Man of My Dreams

by Faith Andrews

  I take out my phone and check the time. It’s a little after eleven o’clock on a Saturday night here which means it’s twelve o’clock Sunday afternoon in Hong Kong. He’ll be awake. He’ll be furious. But there isn’t much he can do about it from so far away.

  I take out the phone and dial Declan’s cell number, hoping that Noah will stay in the bathroom long enough to let me take care of this. The phone rings one time, two times, three times—four and his voicemail picks up. Do I do this in a message? What choice do I have? At least I won’t have to argue with him when I tell him.

  You’ve reached Declan Murphy. Please leave a message and I will return your call as soon as possible.

  A loud, long beep blares in my ear and I stagger for a moment. But I get the courage to stand strong and get it out there, “Hi, Dec. It’s me...Mia. Um...I was hoping to catch you, but I guess you’re working or just...busy. Um...I don’t know how to say this, but...Dec, baby, this space is killing me. The time alone has made me think about a lot. And the distance...well, maybe the distance has forced me to realize things that weren’t clear to me before. What am I getting at? Ahhh! Why is this so hard? Dec, I need space. Even though all we have lately is space between us. But I’m drowning in what ifs and regrets and uncertainty. I need time. Time for me, time to be free, time to...” I see Noah heading my way through the crowd. I look for a clear sign that I am making a mistake; for something to end this call and erase the message and pretend it never happened. But when Noah’s eyes find mine, igniting a fire in the pit of my stomach, I know I owe it to myself to figure this out for once and for all. I can’t live in regret anymore or I’ll end up weeks, months, years from now hitting on a random guy at the supermarket checkout line. “Dec...I need time for me. Time as a woman, not just a wife and mother. I’m sorry I gave you shit for wanting the exact same thing, but...please don’t hate me.”

  I close the cell phone shut, shaking. What the hell have I just done? When he gets the message he is going to freak out! I want to be more remorseful for leaving a Dear John message for my husband, but I can’t help being mad at him for setting this whole thing in motion. Fuck it! I’ve always done the right thing. At least I had the decency to give him a heads up before doing anything with another man. At least I’m not dishonest.

  Noah sits back down next to me, handing me another beer. “Everything okay?”

  I tilt my head back and drain half the bottle. “I hope so.”

  Noah takes the beer out of my hand, reaching up to cup my face. “Mia. What’s wrong? What changed in the five minutes I was gone?”

  Hmm, let’s see. I’ve decided to throw the last eight years out the window because of a curiosity inside of me that just won’t give up. “Can we go outside and get some fresh air?”

  “Of course. You wanna go home? I’ll take you home.”

  I push my purse back at him as he tries to hand it to me. “No! This night isn’t over yet and I’m not nearly as drunk as I want to be. So we’re going out for fresh air and then we’re coming back in here and I’m ordering a round of shots.”

  “Okay? Why shots? Shots are usually for celebrations.”

  Should I be celebrating my untimely freedom? That would just be wrong. Again, I’m stuck on how to answer him. “Just take me outside. It’ll be easier to explain with a clear head.”

  He ushers me outside, his hand against my bare back again. I wonder if he can feel the goosebumps that he’s created there.

  When we’re outside, I take the lead, walking toward the parking lot. Where we can be alone. I rest up against the brick wall. The chill of the cement against my skin feels so refreshing. I’m totally overheated—my temperature, my heart rate could come down a few notches.

  “What’s up, Mia? Why do things feel different all of a sudden?”

  “Because they are.” I’m tired of waiting. I’ve waited since I was fourteen years old to do this. No time like the present right...especially since presently my marital status is indeterminable.

  I turn to Noah, pushing him into the wall; my hands caress his smooth face. I wonder if he always shaves, or if it was just for tonight. There is so much I don’t know about this man, so much I want to find out.

  “Mia, please. Don’t. You’re drunk, you don’t want to do this.” He moves his hands off of me, from where they were resting right above my bottom.

