First Impressions Series (1-2)

by Nicole R. Locker

  She turned back toward me, positioning herself so that we stood face to face. She looked up into my eyes. “Dylan, I have a confession to make,” she began.

  My pulse began to quicken as I recalled the night I said those same words to her. “Good things rarely follow that statement.” I jokingly used her reply to me from that night in response.

  The way those big, blue eyes looked up at me had me reeling in anticipation at what she wanted to say, and I could hear my throat swallowing down my nerves.

  For what seemed like forever, or maybe only a few seconds, she stood quietly, searching my eyes. Then before I knew what happened, her hands were in my hair as she pulled my lips down to meet hers, the length of her body pressed against mine. I could feel the heat that now radiated from her body.

  I froze momentarily, unsure of what to make of it all. I wanted to know that Zia’s feelings for me were real, and not just recklessness as a result of the traumatic experience combined with copious amounts of alcohol. I didn’t want to be a regret for her when she woke up sober the next morning.

  If I gave in and let myself let this happen, I also wasn’t sure whether it would be considered taking advantage of her while she was drunk, since she was the one initiating it.

  My hesitation didn’t seem to deter her, and so I let myself allow it for the moment, giving in to the softness of her skin, the urgency of her lush lips against mine.

  I had waited so long to feel her soft, firm body beneath my fingers. I could hardly believe it was finally happening now. I circled my arms around her waist and pulled her in tighter. I let my lips dance passionately with hers.

  Without breaking the kiss, Zia pressed her hands against my chest and began walking forward, backing me up against the side of her bed. Warning lights began flashing in my mind, but God, she was sexy. I didn’t want to stop her.

  She raised one knee up to her bed, leading me to sit, and as I did, she straddled my lap. Her arms lifted to rest on my shoulders, her fingers in my hair, she pressed her chest to mine and I couldn’t keep my hands off of her. With her arms raised, her shirt lifted just enough to bare the skin of her stomach, and my hands gravitated there, pulling her tightly to me to deepen our kiss.

  I gently sucked on her soft bottom lip, and as her hands came down from my hair to press into the hard muscles of my upper back, a moan of pleasure escaped me. At the sound of it, I realized I needed to decide how far I would let this go tonight.

  “Zia…” I breathed against her lips, thinking of how I could bring myself to stop everything when it was the last thing I really wanted to do.

  “Shhhh, don’t think about it. Just feel it,” Zia said, then pressed her hands to my chest and lightly pushed as though she wanted me to lie down. She was not going to make this easy on me, I could tell, and I groaned internally with my secret frustration.

  I resisted her push as I remained sitting and broke our kiss. I cupped her face in my hands softly and let myself take in how beautiful she was, warring with myself between what my head was telling me to do and what my body was wanting me to do instead.

  “Baby, you’ll regret this in the morning,” I reasoned as I brushed a strand of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. I could see the protest in her expression, but she said nothing for a moment as she searched for something in my eyes.

  “Dylan, I want you to hold me,” she whispered pleadingly, and I wondered how much of these emotions were real and how much were just the alcohol talking. Would she be saying or doing any of this if she hadn’t had too much to drink?

  “Baby, I don’t want to hurt you,” I tried to reason with her. “You only want this because you’ve had too much to drink. That isn’t how it should be. Not with us,” I tried to explain.

  “Why? You can do this with any random girl you meet in a bar, with strangers; with girls who have no idea that you’re the kind of person who always does what he says, or always shows up on time, or loves to just laugh and enjoy life and be in the moment, or how much your family really means to you, or how brave or how generous or how kind you are, or how genuine your heart can be. So why not me?” I had never heard her say so much in one breath before. It was a lot more than I’d expected, and even though my heart swelled at the compliments, I could tell she was upset.

  How could I make her understand? I knew she wasn’t rational at that moment, but there was no good way to point that out without completely pissing her off.

  “I can’t do this. Not with you, Zia, not like this,” I repeated, trying to implore her to understand.

  At that, she slid off my lap and crawled to the other side of her bed, lying down facing the wall and away from me.

  “I’m sorry, Zia,” I said, but she just lay there silently, resigned, looking at the wall.

  I went to her dresser and began rifling through the drawers to find her pajamas. I found a pair of pajama pants and a tank top; then I walked back over to her as she continued to lie on her bed. I put my arm under her to gesture for her to sit up, and when she sat and faced me, I brushed my fingers across her cheek to wipe away a tear.

  I lifted her shirt up and over her head before replacing it with the tank top. I followed suit, removing her jeans and replacing them with the pajama pants. It was an intimate moment, innocent as it was. She was silent the entire time, and once she was redressed, I picked her up to reposition her laying her head on her pillow.

  I pulled the blankets up over her, tucking her in, and kissed her gently on her forehead before switching off the lamp on the table beside her. “Goodnight, baby,” I whispered. Then I sat beside her at the head of her bed, my back to the headboard as I softly stroked her hair until I could hear the slow, rhythmic breathing that indicated she was asleep.

