Perfect Plans

by C. J. Wells

  “Give me that”, I demand, grabbing it as he laughs boisterously.

  “You, my dear, are cute as a button”, he leans down, sliding his fingers along my jaw.

  Smiling shyly, I’m rendered speechless at his ability to erase any residual embarrassment I may have felt at his finding the well-viewed magazine.

  Why does he have to be so amazing? Broken heart, here I come…

  Walking over to pick up his t-shirt from the floor, he gives it a quick shake before sliding it over his arms and pulling it in place.

  “Sorry you lost your ball cap”, I offer, trying to visualize exactly when and where it was dislodged in our frenzied attack.

  “Never mind”, he smiles. “It was worth it”, his lips transform into a sinful smirk; my vagina clenches repeatedly.

  Seeing that he’s ready to leave, an overwhelming sadness consumes me. Trying my hardest to hide my melancholy, I lean back against the headboard smiling. There’s no point asking if I’ll ever see him again, even though I’m dying a little inside at my need to. I refuse to beg, however, knowing it’s futile.

  “Can I see you later?” he asks.

  There’s no question he can see the instant shock outlined on my face. Though I’ve spent years mastering control, successfully hiding my true feelings from showing, I struggle in the presence of this man. It’s an unnerving weakness.

  “Unless you don’t want to see me again”, he continues at my silence.

  “Of course, I want to see you again”, I blurt out, a little too quickly.

  “Great”, a huge smile crosses his face. Leaning down for one final kiss, his fingers cup my cheek in a loving gesture, “I’ll call you later?”

  “Ok”, I manage, my brain struggling to catch up as I watch him walk away.

  Opening the door, he flashes me one more heart-stopping smile, “Good-bye, Aby”; closing it softly behind him.

  “Good-bye, Alex”, I whisper, pushing myself down into the bed, curling my hands in the sheets.

  ~

  An hour later, I’m still lying in bed, my face turned into the pillow Alex used, smelling his essence in the linen. I miss him. Which I knew I would.

  When he was preparing to leave, however, I was convinced I’d never see him again. Talk about surprise when he said he’d call me later. Maybe he was just saying that though. Maybe it was his way of leaving without a scene, not wanting me to flip out that I’d been thoroughly used.

  There’s no way I’m good enough for him. It just doesn’t make sense that he truly wants to see me again. Perhaps I should contend myself with the fact that he’s not going to call. Get the heartbreak over with.

  Turning towards the nightstand, I reach to grab my cell phone.

  Uh oh, Stacey, I think to myself noticing the many missed calls and text messages.

  Subject: Where are you?

  Landed safe and sound. Tried calling, no answer. You ok?

  Subject: I’m getting worried

  Why aren’t you answering my calls?

  Subject: Losing my shit here

  Ok, I’m about to hop back on a plane if you don’t answer the damn phone.

  Subject: Seriously… Really, really worried.

  I’m on my second cheeseburger! Screw you, Aby. You know I’m an emotional eater.

  Subject: Now, I’m just pissed!

  On a scale of 1 to I WANT TO PUNCH YOU BY ACCIDENT ON PURPOSE, how angry do you think I am right now?

  Subject: WTF Aby! CALL ME!!

  I’M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU MYSELF IF YOU’RE NOT DEAD ALREADY!

  I instantly dial her number, unmindful of the time difference.

  She answers, her sleep-ridden, groggy voice laced with alarm, “Aby? Are you ok?”

  "Hi… Yes, I’m okay. I’m sorry I missed your calls”, I apologize; hoping to diffuse the angry outburst I know is coming.

  “Jesus H Christ, Aby! I’m so pissed off right now; I don’t even want to be around myself! Do you know what worrying does to your face? I thought you were dead! What the fuck?” she screams, now fully awake.

  “I know… I’m sorry. Time got away from me. My cell was on silent…”

  “It’s fine, Abs. I’ll just get up and eat another cheeseburger because Fuck You. I’m just shocked you didn’t call me. What the hell kept you so distracted that you didn’t think to check your phone?”

  “Um…” I reply, unsure how to explain. And unsure I want to just yet.

