Always Been You

by Beverley Kendall

  I mentally pull myself together as I approach the photographer, my right hand outstretched in greeting. This is the man who will see me in a way very few guys have done before. Naked and wholly exposed.

  Why couldn’t he have been a she?

  I force a smile as his dry hand swallows my embarrassingly damp one.

  “April, right?” Like everyone else I’ve met since I arrived, his smile tries to put me at ease.

  “Yeah, that’s me.” I do my best to sound like the polished professional I usually am. It’s not easy.

  “You’re more beautiful in person.”

  I acknowledge his compliment with a tight smile. “Thank you.”

  “Is everyone treating you alright?”

  “Yes.”

  In the two hours I’ve been here, the women have been wonderful. Hair with Wanda had come first, and then I’d gone on to Cerise, who’d expertly applied my makeup. On our way to wardrobe—such that it is—Sandra had insisted we make a brief detour so I could meet Jeff before the shoot. I think she thought it would help calm my nerves before the clothes come off.

  He nods briskly at Sandra. “Great. Alright then, let’s get April changed.”

  Sandra, a dark-haired, narrow-faced woman in her early thirties, works directly for Playboy, and has for seven years. She oversees all centerfold shoots as well as determining wardrobe choices.

  Flashing me an encouraging smile, she says, “April, if you’ll come with me.”

  I silently follow her to three curtained off changing rooms in the rear of the studio.

  “How about we start you off with this.” She holds up a white satin, lace-trimmed baby doll set with a flyaway front, and a silk matching robe. It’s absolutely gorgeous; the kind of lingerie Troy would love to see me in. But I wouldn’t be in it for long.

  “Since this is your first time, I thought it would be easier to start you off with something like this. In the spread, the transition will be sexier. Like a pictorial striptease,” she adds as if intent on inveigling a smile from me.

  I do so wanly. “Thanks.”

  She gestures to the changing rooms. “Give me a shout when you’re ready. I’m going to grab some coffee in the lunchroom.”

  Ready? I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to do this.

  With a little nod, I duck into the changing room closest to me. I remain motionless behind the black curtain until I can’t hear the sharp click of her four-inch heels anymore.

  Only then do I study the set in my hand, tracing the lace trim with my finger. This won’t leave much to the imagination, as it will barely cover the essentials.

  But what does that matter? I won’t be in it for long.

  I take a deep breath and begin the task of stripping out of my street clothes and donning the lacy lingerie. The floor-length mirror in front of me is as unforgiving as ever. The faint outline of pubic hair is visible against the translucency of the white satin. I’ve never worn a bikini this revealing. And I’ve never felt this naked with clothes on.

  I quickly shrug on the robe, relieved to take momentary refuge under it.

  What am I doing? Is this what I really want?

  No of course it’s not what I want. It’s something I have to do.

  But what I want now is Troy. I need to hear his voice.

  Without giving myself too much time to think too hard or too long, I fish my cell phone out of my jean pocket and hit the first name on my favorites list.

  The phone rings.

  And rings.

  And rings.

  And then it goes into voicemail. I close my eyes as I listen to his greeting.

  “I’m not available. You know what to do.”

  I can’t bring myself to leave a message. Don’t know what I would say. I’m not even sure what I’d have said if he’d answered. We’re still on opposite sides of this huge divide.

  Heartsick and resigned to my fate, I shove the phone back in my pocket. I don’t give Sandra a shout when I exit the changing room. I simply make my way back to the shooting area.

  Sandra is sipping from a mug and listening to Jeff when I round the corner. Their attention snaps to me as I approach.

  “You look beautiful,” she says when I draw within feet of them. “You ready?”

  No. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Jeff holds up the large black camera in his hand. “We’ll start off by taking a couple of you standing at the foot of the bed.”

  Ten years of training kick in and I’m instantly in the zone, taking my place where he instructed. I watch as he adjusts one of the larger OctoDomes.

  “Okay, now remove the robe.” He brings the camera up to his face.