  I stood to leave, feeling heartbroken that Zia had experienced something so awful that she felt the need to go to this extreme to escape her feelings. This wasn’t her… Zia was not one to get drunk like this, and anyone who knew her at all would know this about her.

  As I stepped out of Zia’s bedroom, closing her door behind me, I turned to find Clara sitting on the sofa in the living room. It was dark, but she held her cell phone with the screen illuminating her face just enough that I saw her there.

  “You really do like her, don’t you?” Clara said to me, not really a question.

  I took in a deep breath and let out a sigh, then nodded my affirmation silently in the dark. I didn’t know if she saw it or not, but I took my leave before she said anything else.

  CHAPTER 10: ZIA

  The next morning, I awoke to a quiet, empty room with a headache surpassed only by my mortification. The alarm clock on my night stand read half past nine. I wasn’t sure what time Dylan had left during the night, but then, I guessed it didn’t really matter.

  I took out my phone, still in the back pocket of the jeans that Dylan took off of me, and checked for any incoming messages.

  Nothing.

  My heart sank. What had I done?

  Ruined the best thing that has ever happened to you, that’s what.

  Was there any way to fix this?

  Yes. The best thing I could do was pretend it had never happened. I just needed a couple of days to let things blow over, and then carry on like nothing had changed.

  So that was what I did.

  * * *

  School and work kept me really busy the following week, and I was really glad for the distraction.

  I didn’t text or call Dylan at all, nor did I hear from him, so I was pretty sure I was right in my assumption that he did not have any feelings for me beyond friendship.

  I did have time to process my own feelings for Dylan, and I knew that things were only going to end badly for me if I let things keep going for much longer. I had to wrap things up and let him go.

  I considered leaving things at what they were and just letting him go about his life without interfering with it anymore. I ended up deciding against this, because I wanted to end things on a positive note in a w
ay that let him know there were no hard feelings and that things did not have to be weird between us if we ever ran into each other around campus.

  I was sitting with Clara at lunch on Thursday when I asked her, “You up for going to a soccer game tomorrow night?”

  She shrugged. “Sure. What time?”

  “I’ll have to find out for sure, but I think it starts around seven.” I paused. “Maybe I’ll invite Becker.” I couldn’t even look her in the eye when I said that, so I just looked down at my food.

  “Do you think it’s a good idea to bring another guy to a soccer game that Dylan is playing in?” Clara was understandably skeptical of my motives.

  I had told Clara about my drunken night and attempted seduction with Dylan. She took it so much better than I did, but she had no idea how mortified I really was about all of it. She also was not as convinced as I was that Dylan had no feelings for me.

  “Yes, I think it’s necessary. It isn’t some kind of trick to make him jealous or anything. It’s my way of showing him that things don’t have to be weird between us, and that I’m good with us being friends like we have been since we met,” I explained.

  “Okay. I can see where you’re coming from. I hope Dylan sees it that way, too,” she said.

  We finished our lunch and went our separate ways, and I texted Becker on the way to my class. Of course, he was more than happy to hang out at a soccer game with Clara and me on Friday.

  I almost felt guilty about making plans with Becker. It wasn’t that I had ruled out anything going anywhere with us, but if I was honest with myself, I really had no desire to explore anything deeper with him at this point. He didn’t seem like he was trying to get into anything serious with me either, so I let this reasoning alleviate any guilt.

  I also thought inviting Clara and not just going alone with Becker would send a better message all the way around than going with Becker alone.

  Now I just needed to see how things would go.

  * * *

  That Friday evening, I finished my shift at the counseling center and rushed home. My stomach was a giant ball of nerves, but I tried to focus on the simple tasks of getting ready.

  Once I was all dressed and ready to go, I met Clara in the living room. We were both dressed to show our team spirit with our long-sleeved tee shirts, and a fleece blanket with our school mascot on it.

  A knock on the door let us know that Becker had arrived, so the three of us left for the game.

  Once we got to the soccer stadium on campus, we went to find our seats in the bleachers, and Becker offered to get us snacks and drinks, so we took him up on the offer. He returned about ten minutes later and sat close to me, handing Clara her hot cocoa and putting his arm around my shoulder as he handed mine to me with the other hand.

  At least I wouldn’t freeze out here in the cold.

  The game started, and the moment I saw Dylan run out on the field in the midst of his teammates, my pulse began racing and I thought the butterflies were going to explode out of my stomach.

  We all watched the game, yelling, screaming, and cheering our team on, and I was amazed at how well Dylan played, although admittedly not surprised. He was so good at everything else he did; of course this would be no different. I could see now why he was such a local celebrity, and it didn’t escape my notice all the female fans sitting out there in the cold watching the game.

  At one point, just as Dylan was coming off the field after scoring his third goal of the game, I thought I saw him look up at me, but then I second-guessed myself, thinking there was probably no way he could pick me out of all those people in the stands.

  As the game ended, a win for our team, we slowly made our way out of the bleachers, and once at the bottom, a group of guys saw Becker and called him over.

  “Go ahead and catch up with them,” I told him. “Clara and I will run to the ladies’ room, and we’ll come find you once we’re out.”

