by S. L. Scott
My phone rings, and I glance toward it. With half my lunch still untouched on the desk in front of me, I answer and hear, “Austin, good afternoon, it’s Jacqueline.”
“Hello, how are you?”
“Well, and you?”
Avoiding the question, I say, “I looked over the report you sent. I have few questions.”
“Great. Is now a good time to go over it?”
“Yes.”
“Before we get started, I wanted to let you know that Dylan Somers has stepped down from your account. His workload and other clients were not permitting him to stay on top of the requirements needed for your company. We want you to have the best team in place, but we agreed for the sake of quality and accountability. On the plus side, I have freed up my client list to focus fully on your account.”
“Thank you,” I reply, feeling my jaw tighten just from the mere mention of Dylan. “Shall we go over the reports now?”
“Yes…”
I spend the next forty-five minutes looking at financial reports and forecasts for the first quarter of next year with her.
When we’re wrapping it up, she asks, “Business keeping you in London for much longer?”
Business? No. Personal. Yes. “I’ll be here another week or so.”
“That’s too bad. I was hoping we could do lunch or a drink and catch up sooner.” My pause must make her anxious because she adds, “Anyway, maybe when you return.”
“Oh, um, yeah, maybe when I return,” I say. “Thanks for the update and make sure to go over everything with my CFO. We’ll be in touch soon, Jacqueline.”
“You’re welcome. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.” When I hang up the call, I lean back in my chair, lifting my feet up onto my desk. The Gherkin building stands spiraling outside my window and I follow the lines. I’m reminded of Jules’ body and the times I would run my hand from her breasts down her side to the dip of her waist and over the curvature of her hip. Sex with her was phenomenal. For someone with so many walls built up, she had none when it was the two of us alone. She made me feel something more significant than the sex itself, something I hadn’t felt in a long time.
Christina is the only other woman who has done that…
We were young. Too young. Everyone always said that, trying to convince me that our love was meant to burn out. I don’t know if I believe them or not, but I try to as if it will justify why things happened the way they did. It’s easier not to think of her. The last time I saw her flashes through my head and I stand up abruptly, wanting the image to go away. “Sophie?” I call to my secretary. “Call for my car and cancel my four o’clock.”
Rushing out the door, I hear her say, “Yes, Sir,” as I pass.
The car is at the curb waiting for me when I reach the sidewalk. I hurry inside and am driven straight home. I waste no time throwing on my workout clothes. I’m on the street running shortly after. It looks like it’s going to rain, but I need this release. I run with speed, trying to wear my mind out as much as my body. I reach Hyde Park in record time. I cut down the path and through the park just as the rain begins. No sprinkles today. The heavy drops cover me, coating my outside while I wish it could do the same to my insides as flashes from a once buried memory come back to haunt me…
Christina lay on the bed—perfect and beautiful, like she always looked. She wore the garnet earrings I had given her just that Christmas. It was her birthstone. She usually wore pastel colors, but she started wearing clothes in the same shade of red just to match the earrings. “I love them, Austin,” she said every time she wore them. It was the most expensive jewelry she owned and the most expensive I had bought. Two hundred dollars that I had saved in increments of twenty from each paycheck. It was all I could afford to set aside. We were nineteen and in college, both of us living off loans and part time jobs at the local sandwich shop. Christina was naturally smart, never having to study, which was the opposite of me. I worked for every A I got. She was carefree, but not frivolous, possessing an enthusiasm for life that most would never appreciate. I did though. She brought out the best in me, made me see life in a new way.
She once told me that she saw me doing great things in life and I was naïve enough to think she would be there with me…
I stop at the edge of the water near a bench, bending over to catch my breath that puffs like smoke before me. I sit on the bench, then lie down letting the rain hit my face, drenching me, taking me back, hoping it can save me somehow. Closing my eyes, every drop reminds me of Jules’ tears. I should be angrier, but with each day that passes, my anger morphs into a weaker version of itself. She’s temptation at its finest. I drape my arm over my eyes and let the pain wash over me.
Opening my mouth, I catch the rain, swallowing before sitting up and taking off again. Weakness is not what Christina or Jules were attracted to, so I refuse to become less of who I am, running home and taking the longer route to push myself.
A WEEK AND a half later, I hadn’t given in. I didn’t want to. I thought about calling Jules, emailing her, texting her, but I didn’t. She didn’t either. I’ve been left to assume she and Dylan are together. And yet, I can’t seem to stop thinking about her and what went wrong and when? Sitting at a pub, I watch people—men, women, couples as they come and go, drink, get drunk, go from quiet to loud, the alcohol determining their tone. I finish my second beer, pushing away the fish and chips that remain in the basket in front of me, then look out the window.
“Hello.”
Turning, I see a pretty blue-eyed blonde standing there smiling at me. Her accent is clean.
“Hello,” I reply.
“Sorry to bother you, but my friends have a bet going.” She’s flirting.
“Oh really? And what might that be?”
“You’re American?”
“Yes.” I signal to the seat on the bench next to me. “Would you like to join me?”
“Yes, I would. Thank you.” She sits and then tilts her head just slightly to the side.