  Shaky fingers untie the belt. And then all it takes is a small tug and the belt is loose, the robe falling open.

  I can’t look at either of them as the robe falls to the floor in a pool of white silk.

  ***

  A half hour after I washed the last vestiges of the shoot from my body in the form of a hot shower, my tired, despondent and emotionally drained self unlocks the door to my sister’s apartment.

  I want Troy.

  In the past, we’ve been apart for much longer periods, but today I miss him more than I’ve ever missed him before. I miss talking to him, holding him, kissing him, making love to him. I’m suffering from a serious case of withdrawal. And I don’t see an end in sight because even when I go back home, we’ll still have this between us.

  Suddenly, the doorknob gives away beneath my fingers. Startled, I utter a high, terrified screech. My fight-or-flight instinct immediately kicks in, and then door swings open, to reveal Troy. Heart attack narrowly averted, I nearly sob in relief at the sight of his gorgeous face, which is covered in a day’s worth of growth. He’s dressed casually in a white, short-sleeved Henley shirt and taupe cargo shorts.

  “Hey.” His voice is deep and low.

  “Oh my God, Troy,” I exclaim, breathless. My heart is still trying to recover from the jolt it was just dealt.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He steps back, making room for me to come in.

  Inside, I watch in bemusement as he closes and deadbolts the door behind us. When he turns back to me, I ask, “What are you doing here?”

  He gives me a crooked smile. “I figured you’d need a ride home.”

  “No, I mean why aren’t you in Illinois?”

  “Because you’re here.”

  My knees go weak and my stomach dips and rolls.

  “You drove?” No sane person drives into the city. Traffic is a stop-stop-and-go nightmare, and parking requires a bank loan. You’re better off on a pair of roller blades.

  “I didn’t have time to bullshit with subway and buses.”

  I glance at the front door and then back to him. “How did you get in?” The doorman guards the building like it’s Fort Knox.

  Instead of answering, he takes my hand firmly in his and leads me down the short hall.

  Vic and Denise’s apartment comes fully furnished and resembles one of those vintage New York brownstones with lots of white wainscoting and crown molding. In the living room, a built-in entertainment center spans almost an entire wall. It houses a large, flat-screened TV, and a plethora of framed photos and knickknacks adorn the many shelves.

  Troy carefully slips my handbag off my shoulder and places it on the ottoman. I offer no resistance when he pulls me down beside him on the sofa.

  “First things first. I want my kiss.” The kiss is too short and very sweet, and when it’s over, I’m craving more. When I run my tongue over my bottom lip, I can still taste him there.

  “How did you get in?”

  “Vic had the doorman let me in.”

  “I’m surprised he did. Vic said sometimes he gives the UPS guy a hard time.”

  Troy chuckles. “He made me show him two forms of picture ID. It’s a good thing I had my school ID with me.”

  The last time I saw him, I wasn’t sure what was going to happen t
o us. And now he’s here, having braved New York City traffic for me. “Does this mean you’re not mad at me anymore?”

  Sighing, he gently strokes my cheek with his thumb. Then he runs his fingers through the hair at my temple until he’s cupping the back on my head in his palm. “I was never mad at you,” he says, his voice soft and low. “Worried? Yes. Jealous? Hell yeah. Pissed at my dad for all of it? More than you can imagine. And angry at myself because I know I was being selfish? Yes. But I was never really mad at you. You’re selflessness is humbling. I sure as hell wouldn’t pose nude for Nate.” He emits a quiet laugh.

  “So you’re okay with it?”

  His expression contorts into a grimace. “I’m not saying I’m happy knowing millions of guys are going to see you naked. I’m not and I won’t lie about that. But I’ve accepted it, and I’ll support you from here on out.” His eyes grow soft. “I love you, and I don’t want to lose you or what we have. So you better get used to the idea that you’re stuck with me for life.”

  Tears smart my eyes as a wave of love so strong for him sweeps over me, I find it hard to breathe. “I love you, too.”

