Bound Hearts

by C. C. Galloway

  “Oh for the love of God,” she groaned, moving her plate to the table and sipping on her beer. Despite her words, the banter delighted her down to her toes.

  “Unlike you, I’m nowhere near forty. I’m not even approaching forty.”

  “Me neither.”

  “Will you just tell me how old you are?”

  “I’m thirty-five.”

  “Thirty-five’s a great age. One I look forward to reaching in three years.”

  He grinned at her emphasizing the difference in their ages and the fact that he was, indisputably, older than she was.

  “You’re pretty much a cradle robber, Shalvington.”

  He glimpsed at her from under his brows, his eyes alight with mischief. Motioning to her half full plate with his beer bottle, he said, “You need to finish your dinner.”

  “I am finished. I’m full.”

  “There’s no way the amount you ate could have filled you up unless you loaded up before I arrived. Eat.”

  What was it with people always attempting to control the food she put into her mouth? First Lauren. Now David.

  “I said I was full,” she persisted.

  “Did you eat dinner before I arrived?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then there’s no way an athletic woman like you, after working all day and unless I’m wrong, working out tonight, could have been satisfied by the few bites that traveled from your fork to your mouth.”

  “Maybe I ate a huge lunch with pasta and bread and sausage,” she argued.

  “And maybe I’m a chick.”

  She couldn’t help herself. She laughed.

  “Why don’t you believe I ate that today for lunch?”

  “If you ate that, then I ate some tofu with a side of zucchini. Give me a break, Calleigh. The first night I made pasta for you, I thought you were practically going to keel over on the spot at the sight of all those carbs.”

  Figured he’d correctly interpret the nuances of her expression and actions.

  “I think you ate about two bites before declaring yourself finished,” he said.

  “Maybe given my company, I lost my appetite.” Her smile removed the bite from her words.

  “It didn’t have anything to do with my company and you and I both know it. Although I appreciate you trying to deflect attention from your insufficient appetite.”

  “My appetite’s plenty sufficient.” It so totally was. If she was a four year old.

  “Insufficient appetite’s the wrong phrase. What I should have said was your insufficient caloric intake.”

  “Are you trying to make me fat? Is that another one of your sicko fetishes?”

  At her words, all the humor immediately drained from his face. He shot up from the couch and headed for the kitchen.

  Shit. Why was it she always said exactly the wrong thing at the most inopportune time? Time and time again her mouth landed her in hot water. Following him into the kitchen, she started, “David, I - ” before he interrupted her.

  “You know, for a grown woman, you completely lack the ability to maintain an adult conversation about any subject of substance that implicates any remote possibility of you being less than perfect like the rest of us.” He shrugged into his suit jacket, his movements jerky and frustrated. “I’m going to go home now and take my sicko fetishes with me. Don’t bother contacting me unless you’re ready to be real with me and have gotten over your little head case about what you like in bed including my quote on quote ‘sicko fetishes.’ Which, as my cock can attest to, you seemed to enjoy a whole helluva lot last night.”

  He stormed out of her loft and off into the night, leaving her alone and embarrassed.

  She knew exactly how much one wrong word could wound. Despite that, she’d hurt him deeply tonight. She’d intended to be funny, but her attempt at humor had utterly failed. Was it because she struggled to come to terms with the lovemaking they’d shared? The things he said to her? The things he did to her? And the fact that she couldn’t wait for more?

  Evidently the wait became a whole lot longer tonight. Her excitement at seeing him tonight seemed to have overwhelmed her brain, causing her to say something she didn’t mean. Or had she? Did she consider him to enjoy weird, unacceptable fetishes? If she did, what did it say about her and the fact she’d shared his enjoyment? Not one thing that they had done did she object to. Or not derive at least multiple orgasms from.

  She’d wronged him tonight and she knew it. The question was how to remedy it?

  Chapter 8

  Driving home, anger, disappointment and regret battled for supremacy as David fought to maintain his concentration on the road and not on the blistering blonde who’d just pissed him off as much as he could remember any woman angering him. His truck was practically on auto pilot, maneuvering through the roads as though it itself knew the extent of his distraction and was intent on making sure its owner arrived home safe in body, if not sound in mind.

  This was the last time he ignored his instincts and the reasons for doing so eluded him. He’d always considered himself an excellent judge of character. He could smell an agent’s bullshit when negotiating a contract a mile away and could sniff out fear and desperation in equal measures with agents, players and any member of the coaching staff. He relied on his instincts in hiring his staff, making management decisions, and had never been let down by his instincts in his personal life.

  Until now.

  Until Calleigh.

  All along, his intuition buzzed with incessant, persistent warnings that Calleigh was a whole lot of trouble, a novice female unschooled in the ins and outs of BDSM sex, even if she demonstrated some preliminary interest. Someone who was unfamiliar with the universe of expectations and requirements and wouldn’t ultimately be willing to completely surrender to him in every way that mattered, and perhaps, the only way that mattered to him.

