by M. Mabie
That ran through my mind as I finally made out his face in the dark.
“Hey, I think I’m going to go down the hall,” I whispered. I didn’t want to disturb him, but I also didn’t want to slip out like a harlot, having got her fill.
He took a deep breath and asked, “Why?” Then, he rolled closer to me, and his hand found my ass and pulled me near. “Why should I let you go?”
Let me go?
“I didn’t ask you for permission. I’m going home.” I tried to keep the petulance out of my voice, but it mixed with honesty, and I failed at hiding it completely.
“Are you okay?” I’d expected him to fight back, but he didn’t.
“I’m fine.”
“Stay here.”
If I was going to give this a fair shot, the truth would be my only defense.
“I need to think about all of this. It’s a lot to take in.”
“Are you still going to dinner with me?” Did he think I’d back out? I supposed it wasn’t the craziest thing to speculate, I’d turned him down enough. However, I wasn’t lying when I said I’d go.
I ran my hand over his forehead. “I can keep my word. I’m still going.”
“Good.” He came forward, and his lips searched for me in the dark, so I moved my hand to his cheek and kissed him. He ended it with a smooching sound. Sleepy Reagan was kind of adorable, and I briefly considered staying there. “Don’t think too much, I’m going to give you a lot to think about tomorrow.”
I quietly giggled at the way his voice was groggy, then placed another kiss on his temple before I moved to leave. I started to roll away when he pulled me back into him.
“Reagan, come on. I need to go. I need a little space to think.”
He said into the back of my hair. “Wear some shoes for me. I’ll pick you up at six, downstairs at the curb. That’s all the space you’ll get.” Then, he kissed my hair, let me go and rolled over.
I found my shirt by the door outside of his room where we left it against the wall.
I slipped on my flats by the door and grabbed my keys off the table there.
When I climbed into my sheets, just down the hall from him, even though it was a twin bed, it now felt so much bigger.
THE NEXT DAY, THE SUN warmed my living room, and I felt a wonderfully hellish ache between my legs as I leaned forward and polished my toes. A new red I’d found the last time I was at the salon.
Using the speakerphone, I talked to Janel.
“So what happened when he came back upstairs?” she inquired, totally into the story.
“You know what happened,” I said back.
“I mean specifically. When was the last time we chatted about a man? Probably when I met Ives. Now spill it, sister.” It had been a long time since there was anything new and exciting to confide.
“We had sex on my ottoman.” I looked over to that side of the room. Honestly, I’d looked over there nothing short of six hundred times so far that day.
She made a squealing sound and giggled. “So...” she probed for more.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do. He’s monogamous. I haven’t been in a straight relationship in years.”
“You haven’t been in any relationships, Nora. You’ve just had lovers. You haven’t been with anyone.” That was true.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I confessed. All of my thoughts were so conflicting.
“What do you want?”
I wanted to play it by ear. I wanted to see where it could go, but I was afraid, too. Subconsciously—or maybe not so much—I wanted her to tell me to run for the hills where it was safe. So, I said, “I can’t handle the whole possessive act. He’s such a control freak.”
I put the cap back on the polish and looked at my handy work.
After a few seconds, she asked, “So now what?”
I paused, and rolled the bottle in my hands. “He said that he wants to talk.”
“Then listen,” she said. She made it seem so simple. “What does that hurt, Nora? See what he has to say.”
“I will. We’re going to dinner. I just don’t know what I’ll say back.”
There was as silence over the line for a longer while this time, which I didn’t worry about at first. She was probably trying to figure out some good advice, but it wasn’t encouraging how long it was taking her.
“Was the kissing good?”
God, Janel.
The kissing? And kissing where? I think his wicked mouth had been over every inch of me. Regardless, the answer was the same.
“Yes.”
She giggled. “And the sex?”
I groaned. This wasn’t helping my problem. “It was incredible.”
“And you like spending time with him?”
“I do,” I admitted.
“Then everything else is just the details, Nora. We’re about to pull away from the dock again. I’ll call you next week. Keep an open mind.”
An open mind?
Wait. An open mind. She had a point.
How was I ever to expect someone to be into trying new things if I couldn’t do it myself?
Maybe she had given me some good advice. I loved her.
I pampered myself all day, taking the extra time to go through my Cosmopolitan, with an icy cosmopolitan in the tub. I shaved everything that needed it. I plucked, masked, moisturized.
I was eager to hear from him, and by midafternoon he hadn’t called or sent a text. When I heard the buzzer sound it surprised me.
“Hello, Ms. Koehl. You have a delivery, may I send them up?”
“Of course. Thank you.”
When I set the vase on the bar, I knew who they were from. They were beautiful summer colors.
Nora,
Thank you for last night. I looked up what the most fragrant flowers were because I know you appreciate that. It was only too perfect when I read that the sweet-smelling freesia is a symbol for trust, too.
This is my way of saying, “Hello, I can’t wait until we talk tonight,” and still giving you the space you asked for.
Let the compromising begin.
Reagan
I had to admit, the man knew how to pick his battles. He’d given me what I’d asked for.