  Becker went over to say hi to his friends and Clara and I walked around to the restrooms. There was a line, and I finished before Clara did, so I waited for her outside.

  As I was standing there alone waiting, I suddenly felt a rush of electricity run down my spine, and I turned to see Dylan maybe ten feet away, walking over to me.

  “Hey! Great game tonight. You were awesome,” I smiled as he approached.

  “I thought that was you I saw in the stands. I’m glad you enjoyed the game,” he said, looking down at his feet. Was he being shy all of a sudden? That was so unlike him.

  “Yeah… I hope things aren’t weird between us. I know I acted like a pretty big fool the last time we saw each other, and I wanted to say how sorry I was for that.” Now I was the shy one looking at my feet. I was probably blushing, as I could feel the blood rush to my face, but I hoped that the cold night air had already made my cheeks a little pink and maybe it would go unnoticed.

  “I don’t know what got into me. I can only blame the copious amounts of alcohol… and… well, the whole thing with Cason. I guess you could say that shook me up a little bit,” I continued.

  “No need to apologize, Zia. I was just trying to look out for you…” he paused. “Actually, speaking of that. Zia, I saw the guy you were here with tonight. I know it’s none of my business, but I know Becker, and he’s not…” he didn’t finish.

  “Not what?” I prodded.

  “I don’t want to seem like I’m trying to tell you how to live your life, or like I don’t want you to be happy with someone else, but…” he trailed off again.

  “But what, Dylan? Just say what you want to say,” I urged as I reached out and touched his arm at the crook of his elbow.

  “I just don’t want to see you get hurt. Just be careful, okay?” he finally said. Even now, his eyes sparkled in the dim lighting. Would they always affect me like this?

  Just then, Becker walked up behind me, and he and Dylan nodded at each other in true form of one alpha male to another. Suddenly, it felt really awkward standing in the middle, and I wondered if I had made a mistake coming here with Becker.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I told Dylan, and then turned to look up at Becker as he grabbed me around the waist. Yep, this was humiliating.

  “Good game, man,” Becker said to Dylan as he pulled me in closer. Suddenly, I felt like I was in the middle of a one-sided, territorial pissing contest.

  “Thanks, man,” Dylan replied, then looked back to me. “See you around, Zia. Take care.” Even now he looked sincere as he looked into my eyes.

  There was no anger, just concern in his face, and… regret? I was so confused. This obviously had not gone the way I had planned by way of outcome.

  Dylan turned and walked away, but before he could get too far, I told Becker to hold on a minute, that I had forgotten to tell Dylan something. I jogged over in Dylan’s direction.

  “Dylan, wait!” I called out to him.

  He stopped and turned to me, his eyes expectant, waiting to hear what I had to say.

  “I owe you one more session, if you want. I mean, I know that the last one kind of really got messed up and didn’t end up how it should have, obviously. But I don’t like to start things without finishing them, so if you still want your last session, just let me know.” I put it out there, and now would leave it up to him as to whether he’d take it or not.

  Dylan nodded, and I could tell he was thinking about it. “I’ll think about it and get back to you,” he finally said.

  “Okay, sounds good. I’ll see you,” I said, and walked back to where Becker was waiting for me.

  Clara met back up with us, explaining that she had gotten side-tracked talking with some friends she had also run into on her way back over to us.

  We all left the stadium and parted ways before heading home. Becker kissed me after helping me into the back of a cab, another short and sweet little kiss, but somehow the magic was no longer there this time around.

  As soon as the door closed and the driver took off towards our apar
tment, Clara finally broke the silence.

  “Did I see you talking to Dylan before we left?” she asked.

  “Yep, that was him,” I confirmed, still looking straight ahead but not focusing on anything in particular.

  “How did that go?” she said as she shifted in her seat, angling to face me.

  “Awkward. Humiliating. What was I thinking, Clara? I saw this whole thing going differently in my mind.” I shook my head in disbelief, now looking back at her, and wondered how many soap opera stories cab drivers got to witness first-hand on a daily basis like the one happening now.

  “What did he say?” Clara asked, defensively.

  “He told me to watch out for Becker, basically. That he knows Becker, and that he doesn’t want to see me get hurt,” I explained.

  “That’s it?” Clara asked.

  “That’s it. After that, Becker came up and put his arms around me like he was trying to make a point or something. At that point it was just so awkward that I wanted to crawl in a hole and disappear.”

  “But didn’t you want Dylan to see you moving on? Wasn’t that the point?” Clara made a valid argument.

  “You’re right. That was the point. I guess it just didn’t feel as fulfilling and relieving as I’d hoped it would,” I admitted. “Instead, it felt like I was trying too hard to prove a lie.”

  Clara just nodded her head and then moved closer to hug me from the side. She knew when to just be quiet and leave me to my thoughts, and I had to admit, I loved that about her.

  * * *

  That night, after taking a long, hot shower, I lay in my bed and wondered how my life had gotten so complicated; albeit, I had seen it creeping up on me slowly until it had suddenly hit me like a freight train.