The whole morning, I stare at the PowerPoint presentation I created, thinking about what’s behind the door of room 401. I yo-yo back and forth between going through with it and ignoring it. On my way to grab lunch I’ll just toss the room key in the trash can and forget last night ever happened. But the curiosity looming within me is what keeps my grip tight on the piece of dangerous plastic inside my jacket pocket.
She said she wanted to hang out. Maybe she just wants a lunch buddy, someone to make her laugh. I’m jumping to conclusions. This doesn’t have to be what it seems like.
Only when I knock on the door, just before inserting the key into the slot, the vision of a barely clothed masseuse almost makes me run the other way.
Operative word here being ‘almost.’
“I want to practice on you. Come on in.”
The scent of lavender candles and eucalyptus oil and the serene melody of Soundscapes calm my jumpy nerves. Samantha, dressed in a skimpy, fitted t-shirt printed with the logo of her spa, places her deft hands at my shoulders, removing my suit jacket.
“I’ll step into the bathroom while you take all your clothes off. I want to show you a few things I learned today.”
I don’t object. I don’t speak. I barely breathe.
She disappears into the bathroom and I strip. I assume my position, face down and ass up, on the massage table and drape the thin, cotton sheet over my bare backside before alerting her with a shy, “Ready.” I’m far from fucking ready for any of this, but my mind keeps telling me that maybe this is just a massage. Maybe she just needs a break from the refrigerator repair man and a young, attractive prototype to test her skill.
I hear the faint thud of her graceful footsteps, before I feel her soft hands on my back. “Ooh, you work out.” I hear the smile as she speaks, but she quickly gets on with business. “Get a good night’s sleep, Declan?”
“Mmmhmmm.” The delightful pressure of her delicate but powerful hands on my lower back is sinful in and of itself.
“Not me. Too much on my mind.”
Do I dare to prompt an explanation? Nah, I’m gonna leave it alone.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you last night. I wondered if you would come.”
Oh, sweetie, your hands might make me do just that right here on your table.
“You’re tense, Declan. Relax.” Her hands slither from the nape of my neck to the arch of my ass, threatening to remove the sheet to reveal my buck-nakedness. Maybe I should have kept my underwear on. Stupid!
Her hands stop their wicked decent and she speaks, “Time to flip over.”
I hesitate. Doesn’t my tense back need more attention? But when she doesn’t say a word, I start to rotate.
“God, Declan. You must spend a lot of time at the gym.” She smoothes her oil greased hands over my pectorals, tracing an invisible line down my happy trail. Happy doesn’t even cover it right now…it’s fucking ecstatic.
“Samantha…” I try to stop her with something, anything, but nothing’s interrupting her now, as she pulls the t-shirt over her head, revealing a perky set of pierced nipples.
Shit! Mother-fucking, bitch-ass shit!
I lay here like a scared little boy, not having a single clue what to do with all the flesh available to me. My brain prompts my hands to reach out and touch, but the better part of me wards me off as if I will be burned by touching the tempting flame.
I sit up, using my elbows for support. Samantha takes this as an invitation to pounce. The massage table creaks with the added weight and my dick jerks traitorously underneath her straddling. I resist the urge to feel, with my hands, with my heart, but she leans in. Our faces are inches apart and it would take a fucking repellant force field to stop me from diving into this pool of lust.
My hands forgo the pink, pierced flesh, scrambling to touch something. They settle for chunks of her hair. As they tangle their way into the silky strands, our lips collide. It’s ravenous, greedy, gluttonous. With the first flick of her slippery tongue I feel the metal bar bell. The rest of my body reacts to the beauty of the foreign object.
Foreign. Strange. Different. Not Mia.
“Stop! No! I can’t do this.” I push her off, as gently as possible, grabbing the sheet and standing up on wobbly feet. “I’m sorry, Samantha. I should have never…I have to go.”
I retrieve my crumpled clothes, quickly put them back on. I ignore the stunned masseuse as I rush out and slam the door behind me.
What the fuck have I done?
Poor, beautiful Mia.
