by LJ Evans
“You’re beautiful.” His voice was gruff as if he hadn’t recovered from their intensity. “I’m sorry.”
She smiled against his chest. “Why?”
“I didn’t mean… Damn, I wanted that, but I didn’t mean for it to happen now.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls.” It was cliché, and she regretted it almost immediately.
“No,” he denied deeply.
And it was strange, but she believed him. As if she could already tell when he was lying and telling the truth which was impossible after meeting him a whopping two times. Or maybe it was just that she sensed that Seth always spoke the truth. Whether it was a truth you wanted to hear or not.
And then the humiliation set in. She couldn’t believe what she’d done. She’d gone back on all her promises. Four years of abstinence down the drain with one touch from a sexy man. And she suddenly felt ill, like when Justice and Locke had first confronted her all those years ago.
“Oh God,” she whispered and tried to pull away, but his arms tightened around her.
“Don’t,” he said so quietly she almost didn’t catch it.
* * *
PJ’s iPhone alarm goes off bringing her back from that first time tangled in his arms to her reality. “(You Want To) Make a Memory” stuck on repeat in an old walk-up in New York. It reminds her that she needs to get out of the apartment and down to the subway station. It reminds her that she can’t spend any more time thinking of Seth today. Unfortunately, she knows, he will be with her a million more times before she finally closes her eyes at night, and even then, he’ll be wrapped up in her dreams whether she wants him there or not.
Born to Be My Baby
Letter Four
“Only God knows the reason, but He must’ve had a plan. ‘Cause you were born to be my baby, and I was made to be your man.”
-Bon Jovi, Sambora & Child
DEAR BELLA,
I made ajiaco today because I had visitors. Cam’s little sister or I guess her almost sister-in-law came over with Keith. They came to pick up a new piece Dylan Waters’ wife had commissioned. I don’t know how Mia got to L.A., or how she got entwined with the Waters, but it seems she’s dating Dylan’s musician brother. The one we saw at the house this summer. The one that sang that song about humanity that made me ache for you and us.
That Mia’s world could come close enough to touch mine years later, made me wonder if there was a certain set of people whose lives would always crisscross our own — like a mixed-up pattern of figure eights. A series of infinity symbols running along curves that were destined to fall near each other as they passed the midpoints.
That thought gives me hope that, even though you’ve travelled away from me on your own curling loop, eventually you’ll travel back to me. I can only hope. Hope is a foreign emotion that you keep forcing out of me.
Even though you didn’t know Keith, and I hadn’t seen him in years when I first met you, he is now one of a handful of people whose figure eight pattern is traveling with mine. He was happy to bring Mia to see the studio today. I think he’s trying to prove to the world that I’m not an asshole anymore when we all know that it isn’t the truth. I’m still an asshole. You’ve just softened the edges of me.
But because he was trying and because I knew you’d want me to, I played nice.
I think I did you justice. I made Mia lunch, I showed her the studio, and she saw your chair. It’s still not done. Not fixed from what happened to it, but it’s close, and her touching it reminded me of you touching it when you’d seen it that first day together. Which just made me want her to leave so that I could write you this damn letter.
I hadn’t believed my luck when you actually showed up that first Saturday. I’d fluctuated from panic to the need to hunt you down all day as I waited. I made the ajiaco to keep me busy. When you finally showed up in that crappy Bug, I couldn’t prevent myself from going out to greet you, shoeless.
You were sitting there, with your head on the steering wheel as if you were still debating with yourself. Doubting why you had come. And later, after you’d allowed me to make love to you in a way that I’d never expected, I knew you would go back there. To the doubts.
I didn’t have any doubts. I couldn’t believe that you were laying there in my arms and couldn’t believe just how good you felt there. I’d wanted you since I first saw your eyes flashing with anger at the gallery, but to have you there, it was like magic. I’d never felt that way. Truly. Not ever. Not even with her.
I’m not just saying that. I know you think that I’d say anything to get you to come back, but I’m not doing that now. I’m being honest with you. So let me say it again. I’d never felt that way before you.
I hadn’t intended for us to experience that earth-shattering need on our first date. Hell. It wasn’t even a date. You deserved more than that. I had intended to go slow and steady to ensure that you didn’t get spooked and run away. But, when you’d responded to me with such passion in that kiss, when you’d popped the button on my jeans, it had taken everything I had to move you from the open windowed studio to the privacy of my bedroom before taking you. I’m not blaming you. Never. I can’t regret any time we made love.
But when I heard your quiet, “Oh God,” after we’d just had the best damn sex of my life, I knew you weren’t just embarrassed, you were ashamed. And I panicked. Again. I didn’t want you to regret it. To run away in mortification.
“Don’t!” I demanded meaning to beg. My voice was full of emotion. Did you recognize it then? Or did you not know me well enough to hear how deeply you’d impacted me?
I forced you to look at me. I relished in the fact that I finally got to rub a finger along that smooth satin of your face as I’d wanted to since the morning before.
