by E. J. Wood
A knock comes at the door and with a shaky inhale I drop my tea firmly onto the counter rushing around for something appropriate to wear, shit, hair, face, I'm naked! What does he want? Grabbing a dirty shirt off the floor I button it up, it just about covers my panties.
‘Hi,’ I beam at him as I open and hide behind the door.
‘Morning, sorry to disturb you so early, I don’t really know anyone around here and wondered if you would consider accompanying me for coffee later this morning?’
My brows raise, I hate coffee, but as my cherry pop begins to pulse I am succumbed as easily as taking candy from a baby.
‘Sure, I have to go to work but I can be back for 11.00am? Meet you here?’ I try to hide the high pitched school girl tone and the eagerness in my voice.
‘I would like that very much; this is my number if there are any problems,’ the corners of his mouth lift as he attempts to hide his smile. He hands me a black business card and his fingers glide across mine, the electrifying touch sends impulses up my arm raising the hairs on the nape of my neck. He doesn’t flinch and as he speaks his voice is smooth and sensual that flutters the wings of the butterfly that tries to escape my stomach. A dirty thought enters my mind, an extraordinary thought and as he stands I begin to wonder if I will orgasm just listening to his voice if he continues much longer. He stands with grace, drawing me towards him like a rope around my waist and our eyes maintain contact unable to look away. He can only be a few years older than me, early thirties at a guess but his eyes gesture he has seen far more than a man of his years. Gorgeous and enchanting and as uncivilised I stand, he glares in a primal instinctive way that screams savage and carnal hard core romping. As he turns and makes his way home, he pauses to utter something more releasing me from his provocative gaze. My brain re-engages and I am irritated at the awkward feeling he gives me having succumbed so easily under his spell.
‘I sincerely hope you are not leaving quite dressed like that?’ His voice with a hint of sarcasm as his back is turned waving his finger in the air. I blush, gosh! I close the door and lean against it, closing my eyes, OK what just happened? I feel sixteen again. I don’t even know his name. I look down into my hands and inspect the business card, my face is heated and I clumsily fondle the black matte finish card in my fingers;
GUY DAVIDSON
Vice President
Recruitment
555-885-6387
Of? That's helpful. I tactfully place it inside my bag on the kitchen counter and begin another day. I return to the bathroom and glare at my reflection, my face is flushed, my eyes are wide, a face I recognise all too well. My smile gesturing my body is ready to engage in sexual conduct that has no right being present right this moment. You dirty bitch! But that is one advantage we women have over men and their beef bayonets, I could start mentally wanking anytime, anywhere and blame any overtly orgasmic resonating on period pain.
***
I cannot stop smiling while at work, Thomas Cross looking at me suspiciously. It can't be that obvious? I gulp for breath. I haven’t been with a man as far back as I can remember; then again, if at all and a few drunken muff diving extravaganzas in college don’t count. Get a grip girl. They're all around me, watching me, copying my every move to use against me. My smile lessens as I feel their eyes. Be afraid, my subconscious whispers. Don’t let it show, don’t show them your weaknesses, they will lurk in the deepest of shadows and whisper your name in cruel mockery, tempt you and wait for you to crack, they are the things that creek in the night and infest your dreams!
‘SHUT UP,’ I yell out loud, everyone pauses and stares.
‘Amelia?’ Thomas Cross gingerly asks as he hurriedly shuffles towards me.
‘Yes?’
‘Is everything alright? You seem a little jumpy this morning?’
‘Everything is fine, actually no it’s not, I feel a bit quirky and under the weather, I am going to finish this off tomorrow if that is alright?’
‘Take care of yourself,’ he advises smiling.
I look down at my watch, time to go.
‘I will see you tomorrow, everything’s fine.’ I wonder if he could see the fake smile? Something isn’t right and if I am 100% honest with myself things were a little out of hand at work; advice to oneself is to leave whilst I still have some self control rather than punching his pudgy face and quit.
