by Kira Blakely
I say nothing as he drinks.
“Well, if that’s the case, I can’t say I’m sorry she dumped you,” he says after. “She just hurt you before you could hurt her.”
“I’m not hurt,” I tell him, rubbing my temple. “I’m just frustrated.”
“Right.”
“I need her for my plan to work and you–” I point at Roger, “—are not helping.”
“Well, if you want my advice, I’d say all you have to do is try harder.”
“You mean seduce her so she’ll sleep with me another time?” I let out a sigh. “She doesn’t want me anymore, remember? And all because I’m her boss. I can’t believe she wants me to be like Nathan. Nathan doesn’t give a fuck about his employees.”
“At least he didn’t fuck them,” Roger points out.
I glare at him. “Whose side are you on again?”
He pours me another drink. “Anyway, what I’m saying isn’t about fucking or wanting to. That’s the problem with you, you see – either you’re fucking a woman or you want to.”
“It’s never been a problem.”
Roger shakes his head. “Well, clearly, fucking isn’t all Abby wants or thinks about. So you should act the same.”
I’m feeling more confused. “You’re telling me not to want her.”
“I’m telling you there should be more than just sexual attraction.” He hands me the glass. “I’m telling you to try harder in a non-sexual way. Open up. Let her in.”
I grimace as I drink, the words even more bitter than the alcohol.
There’s a reason why I seduce women physically – I know I’m good at it. What Roger is suggesting is untried strategy, uncharted territory.
“I’ve never done that before.”
“Ah, but you almost did,” Roger reminds me.
I know exactly who he’s referring to – Lindsey, the very woman who is the root of my current problems.
“If you had only allowed her to get close to you instead of just dropping her like a hot potato, I bet you wouldn’t have to go through all this trouble now just to get her name on those apps,” Roger goes on.
I gulp down the rest of my drink. I hate to admit it, but he’s right – well, not the part where I should have allowed Lindsey to come close but the part where I got myself into this shit. Not too many of my mistakes have come back to bite me, but this one surely has. Who would have thought that shy Lindsey would end up becoming such a successful psychologist, author, and businesswoman – a role model and inspiration for all women, the very kind of woman whose app other women would like to buy?
“I can’t turn back time.” I hand the glass back to Roger.
“I’m not asking you to.” Roger puts the glass on the table. “What I’m saying is that you have a chance to learn from your mistake with an equally beautiful, strong woman. So, learn. Do better. Do what you didn’t do last time. After all, isn’t that what Lindsey wants? To know you’ve changed?”
I don’t answer.
“Listen, Grant. Abby won’t let you in unless you let her in. You say she backed down because you’re her boss. Then make her see you as a man. And no, taking off your clothes won’t achieve that.”
“And you’re sure that if I open up to her, she’ll fall for me completely?”
“No.” Roger sits back, putting his feet up on a stool as he places his arms behind his head. “But that’s a risk you’ll have to take if you want her, Lindsey Holland, and the success of your company. Either that, or just give everything up.”
I frown. So it’s all or nothing, huh? I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all, maybe as much as I don’t like the idea of baring my soul to a woman I hardly know.
True, I want Abby and I need her so that I can get Lindsey’s signature and all the profits that come with it, but am I willing to sacrifice my personal beliefs for that? Am I willing to risk losing myself?
It’s the toughest choice I’ve ever had to make.
Still frowning, I get out of the chair and walk to the closet, taking out my backpack.
“What are you doing?” Roger asks, sitting up. “Where are you going?”
I put my backpack on. “Where I usually go to think.”
***
I’ve always loved the outdoors.
I love the cool air and the feel of the ground beneath my feet. I love the sights – the leaves with their different shades of green, the brown tree trunks, the golden sunlight filtering through them, the colorful wildflowers and butterflies in the meadows and the dark tapestry of stars at night. I love the sounds – the blades of grass rustling in the breeze, the babbling brooks, the concert of animals, big and small – and the occasional silence. I even love the smell of the earth and that of the rain. All together, they create this perfect treat that serves as a respite for the lonely soul, a refreshment for the troubled mind, and a reinvigorating therapy for the weary body.
It’s just what I need.
Indeed, as I sit on a rock surrounded by trees off the beaten path to drink some water from my bottle and splash some of the rest against my sweat-drenched shirt, I already feel more at ease. Here, I can get away from all the noise and chaos of the world.
I feel like a boy again, a boy who has just sneaked out from under his governess’ nose to skip his lessons and climb trees instead, ending up with torn, dirty clothes, scraped knees and a few beatings from the cane but still feeling ridiculously happy. I feel like that boy with his blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a superhero’s cape who stole sweets from the kitchen after bedtime, to have a picnic under the stars but ends up falling asleep and catching a cold. I feel like that boy who jumped in muddy puddles in the rain, who rolled in the bed of leaves in the fall, who waded through the snow in winter.
Oh, how I wish I was still that boy.
But I’m not. I’m a man now. And I didn’t come here to the woods to play. I came here to rest, to sort my thoughts, and to escape from my worries just long enough to be able to come up with a way to deal with them.
“What should I do about Abby?”
If only the trees could answer, it would be wonderful. Then again, if they could talk, no one would probably want to come here anymore. I, for one, come to the outdoors not to be told what to do, but so I can find out what I want to do.
What do I want to do about Abby?
I don’t know. All I can think of is what I want to do to her.