  “‘Um’ what? What were you doing all night? There are only two good excuses for your absence… you were either murdered or fucked. And clearly you’re not dead”.

  “Umm…”

  “Holy shit… did you pick up?” she asks, suddenly excited. “OH MY GOD! You picked up, you dirty whore!” she exclaims at my lack of reply. “You finally got laid! Yay! So, who’s the lucky guy?”

  “Erg… Alex showed up at the hotel”.

  “WHAT? Alex Tate? You fucked Alex Tate? Jesus, that trumps my night with Ronald McDonald. How did this happen? I’m so fucking jealous of you right now it’s ridiculous! I can’t believe you fucking had sex with fucking Alexander Tate! Was he good? Does he have a big dick? Oh God, don’t tell me it’s tiny… I’d hate to think that it was like throwing a hot dog down a hallway. It would ruin it for me. Lie if you have to!”

  Laughing at her incessant questions, and crude mention of Alex’s ‘equipment’ - and what glorious ‘equipment’ it is - I finally have opportunity to speak. I take a few minutes to explain what transpired; from my morning alone, to Alex’s showing up at the hotel… our encounter in the elevator; to the amazing sex that followed, ending with our domesticated cuddling throughout the night.

  “Ahhh, cuddling - it’s all fun and games until someone get an erection. God, Aby. This is just too much! I’m kinda hot over here. So, are you going to see him and his big dick again? You lucky bitch”.

  “I don’t think so”, I reply, not wanting to mention that he may, or may not call me later; pushing the reminder of his amazing ‘package’ away to stop the pulsing in my core.

  “What does that mean? Why wouldn’t you see him again? You can’t tell me that after all his efforts he just wanted one night. Aby, the man is seriously into you. Bitch”, she quips.

  On a laugh, I confess his parting comments and my acceptance to see him later. “But I don’t want to expect too much. What if he doesn’t call? It would kill me, Stace. It’s better if I pretend I’ll never hear from him again, instead of waiting around pining. For my sanity at least”, I confess. “I can’t expect anything more than one night with him… the best sexual encounter of my existence”.

  “Whatever, Abs. But you do know you’re wrong, right? He’s totally gonna call you”.

  “We’ll see. Even if he doesn’t, I had a great night. AMAZING night”.

  “I bet you did, you lucky bitch”, Stacey laughs. “Congratulations on ending your dry spell with a big BANG, baby! I’ll call you tomorrow. I want to know what happens. Love you, doll face”.

  “Love you too”, I reply before hanging up and turning my face back into the Alex-scented pillow.

  ~

  I’m being ridiculous. Having gone as far as sending housekeeping away. I did agree to let them carry away the left over plates from our meal last night, but there was no way I was letting them disrupt the bed. I’m not mentally prepared to lose the reminder of my night with Alex, constantly replaying each and every moment over and over in my head.

  In the silence of my room, curled up in the bed we shared, I stare absently at the club chair he occupied; shuddering as I recall the selfless orgasm he gave me before we ate.

  Moving my gaze to stare at the side of the bed he occupied, I run my fingers aimlessly over the indentation in the mattress. I’m like an obsessed teenager.

  Releasing a frustrated sigh that the night is long over, I finally cave and turn on the TV, aimlessly surfing from channel to channel; not quite paying attention to the programs flashing by. Since I didn’t give Alex
my mobile number, I plan on staying put in this room until he calls. If he calls.

  Dammit. I knew no matter what, I’d pine over him.

  My channel surfing abruptly halts as I catch Alex’s face on the screen.

  Wow, he’s gorgeous.

  Face freshly shaven, hair styled to perfection; the man is mouth-wateringly stunning.

  And you had him in your arms last night! - my inner dreamer does her happy dance.

  Unsure of when this show was recorded, I quickly flip on the guide.

  This is an interview. It must be the interview he had to leave for this morning.

  Unfortunately, the guide indicates I’ve missed the majority of it, which really sucks. Why did I waste the last twenty minutes remembering his face, when I could have turned the on TV to see it first hand?

