by Pike, Leslie
How his lips look when he smiles, and how they must feel.
When I think of his touch, our momentary connection, I know I’m close.
Remembering all the tiny details of but one meeting is erotic beyond reason. I imagine him inside me. It’s enough to send me flying. I lean against the tile, and come and come and come.
And Bruno sings.
Holding onto the moment, barely moving, I press my hand against the source of my pleasure. The throbbing slows to a stop. I don’t want the feeling to end. But it does, and I return to my default normal self. Damn reality.
Mind cleared, I turn off the water, exit the stall, and look around for proof no one overheard my private party. Satisfied I’m alone, I head for my locker.
Why in the hell did I agree to meet Steven in the lobby? I didn’t think this out. I’m stuck with the clothes I came here with. No jewelry no makeup, no adornments. And flip flops. I brought flip flops. Oh God.
I’m a confident woman. I can deal with a curve ball, but I do love all the rituals and rites of being female. I’m sorry to be denied that today.
“Get over it,” I say aloud. Just be yourself.
I take my purse and tote from the bottom of the cabinet and set them on the bench. I pull out a pair of jean shorts and a turquoise sleeveless T. I dig through the bag and quickly realize I have no bra, only my thong.
“Balls.”
I used a sports bra for my workout, then I got into my bikini. I think for a moment before I decide to go commando on top. My T isn’t see through, and it’s not like I have enormous boobs. It could work.
It takes all of fifteen seconds to don my formal wear. I take a look at my reflection in the full-length mirror.
Ok, it’s not my favorite, but I like it. For me that’s really all that matters. I know what looks best on me, and I don’t need a man to sign off on it.
I cross to the mirrors and shelf above the sinks, and look through the array of products offered for the members. I use a generous dollop of creme, and moisturize my face, neck and chest. Another creme makes my legs and arms glisten. A tiny drop of petroleum jelly on my finger coats my eyelashes and lips, highlights the top of my cheekbones. A touch of perfume on my neck and the backs of my knees to finish. Ta da.
Now for my hair. Still damp from my shower, I grab one of the blow dryers and get to work. That’s one thing I’ve been able to count on. Thirteen or thirty-six, my hair has been my friend. Somewhere in my unknown lineage, somewhere in my DNA, thick, healthy, chocolate-colored hair was passed down.
I rake my fingers through the long strands. When I’m satisfied it’s completely dry, I just let it hang loose. I return my tote to the locker, grab my purse, and head for the elevator.
As I ride down the two floors, I check my watch. Ten minutes to three. I hope he won’t be late. One of my pet peeves is people who are chronically late. There’s no reason for that. Especially on a date. It really pisses me off. Wait, why am I working myself up? He hasn’t done anything and I’m getting mad at him. Relax, Bliss.
There’s no time to regroup before the elevator doors open. As I walk out, I see him across the lobby. Alright, prompt too. He sees me, and breaks into a glorious smile. His jeans fit him perfectly. Not too tight or loose, but close enough to his body to show the shape.
His stark white T hangs perfectly over his flat stomach and his developed pecs and abs. One word comes to mind. Cool.
As I move toward him, it seems like I’m a mile away and my feet are made of lead. I’m hyper aware of the pull that exists between us in this moment. What the hell is happening?
Chapter Two
STEVEN
Here she comes. She looked so serious when the elevator doors opened. Deep in thought. But now she’s spotted me, and it’s impossible to mistake her smile, or those azure blue eyes. Gorgeous.
I take her in as she comes my way. This is what a natural beauty looks like. I can’t detect any makeup or jewelry or designer labels.
She doesn’t need any of it.
And that beauty mark on her left cheek, up at the top of her well-defined cheekbones, that’s hard to forget.
And something else. There’s a goodness about her. She was so quick to defend that teenager who felt defenseless. After my last relationship, a woman’s good character is at the top of my must-have list.
Her gifts have not stained her soul. How fucking sexy is that?
As she reaches me I notice her shoes, or more to the point her feet. Groomed, delicate and surprisingly arousing. Stem to stern, the girl is a knockout.
“Hi.”
Her voice has a smooth, earthy quality.
“Hi back. Was your shower as good as mine was?”
“It was spectacular.” A tiny grin says more than her words. Did she do what I’m thinking? That’s sexy as hell. “Shall we walk?” she asks.
I’d actually like to take my car. I hate leaving it in the gym parking lot. But the girl wants to walk, so that’s what we’ll do. My cock tells me I’d ride flying monkeys there if it pleased her.
I don’t have to get my way every time. But the woman I’m with should afford me the same courtesy. I expect to get all the things I’m willing to give. All the things.
We walk out of the gym and onto the street leading to Lighthouse Avenue. It’s easy to see the appeal of this town.
“Are you from here, Bliss?”
“No. But it’s my favorite place in the world.” We turn right onto the main street. “The Red House is just a block down.”
“I’ve never been here. It’s different from what I expected.”
“How so?”
“Usually film locations aren’t the best. More often than not we’re in a shit-hole of a city. Or somewhere that’s been beaten by weather or the economy. This is the antithesis of that.”
I look in the windows as we pass.
