by Nikki Chase
“Ugh,” Karen exclaims, “I hate men who smoke, especially if they're doctors. What kind of an example is he setting for his patients?”
“Maybe he's not trying to be a role model,” I say before I can stop myself.
Karen laughs. “Okay. Remind me never to talk shit about Gabriel Kent in front of you.”
“Sorry, I’m a little distracted.” My gaze flicks between Karen and Gabe.
I don't want to lose him again. If I let Gabe out of my sight tonight, I don't know how else to find him. What if it takes me another eight years to see him again?
“Yeah, no kidding.” Karen hands me my champagne glass. “Drink up and go outside already.”
With a few big gulps, I finish my drink. Normally, I’m terrified to drink even just a tiny drop because I’ve seen what alcohol can do to people. But I’m making an exception tonight.
“Hope you get laid tonight.” Karen winks.
Oh God.
I'm such an idiot I haven't even considered that possibility.
I mean, of course I’ve thought about Gabe like that. He's the only man in my dirty fantasies.
But that's also the reason why I’m still a virgin. To me, sex is not something that happens in the real world.
But now that Gabe is really back in my life again… I don't know.
Shit. Maybe I shouldn't have drunk so much champagne.
This situation would be hard enough to navigate sober. What hope does drunk-me have?
“Karen.” I pause as I turn to face her on my chair. In despair, I say, “I’m a virgin.”
Karen’s bursts out laughing. “You could’ve fooled me. The way you were acting, I thought you were some experienced, kick-ass seductress.”
Sure, I can fool anyone as long as I don’t have to get into bed with them. But what if…
I mean, if Gabe wants to take me home, I’m not saying no. But then what happens after that, if he wants to…
Well, I do want him to take my virginity—that has been a recurring fantasy—but what if he finds my lack of experience annoying? What if it’s a turn-off?
“Oh boy, you’re really worried, aren’t you?” Karen asks when I remain serious.
I nod.
“Listen, I’m sure you’ll be just fine,” Karen says. “Just… follow your instincts and everything will be okay.
“But…” My sentence just hangs in the air as no more words come out. I just stare at Karen, panicked and unable to choose just one question to ask first.
Shit. My brain doesn’t work.
This is the worst timing in the history of everything.
“There’s nothing to worry about. It’s just talking to a cute guy. It’s not life and death,” Karen says.
She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t understand why this could be a life-destroying disaster.
Karen puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Look. If there’s anything you really don’t know how to handle, just excuse yourself, say you’re going to the restroom, and find me. I’ll be here.”
It takes a few seconds for my brain to process Karen’s plan through my alcoholic fog, but once I understand what she means, it sounds like a brilliant idea.
Yes. I can do this.
I don’t have to plan for the entire night. I’ll just take it step by step.
I can get through this, with Karen’s help.
Besides, given our history, what are the chances that Gabe would even consider sleeping with me?
I was getting ahead of myself.
I’m only here to say hi because it’s been such a long time since we last saw each other.
I twist in my seat to take another look at Gabe. He’s alone and he’s not doing anything. It’s the perfect time to make an approach.
“Go get him.” Karen pats my shoulder in encouragement.
And I’m off.
Gabriel
I shouldn’t be here.
I knew it was going to take some time for me to adjust to being here, but this fucking sucks.
The spotlight feels hot on my skin, and I have to squint to even see anything. I thank a bunch of names from a list Dad gave me, then grab my shiny award and walk down the stage as strangers clap their hands.
A few doctors and their partners at my table hold out their hands as I take my seat, offering their congratulations.
What do they care, though?
They don’t even know me. All they know is I’m my father’s son, and they want to kiss his ass.
I’d say I don’t deserve this award if I thought it meant anything. These events are just gimmicks made up by people who want to stroke each other’s egos and inflate their own credentials.
I used to like going to these events, but that was back when I was younger. A lot younger. Before The Incident happened and changed everything.
Back then, I treated this annual event like a hunting ground.
I was just a med school student back then, but my dad was already one of the most important people in the business, so that made me look good to the social-climbing types. Some girls had families that would’ve killed to be connected to a name like mine.
As I scan the hall tonight, I couldn’t care less about the women. Sure, some of them are pretty. But they’re also either heartless, high-powered medical professionals or brainless, money-grubbing gold diggers.
I’ve had enough of these people.
I excuse myself from the table and push open the door leading onto the big balcony. As I walk toward the edge, I wonder if I could just keep walking and never come back. But I’ve already told my dad I’m staying, at least for a short while.
I reach the concrete balustrade and turn around. I can see the banquet hall just fine from here, through the glass inserts in the row of French doors lining the wall. I’ll just slip back inside when it’s over.
Some of Dad’s friends probably want to shake hands with me or something. And even though Dad was the one who chose to sit with his important friends at one of the tables at the front, he’ll be annoyed if he couldn’t find me at the end of the event.
I pull out a cigarette and hold it between my lips.
I don’t smoke as much as I used to. But now that I’m back home, I need a little help coping.
