by Kira Blakely
I look at the counter, frowning. I did not think of that. Come to think of it, he did seem a little hurt yesterday when I talked to him.
“But he’s not my boyfriend, so it’s not a break-up,” I reason defensively.
“Forget the labels. It’s the feelings that are important.” Marjorie sits on the stool across me. “You had something good going on. You were both attracted to each other. And you just nipped that in the bud and burned what was left.”
“Wow.” I look at her in disbelief. “I was that big of a bitch, huh?”
And here I thought I did what was best.
“Trust me. He’s hurting.” Marjorie places her hands on the counter. “And when people are hurt, they want to be alone. I know I did. When I found out Jack didn’t want to marry me, that he no longer wanted me just because I was pregnant – and with his child no less – I ran away. I felt like the whole world was against me, you know, like no one would understand.”
I nod. “I think my mother did the same thing.”
“She was a single mom, too?”
“Not for long. But yeah, she started out the same way. I never knew my father.”
Marjorie sighs. “Some men just don’t care about anyone but themselves.”
“Believe me. I know.”
“But you know what?” She reaches for my hand. “The fact that Grant is hurting means he cares about you, maybe more than you know.”
It does?
“And you know what else?” Marjorie points a finger at me as she gets off the stool. “The fact that you feel guilty means you care about him, too, probably just as much. Heck, you might even be in love with him.”
In love?
No way. Well, I wouldn’t know because I’ve never been in love, but I’m pretty sure that’s not what I feel right now. Yes, I slept with Grant, but so have other women. Plus, I don’t do relationships. I can’t be in love.
As for the guilt, fine, I admit it. I feel guilty just as much as I feel annoyed at being left behind. In fact, I stayed up last night wondering if what I did to Grant was right. I thought it was. I thought he’d be fine with it. I’m sure he’s been through a lot of one-night stands. I didn’t expect him to be mad. Or hurt.
So, what? I should apologize? But if I do, then I’ll be telling him it’s okay for us to pick up where we left off, and I’m still not sure it is.
“It doesn’t matter how I feel. Grant is my boss.”
Marjorie lifts an eyebrow. “Is that really the problem? Or is there a bigger problem?”
I frown. Marjorie is a year younger than me, but sometimes, I feel like she’s decades older, wiser. Maybe it’s because she’s already a mother.
I rest my cheek on the counter again. “Why does everything have to be so complicated?”
“It’s not, really. Sometimes, it’s just you – you trying to make sense of things that don’t, you trying to control things you can’t, you trying to be something you’re not.”
I sigh. “You know what? Maybe you should have been a shrink or something.”
“But if I was, I wouldn’t be able to make things like this.” She puts a bowl of what looks like raspberry sorbet with chocolate shavings in front of me. “And believe me, good food is sometimes the best therapy.”
“I agree.” I pick up the spoon and taste the sorbet. “Mmm. This is heavenly.”
Marjorie smiles. “Something to forget the hell you’re going through, right?”
I take another spoonful, squeezing my shoulders at the decadent taste. “You’re an angel.”
Just then, my phone rings. Thinking it might be Grant, I quickly pick it up, only to be puzzled by the unknown number on the screen.
Who can it be?
“Hello,” I say as I press the phone to my ear. “Abigail Gomez speaking.”
“Ms. Gomez, this is Harry Jenkins, Mr. Herbert’s lawyer. We spoke just a few days ago.”
“Right.” I get off the stool. “I remember. What can I do for you, Mr. Jenkins?”
“Actually, I’ve sent you some important documents,” he says. “I’d appreciate it if you had Mr. Herbert sign them and then send them back to me right away.”
“Right away?”
“Yes. They were already supposed to be signed, but I guess he forgot. I need to them get his company listed and make sure everything is legal.”
I nod. “I understand. He’s on a business trip right now, but I’ll do my best to get a hold of him.”
“I appreciate it.”
He hangs up and I sit back on the stool, rubbing my temples.
“Something else wrong?” Marjorie asks from behind me.
“I have to talk to Grant.”
“Then do it. You talked your way into this trouble. You can talk your way out of it.”
“That’s not why I need to talk to him. I just spoke with his lawyer and he needs to sign some papers.”
“Well, there’s no reason why you can’t talk about a lot of things in one call,” Marjorie says.
I say nothing. Given the circumstances, I know I have things to say to Grant but I just don’t know what or how. I’m not even sure if he will listen.
He’ll want to know about those papers, though.
I start typing a message on my phone, deleting the first few letters several times before finally composing a few sentences.
I hope your trip is going well. Let me know when I can call you. I need to relay a message from Mr. Jenkins, your lawyer. He said it’s urgent. Thank you.
Afterward, I press send then put down my phone, taking a deep breath.
I don’t know where he is but I sure hope he gets my message.
And I sure hope he’s all right.
Chapter 6
Grant
“All right, all right. I’ll leave.”
The woman with the black hair and red lipstick whose name I can no longer remember zips up her blouse, grabs the cash I’ve thrown on the bed and leaves, her black boots stomping out of the hotel room and down the corridor.