“I see galleries and interesting restaurants. Everywhere I look I see rare cars. And the best thing is it’s apart from the spotlight shining on Monterey and Carmel. This is right up my alley.”
“Are you a car guy?”
I put my hand on her arm and stop her in her tracks.
“Am I a car guy?” I lift my forearm for her to see my tattoo. It’s a Cobra snake. “This is my favorite tattoo. Do you know what it signifies? What car it represents?”
“No. But I want to hear that story.”
We’ve reached our destination.
“Let’s go inside, and I’ll tell you.”
I let her lead the way up the three wooden steps. This place appeals to me. It looks like a pocket-sized house that belongs in a forest somewhere. Opening the door, I follow her through.
A friendly rosy-cheeked girl with long blonde braids approaches. “This way.”
She lightly touches my arm. She’s a little too friendly, and I see Bliss notice and let out a little laugh. We follow her to the back of the restaurant, where an enclosed porch shelters two tables and chairs.
We are the only diners there.
“Is this ok?” the girl asks.
“It’s perfect,” I answer.
We’re handed menus and left to our own company. We begin to search the choices.
“This place is charming, don’t you think?” Bliss asks.
She looks happy here, like she’s sharing a secret hiding place.
“It is. It definitely is.”
Suddenly I’m happy too. She puts down her menu. “I’d like a hazelnut latte and a scone.”
“That sounds right, me too.” I love that she’s going to actually eat something. No lettuce leaves or skinny margaritas in sight. I signal to the waitress who comes to the table. “Two lattes and scones, please.”
Braid girl jots down our choices. She doesn’t try to conceal her meaningful gaze as she leaves to fill our order. But my interest is with the woman sitting across from me.
Bliss points to my arm. “Now tell me about the Cobra.”
“My father was a respected stuntman
in films and TV for over fifty years. But before he was a stuntman he was a race car driver. Before he was a driver he was a mechanic. And he worked for a man named Carroll Shelby.”
“I’ve heard of him, of course. He’s been honored here many times, at the Concourse and the racetrack.”
“You probably know he was the creator of the Cobra car, one of the most famous cars in automotive history. My dad played a role in that story. He was the engine shop manager, a mechanic and the show car manager at Shelby American from start to finish.”
“That’s awesome. So it’s in your blood, and you’ve honored him with the tattoo.”
“Yes, but that’s not the whole story.”
“Tell me.”
I like that she’s really listening intently. There no cell phone interruptions, no quick glance at something behind me, no loss of eye contact.
“When Elvis Presley was going to make “Viva Las Vegas,” Colonel Parker, Elvis’ manager, called Carroll Shelby asking for the use of his Cobras for the race scenes. Carroll said ‘yes, but you have to use my drivers.’
“So my dad and one other guy went to Vegas, and did all the stunt driving in the film. So the Cobra played a role in both of his passions, racing and stunts. And to this day he’s still collecting residuals on that film.”
“What? What year was that?”
“1962.”
“I’m beginning to see the stunt business is very profitable.”
“It can be, if you build a reputation and you’re good at what you do.”
She smiles when she asks, “Would you say that’s true about you?” I smile right back.
“I wouldn’t be able to answer that. You’d have to ask the people who know me.”
We are mercifully interrupted by the braid girl. She has the scones and lattes, sets them down and exits.
“What about you, Bliss? What fills up your life?” She takes a moment to consider the question.
“Basically, my company markets exceptional real estate properties. The best of the best. We film multimillion dollar estates, to spotlight their specific qualities, then showcase them to local, national and international marketplaces.”
“How did you get such a unique job?”
“I created it. It’s my company. I’ve been in business for ten years now. We’re based in San Francisco.”
“That’s really an accomplishment,” I say, and mean it.
She’s self-made, and self-supporting. She’s smart.
I hear the answers, but all I can concentrate on is her mouth. More specifically her full bottom lip. I’d like to be sucking on that right now.
She takes a bite of her scone and motions for me to follow. I do. She makes the happy eater sound. “Ummmm.” We laugh in unison.
The more I talk with her, the more layers I see. The face, the body, they’re only the facade. The gatekeepers to what lies deeper. This one could be trouble, could throw a curveball in what has been a successful way of life for me. I like my life as it is and have no interest in changing it.
“And one of the perks of owning my own business is that I can spend as much time here as I please. I only go in to the city a few times a month. Really, everything I do can be done via my cellphone or computer.”
“You must have employees who you trust to be able to do that.”
“True. My best friend Nicki is my C.O.O., and I trust her with it all. She never comes unhinged. That leaves me with time now to pursue other interests that had to wait before.”
“You mean relationships?”
“No. I didn’t mean that. I don’t think that’s something a person should avoid just because they’re nurturing a career. I meant looking at the thing you could be passionate about, but that you didn’t pursue. You know, Robert Frosts’ road not taken.”
“What’s that for you?”
“It’s not really something I want to share at this point.” She says this with the confidence of someone who’s sure of themselves and can’t be pressed to say anything they don’t want to.
“Of course. But I’m a closet singer. I’m pretty much unmatched in the shower. Is your thing crazier than that?”