FOUR
PAST
REAGAN—Friday, July 4, 2008
She wanted space, for the day, which was fine. I gave it to her. I needed to plan anyway.
It wasn’t hard to make a reservation on the Fourth of July in downtown Chicago. Almost everyone had left the city, were enjoying things down at Navy Pier, or were out on the lake. So availability wasn’t really the challenge.
No. What had me scrambling was finding a place she’d love. She knew food. More than I wanted to impress her, I wanted her to enjoy the night. I wanted to give her a taste of what was to come if she agreed to my compromise.
It wasn’t fair to her if I didn’t make concessions, too. However, I felt that she would be fair.
Last night had been better than I’d anticipated. It had been such a turn on when she told me she wanted me. When she’d kiss me. When she’d touch me how she wanted. That was contrary to how I’d normally felt about a woman being more aggressive sexually. To think back on it, she hadn’t really been aggressive at all. More curious.
She wasn’t submissive—far from it—but she had some very alluring qualities that reminded me of someone who was. The way she looked right before she came, like she was searching for it and finding more than she’d expected. The way she said my name pressed against me in my bed.
It was a prize to watch her somewhat reach outside of her comfort zone, but at the same time watching her stretch to fit into mine.
I’d been much different with her than I was accustomed to. Where I normally got great pleasure in holding someone on the brink of ecstasy and dangling it in front of them for a while, I reveled in giving it to her without hesitation.
I was eager to see how things would evolve—for both of us.
I k
new of a little restaurant in Little Italy which served authentic cuisine, so I called and made a reservation for us there.
I was showered and dressed early, and filled up my car to waste some time. I drove around for a little while until it was a quarter to six when I pulled up outside our building.
She was early, and I saw her talking to Dirk, the evening lobby attendant, just inside.
When she saw me walk through the doors, she gave the clerk her big work smile as she patted the marble top between them before turning to walk to me.
She wore a red dress. Let me clarify. A fuck-hot little number, cut low between her breasts and scandalously close to the top of her legs. It was hot outside, but seeing her in that dress made the temperature increase exponentially.
She hadn’t skimped on the shoes either. They were black and tall, with geometric cut outs.
She gave me a small nod, holding a tiny black and red jeweled purse. Her hair was sleek, and although she normally wore it straight and parted off to the side, she had it pulled straight back off her face. It had a little height in the center, but looked tamed and sophisticated.
Smokey eyes. Scarlet red lips.
She did not disappoint.
I leaned in and kissed her cheek in greeting.
“You look so fucking sexy. Maybe we should stay in,” I whispered in her ear.
“Mr. Warren, it’s our first date. Are you already calling it a night?” She was teasing, but hearing her call it our first date—which alluded to their being more than one in my opinion—elated me. I don’t think I need to elaborate on the title she used.
“You’re right. Where are my manners?” I watched Dirk over her shoulder. I didn’t appreciate the look he was wearing while staring at her ass. Not that I could blame him. After dinner, everything could be different, but as of that moment, that ass was with me.
Before I could stop myself, I stood off to her side and placed my hand on her satin covered left cheek suggesting we go. It was brief, but I’m sure the guy got the message. When I held the door open for her, I made a point to nod to him.
She’s mine. Hopefully. Keep your fucking eyes off her.
The restaurant was a little bit of a drive, so I was happy I’d already filled up and had the air on, which was lucky for her sweet backside. We didn’t need hot leather scorching her.
“Where we going?” she inquired as we pulled into traffic.
“Carmine’s. Have you been there before?” It wasn’t likely, then again I wasn’t sure about much anymore.
“I haven’t. It’s a little early for dinner,” she said and laughed. “I felt a little old getting ready.”
It was early, but we’d agreed to dinner. That had been a mistake, but lunch would have been too platonic for what I wanted to discuss. Breakfast would have been much more efficient, and I wouldn’t have had to wait all fucking day to see her.
Then, she said, “Thank God though. I’m starving.”
While we’re thanking Him, I silently offered my appreciation for small miracles. Six was the latest I could tolerate, even in my half-asleep state when I’d set it up.
“It’s Italian. I think you’ll like it. I hardly knew anything on the menu.” As I spoke the noise in my head grew louder.
Ten.
I wanted to touch her leg, but I was suddenly keenly aware that I was driving more than normal. I’d be selling my car. It was a stick shift, which I preferred, but I wasn’t pleased with how much attention it required.
Nine.
A car tried to move into my lane, and I had to speed up to avoid an accident. I felt a wave of anxiety washing against my thoughts. I’d never had a panic attack while driving.
Eight. Be careful.
Seven. Watch the fucking traffic, Reggie
I felt a sweat break on my brow, and I cranked up the A/C.
Six. Pay attention.
A series of gruesome images fought for my attention, but I gripped the wheel and drove, checking my mirrors almost constantly.
Five. Four. Three.
Don’t let her get hurt.
Two. One.
I regulated my breathing and distracted my mind away from my worrisome thoughts—best I could—until we were off the highway and onto a less congested street.