I pull up exactly 10.55am outside my home listening to Danny Elfman screaming about all little things and He's there leaning against a car that wasn’t there yesterday. I roll the window, turning the music down and shout.
‘Have you visitors? I can change plans, no worries,’ and point at the black sleek machine before me as I turn down the volume on the cars speakers.
‘No it's mine,’ he shouts as he lightly runs his fingers across the wing. A man after my own heart with a great sense in motors.
‘Grrrr oh behave,’ I utter under my breath.
‘I have her out for Suzy,’ he nods as I get out of my Prius.
Suzy? Oh he's married, wait, and wanting a coffee with me? I just smile frowning confused.
‘I hope you don’t mind, we can take my car if you prefer?’ His palms facing upwards gesture towards his car and I admire his directness. His smile is genuine; I can tell his heart lies with his motors; cool enough about the topic yet not overtly confident. Aunt Gladys taught me to read men quite well, she is very methodical in her teachings and her lectures had always been conducted in a systematic way that I will never forget. Then again, I have never known her to ever be with a man.
‘What is it, if I may ask? It is beautiful.’ I’ve never seen something quite so beautiful in all my life – present company excluded of course. I scout my eyes looking for a logo, Jaguar? Sure doesn’t look like one that I have ever seen before.
‘She’s the F-Type’.
‘She?’ I ask.
‘It’s a term of endearment. She's your baby and you trust her to perform,’ his smile is incorrigible.
‘I’m not familiar with the whole gender assignment thing for inanimate objects,’ and I glance over my shoulder at my own car.
‘I could call that Ole’ Dirty Bastard I guess,’ I smile and shrug my shoulders.
‘It doesn’t quite work like that,’ he laughs. ‘Women are a symbol of good luck. Luck me a lady tonight, have you heard of that reference?’ He winks and continues his explanation much to my fascination. ‘An expensive car had a silver lady on the bonnet. During the World War Two the US sailors used to keep a photo of Betty Grable on the wall and a famous US bomber had a lady painted on it The Memphis Belle. There was an Ocean liner with the name of a sea goddess too. Of course, they could be something to do with beauty,’ he declares and I am speechless for a split moment.
‘That she is, and what’s this one’s name?’ I ask.
‘I am yet to decide.’
‘Is she new?’ I blurt, Ms nosey parker here I come.
‘Yes, picked her up this morning. I wanted a car to feel alive, it had to be black, tempted by her dark mysterious sexy ways. She just seduced me; the other colours just didn’t wink at me quite like this one.’ Guy opens the door for me and walks over to his side, who said chivalry was dead? Such a gentleman I stand gawping at the cream leather interior.
‘GET IN THEN,’ he yells from inside. I hop in minding the sills. He starts her engine and she purrs. Whispering to me he leans in close.
‘Can you hear her talk to you Amelia?’ If I'm honest I’d say no but I humour him.
‘I need to know her a little more I guess. But what did she say to you when you bought her?’ I gingerly question, do I want to know?
‘Hey baby … I want you inside me. Walk away NOW, or you’ll take me for a test drive.’ He reverses.
My eyes widen and I laugh. My inner Panther roars as we leave for my favourite coffee house. There is nothing quite like having a big hunky guy to blast away the cobwebs disgracing the name of womanhood and I relish in the flattering attention
I have been missing.
The air is fresh and crisp and his eyes a cap ton of focus. I can see him concentrating with an unholy amount of glee at his new purchase. What a turn on. My nether region needs banging away reminding me of my neglectful pudding pounding sessions. I return my view to the road ahead grinning from ear to ear; I'm like a kid in a candy shop, what an utter muppet. His speed increases and he presses play on his iPod. Tracy Chapman how appropriate, belting out soulfully.
‘You got a fast car; I got a plan to get us out of here,’ he mumbles.
Who is this, Guy?
‘How long have you been in the area?’ I question.
He turns the music down and shouts over the wind.
‘NOT LONG,’ he answers as he pauses the music.
