vivi

  Prescott leaves and the place is eerily quiet. My brain scrambles for answers, but finds none. Whatever I did, it’ll have to wait until I can question him again. And who knows if he’ll give me an answer.

  Shoving those thoughts away, I get up and brush my teeth. The doorbell rings in the bathroom. Leave it to Prescott to think of everything. I shrug the robe on, look out, and press the intercom.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Regina.”

  “Hang on.”

  Opening the door, I greet her and introduce myself, telling her how happy I am she’s here. She’s perhaps in her late forties, early fifties, and reminds me of my mom. Her hair is graying, and she doesn’t bother with coloring it. It’s cut short and nicely styled. She’s dressed in casual navy pants and a nice white shirt.

  “Mr. Beckham told me about your injuries. I’m terribly sorry and I hope you’re feeling better.”

  “I am, thank you. I would love a shower. Except, I need my arm wrapped. Can you help?” I explained how Prescott did it, so she follows my instructions.

  Regina laughs and is engaging to talk to as she tells me about herself. Both of her two children have graduated from college. She beams with pride as she says they are the first ones in both her and her husband’s family to have done so.

  “That is wonderful,” I comment.

  By the time she finishes helping me with my arm, I feel like she’s my friend. When I’m done, she helps me with my hair and getting dressed.

  “Would you like to go outside today?” she asks. “You know, to get some fresh air?”

  The idea sounds very appealing and I wonder if I’ll be frightened. “I think I would. I may move a little slow, however.”

  Her hand waves through the air. “Oh, I’m used to it. Mrs. Simpkins is nearly eighty, and I take her for walks every day. But I’ve got to say, she’s spry as an elf the way she moves around.”

  “I can promise I won’t be moving like Tinkerbell. I also have to warn you I may be more than a little skittish because of the attack.”

  “I can understand that. Maybe if you go and see that things are fine, it will help you some,” she says.

  I agree.

  Regina fixes me a huge breakfast. I can’t imagine the elfin Mrs. Simpkins eats this much. I leave half on my plate.

  “You eat like a sparrow. No wonder you’re so skinny and I’m so fat.”

  “One, you’re not fat, and two, I wasn’t always skinny.”

  Regina cleans up the kitchen while I check my email, hoping there’s a response from one of the jobs I posted. But then ag
ain, what if there is? An interview looking like I’ve been cage fighting probably wouldn’t go over too well. From the looks of my empty inbox, I don’t have to worry about it. As Regina is just about finished with the cleanup, the doorbell rings.

  “Are you expecting anyone?” she asks.

  “No.”

  She answers the door and an attractive, elderly woman walks into the living area. She stands there, scrutinizing me.

  It takes me a few seconds to rise out of my seat, but I do. “Hello, I’m—”

  “I know who you are. You’re Vivienne Renard, my grandson’s friend.”

  Whoa! This is the grandmother Prescott adores.

  “Yes, ma’am, I am. And you’re his grandmother. He speaks of you often.”

  A smile flirts with the corners of her mouth. “He does, does he?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Hmm. You were raised to have manners, unlike most youth today.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “And I detect an accent.”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am. I’m from Virginia.”

  “Prescott mentioned he went to Crestview with you.”

  “Yes, ma’am, he did.”

  “Please, sit. I understand you’ve been through quite an ordeal. I’m sorry for that.”

  “Thank you.” I sit and so does she. “I didn’t know you were coming. Would you care for some coffee or tea?”

  “No, thank you. I came to meet the woman my grandson has suddenly taken a keen interest in.”

  This woman, though somewhat smaller than me, has a huge presence as she sits here. She sets my nerves on edge. There’s quite a fierce quality about her and I’m pretty sure I know why she’s come.

  “Tell me about yourself.”

  “What would you like to know?” I ask.

  “Everything.”

  There’s no subtlety to her, so I spill it all, leaving out nothing. I’m bold and don’t act as though I require pity, telling it as it is. When I get to the part about the attack, I’m gracious where Prescott is concerned. And in telling it, I recall exactly how much he’s helped me. My eyes tear up at remembering, but I refuse to show any weakness and let them push past my lids.