  Leaning down, he kisses me. A longer, deeper more heartfelt one than the one we recently exchanged.

  He breaks the kiss, then as if he can’t help himself, places another lingering one on my mouth. “How did it go?”

  I shake my head to clear the lust haze from my brain.

  “The shoot?” he prompts.

  How do I tell him now? “I couldn’t go through with it.”

  His eyes go wide in shock.

  “What?”

  “I couldn’t do it. When the photographer told me to take off my robe, I did. After he took some pictures, he told me to take the rest off, slowly, one by one. But as I was standing in front of him and the woman from Playboy in that baby-doll set, I knew it would take an act of Congress to get me to do it.”

  Shock fades slowly from his face but far from the relief and happiness I’d expected to replace it, light worry lines crease his forehead. “Why? What happened?”

  I tighten my hand around his taut waist. “I don’t know. It just felt wrong. It wasn’t me. And this is a decision I’d have to live with for the rest of my life, and I discovered too late that I couldn’t do that.”

  He pulls me closer, tucking my head under his chin as he runs his hand up and down my back.

  “What about your sister?”

  I let out a short, humorless laugh. “I guess I’ll have to come up with another way to help her. Plus, she would have killed me when she found out, so I guess in the end, it’s a good thing I couldn’t go through with it.”

  “Are you sure you won’t regret this decision?” he asks.

  I tip my head back to look at him. “I don’t think so. I called Catherine and after I talked her off the ledge, she said she’d try to straighten things out with Playboy. First she has to have legal look over the contract.”

  “I don’t want you to do this for me.”

  I pull back and look him directly in the eyes. “I didn’t do it for you, but we’re together and I do need to consider you in making this kind of decision because it’s going to impact both of us.”

  He nods solemnly. “I know things don’t look good right now, but you’re not alone in this. You have me. I need you to let me help you. I need you to trust me enough to let me help you.”

  Tears flood my eyes, blurring his beautiful face, but the profound love in his eyes is embedded in my heart. “I do trust you. With everything in me, I do.”

  That was the one thing I realized on the taxi ride back to the apartment. I’d somewhat thoughtlessly dismissed his offer to help, determined that I wasn’t going to fall victim to needing any man financially. I wasn’t going to be my mom.

  But accepting help from the man I love—and who loves me—doesn’t make me any less independent. It doesn’t make me needy or weak. It just makes me human.

  He hugs me close to him. “We’ll help your sister and parents. I promise.”

  We. I love the way that sounds and feels. I can lean on him when I need help, the same way I want him to lean on me when he does. We’re a team.

  “And your mom,” I add. “I don’t want you to ever think that I blame you or your family for any of this. This is solely your dad’s fault. He’s the one who betrayed everyone who loved and trusted him. I don’t want you to feel responsible for his crimes.”

  “And like you, I just want to do whatever I can to make things right,” he says, smiling tenderly at me.

  My heart swells until it overflows with emotion. “You’ve already done that. You’re here aren’t you?”

  His eyes darken and his expression softens in a searing mix of love and lust. He leans forward and my lips part in anticipation of his kiss. There’s no escalation of passion, there’s only an explosion of it that burns everything in sight. In less than a minute, we’re naked, he’s on his back and I’m straddling him.

  “Oh good, I can ride you this time.”

  EPILOGUE

  Ten months later

  Trapping me against the door to our apartment, Troy nibbles the sensitive spot on my neck while I fumble to unlock it.

  “Em’s staying at Graham’s, right?” he growls, gripping my hips with both hands.

  I shiver under his touch, torn between giddy excitement at what’s waiting inside, and pure lust of what will come later.

  Two weeks. That’s how long I’ve spent planning tonight’s surprise, which is to celebrate Troy’s five-year contract with the Giants. And if I can say so myself, an event planner couldn’t have done it better. It’s clear sailing from here on out.