‘Guy is an interesting name, an unusual name.’
He just looks at me smiling and returns his focus to the asphalt.
I look out the window trying to cover up my stupidity, twat, I think to myself, fancy saying that!
‘There,’ I point and Guy finds somewhere to park.
‘Someone complimented me on my driving once, they put a note on my windscreen, it said parking fine,’ his smile reaching his eyes whilst winking at me. I hope he forgot my silly comment.
I try to make it up and match his wittiness.
‘Never underestimate the therapeutic power of driving fast and listening to loud music!’
‘Here here,’ he nods.
I remain quiet but smile still embarrassed at my outburst. I'm rusty, very rusty at small talk with Greek Gods!
‘What’s this place?’ He asks as we stroll towards the bar, his arm behind me, not touching but it is there.
‘It’s called Morena, it's only small, run by Argentineans; the food is exquisite and the service is impeccable.’
‘Sounds very Spanish Morena.’
‘It is; it means Brunette,’ take that I smile at myself, proud I know something he doesn’t.
‘Do you speak Spanish?’ His brows arch inquisitively.
‘Yes, uno, dos, tres, salsa guacamole mucho tequila por favor… I lived in Spain a short while during my younger years.’
On entering, the sound coming from the bean grinder combined with hubbub of the bar and people muttering on tables grate my mild headache. A button is pushed and as cup meets saucer, the bang sounds in my ears, hammering my head making me wince. As we make our way to a table and the murmur of voices increase in tone, the over worked waitress wanders over and interrupts our conversation.
‘Hello, what can I get for you?’ She beams at Guy. Before I am seated he orders.
‘Two glasses of white wine please, your finest.’
‘Right away,’ she answers as she skips off to the bar.
‘How did you know what I wanted?’ I frown; this Guy is quite the authoritarian.
She returns moments later placing the glasses on the table along with a lantern with a small candle. The setting is romantic albeit I am nervous. I hadn’t been on a date in a very long time. Not something that even occurred to me, the mere prospect frightening the living daylights out of me. Who would want to put themselves through all the agro? Hand on chin my brows furrow perplexed.
‘Amelia?’
Suddenly I'm back to reality and this Greek God Adonis sits before me, smiling and gazing. With a few shameless come hither smiles I find myself practically diddling myself under the table.
‘Cheers, to meeting new friends,’ he leans in inches away and we clink glasses.
The waitress, about five foot seven, slim, athletic build, shoulder length mousy brown blonde hair that curls at the lengths gleams as she strolls over pad and paper in hand.
‘Can I get you anything else?’ she asks interrupting us as we pause our discussions of experiences, present lack of relationships, work demands and world wide travels. Guy looks dazzling, his deep brown eyes meeting mine as if asking, shall we have another?
‘OK yeah sure why not,’ he smiles up at her, his neck stretches upwards and his shirt opens revealing a little chest hair, dark like the hair on his head, not too much but just enough to tangle your fingers. It's been a while and I feel perverted, very perverted looking at areas of restricted access. I bite my lip. Naughty girl Amelia, behave yourself, my subconscious hypothetically slaps my wrist.
His gaze returns to mine, sparks emanating from his beautifully rounded eyes, if those sparks were accompanied by bursts of heat I’d probably more than likely have to stop, drop and roll. Guy speaks with a soft accent that makes everything else become quiet; I'm so intent of his eyes the closer I look the more I see, a sunflower, a brown sunflower in the centre of his pupil, incredible.
‘You aren’t very talkative Amelia,’ he leans in close and whispers.
‘Sorry I am just a little embarrassed, you are quite intimidating.’ I look down towards my fingers entwining them as I blush. I have that feeling when you make a joke and no one laughs, that sinking feeling in your stomach that makes you want to stop speaking forever, but five minutes later, you start telling a story about your grandparents at their home in Australia in hopes of redeeming yourself from the previous incident but again, nobody laughs or even acknowledges your story. My breath becomes laboured and I begin to wonder if anyone will ever understand my humour or if I'm destined to die alone because the only person that appreciates my jokes is my cat? If this is the case, then I might suffer from some sort of anxiety problem and, judging from the long run-on of babbling and excessive talking, I thank goodness it's just me and my subconscious that can hear.