I flick open my Zippo and strike down on the wheel.
Let there be light.
I inhale deeply, inviting poison into my lungs and throughout my body.
It tastes strange, this Marlboro Red. It’s the same brand I’ve always smoked, but there’s a subtle difference between this and the ones in Africa.
Have I made the wrong decision?
I’ve gotten used to my life over there. I’ve lived there for eight years. Almost a decade. That’s about a quarter of my life.
Sure, life is easier here, so it’s not like I’m going through torture. And like Dad said, things are only going to get better.
I have a bright future and I’m on track to earn more money than 99% of the American population. Nobody’s going to play a sad tune and cry for me.
But I wonder if it’s going to be enough.
Maybe that sounds ridiculous, considering how much I have. But it’s not about money.
I had enough, back in Africa, even if there was less money. I was helping people, which admittedly is an inherent part of being a physician, but I was helping those who couldn’t get help from anybody else. It meant something.
But maybe I’m too quick to dismiss the rewards of being an American doctor.
I’ve already promised Dad I’d at least try on this life for size, in exchange for his sizeable donation to my preferred charity.
Besides, I’ve been working hard to keep up with the American standards in medicine, going through countless certification examinations, all so I’d be able to come back and work here.
So I might as well give this a good shot.
But as I glance at the sorry faces that have joined me on the balcony… I’m not hopeful.
They look depressing, these p
asty, overweight, middle-aged men who are starting to light up their cigarettes and make small talk with one another. I feel like Ebenezer Scrooge, being visited by The Ghost of Christmas Future. If staying here is going to turn into one of these people, I’d rather take off again.
I start to turn around to avoid being pulled into some inane conversation, but the sight of a stunning woman stops me in my tracks.
How did I not see her before?
She’s got hair so fair it’s almost white. It’s glowing under the pale moonlight. She’s like an angel… except an angel wouldn’t look so sinfully tempting.
In her red dress, she stands out like a flower against the backdrop of the white balcony and the black suits of the men who have come out to smoke.
They have noticed her, too. In my peripheral vision, I can see heads turning and eyes staring at that absolute knock-out.
She’s sexy as hell, in a classy, red-carpet way. Her dress shows just enough of her curves to keep me wondering what else is under there.
The fabric wraps beautifully around her narrow waist and lets a hint of her smooth, creamy cleavage peek out. I can almost see the flare of her hips, but the dress also widens at that point, letting my imagination fill in the rest of the picture.
She looks like the perfect forbidden fruit.
I want to drag her into bed, peel that dress off her body, and see if my imagination matches the reality. Then, I’d spread those toned legs and bury myself balls deep inside her.
But getting entangled with someone here, before I decide whether to stay or to go, would be a disaster.
But this girl.
Just one look and I’m almost ready to throw away everything to have a taste. There’s something almost familiar about her, which is strange, because I’d remember meeting someone like her.
Before I can do anything stupid, I turn around and look out into the distance. The view from up here isn’t bad.
We’re on the roof of one of the oldest, most established hotels in San Francisco, and we’re looking out into the open ocean. These old buildings have the best locations.
Waves lap at the sand below and a light breeze cools my lust. With a cold shower out of the question, this is my best bet at keeping myself under control.
But I can still hear those sexy, sexy steps.
Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click.
I can’t help but visualize those shapely legs and those dainty feet, getting closer and closer. Bolder with every step.
If that temptress gets within my arm’s reach, I don’t know what I’ll do to her. I definitely can’t promise I’ll be a gentleman.
If she knows what’s good for her, she’ll stay away.
“Excuse me,” a soft, feminine voice says from behind me.
Last time I checked, she was the only woman on the balcony. And I’m the only person in this corner of the big balcony.
I gave her a chance to walk away, but she didn’t take it.
That’s it, angel. You’re mine tonight.
Jacqueline
The chill in the air sends a shudder down my spine as I step onto the big balcony.
A few smokers have gathered here, some of them standing around in small groups.
But he’s alone. He’s always been a loner.
He’s looking in my direction, and my heart skips a beat.
I’ve fantasized about this exact moment so much, but now that it’s actually happening, I have no idea how to handle this.
Hi Gabe, remember me?
Hey, you’re Gabe right? We used to be neighbors. We played together all the time when we were little.
Gabe! Oh my God, it’s really you! How have you been? It’s been so long.
Somehow, as our eyes meet and I stare straight into those brilliant green eyes, none of the greetings I’ve thought up seem to fit the situation.
Yes, our pasts are interconnected. But I don’t know if that gives me an advantage over all the other women eyeing him tonight.
Our history is dark. Inky black. That’s why my light-hearted lines won’t work.
But at least he’s looking at me now. That’s good, right? Maybe he does remember me.
In fact, he’s kind of… staring at me. But I don’t think it’s recognition darkening those eyes right now. It’s something else entirely. Something I can’t identify.
Just when I think he’s about to say something, Gabe turns his back on me.