We both laugh, then sit quiet for a few moments. I like that she can be still, and be comfortable in that stillness.
“What about you? Have you managed to successfully avoid the horrors of relationships because of your job?” she asks, grinning.
“No, not really. But I have avoided marriage.”
“I’ve come to the same conclusion.”
“It’s not really a conclusion, just what I’ve experienced up to this point.”
“Well, you were smarter than I was. I married at eighteen. Too young for any rational thought. But luckily no children.”
She pauses for a few beats, and I watch as she drifts off to some hidden memory. But it’s a private journey, and it’s over before it can become uncomfortable.
I need to get back to the place we were before I stupidly asked her about the past. I lead with a smile.
“Bliss, how about I take us for a ride along the coast? I know you most likely have other plans, but if not, I’d love to take in this beautiful scenery with you.”
I see her consider the offer. I’m more concerned than I should be. That’s new. Very few females have ever said no to me. I don’t say that out of vanity. It’s fact, and one I’m grateful for. I love women, and they have loved me. And loved me. And loved me again. She’s taking longer to decide than I’m used to. I know I like that about her.
“We should definitely do that,” she says with conviction.
“Great. I’ll pay our tab, then run back to get the car. Pick you up in ten.”
I leave forty dollars on the table, not knowing exactly what the tab will be. She can decide on the tip. She should give blondie braids a good one. After all she brought us to this private porch where we were able to talk and listen without distractions. The only distraction was Bliss.
As I walk out of the Red House, I’m tempted to turn and see if she’s watching. But I don’t. What’s happening? Who is this guy?
I’m back to the gym parking lot in less than five. I have incentive. I make it to my car and fire it up. There’s no sound like the sound of a Cobra, and I’ve heard this one since I was a child.
It was my thirty-fifth birthday gift from my father. He knew I’d love it just as he had, since he drove it in “Viva Las Vegas.” But today that engine sounds like the theme song of my psyche.
I pull out of the driveway. The Cobra takes the corner, and I see her ahead, standing, waiting. When I pull up to the curb she takes in the beauty of my ride.
“Very nice. What a beautiful blue. You look good in it.”
“Do you mind being out in the sun and wind?” I get out, come around, and open the door for her.
“No. I prefer it.”
She slides in, and I get a good look at her legs as they navigate the interior. I feel a familiar tug. I return to my side and join her.
We take off and it feels like it does every time to me, unbound, powerful and somehow modern. But there’s a difference, a subtle shift in perception. She has added to the experience.
We pull away and take off toward the coast.
“I know I’m going in the general direction, but you’re going to have to be the navigator,” I say.
“I’ll be the guide. Let me take you to my favorite spot in Pacific Grove. Go down here to Forest, and make a left. It’s about a mile from there.”
I race ahead, the Cobra purring. It’s in its element. Cool weather, open roads and passengers who appreciate the exceptional drive.
I make the directed turn and head down the road. We’re immediately met with an almost raw beauty. The sapphire-blue sea, the rocky shore and the neon purple of the blankets of ice plants all come together in an arresting scene.
We drive for a few minutes in complete silence. It would be wrong somehow to tarnish the moment with words. I think she feels the same. Her body language
is saying she’s relaxed and basking in the day. I almost wish we could drive on forever. If I didn’t need to kiss her so much.
“Here, turn right at that yellow post.”
I follow her directions and turn onto a narrow street. It winds closer to the water with every twist.
“This is my secret route, and this spot my touchstone.”
“I’m glad you’re sharing it with me.”
I follow the road till it narrows to a sandy clearing and a rocky path. I hear the crashing waves hiding somewhere beyond my sight.
“Ok, we’ve got to go down this path on foot. But it’ll be worth it. You up for that?” she asks.
Oh yeah, I’m definitely up.
“Sure. I want to see. Let’s go,” I answer instead.
We get out of the car and lock her purse in the trunk. She leads me onto the path.
It’s very narrow, so she walks ahead of me. So far I have no complaints. She looks as good from behind as she does from the front. Her ass has a rounded high curve. In an instinctive reflex my cock moves. But it would do me no good to have a hard on when she turns around. I look away.
We round the last turn and I see it. The beautiful Pacific in all its glory. This is almost too beautiful to be real. To our left a wooden trail winds through the dunes, but today there’s no pedestrians to be seen.
The rocky shoreline stands watch against the relentless waves, and all along the narrow sandy beach are coves.
She turns and smiles.
“This is Asilomar Beach. Pretty great, huh?”
I put my hand on my heart. “Crazy beautiful.”
“Those coves are home to thousands of species, and it’s a protected sanctuary.”
We walk down to the sand.
“This is where I come when I want to think, or be alone or write.”
“Write?” I say.
She grimaces. “That was a slip. That’s my secret road. You’re a closet singer, and I’m a writer.”
The wind moves her hair in graceful wisps around her face. It’s hard to look at or hear anything else. The background scenery is no match.
“What kind of writing?” I manage to refocus.
“I’m an aspiring screenwriter. My ex was an actor, and I’d read his scripts. I thought I could do that. That’s my story. For the most part I’m self-taught.”