“Oh I’ll let him explain, all right,” I replied. Let’s see him explain this one away, I thought as I placed my wallet back in its designated place in my purse.
“So, whadda you want to do tonight?” she asked, attempting to change my mood. It worked.
“Dinner and a game of rummy sounds good,” I faked a smile for her.
Judy had taught me to play rummy when we were teenagers. After that first game, which she won, I’d never lost to her again. She hated that, so I teased her after each game I won reminding her she shouldn’t have been such a great teacher.
“Why don’t you call Irish and invite him to dinner and our card game. He’d be here on your turf and you could feel him out about the way he knew your birthday instead of just getting angry at him over the phone.” She was right. Knowing my birthday wasn’t an unforgivable sin, but the way he acquired that information might very well be. I grabbed my phone and punched in his number.
* * *
Dinner was delicious as always. Judy was a much better cook than I. She took the time to plan and follow directions whereas I was less patient and rarely read the step-by-step instructions. And my cooking revealed as much. More times than not, my creations were not edible. Since Auntie had gotten sick, meals were never an issue in North Carolina. Almost every day someone brought platters or casserole dishes filled with everything imaginable. If it happened to be something I didn’t particularly like, I made a sandwich. I’d eaten a lot of them in the last two years. After dinner, Irish helped me with the dishes. I’d almost forgotten I was upset with him, almost. When Judy conveniently disappeared, I planned to talk to Irish and bring up the birthday issue.
“So Irish,” I said, trying at first to avoid those beautiful blue eyes. “How’d you know that my birthday is in ten days?” I looked him straight in the eye, hoping to catch him off guard. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to tell if he was lying, but I was sure going to try. Our eyes met. Damn, how could I be strong, and serious, and as gooey as a marshmallow at the same time? He didn’t look guilty or surprised; in fact, he just turned and went back to drying the dish in his hand.
“I have my ways,” he replied, with little emotion, but his body language was definitely screaming “uncomfortable.”
“Those ways wouldn’t include going through my purse, would they?” I grabbed a handful of silverware and began placing it piece by piece into the drawer. I could feel his stare, so I didn’t look at him.
“I know we don’t know each other that well, Jurnee, but I’d never go through your purse. Do you really think I’d do that?”
I looked at him. His face was sincere; he was visibly hurt. I stared into his face, searching for anything that would tell me I could believe him. He finally broke our stare and turned away.
He tossed the towel on the counter. I watched closely for his next move. Had I insulted him? Was he angry? The silence was heavy. He finally turned slowly around, faced me and leaned on the counter, his arms crossed in front of him. He was serious, staring directly into my eyes. “I did not go through your purse; I can assure you of that. I’d never do that, but….” I hate buts. I could feel my face getting warm. “I haven’t been completely honest with you either,” he continued. “We’ve met before, briefly; but it’s clearly evident you don’t remember. I was at your parents’ funeral with my brother London.” I continued to stare at him with suspicious eyes, and my mouth was probably gaping as wide as the Grand Canyon.
London, why does that name sound so familiar? I thought back to my parents’ burial. I didn’t remember seeing Irish there. Honestly, I couldn’t remember anyone there, other than my aunt and brother. I stared at Irish, waiting for him to continue. What was he trying to tell me? What he was telling me wasn’t making any sense. “So..,” and I watched his arms unfold and he held up his right hand stopping me abruptly.
“I knew you were flying in. I overheard John telling my brother the details and so it wasn’t an accident that I was there.” I couldn’t read the look on his face. My mind was desperately trying to digest his words. As the moments ticked by, I began to feel worse, even more violated than I had when I thought he’d gone through my purse.
“London is my brother’s best friend,” I finally managed to say. He stood there, staring at me, waiting for me to finish putting it all together. “So, you knew who I was this whole time? You knew my name. You knew that I’d be at the airport, and you let me believe you were some do-good stranger?” I could hear my voice getting louder.
