"Speaking of, um, promises and trust, what were you doing last night? I tried to phone you a few times.”
“I was . . ." I tried to disguise my nervousness. "At the beach with friends.”
“Uh-huh.” He didn’t question me, but without saying another word, he let me know—he knew. “So, I’ll call you tomorrow to see how your visit went with our vets. What are you doing now?”
“I’m having dinner at the Cliff House."
“With your family?”
“By myself.”
“Oh, Nicky . . ."
"I'm okay."
"Picturing you by yourself in that big restaurant is . . . sad. I wish I could be there to take you in my arms. I can see you sitting alone, the same way as you do at the ballpark when your teammates leave you. You’re at those big windows; the ocean is pulsing with life, crashing and calling to you as you write your thoughts.” His voice was soft. “Your beautiful long hair has fallen around your shoulders. I'll bet your green eyes are sparkling. I can see them beckoning to me."
"After today, I'm certain they're sparkling just for you." Whoa! Hold back, Nick. Don't reveal so much.
"I hope that's true. If I were there, do you know what I’d do?"
"Hmm?" I'm afraid to ask.
"I'd look into those beautiful eyes, caress your head and kiss your cheeks. We'd sip our coffee and share a decadent dessert. I wouldn't care who was listening or watching as I kissed you. Would you sit there with me when I get back from my road trip?”
"I'll sit anywhere with you." A large wave crashed on shore. What am I saying?
From the time Ryan had come into the outfield to introduce himself, my dam had been cracking open. Now, even the road under my feet started to crumble.
“Don’t stay there for too long, sweetness. I hate that you're sitting by yourself.”
“It’s really not like that. After all of my meetings today, I just wanted to gather my thoughts.”
“Have you written a lot?” Ryan asked.
“Oh, yeah! I’ve been writing, eating, writing, and eating some more. You should see my plate—crab, prawns, and salad, all piled high so I can sit here a few hours.”
“I'm sitting next to you."
"Mmm."
"My hand just covered yours."
"I feel you." I played along.
"My thumb rubs your arm."
"Nice."
"I'm sitting quietly at your side while you write, as long as you need me to stay with you. I'm over my head appreciating the beautiful, giving woman next to me.”
“I wish you really were here, Ryan."
"Me, too."
"Truthfully, I do enjoy the quiet. I don’t get as much time alone as I’d like. That’s why I was behind the centerfield fence last year when I accidently heard you and Kevin talking. I needed to be by myself like I am now.”
“I want to help with the noises in your head.”
“It’s not easy letting those go,” I cautioned.
“We'll work on it together. Good night, sweet lady.”
“Ryan?”
“Uh-huh?”
“When you get home, I want us to know each other better before we have sex."
"Where did that come from?"
"I know you’re probably dying to have it. Can you wait for me, please?” I was nervous and afraid of his answer, certain by the next call or the one after that, I'd listen to his apology for leading me on. I just knew he'd admit to me he'd met someone else—and with that someone he could be himself.
“Of course, I’ll wait—"
“I feel you’re expecting us to go there when you get back, especially when you say you’re not partying or seeing other women,” I interrupted. “Sex is way too complicated for me right now. I need some time before I add it to my life.”
“Do you mean sex in general or . . .” He let me finish his sentence.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “Penetration, I guess.”
“The full Monty?" he laughed gently.
"God, Ryan." I returned the giggle.
"Don't worry, sweetness. Trust me when I say there are volumes written about enjoying each other’s body in a gradual way until we’re both comfortable. Do you feel more at ease about me now?”
“Yes, I do.” I said. “I know I’m a pain in the ass. I'm sorry.”
“I can’t wait to hear your voice again. Goodnight for now.”
“Goodnight, my Ryan. You’re a very special man.”
“Your special man.” His tone was strong and made me feel as if I belonged with him.
“Yes, my special man. Thanks for saying that.”