  Despite his initial misgivings, his apprehension eventually gave way to hope after their first night together. Hope spread through his chest that she could ultimately accept him, accept her desires, accept what they could share and stand a chance at a true partnership. A real relationship founded on attraction, lust, and sincere affection. She’d been on fire for him, so hot, sexy and enthusiastic. Never once did she indicate any hesitation once they’d really started in earnest. Never a whisper of her safe word. She never displayed any body language that even remotely suggested everything he did to her was anything less than fully satisfying or that she was second-guessing herself or him. While hesitant, she seemed to take pleasure in his hands, his mouth, his cock, his clamps, and his restraints. At no point had she ever uttered her safe word or indicated in any way she wanted to stop, or showed anything other than enjoyment. In spite of this, she still couldn’t accept who and what he was. Without that acceptance, no future could find them.

  Tonight, she confirmed that any fantasies he harbored of their relationship ever progressing to anything meaningful were destined to stay in the fantasy realm. Forever. Served him right for not listening to his original observations about her. Never again would he make the same mistake.

  Exhaustion practically overwhelmed him. His attempt at having a quasi-normal night complete with dinner and conversation proved disastrous. As well as eye-opening. He’d been called a lot of things by a variety of women over the years – cold, heartless bastard; a mean son of a bitch; controlling mother fucker. Yet, never once had any of his choices been judged so harshly by any of his partners.

  Disappointment threatened to swallow him whole as he pulled into his driveway and contemplated the night ahead. A night ending very differently than the way he’d envisioned when he’d called Calleigh up, picked up dinner, and showed up on her doorstep like a hopeless romantic.

  § § §

  Friday morning, Calleigh trudged in to Walker, feeling as though she’d euthanized her favorite puppy. On any other day, she would have actively engaged all of the students that she passed on her way to her classroom. Teased
those who needed and responded well to humor. Complimented those who received little to no praise at home, but who preened when offered by her or any other adult in their lives. Reprimanded the couples who thought the entire student and faculty body needed to know how in love they were and displayed their devotion by enthusiastically making out against the lockers. Chided those students whose iPods were destroying not only their owners’ hearing, but that of those around them.

  This morning, she kept her eyes downcast and did her best to make it to her room with minimal greetings.

  At home, her bed looked like it had gone thirteen rounds with a tornado and lost. Sleep eluded her for the better part of the night. When she did catch a few minutes, David was all she dreamt about, as dark and angry as the most powerful thunderstorm she’d ever witnessed. His anger stalked her in her dreams, hurting her, confusing her, and wounding her. The ringing of her alarm brought no relief as the theatrics of the prior night played continuously in her head like a bad movie that refused to stop. Going through the motions of showering, making her coffee, applying her makeup, and packing her lunch, his words kept punching at her. Shaming her and wishing she could take the entire night back. Have a do over card she could play that David would have to accept. And say all the right things. The phrases she should have uttered last night, not the harsh opinion that poured out of her when she least expected it and he least deserved it.

  “I have to talk to you,” she said as she arrived at Mary’s desk, her piles similarly organized by class just like Calleigh’s were.

  “Good talk, bad talk, or simply talk?” Mary inquired.

  “All of the above,” she responded, sipping on her morning latte while not tasting a single drop.

  “You don’t look good, Calleigh. Is everything okay? Does this have to do with Lauren?”

  “I’m not sure. Everything’s not okay and no, what I need to talk to you about doesn’t have anything to do with Lauren. For once.”

  “Does happy hour at Por Que No after class today work?” Mary asked.

  “Uhhh, sorry, after school won’t work,” Calleigh apologized. “I actually promised I’d meet Lauren for dinner tonight. How about tomorrow? Breakfast? Lunch?”

  “Lunch sounds good,” Mary said, beginning to tidy up her desk as she and Calleigh settled on Besaw’s at noon for the next day.

  The Northwest 23rd eatery on the corner of Savier and Twenty-Third Avenue was bustling when Mary and Calleigh strolled in the following day. Every bar stool was occupied, every table seated to capacity in the quaint restaurant. A long bar dominated the front room as waiters and waitresses deftly maneuvered through spaces tighter than parking spots in Manhattan. Luckily, since they were a simple two-top, they only had to wait ten minutes before being seated.

  “What’s up?” Mary prompted as soon as they were seated.

  “Oh my gosh. I don’t know where to start,” she said as her nails danced on the tabletop, a habit she believed to have left behind with her college and certification exams. Picking up her water glass, she drained it and immediately wished for more, not for any thirst, but to give her something to do. Something to focus on other than the reason she’d suggested this meeting.

  “The beginning’s usually a good a place as any. But before we reach the details, can you give me one minor hint as to what or who this is about?”

  She tried to smile at her, but it felt clouded by her conflicting emotions.

  “You going to make me guess?” Mary teased.

  “You can guess if you want to,” Calleigh responded.

  “Well, it can’t have anything to do with Lauren because she generally drives you crazy,” Mary said.

  “Nope. Not Mommy Dearest.”

  “As much as you enjoy your job and your students, I’d know if there was anything to do with their latest test results. And even then, I’m not sure you would have called a special weekend lunch-time session to discuss.”

  “Nope. Not about my classes. Not about my students.”

  “That leaves men. You got a new man in your life I don’t know about?”