His expression turned sheepish. “I wanted to tell you when we stopped for burgers, and I was ready but I guess I was just really having fun being your mysterious admirer, and then I realized I’d let it go on too long.”
I was at a loss. I didn’t have any words to express my feelings. I’d friggin’ made out with him and he’d known who I was the whole time. I turned and walked out to the patio. I reached for a chair, and dragged it behind me to the edge of the cement, turning it toward the sunset. I sat there staring into the sky. What had just happened? I wasn’t sure if I could explain my emotions to myself coherently, let alone to anyone else. Should I feel insulted or flattered? Was it all a wild ambush or a huge compliment? I heard footsteps behind me. Irish was setting a chair down beside me. We were silent. I continued to stare at the sky, lit a cigarette and waited patiently for something, anything logical, to come to me so I could explain to him, rationally, what I was feeling. Absolutely nothing came.
“I’m really sorry I wasn’t honest with you yesterday at the airport. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to start over,” he said in a soft whisper.
I looked into his face. “Why weren’t you?” I stopped when I heard the tone of my voice. I wanted him to be honest with me, but losing my temper wasn’t the way to achieve that.
“Why didn’t you just tell me who you are?” I said, keeping my voice level and calm. He must have thought I was crying because there was a hint of emergency in his voice when he answered me.
“When I realized you didn’t recognize or remember me, I thought maybe it was because I wasn’t your type, and I really, really wanted to get to know you. This may sound stupid, but I’ve thought about you so many times since the funeral.” He took a long breath while I processed what he’d just said.
“And I knew you’d eventually find out who I am on your birthday, so I decided to enjoy being your mysterious gentleman caller until then.” I saw him smile a little.
“Why would I find that out on my birthday?”
“Aw, Jurnee, I can’t tell you that. I’ve said too much already. Please just leave that part alone,” he seemed to be begging.
“Okay, I won’t ask about that, but please just nod your head yes if it has anything to do with my brother.” Reluctantly he nodded. Okay, where do I go with this conversation? He’s opened up to me and is now being honest, I thought. He said he’d thought about me for years. He’d also said I was beautiful and had kissed my chest. I had a dream about this guy that I couldn’t get out of my head. Looking at him now, with all that’d happened within forty-eight hours, did I really want to, as he’d said, start over? Yes, yes I really did.
From the kitchen I heard Judy yell, “Does anyone want a glass of wine?”
“I do,” I said, getting out of my chair. “Do you want anything, Irish?”
“No thanks, I’ll be driving,” he said, looking up at me.
“Well if you’re up for it, I think we’re still planning to play rummy,” I reminded him. “One glass wouldn’t hurt, would it?”
“Jurnee thanks, but I’m not a big drinker. I tend to lose my inhibitions and can usually be talked into things I wouldn’t ordinarily do. Maybe we should wait awhile before you see that side of me. I really want to start over, remember?” I stared at him in total confusion.
“Okay, but now I’m curious about what that really means,” and I narrowed my eyes.
He winked at me. I smiled back and walked toward the kitchen.
Judy was s
tanding out of Irish’s view, holding a glass of wine in each hand. In a whisper she asked, “So, did he go through your purse?”
I took a glass from her hand and whispered back, “No, it’s even better than that.” I gave her my famous, I’ll-tell-you-later head bob and loudly asked her, “Are you ready to get your butt beaten in rummy?” I was sure Irish had heard me. She caught on quickly, rolled her eyes and slapped my shoulder. I knew it was killing her not to know. Hell, it was killing me not to tell.
Out of five hands, Judy won two and Irish two. I could’ve played better but my mind kept wandering back to things that Irish had told me. After the fifth hand, I caught Judy looking at the clock. It was eleven-thirty and I knew she must be tired; I knew I was.
She stood up, lifted her wine glass and said, “Well you two can battle it out next game. I’m going to bed.”
Irish stood up and thanked her for dinner; she was gone before he’d sat back down.