  “I’m not drunk. And I do want this. I’ve wanted this for a long time and I can’t miss this chance again.” I inch closer to him, staring at his lips. I’d memorized the shape, the way his top lip dips under his nose, creating a perfectly, plump heart. But this is the closest I’ve ever come. “I dream about you, Noah. A lot. That has to mean something. Maybe the dreams are there to remind me of what I felt. To encourage me not to give up on something I’ve always wanted.”

  I step up on my tippy toes, resting my head on his shoulder. His fingers are tangled in my hair, making me crazy. Do I do this? How can I not? I’ve laid it all out there, I can’t chicken out now.

  “Mia?” His voice is deep, throaty, full of need.

  “Yes?” I don’t move from the warmth of his neck.

  “I’m going to kiss you. Please tell me you won’t hate me if I kiss you.”

  I lean back to look at him, his arms holding me against him.

  “I won’t hate...”

  He doesn’t give me time to finish. His mouth collides with mine. He grips chunks of my hair with one hand, a handful of my dress with the other. He parts my lips with his tongue, and when he caresses mine he’s soft and slow. The control in his pace surprises me—the two of us are obviously starving for each other. I fall under his spell and let him take the lead. That’s all I ever wanted.

  Both hands cup my face now. He kisses the sides of my lips, before parting them again. This time he sucks on my tongue before dipping deeper, becoming more intense. Jesus Christ, this is everything I’ve ever imagined and so much more...it’s even better than the dreams.

  I start to worry that I won’t be able to stop. Kissing is my limit and if he continues doing it, this well, the barrier will be broken. Thankfully, he reads my mind and breaks free, still holding my face in his large, rough hands. “We have to stop. Oh my God, you’re a married woman and all I want to do is bring you to my bed. We can’t...we...Shots! Let’s go do those shots.”

  The rest of the night is a blur. I remember the first shot, and then Noah drinking water to sober up.

  Not me. I kept the party going, even though I shouldn’t have. We danced. We talked. We laughed. We even kissed a little more. I search my brain to remember the rest, but I can’t.

  God, the room is spinning. Wait, this is my room. How did I get here?

  In my bed. Naked.

  I’m trying hard to think of a lie.

  A believable one.

  There’s a house party tonight with no parents, no guardians...just a bunch of seniors and college kids and the few of us underclassmen who got lucky enough to be invited. Oh, and based on the track record of the host, there will be alcohol, drugs, and God knows what else. The scene I’m picturing is exactly why my parents have never gone away and left me home alone. It’s exactly why I need to lie. They would never allow it.

  Even Grace is giving me lip about it, despite my efforts to get her to come along too.

  “Mia, it’s a bad idea. You’re in over your head.”

  I look back at Grace, past my own reflection in the mirror, then back at myself. I’m impressed with my new outfit—tight, boot cut jeans and a pink baby doll tee that shows just enough of my belly without making me look too eager. Even if that’s exactly what I am. Eager to fit in, to grow up, to experience it all. It surprises me that Grace isn’t on the same wave length.

  “Grace, this party is about social acceptance. Don’t you want to be accepted?”

  “This party is about peer pressure. Neither of us need to drink or smoke to be accepted. You have plenty of friends...is Lisa going? John? Kristen?”

  I s
hake my head, while zipping up my boots.

  “Why aren’t they worried about this case of social acceptance you feel the need to catch?”

  I roll my eyes, standing up to do the finishing touches on my hair. “They don’t hang out with this crowd. It’s okay to broaden your horizons, hang out with different people now and again. I don’t have to hold your hand or anyone else’s to have a good time. But I would still love it if you came.” I jump in front of the slouched lump of my supposed fun-loving best friend and get on my knees, begging. “Come on, please? It’s going to be a lot of fun. No one is going to force us to do anything we don’t want to do and if we’re together we can watch out for each other. A conscience and a wing-woman all rolled into one.” I pout my lips and bring my hands together in a praying gesture.

  Grace’s demeanor softens, even if only slightly. She takes a deep breath, using her entire body to do so, and says, “Fine. Lend me something to wear. I won’t be socially accepted in my Abercrombie sweatshirt and pajama pants.”