“Please don’t. Don’t regret this. Jesus. It was perfect. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
You closed your eyes. You couldn’t meet my gaze. Your dark lashes lay heavy against your cheeks and all I could think about was how gorgeous the contrast was. How the black against the white in the weak sunlight filtering into my room was like every black-and-white photograph I’d ever fallen in love with. A dozen images of new pieces filtered through my brain in a rapid series. You inspired me from the moment I met you and after the intensity we’d just felt, I had more ideas in my head than I could sift through. You were beautiful. You were my beautiful woman. You were my Bella.
“PJ… Bella…” It was a plea for you to look at me as I thought silently, What will I do if she freaks out and runs off?
“I… I’m not like this,” you said quietly.
“I know.”
“How could you know?” Your eyes flashed open in irritation as if I couldn’t possibly dare to know you after one brief encounter. But I did. I do.
I shrugged and bent slightly to lay a gentle kiss on your forehead thinking how perfect it felt under my lips. And I knew I was a goner. That I was simply lost.
“You don’t seem like the type to just hop into bed with a guy you barely know.”
“I’m not!” It was defensive and cute, and it tugged at my heart even when I didn’t know the true reasons behind your reaction.
“I know,” I repeated, but it was with my smirk, so you thought I was teasing.
You slammed a hand into my chest, and I couldn’t help the wince because it was exactly where you had hit me before. It still hurt like hell.
“You’re so full of shit,” you said, but you must have noticed my wince because we both looked down and saw the bruise starting to form on my chest where you’d slammed your palm into it earlier.
“Oh my God,” you said softly, placing your hand gently over the shading.
The bruise was nothing consequential. A slight discoloration really. And, it was nothing compared to the black and purple swollen bruises my dad used to give me. I covered your hand.
“It’s nothing.”
“I’m so sorry.” And all I could do was be
grateful that your humiliation has been replaced with remorse. A hundred bruises would have been worth that.
“Then stay and make it up to me my small and mighty pixie,” I teased. I wasn’t above using your remorse. I told you, I don’t play fair… At least I didn’t use to. I’m trying a little harder now. I went to pull you against me, but to my surprise you pushed away again.
“How did you know that’s what my brother calls me? Are you making fun of it? Did Locke tell you?” And you had fire in your eyes again.
My stomach clenched tightly at the mention of Locke. Locke had been so protective of you on the phone, and all I could think was, why would he be if he wasn’t involved with her somehow? It made me want to kill my manager and find a new one.
“Why would Locke tell me something your brother calls you? I don’t even know your brother,” I said abruptly as I tried to pull you closer. But you pushed harder, and I didn’t have a choice but to let you move away, knowing that if I didn’t, you would just push even more, and maybe never come back. It was a lesson I should have learned then, but didn’t.
You moved to the edge of the bed searching for your clothing. I sat up and ran a hand down your back which was defined and muscled in ways someone would never know if they didn’t get to see you as I was seeing you without your clothes. I could see just how hard you worked out. It twisted me up physically and emotionally. Your strength. Your determination.
“Locke and my brother are best friends. Have been since college. They both raised me from the time I was thirteen. You’re telling me you didn’t know any of that?” You stormed.
“I swear. I didn’t. But it explains a lot,” I said, feeling the knots in my stomach ease as realization hit me that Locke was just a long-time family friend. He wasn’t your lover.
You pulled your dress over your head without your bra. You really didn’t need it anyway. You’re so small and your breasts are so tight that no one would even know you weren’t wearing one except for the fact that your nipples were hardening as you saw me watching you. As you saw my body’s reaction to you.
You crossed your hands over your chest as if to hide your response to me. It was so fucking cute. I couldn’t help but reach out and rub my finger across the hardened nipple and couldn’t help the satisfaction at your little intake of breath.
You went to back away from my touch, but I put my other hand on your waist catching you, pulling you closer to the bed in between my legs. You swallowed and looked down at me. At my nakedness. I knew you could see how hard I was. How hard you made me for the second time in under an hour.
“Please stay,” and I knew it still sounded much more like a demand than the request I wanted it to be.
“I… I c—,” but I drew your mouth down to mine before you could finish your response. And I was kissing you like I was afraid I’d lose you, which I was. It was a hard kiss. Unforgiving. But, when I felt your tongue flick back against mine, that was when the fight went out of you. Replaced by desire.
I pulled you onto my lap, and I knew once more that I was lost. Lost in this little piece of dreamland that I never thought I’d find and certainly didn’t deserve. I pulled the dress off of you, ripping it as I did, but not caring. I could buy you another one. I was prepared to buy you whatever you wanted as long as you never went anywhere.
And this time, when I made love to you, it was with the same passion as before, but I also wanted it to be full of the promises that I felt deep inside my soul. Promises to try to be a better man. Promises I only ever thought I’d make to one woman in my life and who had been gone for a very long time.
When you cried out again in a pleasure that shook your whole body, I let go, and I felt like pieces of my soul became embedded into you where I hoped you wouldn’t trample on them but would find a way to keep them forever. Fucking crazy. I know. I was fuckin’ crazy, but you had made me that way in less than forty-eight hours.