I close the door then slump in an oversized armchair, letting out an exasperated breath. Moments later, Roger enters.
“I must say, I think you’re losing it,” Roger says, sitting in the other oversized armchair. “That’s the second woman you’ve slept with who isn’t happy about it.”
I frown. “I didn’t sleep with her.”
“Oh.”
Not that I didn’t think of it. I planned on it, in fact. That’s why I picked her up at a bar in downtown Los Angeles and brought her here to my hotel room. We were about to do it, too. Heaven knows she was wanting and ready.
The problem was me. Even though I was with another woman, I couldn’t stop thinking of the one I had left back at home – Abby.
And I thought I could. I picked a woman with the same black hair she had, the same heart-shaped face. But no. She still wasn’t Abby. Not even close.
And all I want is Abby.
Just the thought of Abby is enough to make my cock hard whereas the sight of that woman’s bare breasts couldn’t even cause the slightest buzz in my crotch.
It’s strange, really. In the past, I’ve always been able to move on from one woman to another without ever looking back. It’s usually as easy to me as going from one pair of shoes to the next. And yet, I can’t seem to do that now. I can’t seem to shake off Abby even though I’ve already slept with her, even though she was the one who asked me to forget her.
Or maybe that’s why. No woman has ever asked me to forget her before. On the contrary, they’ve begged me to call them, to remember them. They always beg for more. But Abby just slammed the door in my face, saying she doesn’t want anything more to do with me on a personal level.
For once in my life, I’ve been rejected.
And it feels like fucking shit.
“Abby is something else, isn’t she?” Roger says, pouring himself some whiskey. “I knew she was a strong woman but I didn’t think she’d actually push you away. And right after you
fucked her, too.”
“And to think she was the one who asked me to.” I run my fingers through my hair. “She teased me. She reeled me in. She let me in. And then she threw me out.”
Roger chuckles, lifting his glass. “Sounds to me like she beat you at your own game.”
Frowning, I swipe the glass away from him.
“Hey!”
I ignore him as I bring the glass to my lips and gulp down its contents, hoping for the warm liquid to wash away some of my frustration but to no avail.
I set down the empty glass. “And here I thought everything was going according to plan.”
“Oh, is that what you’re frustrated about?” Roger pours himself another glass.
“What did you think it was?” I ask him.
“Nothing.” He shrugs. “Maybe it’s just my imagination.”
I say nothing as he drinks.
“Well, if that’s the case, I can’t say I’m sorry she dumped you,” he says after. “She just hurt you before you could hurt her.”
“I’m not hurt,” I tell him, rubbing my temple. “I’m just frustrated.”
“Right.”
“I need her for my plan to work and you–” I point at Roger, “—are not helping.”
“Well, if you want my advice, I’d say all you have to do is try harder.”
“You mean seduce her so she’ll sleep with me another time?” I let out a sigh. “She doesn’t want me anymore, remember? And all because I’m her boss. I can’t believe she wants me to be like Nathan. Nathan doesn’t give a fuck about his employees.”
“At least he didn’t fuck them,” Roger points out.
I glare at him. “Whose side are you on again?”
He pours me another drink. “Anyway, what I’m saying isn’t about fucking or wanting to. That’s the problem with you, you see – either you’re fucking a woman or you want to.”
“It’s never been a problem.”
Roger shakes his head. “Well, clearly, fucking isn’t all Abby wants or thinks about. So you should act the same.”
I’m feeling more confused. “You’re telling me not to want her.”
“I’m telling you there should be more than just sexual attraction.” He hands me the glass. “I’m telling you to try harder in a non-sexual way. Open up. Let her in.”
I grimace as I drink, the words even more bitter than the alcohol.
There’s a reason why I seduce women physically – I know I’m good at it. What Roger is suggesting is untried strategy, uncharted territory.
“I’ve never done that before.”
“Ah, but you almost did,” Roger reminds me.
I know exactly who he’s referring to – Lindsey, the very woman who is the root of my current problems.
“If you had only allowed her to get close to you instead of just dropping her like a hot potato, I bet you wouldn’t have to go through all this trouble now just to get her name on those apps,” Roger goes on.
I gulp down the rest of my drink. I hate to admit it, but he’s right – well, not the part where I should have allowed Lindsey to come close but the part where I got myself into this shit. Not too many of my mistakes have come back to bite me, but this one surely has. Who would have thought that shy Lindsey would end up becoming such a successful psychologist, author, and businesswoman – a role model and inspiration for all women, the very kind of woman whose app other women would like to buy?
“I can’t turn back time.” I hand the glass back to Roger.
“I’m not asking you to.” Roger puts the glass on the table. “What I’m saying is that you have a chance to learn from your mistake with an equally beautiful, strong woman. So, learn. Do better. Do what you didn’t do last time. After all, isn’t that what Lindsey wants? To know you’ve changed?”
I don’t answer.