“Do you want to play another game or are you rummied out too?” I reached for my glass, waiting for his response. His blue eyes pierced mine.
“I’d really like to talk some more, if it’s all right with you? I want to leave here tonight knowing everything’s okay between us. Then I’ll let you get to bed.” He was serious and sincere. I hesitated with my reply for a long moment, using the opportunity to take in his handsome face. He didn’t seem to mind.
“Okay, I’m going to get another glass of wine and I’ll meet you out on the patio. Are you sure you don’t want anything?”
“No, I’m fine, thanks.”
You’re fine all right, I thought and headed for the kitchen. I’d been gone only two minutes but when I stepped onto the patio, Irish wasn’t there. I set my wine glass down and went to the sofa where I’d left him. No Irish. I was on my way to check the bathroom when I heard a faint knocking on the front door. Confused, I slowly and quietly opened the door. Irish was standing on the doormat smiling.
Before I could say anything, he said in a whisper, “Hello, I’m Irish. You must be Jurnee. You probably don’t remember me, but we met several years ago, and I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since then. I know it’s really late to be calling on a young lady, but I was hoping we could chat awhile. I’d really like to get to know you,” he grinned. I tugged at his shirt and pulled him into the house.
We sat on the patio for a long time, just staring at the sky. I’m really glad he’s here, I thought. “I’m sorry I didn’t remember you Irish, but it was really an emotional time for me,” I admitted. Neither of us moved.
Finally he said, in just above a whisper, “I know.”
“I’d really like to start over,” and I turned to look at him. “But I’d also like to know what you knew about me before we met yesterday.” I watched his expression turn serious. I could tell he was really going to make this a fresh start.
“All right, most of my information obviously came from your brother. He was at our house a lot after your parent’s funeral, and I overheard them talk about a lot of different things. But whenever he talked about you or your parents or your aunt, I sometimes asked him questions, and he’d answer them.” He looked into my eyes.
“I wasn’t joking when I told you I’d thought about you more than a guy should ever admit to. But I really have. At first I thought it was because of how sad you looked at the funeral, but whenever I thought about you, it wasn’t you looking sad. It was you looking hot,” he blurted out. I suppressed a smile that was just begging to slither across my face.
He smiled at me and continued, “You know, John thinks that you...” and he seemed a little uncomfortable. “Well, he thinks that you don’t like him.” I nodded, encouraging him to continue. I personally believed it was the other way around with John, but at this point I wanted Irish to get to the good stuff.
“I also think he’s really proud of you and has felt guilty that you’ve been so far away with your aunt, and he hasn’t done anything to help.” Even though I heard everything Irish had said, my mind was stuck on the really-proud-of-you part.
“John said he was really proud of me?” I had to ask.
“Yes, he’s said it several times.” Wow, I wished I could’ve heard him say that just once.
Irish turned his body around in his chair until he was leaning toward me and said, “I also know that your full name is Jurnee Ciara Sampson, you’re twenty-four, but will be twenty-five in ten days. Well nine days now. You’re going to have a big party.”
My eyes grew huge and my mouth flew open, “What party?”
He quickly raised his eyebrows and did some fancy back pedaling before I realized he was even doing it. “Whew…can we just rewind back to what I was saying before I mentioned the party?” I closed my eyes and shook my head.
“Okay, sure. Keep going,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm.
“You’ve had a couple boyfriends, but you’ve always dumped them when the relationship got serious,” and now I sensed an uncertainty in his voice.
That had to have come from John. Irish didn’t know anyone I’d dated. I doubted John even knew the color of my eyes. What a jerk. “So did John send you to help his poor pathetic sister?” I was serious, but I threw in a laugh to keep him on track.
“No, he didn’t know I was going to meet you,” he admitted.
I guessed he was finished with his big reveal because he turned, looking up at the sky.
“Hmm, so you thought you’d go meet your brother’s best friend’s younger sister at the airport, take her somewhere, and sex her up?” I kept my eyes straight ahead, but I could feel the wind from Irish’s head whipping around to look at me. I wanted to turn and look at the expression on his face, but I didn’t.