“Until tomorrow, then. Can't wait to hear about Yountville.”
I stayed at the Cliff House until the fog rolled in and gulped the sea into its throat. The water vanished from my view.
The day turned gray.
Mist covered the big windows.
My exploration of Ryan Tilton’s sphere of influence and the beauty of that Friday, ended.
But as I left the restaurant, I felt it was our beginning.
Chapter 7
What is the Definition of Home?
Strange didn’t begin to describe how I felt when I pulled up to Ryan’s apartment building.
The doorman rushed over to the car, ready to motion me away. Judging by his expression, I knew he didn’t think I belonged there. As he came closer, I saw wore black slacks and a navy blue jacket with the emblem, "Bayside Residences" sewn onto the breast pocket. I focused on his big brown eyes, thick eyelashes, beautiful brown skin and full lips.
“Excuse me—” His tone was firm and ready to direct me to move along.
“Hi, my name is Nicky Young." I rolled down the passenger window. "I’m a friend of one of your residents, Ryan Tilton."
"I happen to know he's—"
"Yes, I know he's not home, but he left a package for me. I'm supposed to pick up and take it with me when I go to Yountville tomorrow. Ross has it.”
“One moment." He put up one finger as if pausing time. "Could you pull up just a bit?” He pointed to the next parking space and then hurried inside.
I parked after rolling forward fifteen feet and I got out of the car. While I waited, I noted some the details of where Ryan lived. It was one of the newer developments in San Francisco—modern, sleek, a few dozen floors, and covered in glass that shimmered from top to bottom. Across from one of the small harbors along the embarcadero, it was built on a corner of Chestnut Street, one of the glamorous areas of the Marina district.
Contrasting to the shine of the outside of the building, were the soft beiges, lavenders, and other earthy colors of the lobby. Inscribed on a bronze plaque and bolted to the olive green stuccoed front wall, were the same words as on the curb attendant's blazer, “Bayside Residences.”
A large B and an R was fixed stylishly above the doors, the way a professional designer would draw up a brand or logo. I could see a welcoming interior through the glass doors. A desk with a concierge plaque sitting on its top was on the right side of the entry while an attendant of some sort was at a desk on the left. Chairs and sofas covered in chocolate brown upholstery with olive green and lavender accessory pillows dotted the lobby and sat on pastel pink rugs. Several men and women sat about the room socializing.
A red-haired, middle-aged man of average height stepped out to greet me. He wore the same blazer as the doorman and had two large boxes loaded on a dolly.
“I’m Ross.” He extended one hand while holding the dolly's handle with the other. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Young. You made it with a half-hour to spare," he laughed and then looked at his watch.
"Nice to meet you as well, Ross. I'm sorry, I lost track of time having dinner. Did I inconvenience you?"
"Not at all. Shall we load these in the back?"
“Those are what Ryan wants me to take to Yountville?”
“Yep, these are the ones. Naveed, help me with these, please?" He shouted to the young man who had first hurried to the car.
“My God, that’s a lot of something!" I opened the back hatch.
“They’re autographed jerseys from the entire Goliaths team.” The young doorman said, while lifting each box and sliding them into the back of the car. I immediately understood the order of authority. Ross was in charge.
“Oh, he's so . . ." I closed the door. “They’ll be so happy!” Did I just shout? Calm down, Nicky.
“He does this all the time,” Naveed said in a charming Pakistani accent. Instead of my original judgment assuming he'd reacted quickly because I didn't belong, I could see he was protective of the residents. I wondered if he'd had any personal encounters he could share about the man I was falling in love with.
“Thanks for your help, Naveed.” I offered my hand.
"Nice to meet you." After shutting the hatch, I also shook hands with Ross.
“The feeling's mutual." Ross set the dolly on the sidewalk. "Take it inside and put it in the closet, please."
Naveed hurried inside with it.
"I'm so pleased to meet a friend of Mr. Tilton's." Ross buttoned his jacket and Naveed stood by the door. "Will we see you again?”