Cara and Charlie.
What the fuck did I just do?
When the lights come back on and the crowd stops clapping, Noah is the first to speak. “What’s going on, Mia?”
I’m still turned away from him, facing the stage, and I can’t bring myself to look in his direction. Between the shock, the embarrassment, the guilt—I’m not so sure myself what’s going on here. The facts are simple: I’m on a date with Noah and my husband just showed up and rocked open mic night. And although I said simple, the word doesn’t always mean the opposite of complex. The whys are a whole different ball of wax. What does this mean? Why is he here? Why now?
Declan exits the stage, returns the mic to the MC, and starts to walk over to our table with both hands in his pockets. He’s so nonchalant and casual, it’s like he’s had this whole thing planned out.
I turn to face Noah, regretting the eye contact as soon as we make it. The excitement that danced around in his emerald stunners when he asked me to spend the summer with him has vanished, it’s replaced with an unsettling apprehension. And as Declan steps closer and closer to us, the apprehension turns into rage.
I wish I could just get up and run away. Let the two of them handle this without me. Or, better yet, maybe Grace and the nose she likes to stick where it doesn’t belong can make this all disappear.
But running is not an option. It’s not fair to Noah. So I give him the explanation he deserves. “That’s my husband. Declan.”
Noah’s eyes grow wide and his expression sours even more. I wish I could read him better, but we haven’t spent enough time together yet for me to know all his idiosyncrasies. It doesn’t take years together, though, to see that he is not happy right now.
As Declan approaches, Noah stands, making me very uncomfortable. The bar is noisy with music and chatter so we go unnoticed. Just an ordinary meeting between two hot men, right? Yeah, okay. I’m sure it’s every day a woman has to introduce her husband to the man she’s been dating. Why is this happening to me? I dart my angry eyes in Grace’s direction. She’s got to stop doing this! I can handle my own life. It’s confrontation I can’t handle. And forget confrontation—I sense this is going to be an all out brawl.
Declan reaches over my head and extends his palm to Noah. “Declan. I assume you’re Noah.” He’s trying so hard to be cordial, but then again he really isn’t. His icy blue stare might sear a hole through Noah’s head if he keeps eyeing him like that.
Noah doesn’t raise his hand to meet Declan’s. He just stares right back at him with a jaw clenched so tight his teeth could start to pulverize. Awesome. We’re off to a great start. I guess this is my cue to intervene.
“Declan, what are you doing here? Couldn’t you wait until another time to talk to me?”
Declan never takes his eyes off Noah. Not even when he speaks to me. “No, I got tired of waiting. You needed to hear this now. He,” he spits the word out in disgust, while jutting his chin in Noah’s direction, “needed to hear this now.”
Noah sports a tough-guy smirk, arching an aggravated eyebrow. “Oh, is that so? And what is it that I needed to hear, Declan? ‘Cause if you think you’re going to barge in here and make it like I’m treading on your turf—you got some set of balls. She doesn’t belong to you, you know that? You threw her away the minute you cheated on her. And she deserves better.”
If those aren’t fighting words I don’t know what are, but either way it’s quite a mouthful, and I think Noah j
ust stepped over the line, even if he is only trying to defend me. “Noah…” I place my hand on his, hoping to grab his attention and calm him down, but Declan jumps in and interrupts.
“No, you have some set of balls—talking to me like you know me, like you know jack about my marriage.” Declan steps closer, shaking his head and huffing. “You know what, that’s none of your business and I’m not here to explain myself to you. I’m here for Mia. I’m here to fight for what’s mine. For my wife. I want her back and you’re obviously in my way.”
Before I have time to register what’s happening, the table’s been flipped onto its side, its contents crashing to the floor. There are loud, exaggerated shrieks from the people around us and suddenly Grace is at my side, pulling me away from what looks like two men in a boxing ring.
Noah takes the first swing, landing a solid punch to Declan’s jaw. I expect him to stagger from the impact, but instead Declan remains steady and hammers on by returning a blow to the right side of Noah’s head. This time, Noah staggers a bit to gain back his footing. He sways backwards, but then lunges forward, grabbing Declan’s shirt and ripping it in the process. This time his fist meets with Declan’s nose.