I held you tight against me again, and this time you held me back. And I remember thinking maybe you needed me as much as I needed you. It felt like you fit there perfect as if God had made you just for me. Like my very Catholic grandmother had always sworn I would find someone that God had placed on this earth for me. I’m not religious. You know that, but at that moment, with you there, I understood why people took that journey.
I felt you fall asleep against me. Your whole body relaxed in a way that it rarely did. You were always on high alert protecting yourself from the world. It made me want to kill anyone and everyone who had hurt you. Whoever had made you so protective of yourself and your soul.
I didn’t even know about your parents or your past. I just could feel the glued together parts of you trying not to break again. And I tried to stay awake so that I could make sure when you woke up, you didn’t steal away, but finally the emotions and energy of the last forty-eight hours tugged at my eyes until they closed along with yours.
* * *
A phone ringing jerked me from my dream of flying with a little bird next to me. It was flying into me and fluttering at my chest. It took me a few seconds to realize that it was your hands pushing me gently as the landline rang again at my bedside. I couldn’t remember the last time the house phone rang. If it ever had.
I held you tightly with one hand still afraid that you’d disappear and reached for the phone with my other. You didn’t resist. That made me squeeze tighter.
“What?” I hurled out, irritated at the interruption in our day.
“Seth!” It was Locke. He sounded frazzled and relieved at the same time. “Is PJ still there?”
I couldn’t help feeling pleased by this. Especially now that I knew Locke wasn’t sleeping with you. I knew I could torture him just a little. “She is.”
He let out an exasperated breath that told me he wasn’t happy with me or my snarky response. “I need to talk with her. Put her on the phone.”
“Why?” I couldn’t resist the protectiveness that had already filled me when I had filled you. I know you call it possessiveness. And, Jesus, it is a little of that too, but at that time, it just felt like I was protecting you. From him. From him saying something about my bullshit life that I hadn’t been able to share with you yet that would surely scare you away.
“Seth, so help me God…” I could tell that Locke was trying to get hold of himself. “Look, tell her it’s about Liv.”
I didn’t know who Liv was then. I just knew it wasn’t about me, so I gave you the phone. “It’s Locke. Says it’s something about Liv?”
You bolted up and grabbed the phone. And all your alertness and tension were back. I wanted to punish Locke for ruining your peace.
“Locke?” Your worry was etched in your voice and your face as you pulled away from me. And then suddenly I was worried too.
I could still hear Locke. Which made me realize that you had heard our conversation as well.
“Where’s your phone? We’ve been calling you for hours.”
“It’s…” and you turned all the shades of red that drew my hand to your silky cheeks. You pushed me away and moved to the edge of the bed. “The battery is dead,” you lied as you searched the ground for your clothes. You’re such an awful liar. “What’s wrong?”
I couldn’t hear Locke’s response once you’d moved away, but I could see how his words stilled your hands, and I could see your beautiful, muscled back go taut in response.
“I’m on my way, tell Justice I’m on my way.” You hung up and tossed the phone on the bed. Frantically looking for clothes.
I was up with my own jeans pulled on in a flash. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“It’s Liv. She’s gone into labor early. There’s been some complications. They might have to do a C-section. I should have been there hours ago.” The self-accusation in your voice tore me apart because I knew you were regretting us. Me.
“It’s not your fault,” I said wanting to take the blame. It was my fault. I hadn’t been able to resist. I hadn’t stopped myself. Impulsive, s
elfish, asshole.
I pulled on my t-shirt and helped you find your underwear and sandals. When you pulled on your dress, we both realized it was torn down the seam. You just stared at it for a moment as if it was punishment or payment. I do know you. You always seem to take the pain and turn it into self-inflicted wounds.
“I can get you a shirt to put on over it.”
“No… It’s okay. I have some clothes in my car.”
You were out of my room so fast that I almost had to jog to keep up. You were frantic. There was alarm in your voice. This was more than self-condemnation, this was clearly someone you cared deeply about. I hadn’t cared deeply for anyone in so long that I almost forgot what it felt like when they hurt. The last people I’d given a shit about were my grandparents, and they’d been gone almost two years now.
You pulled your bag from the counter and were searching for your keys as you headed to the door. I barely had time to catch you and take the keys away.
“You can’t drive like this. Let me take you.”
“No. Locke will be there.”
“So.”
“He’ll kill you.”
I couldn’t resist the chuckle. “He can try.” But that didn’t seem to help you. “We’ll be at the hospital. With witnesses.”
I paused to slip on my shoes, and you quickly took your keys back and were out the door in a flash.
Thank God I always fling my keys and wallet on the table by the door because I could snag them and follow you before you got too far. There was no way in hell I was letting you drive. I would have man handled you into my car in the ripped dress if I had to, but I wasn’t letting you drive any car in the state you were in. I couldn’t. You were already wrapped around my soul. How did you do that?
You were at your car by the time I locked up. You grabbed a duffle from the passenger seat and shuffled through it.
I stepped forward and grabbed the whole duffle from your hands and walked off towards my garage. “Seth!” You yelled in frustration from behind me. I didn’t care. You wouldn’t go anywhere without something to cover that dress.