His hand grabs my chin lifting it upwards; his index finger lightly stroking it like you would a puppy.
‘I can't imagine you being intimidated Amelia; for it is I who should be intimidated, no?’ His smile, cheekily lifting on the one side. My eyes light up with shock. Me, intimidating him? I let out a gentle nervous laugh. Our eyes wander as we instantly look at one another and simultaneously mouth the words Crockett’s theme as Jan Hammer’s melodic music emerges in the background. The anxiety lessens and the curling of my stomach and hands clawing at my throat chocking me lessen their hold. As the hours delve into the darkness, the copious alcohol begins to take control and even a blind man could intuit where this is headed. My velcro strip becoming more and more demanding and the more I drink the cuter he becomes and I find myself firing a few smiley flirtatious glances back.
CHAPTER 3
Wednesday 17th
A few weeks went by and coffee dates with Guy became a regular habit, meeting at the usual time eleven am out on our fast erotic drives in his F-Type. I still don’t know what he does for a living, then again none of my business.
‘FOR FUCKS SAKE,’ I yell as I swerve, that was close, fucking bikers almost took my wing mirror off! Flushed and embarrassed at my sudden blow of cursing. The motorcycle was black and sleek, screaming past me, a flutter in the wind and it was gone, the sound deafening. They're mad!
I return home eager to see Guy only to find his car missing and a bike parked on the driveway instead. He opens his front door;
‘Meet Suzy,’ he smiles.
‘The wife?’ I cough as I say it. What did you just say? My subconscious scowls as he laughs.
‘If you would like to put it that way yes, my pride and joy; maybe one day I will take you for a ride,’ he suggests. I stare at the bike intently positive that it was the bike that passed me; perhaps he knew it was me?
‘Did you just …’ I stop myself before I make another stupid comment.
I've had a ride in his car and that was hot, tingling in places that haven’t tingled in years. I'm not sure I could handle this mean beast before me, the bike too! I look towards the floor and laugh.
‘Something funny?’ he asks, ‘come I have something for you.’
I stroll over, the butterflies again in my stomach, my eyes widen and from behind his back he reveals a dozen white stemmed roses. My mouth gapes open.
‘What’s this in aid of?’ I gulp.
&
nbsp; ‘Amelia, I don’t need a reason to buy you flowers, you aren’t allergic are you? I would just like to show my appreciation for a wonderful time recently.’
Here goes and with an almighty amount of courage I smile and kiss him on the cheek.
‘Thank you,’ I whisper, blushing and revealing crimson cheeks hugging myself inside with glee. The audacity! My subconscious scowls – thankfully he took it well.
His hand rises towards my face and his index finder lightly strokes the side of my cheek.
‘Give your smile to everyone but your flower to only me,’ he whispers, pauses and continues, ‘you’re flushed, not coming down with something I hope?’
I resist leaning into his hands keeping my head upright. My lips parting, my breathing becoming deeper and my eyes gaze down towards his hand. MY GOD.
‘No, I just drove a little fast on the way home, gave myself a fright,’ I squeak.
What else could I say? I'm blushing because you’re turning me on by merely the touch of your perfect fingers?
‘Join me this evening for dinner?’ He states open eyed. His question comes unexpected and I stare at him blankly. A few moments pass and he begins to fidget. ‘Please?’ His eyebrows creasing nervously.
I draw a deep breath.
‘I haven’t anything to wear.’ As soon as the words left my lips I knew it was the most lamely excuse anyone could conjure. Why am I making excuses? I'm young, free, and single; to hell with it! ‘But I can borrow something from Claire I'm sure.’
‘Then I shall see you at 7.00pm. We will take the Jag,’ he demands.