“Stop! Noah, stop! Please!” I rush over to Declan with the napkin that’s been in my Kung-Fu-like grip since Declan started singing. All I can see is blood. Everywhere. On Noah’s hands, Declan’s face, his shirt, the floor. Too much blood. I think I’m going to be sick.
But there’s no time for that, because in a frenzied rush, the four of us are escorted outside by two brawny bouncers and the manager of the bar. Grace leaves me for a second to speak to the gawky, nervous manager. He’s irate, but he’s also terrified. I bet he doesn’t want to piss off the two guys who just messed up his place with their ridiculously violent pissing contest.
“I think you broke my fucking nose, asshole.” Declan is keeled over in pain, nursing his bloody face.
“Good. That was for Mia.” Noah holds his fist, shaking the pain off every few seconds. Seems my husband does have that thick skull I’ve always accused him of having.
“She doesn’t need you defending her, prick.”
“And she doesn’t need your line of bullshit or your pretty words anymore, dickhead.”
Declan straightens up, forgetting the nose and the blood and apparently the pain, ready to lunge at Noah again.
I step in between the two of them, separating them between my shaky, fragile arms. “Enough! The both of you. This is ridiculous. Can’t we talk like adults?” I feel like I’m refereeing Cara and Charlie. There has to be a better way. And if one of them says “he started it,” I’m going to scream.
“Mia, I know he’s your husband, but—I thought what we had going was amazing. Am I batshit for thinking we had a future? That you were done being taken for granted?”
“You son of a bitch…” Declan dives in for another attack, but this time big brawny bouncer number one steps in when he sees my scrawny arms aren’t going to do much to keep him off of Noah.
Noah laughs, which has got to be patronizing Declan. “What? Sucks to know your wife could be spending her future with another man, huh? You got her past, bro, I’m claiming the rest.”
My head is spinning with all of this back and forth. Declan is wrong for being mad at Noah; he’s innocent in all of this. And Noah shouldn’t be speaking for me; I don’t know what I want, how can he know?
Grace finishes kissing the manager’s ass and comes back for a front row seat of the love triangle that is my life. “You boys just couldn’t play nice, could you? That dweeb nearly called the police, but once I got him to calm down, explained the situation, and flashed a little of this…” she pushes her boobs together, creating way too much cleavage to be flaunting in front of Declan or Noah. I throw my hand over her deep cut shirt, covering up her negotiating tools. “Okay, Grace, we get the picture.” I pull her by her elbow, jerking her towards me so we are nose to nose. “What the hell were you thinking telling Declan to come here? This is a disaster! I don’t even know what to say.”
Grace pushes me away, brushing off her shoulder casually. “Well, you better think of something quick because they’re both looking at you for answers.”
“I’m furious with you, you know? Things were going so well. I…”
“Going so well my ass. You’re happy with Noah, but that’s only because of the way things have been with Declan. If he wasn’t in the picture…”
“No, Grace, you’re wrong. If Declan hadn’t done what he did…”
“How long are you going to let this go on? You’re going to divorce him, get remarried to Noah, sail off into the sunset all because he kissed some floozy he met in a bar?”
I can’t believe she’s making it like what Declan did is okay. What he did was so much worse than infidelity. He gave up on us, lost hope, trust and faith in me and everything we stand for. How do I know he won’t do it again? And all the while I’ve been wondering this, I’ve been conveniently falling in love with another man. But are my growing emotions for Noah strong enough to deaden everything I ever had with Declan? Can I actually choose one over the other? I got used to being separated from Declan, but part of me realizes that it’s also because I haven’t had to do it alone. The other part of me hates the idea of letting go of Noah and the beautiful relationship that’s blossoming.
This is all Grace’s fault! If she hadn’t informed Declan of our dating spot like some undercover mole—Operation: Bring Mia and Declan Back Together—I wouldn’t be facing these issues with two bleeding, angry men waiting for answers.