“So what’s this bet about?” I ask.
“If you’re single. You don’t wear a ring, you’re dressed nicely, handsome.” I smile as I listen to her continue, “So this may sound silly, but you seem to be a rare breed in London if you are indeed single.”
“Are you asking for you or to win the bet?”
She pauses, then smiles. “Both.”
“What’s at stake?”
“Two hearts and a round of drinks.”
“I’m single, but my heart stayed behind,” I reply before taking a long pull of beer.
She sits upright and taps my forearm. “Are you always this honest?”
“There’s an art to flirting that I’m not very good at. So I err on the side of being direct.”
Amused, she giggles, then looks briefly back to her friends who are staring at us. “Honesty can be called a rare breed as well. Are you in London on business or pleasure?”
“Was it for business or pleasure when you bet on me?”
“Touché.” Adjusting to sit back, making herself more comfortable, she says, “I’ve been rude. My name is Louise. No jokes please,” she says, holding her hands up in surrender. “It’s a family name.”
“I would never mock someone’s name.” A small, but genuine smile shows she believes me. I offer, “Would you like a drink?”
“Yes. A beer would be lovely.”
I get the waitress’s attention and order a pitcher and two glasses.
When we’re alone again, Louise says, “To answer your question, both.”
“So I’m both business and pleasure to you?”
With a laugh, she replies, “I take bets very seriously.”
“So what do I have to do for you to win?”
“Kiss me.”
I do a double take. “Just like that. You walk over here and kiss a single, non ring wearing, nicely dressed, handsome, but total stranger and you win?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” I say, moving cl
oser. We look into each other’s eyes and I touch her cheek. Her breath shortens and the smile is gone. When I get even closer, her eyes close and I close mine, leaning in. Just before our lips meet, I reopen my eyes and slide back abruptly. “I’m sorry.” I gulp. “I can’t kiss you.” I refuse to betray Jules like she did me.
“You really did leave your heart with someone else.” She looks stunned. I’m sure this is a first for her.
“I did. As for the bet, your group’s drinks are on me tonight. I’ll make sure the waitress knows.”
Staring at me a moment longer, I expect a comment rooted from her rejection. But instead, she collects herself and says, “She’s a lucky girl.” Standing up, she adds, “Thank you for the drinks.”
“You’re welcome. Have a good night.”
Minutes later, I pay my tab and set up Louise and her friend’s drinks to be added later, and leave. When I walk into my apartment, I head straight for the shower. As the water pummels down on me, I mentally reprimand myself for being an idiot. I had a beautiful woman hitting on me, making it pretty damn obvious that she was into me, and I think of Jules.
“Turn over.” Not asking.
Jules lifts up, her eyes locked on mine, the devil inside them. She likes when I fuck her from behind. I like it, so we both move swiftly. Her long, dark hair drapes over her shoulders revealing the curve of her neck and the enticing line of her back. I push into her, my eyes closing as I let her engulf me body and soul.
This feeling of ecstasy wraps my mind up in all that’s her—her hazel eyes that brighten when she sees me, her hair as it tumbles from a style that kept it confined all night, and the way she likes to pleasure me first, then comes when I do. We’re great together and I think about attaching myself to her more than sexually. I want her, all of her as my own, wanting to possess her in ways I’ve never felt before.
As I dry off, I realize I’m fucked up. She has my insides twisted and my mind conflicted. After putting on a pair of boxers, I climb into bed and pick up my phone to look at pictures and check for texts. A missed call takes me by surprise, a voicemail beeping to be heard. After taking a jagged, deep breath, I listen to the message Jules left, “Austin, please call me.”
It takes me another week before I finally do.
WHEN I SEE Austin’s name flash on my phone screen, I answer quickly, “Hello?”
“Hi. It’s me.”
I get up immediately and shut my office door. A bit nervous, I say, whispering, “Austin, I’m so sorry.” I try to stop the tremble in my voice. “I want to see you. Where are you?”
“I’m still in London.”
Disappointment fills me. Trying to regain my composure, I ask, “How are you?”
There’s a short pause, then he says, “I’m okay. Maybe not as good as I should be.”
I gulp from hearing his voice. It’s deep, somewhat withdrawn. Not the voice I know at all, but I’ll happily take what I can get. “Me either, but I guess I deserve it.”
“Sometimes I wonder what we deserve and who decides. Just something I’ve been thinking about lately.”
“Yeah, do we choose our own fate or it is predetermined?”
“I get mad at myself for missing you, Jules.” His confession hurts my heart when it should make me feel good.
“I’m mad at myself for so much more.”
I hear him sigh into the receiver, making me remember how his breath felt against my skin. He whispers, “Why did you call?”
“I couldn’t stop myself any longer.”
“Are you dating Dylan?”
“No.”
“Do you want to?” he asks.
“No.”
“What do you want, Jules?”
“You. I want you.” I ask, “Are we still a possibility?”
“I don’t know anymore. Seems like I went into everything so blindly before, so stupid, too fast.”
“You weren’t stupid. I let you down, hurt you when you only deserved to be loved.”