  “You know about him,” she confirmed, drinking her quickly refilled water glass.

  “Please tell me this doesn’t have anything to do with David Shalvington,” Mary finally said.

  “Why would you say something like that?” she asked, her throat swallowing against the lump freshly wedged in there.

  “Calleigh,” Mary reached across the table to grab her hand. “So, this is all about him,” Mary commented, softening her tone.

  “Maybe.”

  “Calleigh. Don’t hide from me.”

  “Well now I don’t want to tell you anything because you’re clearly biased against him.”

  “Of course I’m not his biggest fan. Last I remember, he hurt you. A lot. For no apparent reason.”

  “Yeah, except back then you tried to defend him and thought there had to be some explanation for his behavior.”

  “Is there?”

  “Is there what?”

  “Is there an explanation for how he hurt you when you asked him out?” Mary challenged. “How rude he was to you?”

  She expelled a long sigh. Ever since her initial night with David, she’d dreamed about sharing all of the important details with her best friend. The first kiss. The first important words they’d exchanged. The excitement. Then, after her thoughtless comments to him the other night, she’d desperately wanted Mary’s counsel…which meant disclosing certain details about David. Intimate, private details about a man that was effectively, Mary’s boyfriend’s boss. That conversation required the negotiation skills of a seasoned pro, which she lacked on her best days, not on a day when she was as glum as she could remember being in a very long time.

  She forcibly extracted her hand from Mary’s grip and crossed her arms across her chest. “Never mind. I should have known this was a bad idea.”

  Mary’s lips slowly separated. “That’s not fair.”

  “You’re not being fair,” she argued, lashing out at the only object available to receive her wrath. Wrath at herself. Wrath at the situation.

  “Let’s start over, ok?” Mary suggested, her eyes pleading.

  “Will you promise to withhold your judgment?” she asked.

  “I’ll do my best. I’m Irish so it’s not the easiest feat for me to accomplish, but for you my dear, I’ll work on it,” Mary promised with a wink.

  The sandwiches they’d ordered arrived and they both tucked into their respective plates with gusto. After a few bites, Mary said, “Hit me.”

  Calleigh looked up, contemplating where and how to start. She’d never actually considered Mary wouldn’t be on her side, on their side so she had to rearrange what she’d originally planned to discuss. Now, not only did she have to discuss David and how everything evolved with their relationship.

  And how terribly it had ended the other night.

  “After one of our soccer games, I decided to meet up with everyone afterwards. I arrived late and realized David was also there. It was one of the smaller groups I’ve been to - I think there were only eight of us there in total.” She paused to wash her bites of ham and cheese down with some water before resuming. “I ignored him all during dinner because you know, at that point, I was completely convinced he was a grade A asshole.”

  “And he’s not?” Mary raised her right eyebrow, her skepticism apparent.

  “No, he is not an asshole. At least he hasn’t been with me since then. But we’re jumping ahead. Let me finish. After dinner, I left the restaurant and began walking home when I heard him call my name. I was like, yeah, whatever, and kept walking. He eventually caught up to me, we argued a little bit back and forth, and then he kissed me!” She raised her voice at the end, prompting their surrounding patrons to glance at the table and smile.

  Mary’s eyebrows shot up to her dark hairline. “And?”

  “Okay, nothing more happened after the kiss. At least, not that night.”

  “And t
he kiss was….”

  “The kiss was spectacular. Outstanding. Incredible. Deep and lush, just this side of rough. It was, in fact, perfect.”

  Remembering it all over again raised goose bumps all over her arms.

  “It sounds like quite a kiss,” Mary allowed.

  “Yes it was. It was one of the best kisses I’ve ever had in my entire life. Okay, he then asked me over to his house for dinner, a surprisingly nice house, a little bungalow on the east side, by the way. Dinner was great. When we were about to continue what we’d started on the sidewalk, we got into a minor fight.”

  “About what?”

  Oh, shit. She was not going to go there with Mary and expose David for his prior comments about her relationship with Michael. She was already predisposed to dislike him and telling her what he’d said, when he’d surely been mistaken and didn’t know the first thing about Michael, Mary, or their relationship, would only send this conversation careening back off the rails. Not going there, she thought.

  “Nothing,” she murmured, averting her eyes and taking a long drink of her water before continuing. “It’s not important. It was nothing. Just a minor misunderstanding. Poor communication more than anything. Anyway, I returned home again and thought okay, clearly we were never meant to be. But then, the next night he showed up at my house.” She waited for Mary to respond in some way, but Mary’s direct gaze didn’t give anything away.

  Continuing, she said, “And his arrival couldn’t have been at a worst time. I’d come directly home from a soccer game and hadn’t jumped into the shower. Anyway, he’s there with this paper bag. In it, he brought ice cream.”

  “I guess he doesn’t know how much you deprive yourself of sugar, does he?” Mary commented.

  “No. Not at all.”

  After she filled in the rest of the details staying just short of the fiasco of the prior night, the real reason she wanted to have this discussion, Mary said, “You know, I think this is the first time I’ve ever witnessed you eat something without first commenting on its caloric and fat content. It suits you. It’s good. It’s normal.