  With only a few minutes remaining, I turn up the volume, absorbing myself in the interviewer’s question; my attention fully rested on his stunning face.

  “With your acting career in full swing, where do you see yourself in five years?”

  With a raise of his brow, as though deep in thought, he responds, “In an ideal world, I’d find the woman of my dreams, and be married. But, isn’t that everyone’s perfect plan?”

  I sit upright, intrigued by his familiar ideal… He has a plan? I have a plan! OMG. It’s kismet.

  Yeah, that’s what it is - my inner actress rolls her eyes.

  Ignoring the downer thought, I increase the volume further and listen attentively.

  “And speaking of the woman of your dreams, on behalf of all of our female viewers, what would you say is your biggest weakness when it comes to women?” the short-haired brunette flashes him a flirtatious playful smile on behalf of her audience.

  My interest peaks even further, dramatically so, at her question. I, like all of the other women in the world, am dying to know what his weakness is. Straining forward on the bed, my elbows resting on my knees, I await his reply.

  “Hmm….” Alex mutters, giving the answer some thought. “Well, I don’t want to be too open, and give too much away”, he comments, baring his sweet, gentlemanly smile. “I prefer to maintain a certain air of mystery”, he finishes, clearly avoiding the question.

  “Oh come on! Give us something!” I yell at the screen in frustration, jumping up and down on my knees; my demands surely echoed by the other female viewing audiences around the world.

  As if hearing the worldwide reverberating demand, the interviewer urges him further, “Oh, come on, Mr. Tate… Don’t be coy”.

  “Thank you lady! Don’t let him get away with that slippery shit!”

  At the second push, he smiles, looking downwards shyly, “One of my weaknesses…” he states, thinking before looking back to the interviewer, “A very recent weakness… floral tattoos”.

  OH MY EVER-LOVING GOD. Did he just say floral tattoos?

  My mind is spinning. Certainly he hasn’t been with anyone else recently with floral tattoos. How much of a coincidence would that be? Is it presumptuous of me to assume he’s referring to my tattoos? But seriously, what are the chances.

  I yelp, jumping in surprise at the sudden loud shrill ring of the telephone.

  There’s only one person who would call my hotel room, I realize, and that’s the man of the hour - or the past twenty-four hours. My head is still reeling from what I just witnessed him say. How can I possibly talk to him right now? But if I don’t answer, he may not call again.

  Ugh, dammit. I curse to myself, picking up the receiver.

  “Um, hello?”

  “Aby?” Alex’s sexy tone and British accent hit me like heated lightning bolts, shooting through my core. “Are you ok? You sound out of breath?”

  “Um… Yeah, good to go”. Good to go? Ugh. Who says that?

  “What are you doing?”

  “Just watching TV”.

  “Anything interesting?” his tone is playful.

  “Um… Nope”, I lie through my teeth.

  “Care to join me for dinner tonight?”

  Hell yeah… Can I have you for dinner? “Sure”.

  “Okay, beautiful. I’ll pick you up at eight?”

  “Um... OK”. Breathe Aby. “Any particular dress code?” I’m suddenly nervous in my shocked excitement that he actually called and that I’ll get to see him again.

  “Just something comfortable”.

  Something comfortable? Ugh. I want to ask where he’s taking me, but he clearly doesn’t want to divulge any information.

  Who cares where! He wants to see me again!

  “Um… OK”, I resign, mentally cataloging my clothes; inwardly cringing at my repetitive lack of verbiage.

  With a slight chuckle, Alex continues, “I look forward to it”, a suggestive note in his tone, before hanging up the phone; leaving me reeling even more than I already was.

  ~

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, I absently wind my hands together. It’s seven forty-eight, and I’m a complete bundle of nerves, anxiously waiting for Alex to knock on my door. We didn’t discuss exactly where he’d pick me up, so I can only assume that he’ll come to my room. I thought about waiting downstairs, but opted to just stay put. The image of my nerve-wracked figure pacing, if not frozen in place, inside the lobby aided that decision. At least in the confines of my room, I can attempt to gather myself before opening the door.