“You’re the one who started it yesterday. I was only trying to give you a light.”
I looked at him and grinned, “I know, Irish, I’m just messing with you. Really, it was all in good fun.” His eyes narrowed and he shook his head but he didn’t smile. It was getting late, and I was feeling exhausted. I leaned over my chair and whispered softly and seductively in his ear, “It’s getting late, and unless you want to finish what I started yesterday, I think you’d better go.” The look on his face was priceless. I wanted to giggle but I stayed straight-faced. I stood up, and so did he. I took his hand and headed for the front door. He followed willingly. Standing outside the door, I hesitated for a moment, looked into those blue eyes and pressed my body close to his. He gently leaned in, kissing me. His lips left my mouth and began slowly traveling up my neck. I didn’t realize I was doing it but Irish caught me with my eyes closed, smiling.
“What’re you smiling about?” he asked, releasing his sweet breath into my ear.
“I’m smiling because this feels really good. And because I’m afraid if you don’t leave right now, I’m going to tie you up and drag you into my room and for sure finish what I started yesterday.” I grinned to myself just for having that thought, never mind sharing. He pulled me close and wrapped his arms around me. My hands worked their way around his waist and I gave him a tight, I-don’t-ever-want-to-let-you-go squeeze. After a long minute, he gently pushed me and leaned his chest out away from mine.
Looking at me with sweetness in his eyes he said, “See Jurnee, we can do this,” and he gave me that wonderful Irish smile I liked so much. I buried my face in his chest.
“So, this starting over means you don’t want to finish what we started on the patio yesterday?” I held my eyes tightly closed my head firm on his chest as I waited for his answer. I felt him hug my whole body before softly pushing me away.
He planted a soft, sweet kiss on my forehead. With a sexy, smug expression he said,
“Oh I very much want to finish what we started yesterday. Don’t you worry your little cotton panties about that. But I’m going to get it right this time; we’re starting over, remember?” I felt my heart flutter, I loved hearing those words; and then I felt a disappointing chill run through me when he suddenly released his
embrace. He turned and left me standing at the door. I watched him drive away.
Chapter Four
Yes, it’s Sunday, I thought, as I opened my eyes to the glorious sunlight shining through my bedroom window. Sundays were reserved for our traditional bonfires at Fiesta Island. Every Sunday I was in California on vacation, we’d had a girls-only bonfire. All the ladies in our pack,as Judy and I called it, celebrated with wine, chocolate, and fire. Men were our main conversation topic, but collectively, we’d deny it if ever asked.
I could hear Judy in the shower, so I lay in my bed stretching and wiggling myself awake. No dreams last night. That truly was a bummer.
I finally rolled my butt out of bed and headed for the kitchen. I heard the water in the shower stop, so I knew Judy would be out soon. The coffee pot was still on so she must not have been up long. I poured myself a cup of coffee and opened the refrigerator looking for the whipped cream. Judy knew I love it in my coffee, so I could always count on some being in there, especially for me. Standing at the counter, coffee in hand, I heard my phone beep. I could barely hear it. Where did I leave it? I gave the room a quick once-over, and then went to the glass slider.
I spotted it on the patio table. Way ta’ go, Jurnee, I said to myself. Setting my cup down, I plopped into a chair and picked up my phone.
I had four messages.
First message, three am: Just wanted to thank you for a wonderful evening.
Second message, five am: I know you’re sleeping but I can’t stop thinking about you.
Third message, seven am: I’d really like to take you somewhere today.
Fourth message, seven-forty-five in the morning: Please call me when you get this message.
When had this guy slept? I looked at my phone: eight-o-five. I punched in his number.
One ring, two rings, “Hello, this is Irish.”
I sat there a second and listened to his soothing voice.
“Hello, Jurnee?” he asked.
I Made You My First Page 4