  We tell my parents we’re going to the movies with a few of the girls from Grace’s school. She tells her parents we’re going bowling with friends from my school. It works.

  Chelsea’s living room is already littered with pizza boxes, tossed popcorn, and empty Solo cups. Random people are making out and groping on the couches, in the doorways, in the bathroom. This is more like a scene from Animal House than any high school movie I’ve ever seen.

  I scan the room for any familiar faces. There aren’t many and I feel like a total dweeb toting the box of munchkins I thought would be polite to bring. Unnoticed, I place them on top of a cluttered coffee table and take Grace’s hand, walking towards the back of the house.

  There’s a funny smell and a lot of noise coming from the backyard. Must be where the real fun is happening. Informer by Snow, and the words no one can decipher, crank out of a mini-boom box on the window sill in the kitchen.

  I drag Grace through a pair of sliding doors and onto a wooden patio. It’s only April, and not nearly warm enough, but the in-ground pool is open and overflowing with splashing teenagers. Some fully clothed and some down to almost nothing. Each of them with a red cup in their hand.

  There’s a keg in the corner by a shed and in the opposite corner a cloud of smoke. I recognize the smell. I’d be an idiot not to, even though I’d never tried it and wasn’t so sure I wanted to. But something propels me forward...curiosity, intrigue? Whatever it is, I follow the wafting odor, pulling Grace along.

  She lets go of my hand, anchoring her legs to the soggy grass around the outer perimeter of the pool. “What are you doing, Mia?”

  “I want to say hi to Chelsea. It’s only right to greet the host.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t think proper etiquette matters to her or any of those potheads right now. This is why I didn’t want to come. I don’t want to get roped into any of this.” She waves her arms in front of her, indicating the debauchery that’s taking place.

  “I told you I wouldn’t let anything happen. Can we just go say hi?” I get closer to her, whispering so no one can hear how lame I must sound.

  She shakes her head, her arms criss-crossed against her stomach. “No. You go if you want. I can’t stop you, but I’m staying right here.” She parks herself on a lounge chair and crosses her legs at the ankles.

  “Suit yourself,” I practically snarl. So much for my wing-woman. There are a bunch of cute guys over by the cloud of smoke. None of them are Noah, but it wouldn’t hurt to make-out with one of them.

  I turn my back on my best friend and march over to Chelsea. Sure enough she’s right in the center of the conspicuous cloud of fragrant smoke, pulling on a tiny white joint. That’s what it’s called right?

  She exhales a long, foggy haze and catches my eye. She hands the joint to an unfamiliar face and runs over to me. “Mia! I’m so glad you came! When did you get here?”

  I kiss her on the cheek, the new form of greeting these days, and see a kid sucking something out of a very strange apparatus. “Just walked in a few minutes ago. This is quite a party, Chels. I didn’t expect...” What didn’t I expect? This is exactly what I expected! But now, being face to face with it... “so many people. Who are all of them?”

  She slings her arm around me, dragging me closer to the center of her deviant crowd, further away from Grace and my comfort zone. “Most of them are my older sister’s friends. Some are seniors from Westmont. There’s one over there who’s been asking about you all night.” She points over to the shed, where Craig Jeffries is doing a keg stand. “You know Craig, right?”

  I shake my head. I don’t know him, but I know of him; about how he likes to date the younger girls, the freshmen and sophomores. He has an infamous track record of promising them an invitation to prom and then stealing their virginity. It’s probably in my best interest to stay far from Craig Jeffries. See, I don’t need Grace to steer me away from trouble.

  “Thanks, Chelsea, but he’s not my type.”

  She hands me a freshly pumped cup of ice cold beer. I take it, not quite sure if I will actually go through with consuming it. “Well, there’s plenty to choose from. How about him?”

  I look over my shoulder to check on Grace, she’s staring into space, or at the rowdiness taking place in the pool. She’s okay. Then I focus in the direction of Chelsea’s long, painted finger.

  Wow! Who’s that? “Wow! Who’s that?”

  “He’s a friend of Kate’s, my sister. He goes to college with her. He’s really nice...really cute, right?”