He interrupts, “You lied to me. You broke my trust. I don’t even know if you really loved me.”
His voice is clipped, making me feel desperate to hold onto him if only for a few more minutes.“I did. I still do. I’m so sorry, Austin. I can’t get back what we had, but I can make promises for any future you might give us.”
I hear him shuffle on his end before he says, “I don’t want any more promises. I’m coming home tomorrow, maybe we can talk.”
“Austin?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. That makes you grateful to me and I’m not sure if there’s anything to be grateful for yet.”
I lick my lips, dragging this conversation out, not wanting to hang up, then say, “I’ll see you when you get back.”
“Take care, okay?”
“You too.” He hangs up and I’m left holding the phone to my ear a moment longer, caught up in the fact that he called at all and hoping he calls me again. I have to put my trust in him, something I didn’t do before. I’ve learned my lesson.
It’s another four days before I hear from Austin again. Only one before I hear from Dylan asking me to meet him. I refuse the invite. After figuring out that I’m in love with Austin, I’m not wasting any more time or emotion on Dylan. He had his chance years ago and chose someone else. Now’s the time for me to prove that I choose Austin. I need to treat him the way I should have all along.
When Austin asks me to meet him on a Saturday afternoon at Strawberry Fields in Central Park, I go without question. I can only guess at the underlying message of this location. I don’t see him when I arrive, so I sit down on a hill nearby and watch the tourists taking pictures and leaving memorabilia and flowers on the Imagine design. When I see a man sitting next to me, I know it’s Austin without even looking. He says, “Just for a minute, imagine if you had loved me like I imagined you did. Imagine if your ex had not come back. Imagine if you hadn’t kissed him and we were living together. We’re not though, so what does your life look like now?”
“Imagine a life that feels emptier than it did before, as if that’s even possible. Imagine looking up at night and seeing stars that used to shine because you knew they shined for love. Imagine that love is that powerful.” I turn to him. “I was wrong. Love isn’t powerful. Love is everything. You’re everything to me, Austin.”
“Do you love him?”
“No, but I did. I loved him in a way that I used to think we couldn’t live without each other. You know what? I did live. I survived. It may not have been a pretty life with its sharp angles and my sharp edges, but you saw beyond all that. You softened my corners and made me a better version of myself.”
He faces forward, wrapping his arms around his legs and watching all the people wandering around the monument. “It took three years to get you to say yes, and sometimes I wonder if I was blind to the obvious all those years. The night we met… was that the night you and Dylan broke up?”
Shifting, I turn and whisper, “Yes.”
“All the signs were there, but I saw past your walls—”
“You saw who I was, through the pain, over the walls, and gave me the benefit of the doubt. You saw who I wanted to be.”
His hand slides over, his fingers wrapping around mine, and he says, “Maybe…” He pulls his hand away and stands. “Thanks for meeting me. I’m gonna go now.”
“What?” I stand. “Austin, please. Don’t go.”
“You’ve given me a lot to think about, Jules.” He can’t seem to look at me, which feels more like a stab to the heart than an avoidance. “Take care.”
“You’re just walking away?”
“Yes. I am.”
I want to yell, ‘Just like Dylan,’ but I hold my tongue, turn away instead and start walking in the opposite direction. When I reach the sidewalk, I look back. He’s gone. I’ve wounded him deeper than I realized and it makes me question if I’m good enough for him. Referencing our talk about deserving, makes
me want Austin to have someone who’s deserving of him. And that might not be me.
Taking the scenic route leads me to the gallery instead of home. I go inside. It’s during business hours, so I don’t need my keys. I walk into my office and see the vase that Dylan gave me. It’s such a great representation of our relationship with the mess of colors fading into the other without boundaries. I pick it up and take it to the back. After finding a box, I pack it up; making sure it’s protected inside. Within minutes, it’s sealed shut, addressed to Dylan’s office, and labeled for FedEx pickup on Monday.
The tightening in my chest loosens, my lungs getting much needed air. When I sit behind my desk I feel freer already. It’s Saturday, and I don’t want to be working. That’s a first in years. I push back and leave, deciding to walk home. There’s a quickness in my step, an excitement that feels new. It may seem odd when I’ve freed myself from one man and lost the other, but maybe I should be alone.
Austin loves me. I know he does. He just can’t be with me now. I think I finally understand why. We have to do the work, get to know each other on a deeper level, before we come together again. I want to know his history and what made him the man he is today. I don’t know any of that. I only know what he’s shown me and vice versa. How we got as far as we did surprises me now. With his constant traveling and me burying myself at the gallery, we seem to have missed a few steps along the way.
I hurry home and climb the stairs by two, then knock on Brandon’s door. When he doesn’t answer, I use my key and let myself in. “Brandon?”
There’s silence, then I’m given a delayed answer, “Jules? I’ll be right out.”
I help myself to a glass of water. Seeing my vitamins on his counter is another reminder of the changes I need to make. I take the two bottles and toss them in the trash, then head to the spare bedroom. Opening the closet door, I grab my robe and the clothes I’ve left over here. When I walk out, I run right into Brandon.