“You know what, Grace? Fuck off.” Yeah, it’s harsh. I don’t think I’ve ever spoken to my best friend like this in all the years I’ve known her, but now I’m angry and it’s hard to be friendly and refined in a situation like this. A situation that could have been avoided if she would have… “Mind your own damn business, Grace.”
Grace’s chin starts to tremble, her eyes become glassy. Great, she’s gonna cry! “I was only trying to help, Mia.”
“This isn’t helping. This is a catastrophe!” I can’t control it anymore—the tears, the anger, the confusion—talk about a clusterfuck. I can’t breathe—a giant ball of intensifying emotions blocks the air from traveling through my lungs. The tears break free like a geyser gone wild and I can’t even pinpoint the one real reason for crying. I feel betrayed by Grace, I’m sad that this could be goodbye to Noah and I’m dumbfounded by Declan and his actions tonight. I press my clammy hand against my forehead, in an attempt to collect my scattered thoughts.
Declan comes from behind, putting his arms around me. “Calm down, Mia. We’ll figure it out.”
I rotate to face him—I’d forgotten how protected I’ve always felt in his arms. This seems right, even though Noah is only inches away from us, observing. “There’s a lot to figure out, Dec. I don’t even know where to begin.” I feel so guilty for this intimate moment between the two of us. I hate that Noah has to witness it. I never meant to hurt him.
I try my best to block out Noah to test what’s going on in my head for Declan. My first experiment involves touch, touching his body, remembering the contours of his beautiful face—regardless of the broken nose. This is the first time I’ve touched him since being with another man. It’s different, having experienced desire fueled by someone else. Being with Noah has given me more confidence in myself, making me sure of what I want. When I’m with Noah I want him, but being in Declan’s arms…I want him too. I miss him.
My eyes travel back up from the floor, floating over the man I married. On their way back up to his face, they stop, stunned by something I’ve never seen before. In the heat of their brawl, Noah had managed to rip Declan’s shirt clean down the front. My hand plays with the unraveled material of his cotton shirt, moving it over a bit more to inspect my surprising discovery.
“When did you get this?” My fingers trace the artwork of vivid, black ink. I outline the shape of the intricate heart made up of tiny nu
mber ones in different variations of boldness before swirling my finger against the cursive lettering inside—Mia—right over Declan’s heart.
“Do you like it?”
“When did you…”
“That first week in Hong Kong.”
My eyes dart open wider. I’m so confused. “But…you were so…”
“So what, Mia? I was working crazy hours and the time difference caught up with me, but you have no idea how that phone call from you rocked me. I almost quit my fucking job and got on the next plane home, but something in me snapped.” He looks away, swallowing a hard gulp. Suddenly I remember what Grace had told me that morning after the reunion, after my first night with Noah, after the phone call to Declan. If you love something let it go…It takes a real man to be that understanding.
“But you sat back and just let this happen. You never said a word about it when you came back…you moved out and let me move on. I thought you were done so I…Noah…” Poor Noah. I look over my shoulder to gage his perception of all of this. At least Grace has the brains to try and keep him occupied by cursing about the way the manager handled things. When I turn my attention back to Declan, everything is becoming painfully clear. “How was I supposed to know you wanted me all this time?”
Declan cups my face in his blood-stained hands. “Mia, I’ve always wanted you. I’ve never stopped. And I know this is all my fault because I fucked up, but…I’ve only ever wanted you, babe. You’re my first, my last, my everything.”
“You’re quoting Barry White, Dec. Was that your plan? Wow me with this sick tattoo and serenade me with some ‘70s R&B?” I know it’s no time for a joke, but I can’t help it. We could use some laughter to break up all the tension.
“If it brings you back to me, I’ll sing anything, baby.” Declan chuckles behind a nervous grin.
If Noah weren’t part of the picture this would be a no-brainer. But it’s obviously not that simple. How can I break his heart? It comes down to a painful choice and either way someone is going to get hurt and a part of me will feel empty forever. I know what I have to do, I just can’t bring myself to do it.
Man of My Dreams Page 22