“I hope so.” I got in the car. "Your resident is making it difficult for me to stay away." Both men laughed. I waved to them and drove home.
When I walked in my front door, my parents were in the living room, watching TV.
What a difference in the way I felt.
For the first time in years, instead of feeling dread when I opened the door, I felt excitement, joy, the anticipation of seeing my family, and being present rather than looking to the future.
Having new choices and the knowledge of my father having an opportunity to be taken care of by Misters Freeman and Tremmel was like a fifty-pound weight had been lifted from my shoulders.
My house had been empty on so many evenings like this one—realistically and metaphorically. For years I came home from school, took the key from the chain I wore around my neck, or from a rock hidden in the yard.
I'd turn the doorknob and flip on all the lights to make it seem like everyone was home. Sometimes I even turned on the TV downstairs. I made several snacks and carried them with my backpack upstairs to my room, and tackled my homework alone.
Food became the friends I relied on day after day. A bag of salty chips or chocolate chip cookies, two peanut butter sandwiches, a bowl of ice cream or a few candy bars . . . they were my company, and sometimes I downed them all in one afternoon.
Tonight was different; a very sober father and an attentive mother seemed to be waiting—for me.
Uh-oh!
“Hey,” I nodded to my parents. "How's it going?"
“Where have you been all day?” Dad put down his newspaper.
If only I could tell you. What would I say? I've been at Municipality talking with Sid Freeman about your level-three probation? Or maybe I should ask if I'm be going to Stanford? Should lead with, do you want to explain your problem at work?
“Just out and about." I didn't want to reveal anything that might disrupt the fragile balance of the evening. "Tomorrow morning I’m going to Yountville. Is it okay if I take the car again? I have some boxes to drop off and they’re huge!”
My parents stared at each other.
“Do you guys want to come?”
Silence.
I was uncomfortable and kept talking.
“Remember Ryan talked with you about speaking with the vets, Dad? Tomorrow is Saturday and we could have lunch afterward.”
“We’ll see.”
Sure, we will. Just tell me you aren’t interested.
“I’ll even pay for the gas.” I hung the keys on the hook by the door. "How can you refuse that?" I smiled, trying to ease their concern, but my parents gave each other “the look."
Uh-oh.
“There’s some dinner that's left over if you want it. It's in the oven,” Mom offered.
“I’ve already eaten.”
“Where?” She marked her book.
“At the Cliff House. Why?” I challenged.
"It's expensive." She looked at me head on. “Did Ryan give you the money?”
“No." I could feel my shoulders straighten. "Why?”
"Is he buying you things?" She continued her questions.
“Things? That's your concern? Let's stop this dance." I took off my jacket. "What’s your real question?”
“We’re concerned you're getting serious with Ryan.” Dad finally joined in our series of questions that were challenges about my relationship with Ryan in disguise.
"And there's his age difference," Mom added.
"Let's not forget he stayed over,” Dad pressed.
"In your bed," Mom finished.
They stopped.
Waited for my response.
“Would you rather I spent the night at his place? I didn't try and hide anything about our plans. You knew that’s what I was going to do, Mom. We sat on the couch and I told you about it.”
"It's not that, it's . . ." She looked away.
“What? No friend is ever good enough, are they? Neither of you were happy who I played with, when I volunteer, my cheer team friends, and now Ryan. Why can’t you give me credit for my choices? I’ve always done the right thing. Have I given either of you a reason to be concerned—ever?”
“Not until now,” Dad said with a look of worry.
I was going crazy. I wanted to scream at the two of them. I'd been nothing but straight arrow from the day I set foot in grade school. I'd never been in trouble, didn't drink or use substance of any kind, took care of my own needs . . . now this. I was livid.
“Not until now? That's . . . if you must know, Ryan was a perfect gentleman—all night,” I said defiantly. “In fact, he was the one who asked if he should stay or go. He didn’t want to disrespect me or you guys."