“Listen, Grant. Abby won’t let you in unless you let her in. You say she backed down because you’re her boss. Then make her see you as a man. And no, taking off your clothes won’t achieve that.”
“And you’re sure that if I open up to her, she’ll fall for me completely?”
“No.” Roger sits back, putting his feet up on a stool as he places his arms behind his head. “But that’s a risk you’ll have to take if you want her, Lindsey Holland, and the success of your company. Either that, or just give everything up.”
I frown. So it’s all or nothing, huh? I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all, maybe as much as I don’t like the idea of baring my soul to a woman I hardly know.
True, I want Abby and I need her so that I can get Lindsey’s signature and all the profits that come with it, but am I willing to sacrifice my personal beliefs for that? Am I willing to risk losing myself?
It’s the toughest choice I’ve ever had to make.
Still frowning, I get out of the chair and walk to the closet, taking out my backpack.
“What are you doing?” Roger asks, sitting up. “Where are you going?”
I put my backpack on. “Where I usually go to think.”
***
I’ve always loved the outdoors.
I love the cool air and the feel of the ground beneath my feet. I love the sights – the leaves with their different shades of green, the brown tree trunks, the golden sunlight filtering through them, the colorful wildflowers and butterflies in the meadows and the dark tapestry of stars at night. I love the sounds – the blades of grass rustling in the breeze, the babbling brooks, the concert of animals, big and small – and the occasional silence. I even love the smell of the earth and that of the rain. All together, they create this perfect treat that serves as a respite for the lonely soul, a refreshment for the troubled mind, and a reinvigorating therapy for the weary body.
It’s just what I need.
Indeed, as I sit on a rock surrounded by trees off the beaten path to drink some water from my bottle and splash some of the rest against my sweat-drenched shirt, I already feel more at ease. Here, I can get away from all the noise and chaos of the world.
I feel like a boy again, a boy who has just sneaked out from under his governess’ nose to skip his lessons and climb trees instead, ending up with torn, dirty clothes, scraped knees and a few beatings from the cane but still feeling ridiculously happy. I feel like that boy with his blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a superhero’s cape who stole sweets from the kitchen after bedtime, to have a picnic under the stars but ends up falling asleep and catching a cold. I feel like that boy who jumped in muddy puddles in the rain, who rolled in the bed of leaves in the fall, who waded through the snow in winter.
Oh, how I wish I was still that boy.
But I’m not. I’m a man now. And I didn’t come here to the woods to play. I came here to rest, to sort my thoughts, and to escape from my worries just long enough to be able to come up with a way to deal with them.
“What should I do about Abby?”
If only the trees could answer, it would be wonderful. Then again, if they could talk, no one would probably want to come here anymore. I, for one, come to the outdoors not to be told what to do, but so I can find out what I want to do.
What do I want to do about Abby?
I don’t know. All I can think of is what I want to do to her.
I want to take Abby in my arms, to kiss her silly, to fuck her hard. I want her blushing, breathless, moaning as I explore her mouth, suck on her breasts, and plunge my fingers inside her hot, dripping sex before burying my hard cock deep inside her. I don’t care whether she’s pinned against a wall, bent over a desk, or shoved down on the carpet with her legs up in the air. I want to pound into her until I collapse, until I’m bathed in sweat and out of breath, until she shudders like she’s going to break into a million pieces and screams my name for all to hear, until I fill her with so much of my warm cum that it trickles down her quivering thighs.
“Fuck.”
Just the thought of that beckons images so vividly inside my mind, making me hard. I have to stop again,
this time leaning against a tree and closing my eyes as I splash what’s left of my bottle of water on myself to calm my body down.
I don’t know what’s more frustrating – the fact that I keep getting a hard-on whenever I think of her, or the thought that I’m not going to get any chance to act on any of my fantasies unless I get her back.
I have to get Abby back.
But like Roger said: In order to get, I have to give.
And I’ve never been much of a giver. Women have always given me what I wanted, some without asking for anything in return, some in exchange for sex. Sure, some of them ask for more sex, but none of them have ever dared to ask more from me.
Except Lindsey.
She told me she loved me, and she wanted me to feel the same way. She asked me to be her boyfriend in all seriousness, and I left her without so much as a goodbye.
As much as I hate to admit it, I was fucking scared.
That’s the same way I feel right now. And just like last time, I feel like running away.
Do what you didn’t do last time.
Except this isn’t like last time. At least last time I knew how Lindsey felt. She made the first move. This time, I’ll be making the first move, and I don’t even have a clue how Abby feels. I have no assurance whatsoever that this will get her back in my arms. Am I really willing to risk everything?
“Fuck!”
I turn around to punch the tree then slide against it as I let out a deep breath of exasperation.
If only Abby could give me a sign.
***
“Grant!”
At the sound of Abby’s voice coming from a distance, I grow still inside my large tent. At first, I think it’s just my imagination – I’ve been thinking about Abby way too much and there’s no way she’d be here. When I hear the voice again, though, I rush out of my tent, my breath catching as I see Abby standing just a few feet away from me.