  We were thrilled to death last month when Troy and Zach were both first round draft picks. Zach is signing with the Eagles, and Liv and I are ecstatic that we’ll still be living in the same time zone.

  Scott accepted a job in Seattle so he and Rebecca will be heading west. None of us are crazy about that, but Rebecca keeps reminding us that we’ll only be a plane ride away.

  “All night and probably tomorrow too,” I reply. These days, Em spends as much time at Graham’s as she does here.

  I know, it’s shocking. Last year he couldn’t stand the sight of her and today, he can’t get enough of her. A lot has happened in the past year. But that’s a long, drama-filled story for another time.

  After a little more fumbling, I manage to get the door unlocked and open. Pressed up against me, Troy ushers me into the entryway.

  From the narrow hall, lit candles on the white-linen-covered table light the dining area in a warm glow. He moves to turn on the light but I prevent him with a soft tap on his forearm and a whispered, “Leave it off.”

  Then I take charge of the situation, taking his right hand in mine and entwining our fingers as I lead him to the candlelit table, anticipating his reaction with the glee of a five-year-old.

  “What are you up to?” His mouth is close to my ear and his voice is warmly amused.

  I smile, feeling overly pleased with myself. “Why do you think I’m up to anything?” In the run up to tonight’s event, he hasn’t suspected a thing because I’ve been the sole of discretion, plotting this evening without so much as a slip.

  Refocusing my attention, I survey the table. That’s when several things strike me at once. The table isn’t set. At least not the way I’d set it an hour ago. A vase of pink and red roses now sit in the middle of the table—Troy is just not a flowers kind of guy. And instead of the white tapered candles that I’d picked out, the candles have doubled in number—now six—and are the same red of the roses.

  Gone too is the array of desserts I’d spent most of yesterday baking at Liv and Zach’s place. And where is the gift-wrapped Apple box with the watch I bought him?

  I glance around, my gaze skimming past the darkened kitchen, the hall and the living room. Nothing looks out of place. After a questioning look at Troy, whose expression is placidly innocent, my gaze returns to the table.

 
It takes a couple seconds for me to see that the silver candleholder is more than meets the eye. The silver wrought iron is molded into a gorgeous script that reads, MARRY ME?

  My heart skips a beat and then leaps into my throat the moment the two words register. The question reverberates through me, filling me with emotions too big, too overwhelming to contain.

  I immediately, instinctively turn to Troy but he’s no longer standing at my shoulder, he’s down on one knee. In the palm of his hand is a fancy black jeweler’s box, and nestled in the burgundy felt bedding is a breathtaking diamond solitaire ring.

  The hand I clamp over my mouth doesn’t stifle the gasp that escapes it. I stare at him wide-eyed and my heart triples in speed. “Wh—But I—” I look down at the ring.

  A knowing smile curves his mouth. “When are you going to learn, you can never surprise me?”

  Flustered, disoriented and wholly unprepared, I grab at his forearm in an attempt to pull him to his feet. “Oh my God. Get up,” I exclaim when he doesn’t so much as budge. Clearly, I don’t know what I’m saying or doing.

  Momentary surprise flickers across his face before amusement settles in. Following my directive, he pushes to both feet.

  “What are you doing? What happened to…everything?” My voice is a high-pitched squeak. I can’t think properly. My God, I can barely breathe.

  His smile widens and his eyes glow with so much love for me, it makes my heart ache. He gently takes my left hand, rubbing his thumb along my finger. “I’ll tell you but first you have to answer my question.” He nods to the candleholder’s Marry Me insignia.

  I follow his gaze and the significance of this very moment hits me, knocks me over, and then swells inside me like a tidal wave.

  He’s asking me to marry him.

  Not next month or next year, he’s asking me now. And this is a once-in-a-lifetime moment I’ll never have again and I’m well on my way to ruining it.

  My whole body begins to tremble uncontrollably, but I have the presence of mind to whisper, “You haven’t asked me anything.” The candleholder is romantic and creative, but I’d much rather have the words.