  “Um, yeah.” It’s hard not to stare.

  “While you were deciding about Craig, I saw him eyeing you. Want me to take you over and introduce you?”

  Do I? Do I ever! Why not? Where’s the harm in talking to a hot, older guy? Considering all the temptation here tonight, chatting it up with a college student seems like the lesser of all the evils.

  His name is Jake. He’s studying Anthropology and right now I’m studying his luscious lips. I’ve taken a few sips of the beer that’s starting to get too warm, just to quench my thirst and keep my tongue from getting dry. Occasionally, I look back at Grace to make sure she’s still there. Yup, still there, glowering. What a wet blanket! I wonder if Jake has a friend.

  “You have really pretty eyes, Mia. I can hardly see them out here in the dark, though. Can I take you inside? You look kind of cold.”

  His eyes drop down to my chest and he grins. I guess my body has spoken and he’s not shy in taking notice.

  I cross my arms, not too abruptly, to cover my double-crossing double-Ds and Jake puts his arm around me. I guess we’re going inside. I glance over to Grace to let her know I’m changing scenery, but I see she’s made a friend. Good for her. Maybe now she’ll have a good time and not feel like she has to babysit me.

  When we get inside, Jake finds an open spot on the stairs leading up to what I guess are the bedrooms. He pats the carpeted step next to him, and I comply by taking a seat.

  “I was right,” he says, getting closer, “you do have beautiful eyes.”

  My eyes are brown. I guess they’re nice, but I’d always wished they were blue or green or even grey. But Jake doesn’t seem to mind the plain, chocolate hue.

  “Thank you,” I say looking down at my hands.

  His finger grazes my jawline, landing right under my chin. He tilts my head up, and I clench my legs together. The tumbling in my stomach is creeping between my thighs. This so beats banging noses with Billy Denks.

  Before I can even close my eyes in preparation for it, his lips are on mine. He forces my mouth open with his stiff tongue, and then invades it with in and out motions. His method reminds me of something serpentine, but I can’t lie and say it isn’t doing crazy things to my insides.

  I give in to the fanatical heat rising within and lean in closer, letting him take me along on our lip-locked journey. It’s amazing what a tongue can do. How many ways it can move; tangling, swirling, licking, lapping. How the
one tiny muscle in your body can take control over all the others.

  My back is against the wall of the stairway, Jake’s fingers are curled into the loops of my jeans. I am basically backed in a corner, but I don’t feel as if I’m here against my will. I’m enjoying this. It’s about time...it took sixteen years to feel this good.

  Jake stops kissing me. Panting, he stares at me with dark dilated eyes and a swollen mouth. How long have we been at it? Do my lips wear the same evidence of our not so innocent behavior?

  He stands up, hanging an open hand in front of me. I can’t help but notice something shifting in his jeans. To think that I had the power to do that to a college boy...I can’t imagine my inexperienced kissing is that potent.

  “Come with me, Mia?”

  There’s a voice in my head telling me not to. That same voice convinced me not to smoke the alluring pot or to get drunk on the frothy beer. The thumping of my heart and the throbbing of my groin trumps the nagging voice. What’s the harm in going up there? I’d be happy to continue this without an audience anyway.

  I extend my hand, grabbing onto his and accepting his invitation.

  He pulls me up the steps and I nearly trip from the speed at which we’re traveling. But underneath my clumsiness I’m as excited as he is to get behind a closed door and continue our make-out session.

  We stumble into an empty room. Chelsea’s? Or maybe Kate’s? I feel funny staking claim in either. Like an unwelcome guest, snooping on their private world. The walls are painted a pretty, delicate lavender, the carpet a patterned, plush cream. The wall above the bed is decorated with pretty paper butterflies, varied in size. Everything in its place and a place for everything. It’s immaculate, comforting, serene.

  Jake sweeps a few stuffed animals off the foot of the bed then pulls me down to sit next to him. He hasn’t said a word to me since he told me about my eyes. Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe the talking will make it awkward. He dips down and kisses the hollow divot above my collar bone, sending shivers up and down my spine. I’ve never been kissed there.