His suit is pulled snug across his broad back as he leans down and rests his forearms on the stone balustrade. White cigarette smoke floats up and gets carried by the wind, although some lingers around him, floating like it doesn’t want to leave.
I could watch his back all night, but it’s time to make a move. That’s what I’m here for. I can’t chicken out now.
I take a few steps closer, my heels noisily hitting the grey slate tiles underfoot. My heart is hammering almost just as loud, and my legs feel shaky.
But I can do this.
I’m just going to say hi. It’s not a big deal.
“Excuse me,” I say softly.
Gabe turns around, and suddenly those jade-colored eyes are on me again.
I can see his eyes clearly now.
It’s not recognition in those eyes.
It’s desire.
He doesn’t need to say anything to tell me know he wants me. His eyes do all the work for him, appraising me and searing his desire onto my flesh until my whole body heats up under his gaze.
He know what he’s doing. I can tell by the arrogant smirk on his face, the one he used to reserve for the other girls—the one that was never meant for me.
“Can I help you?” Gabe leans back against the balustrade, a cigarette dangling carelessly from his lips.
It’s dark out here, but I can still make out his strong jaw and chiseled features. His golden, sun-kissed skin reminds me of how far away he’s been from me, but his dark chestnut hair is just as it’s always been—tousled into a messy pile that I want to run my fingers through.
I swallow my nervousness and, realizing I need an excuse to be out here in the first place, I say the first thing that comes to mind.
“Can you spare a cigarette?”
Damn it, Jackie, I curse myself inwardly. You’ve never smoked a day in your life, and now you wanna start? Really? Is this unbelievably tense moment really the right time to try something new?
“Sure.” Gabe pulls out a pack from his suit pocket, flips the top up, and holds it out for me.
Gingerly, I reach out and take out one thin, white cigarette, hoping I look like I’ve done this many times before.
Okay. What do I do next?
Before I can ask for the lighter, Gabe holds up a silver, rectangular Zippo. As it glows under the moonlight, he gives me a wicked smile, like he’s inviting me into his dark world of deadly vices.
He never used to let me join in when he was smoking with my brothers. To be fair, I was sixteen when It happened and Gabe went away.
A dull, metallic sound fills the air between us when Gabe flicks open his Zippo and lights it up. The little flame dances, casting a warm light onto his handsome face.
Alright. Now I just have to put the cigarette between my lips and lean closer…
All of a sudden, Gabe pulls the lighter away and slaps the cigarette out of my mouth.
My jaw hangs open as I watch it fall without a sound, unlit and unsmoked. A new, pristine cigarette on the floor.
“Hey!” I protest. Even through the alcoholic fog in my mind, I know that was strange. “What did you do that for?”
“You don’t smoke,” he says matter-of-factly.
He’s right, of course. But there’s no way he knows that, unless he’s recognized me. And I’m sure he hasn’t.
“I do,” I insist.
“No, you don’t. You had the cigarette backward.” A lopsided smile plays on his lips. He knows he’s won this battle.
Heat creeps across my face. I drop my gaze, afraid he’s going to
discover other embarrassing things about me—like the fact that I’ve had a crush on him my whole life.
That’s unlikely, though, seeing as he doesn’t even know who I am.
Hey, maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe I can walk away and not have him remember me as this weird klutz who talks a big game but has nothing to back it up. Maybe I can show up another day and pretend none of this ever happened. Maybe I can be someone else tonight.
“There’s always a first time,” I say, emboldened by my realization.
Gabe chuckles. “It’s not gonna be tonight.”
“Can’t you teach me how to smoke?”
“Nope.” As if to mock me, Gabe raises his hand up to his mouth, the one with a lit cigarette between his long, graceful fingers.
“You’re a jerk.”
“I’m a jerk for not wanting you to start smoking?” Gabe huffs a small laugh.
“Why not? Everybody else out here is smoking. Is it just because I’m a woman?”
“It’s not because you’re a woman. I’ll admit you’re persistent, which is a good trait to have for a smoker, because you have to get through the first few bitter cigarettes before it starts to taste good.” Gabe pauses to shoot me a smile, then adds, “But you’re too beautiful to smoke.”
Did he just…?
I didn’t hear wrong. Gabe really did just call me beautiful.
Holy shit.
He never talked to me like this before.
He never looked at me like this either.
It turns out all I need to get Gabe’s attention is a whole new identity. Who’d have thought?
As a round of applause escapes the banquet hall and into the outdoors, I automatically twist to look behind me.
“Maybe you should go back inside. Your date must be looking for you.” Gabe gives me a teasing smile. “Maybe he’ll teach you how to smoke.”
“I didn’t come here with a date.” As soon as I hear my own words, I realize it’s not the best comeback. But I’m tipsy, so whatever.
“Oh, you came here with your Mommy and Daddy?” Gabe taunts me.
“No, I came here with a friend,” I say curtly. “And I’m staying here, on the balcony. You don’t get to tell me where to go. It’s a free country.”