Zero. We were safe.
As I saw the sign for the restaurant approach, I realized if she’d been talking, then I hadn’t heard anything she said for probably the last fifteen miles.
I looked at my watch, at least we were on time.
“Are you all right?” she asked when I helped her out of her side of the car. Tension in her forehead, concerned eyes.
“Yes, of course. I’m fine.” I was now that we were there, and I could breathe again. My chest wasn’t nearly as tight, nor did it feel like I was on fire anymore.
That one was probably the worst episode I’d had in the past few years. I needed to start taking my medication again. Even if I hated how it made everything seem dull, it was better than losing my fucking mind.
“Okay, you just looked lost there for a while,” she said and didn’t let go of my hand as we walked into the restaurant.
I loathed my anxiety even more because she’d noticed it.
Surprisingly, she didn’t know much about the food they were serving. The waiter told us about their specials, and after telling him we needed a minute, she said, “Okay, we can do this a few ways.”
I tipped my head, ready for her suggestion. “I’m listening,” I replied. I had bigger issues to discuss, dinner was the least of my worries.
“We could order a bunch of stuff and share it, or I’ll order for you and you can order for me.”
Ordering a little of everything reminded me of the way my family dined out. Maybe next time. The other approach seemed more fitting.
Was that her way of symbolically replying to my gesture of trust? I was probably reading too much into it, but I went with it.
I opened my menu and asked, “Anything you don’t like?”
She looked me in the eye. “Not so far,” she said.
Oh, I’m on to you, baby.
I ordered her seafood pasta; she ordered me a funky version of chicken parmesan. We got a bottle of wine, but I’d decided to save most of my glass for the meal. I took a long drink of water and placed it back on the small two-person bistro table.
“Thank you for the flowers today,” she praised, and the foot she had crossed over her other grazed my leg under the table.
“You’re welcome. How did they smell?”
“Citrusy and sweet. They were very thoughtful.” She unrolled her napkin, placing the linen on her lap, then began buttering a piece of bread from the center of the table.
Instead of eating it, she handed it to me. Without much effort, she charmed me.
“Thank you.” I took her offering gladly.
Our date was starting off well, despite how the drive here went and how it might end. I’d initially wanted to have a discussion, ask her many things about how she lived, and inquire about what she normally expected out of a relationship, but, sitting there, it didn’t feel right.
“I had a really great time last night, too,” she offered, a glowing blush colored her cheeks.
This. This was where she was timid with me, and it made me wonder.
“Nora, are you being yourself around me?”
“Yes,” she answered speculatively and bit into a piece of bread.
“Good. I am, too. It’s different from what I’m used to, but still, I’m being honest.” It didn’t really have to be this hard.
She sipped her wine. “Me, too,” she replied.
I felt like a bird on a wire, cautious to step forward, but I took a leap of faith. “I’m pretty sure this is new for both of us. I know no book will ever explain to me what you want. What you need. What you desire. And I don’t want there to be.” I wrung my hands under the table to help dispel the nervous energy. “What I’m trying to say is, yes we could talk until we’re blue in
the face, but neither of us has any experience with this.”
She licked her finger, and I momentarily lost my train of thought.
“I agree. Everyone is different,” she acknowledged.
“Right. So I propose this,” I began and sat up straight, she leaned in giving me her full attention. “As long as we’re always honest, and we’re both interested in seeing what this is all about, I say let’s just go with it.”
She took a deep breath and sat back a little.
Finally, she countered, “I don’t know. Don’t you think that’s a little dangerous?”
Dangerous for whom?
“Not if we’re honest. We’re both adults. We can communicate. When you want or need something, whatever it is, I need you to tell me. We’ll deal with things as they come.”
Nora didn’t look very convinced, and she ran her finger around her wine glass. “I don’t like being bossed around, and I like my space.”
Was she trying to convince me I didn’t want her? That’s not exactly how I thought this would go. Was she worried I’d smother her?
However, if we were voicing our issues, it was a good time to lay mine down, too. “I can’t handle thinking you’re with someone else if you’re not. If you decided to do anything, romantically, I have to know. I’ll try not to be bossy, but you have to let me know if you want something more plural than just me.”
Her leg began to bounce. This conversation was never going to be easy, but it was inevitable. “Reagan, that’s cheating. I don’t cheat. That’s not what poly means to me. It’s not just some excuse for me to be a whore.”
My intention wasn’t to offend her, and I reviled the debased look on her face.
The waiter returned with our salads, and I waited until he walked away before I continued, appreciating the extra time to think about how to articulate myself properly. I modified my tone, I didn’t want to be abrasive.
“That isn’t what I mean. And after some serious reflection, I can admit that I’m at very least interested in trying things with you. I don’t know what my comfort level will be when it actually happens—that’s the truth, Nora. That’s what I can tell you right now, as of tonight. I want to be considered if you decide to be intimate with anyone else. Not because I’m trying to change you, because I’ve also thought a lot about that, and that’s not what I want either. I need to have all of the details.”