  My uncertainty of what ‘comfortable’ outfit to wear had me changing clothes three times. I finally settled on a pair of short black dress shorts, a satin coral colored camisole and black wedges. I figure this outfit screams comfort, yet is presentable enough that I’d fit in at any restaurant Alex has selected.

  Please God, don’t let me trip walking in.

  My fiddling fingers intertwined in my loose waves, I look down at my unmade bed, jumping up at the realization that he’ll see the unkempt room. In a frenzy, I begin tidying up the discarded outfits; pulling the bed linens together, disappointed that I’m covering the still dented mattress on his side of the bed.

  Oh, well. Perhaps we’ll get to dent a different bed tonight…

  The thought elicits a sudden heat to my system. A flash reminder of Alex’s hands on my body, touching me, bringing me to orgasm with his mouth, hands and amazingly large cock. My only regret being that I didn’t get to taste him myself. Maybe I’ll make up for that tonight?

  Wow. Where did that come from? The man does crazy things to me.

  Hearing a knock on the door, I suddenly feel sick.

  What if he sees me again and is disappointed in what he sees? What if he’s taking me to dinner to tell me it’s over? What if I’m not wearing the right outfit?

  What if you stop breathing? - my inner actress splashes me with cold water.

  A final span of the room, I’m satisfied that it looks to be in good order. Like that will quell my twisting nerves. I make my way to open the door, all of the stomach-turning thoughts flowing at full speed through my head.

  My breathing stills at the site of Alex, his arm casually leaning against the doorframe, a heart-stopping smile dawning his Adonis face. He’s dressed in light blue jeans - again loose fitting in all the right places; a muscle-filled blue collared dress shirt hanging over his lean hips; his beautiful brown curls covered in a black baseball cap.

  “Hi”, I mumble, my nervousness surely written all over my face.

  “Good evening. You look beautiful”.

  Stepping forward, he slides his hand along my jaw, rendering me speechless as I stare into his hooded gaze. I’m frozen in place as he tips my head back, leaning down to give me a gentle kiss. Pulling back with a smile, he runs his hands up and down my bare arms. “Ready to go?”

  Unable to speak, I nod my head in acceptance.

  Oh my good God. Legs don’t give out on me now.

  Turning to grab my small black purse off the bed, I follow him out, light headed above my wobbly limbs.

  Waiting for the elevator, I fumble with my little bag as memories of
yesterday come crashing back. A sudden sentimental reminder of the first time this god-like man kissed me - an image that will be forever etched in to my memory.

  Alex takes my hand in his, a heated look crossing his face, his tongue jutting out to lick along his lower lip before biting it slightly.

  The idea that he’s sharing the same memory causes my breath to hitch.

  “Aby”, he whispers, a look of intense longing in his eyes.

  Desire oozing from my own gaze, he grabs me, embracing me tightly around my waist. His lips crash down onto mine, his tongue magically awakening my core with powerful electric yearning pulses.

  I wrap my arms securely around his neck, diving deep into his kiss.

  At the ding signaling the elevator’s arrival, he groans, pulling his delicious mouth from mine. Staring into my eyes, he runs his thumb gently along the kiss-swollen edge of my lip.

  Through heightened breaths, we maintain our gaze; our unabashed need reflected. I’m left wondering if we’ll make it to dinner at all.

  It’s an overwhelming thought that Alexander Tate wants me as badly as I want him. I would give myself to him right here, where we stand, regardless of our public locale.

  His lips curling into a relenting smile, he releases me, taking my hand to lead me into the elevator.

  CHAPT

  ER SEVEN

  Alex’s silver sports car screams wealth. I’m a bit shell shocked to be sitting in such a machine - my previously owned, and well-loved Honda Civic paling in comparison.

  “What kind of car is this?” I continue admiring its black, lustrous interior, sliding my fingers adoringly along the smooth leather and polished chrome accents.

  “My one self-indulgence”, he smiles sheepishly, “an Aston Martin DBS”.

  “It’s stunning”.

  “Thank you. I don’t get to drive her much with my travelling for work. I try to take her out every opportunity I get”. He takes my hand in his with an appreciative smile.