"That's admirable, but—"
"Neither of you know him." I cut my father off. "Yet you think nothing to throw around criticisms and accusations that's we're not good together. Why? You should know me by now. I wouldn’t have sex in my bedroom with any boy.”
“No?" Dad stepped right back into the arena.
“What if I’d gone to his apartment? Would you rather I had sex out of sight? Would that make you feel better?” Something about Ryan made me want to protect him. I surprised myself when I defended him so boldly. "Or is it that I shouldn't have sex at all? You guys want me to stay away from boys forever?"
“Don’t get upset.” My father raised his hand. “We believe he’s a good person, or you wouldn’t be with him. Our concern is the eight year difference between you.”
“Well, I am upset. We already talked about this a few nights ago. Admit it . . . you don’t really care about his age. It’s only his sexual experience. Yet, Jenise can have sex all day long. You never say boo to her about it. I don’t care that she’s twenty-one; sex is sex at any age, especially living under your roof."
I got huffy.
My chin went up.
“Well, neither of you has to worry. If it bothers you so much that he comes here, I’ll just go to his place like Jenise does with her boyfriend. You haven’t been involved in my social life so far, so why start now?”
I tromped upstairs as if I were a two-year-old and knocked on my sister's bedroom door.
Then the words I’d just said to my parents hit me.
Nervous and shaky—that's how my body reacted talking to them so harshly. I knew I might’ve hurt them. I didn’t want that. Down deep, I understood they were concerned.
I wished they’d shown their love more openly when I was younger and really needed them.
Even so, they were showing it now. I had to try and let them in.
“Come in,” Jenise said.
“Hang on. I’ll be right back.” I popped my head through her door and left it ajar. I went back downstairs. The guilt I felt was too much for me to handle, so I apologized. They looked relieved, and I felt better about it.
That day,
I began to bring my family back around me.
That day, I found out about Jenise’s college studies and how Ryan’s contacts could help her.
That day, I fell in love with my sister again.
And that day, Jenise gave me quite an education.
Chapter 8
Orgasms and Aching
When I knocked on my sister’s door a second time, I sat down on her bed and proceeded to spill the details of the two boys who had my attention.
I began with Jerry. He was simple—at least when comparing my thoughts of him to those of Ryan. I told her how nice prom was, that Jerry had asked me to spend the night and had tried to make moves on me at the beach bonfire.
Then I gave her a summary of the things that happened with Ryan, including his visit in the tunnel at the ballpark, the daisy and silver charm he gave me on my birthday, and the lavender roses he'd sent on the day of my prom. I finished by summarizing his call at the Cliff House.
“I have big stirrings, Sis.”
“What do you mean stirrings?” Jenise smiled. “Sexual?”
“I think so."
"You think so? Tell." She lay on her stomach and cupped her chin in her hands.
"Ryan, God, he’s . . . his kisses, the way he touches me . . . speaks to me . . . it’s like I start to rev up in my belly. Jerry’s are nice too, but . . .” I was losing myself in a daydream.
“Oh, Sis, I know that look." She sat up and tucked her legs underneath her. "Forget about Jerry. He won’t have a chance if your face is saying what I think it is."
"I don't know about my face, but I do want to explore Jerry more. I mean, logically he should be the one I go with, right? Ryan is a man and—"
"Yeah, he's a big, fucking, beautiful, man!" She threw her arms in the air. "Hell yes, he's a man. Go and grab him! Let him teach you a thing or two. Forget Jerry. Just strike that boy off your list and go with your sexy Ryan beast."
"I don't think I'm ready for that. God Jenise." I burst in nervous laugher. "I'm really attracted to him and I told him so. He's coming on so strong. I think—"
"You'd better damn well prepare, Sis. What are you using for birth control?”
“Nothing.”
Fire Heart (Broken Bottle Series Book 2) Page 6