I want to take Abby in my arms, to kiss her silly, to fuck her hard. I want her blushing, breathless, moaning as I explore her mouth, suck on her breasts, and plunge my fingers inside her hot, dripping sex before burying my hard cock deep inside her. I don’t care whether she’s pinned against a wall, bent over a desk, or shoved down on the carpet with her legs up in the air. I want to pound into her until I collapse, until I’m bathed in sweat and out of breath, until she shudders like she’s going to break into a million pieces and screams my name for all to hear, until I fill her with so much of my warm cum that it trickles down her quivering thighs.
“Fuck.”
Just the thought of that beckons images so vividly inside my mind, making me hard. I have to stop again, this time leaning against a tree and closing my eyes as I splash what’s left of my bottle of water on myself to calm my body down.
I don’t know what’s more frustrating – the fact that I keep getting a hard-on whenever I think of her, or the thought that I’m not going to get any chance to act on any of my fantasies unless I get her back.
I have to get Abby back.
But like Roger said: In order to get, I have to give.
And I’ve never been much of a giver. Women have always given me what I wanted, some without asking for anything in return, some in exchange for sex. Sure, some of them ask for more sex, but none of them have ever dared to ask more from me.
Except Lindsey.
She told me she loved me, and she wanted me to feel the same way. She asked me to be her boyfriend in all seriousness, and I left her without so much as a goodbye
.
As much as I hate to admit it, I was fucking scared.
That’s the same way I feel right now. And just like last time, I feel like running away.
Do what you didn’t do last time.
Except this isn’t like last time. At least last time I knew how Lindsey felt. She made the first move. This time, I’ll be making the first move, and I don’t even have a clue how Abby feels. I have no assurance whatsoever that this will get her back in my arms. Am I really willing to risk everything?
“Fuck!”
I turn around to punch the tree then slide against it as I let out a deep breath of exasperation.
If only Abby could give me a sign.
***
“Grant!”
At the sound of Abby’s voice coming from a distance, I grow still inside my large tent. At first, I think it’s just my imagination – I’ve been thinking about Abby way too much and there’s no way she’d be here. When I hear the voice again, though, I rush out of my tent, my breath catching as I see Abby standing just a few feet away from me.
“Abby.”
Just the sight of her out of breath in her dark jeans and green shirt, her hair hidden under a gray cap with the rest flowing past her shoulders, is enough to send my heart pounding and heat coursing through my veins straight to my crotch. There’s nothing I want more than to pull her into my arms and fuck her inside my tent, to engrave my whole body into hers so that she’ll never stop wanting me again.
I restrain myself, though, reminding myself that it’s not about the fucking.
I can’t scare her away.
“Please sit down,” I tell her calmly, gesturing to the foldable chair while I sit on the rock in front of the fire pit, the wood still hot from the lunch I cooked earlier. “You must be tired.”
She remains standing even though she’s still panting, her hands on the straps of her backpack. “I won’t stay long.”
I frown. Not only does she not look the least bit happy to see me, she’s even in a rush to leave.
Why? Why is she mad at me? I should be the one getting mad at her after what she’s put me through.
I take a deep breath. “How did you find me?”
“With difficulty,” she answers, annoyance in her voice. “And a little bit of help from Roger.”
I look around. “Where’s Roger?”
“When your tent was in sight, he told me to go ahead. He said he didn’t want you to bite his head off.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you come out here to escape, not just from work and life but from women.”
That’s true.
“Don’t worry. Like I said, I won’t stay long. I’ll leave as soon as you sign the papers.”
“Papers?” I raise an eyebrow.
She moves her backpack to her chest and opens it, taking out a plastic folder and handing it to me. “If you had only kept your phone open, you would have known that your lawyer needs these papers signed immediately.”
I take the folder, opening it on my lap. “I don’t have a signal out here.”
“I sent a hundred messages. Some of them must have arrived before you left your hotel.”
I go through the papers. “I was busy.”
“Well, if you had brought me with you, then there wouldn’t have been a problem, would there?” She puts a hand on her hip.
So, that’s why she’s annoyed – because I left her behind.
I close the folder. “Well, I wouldn’t have left you if you hadn’t acted so mean.”
“Mean?” Her eyes grow wide. “I was just… being professional.”
I set the folder on the ground and get up, walking toward her. “If nothing happens between us because I’m your boss, that’s you being professional. If something happens even though I’m your boss and you deny it, that’s cowardice and it’s mean.”
She steps back, swallowing.
Now I’ve scared her. I didn’t mean to, but I couldn’t help it, not with that attitude of hers. Besides, if I’m going to open up to her, she should do the same.
I grasp her trembling chin. “Why don’t you just admit how you feel about me, Abby?”
Her jaw clenches. Even though she’s quivering in fear, she’s still trying to put up a brave front. She’s still doing her best to resist me.
She slaps my hand away. “How dare you presume to know how I feel. You—”
I silence her with a kiss as I pull her into my arms, unable to restrain myself any longer. The more she resists, the more I want her.
At first, her arms flay at her sides, her backpack falling to the ground. Her tongue tries to push mine out as she tries to push me away, to slip out of my grip. I can tell she isn’t really putting all her efforts into it, though, and little by little, as my tongue pushes hers back and explores her mouth with all the passion I’ve been keeping at bay, her resistance wilts and her body melts in my arms.
Fuck. I’ve missed this.
As the cap falls off her head, I run my fingers through her hair, messing up the silky tendrils as I pull her body even closer to mine, delighting in the feel of her soft breasts against my hardened chest and grinding my hard cock into that valley between her legs.
Another shudder goes through her, a moan escaping her lips as she clings to me. I grin in triumph, and as we break the kiss for air, I place my mouth near her ear, my voice hoarse as I speak.
“You can’t fight it, Abby.”
The moment I finish my sentence, I see her body immediately become tense again and I realize I should have kept my mouth busy with something other than talking.
With both hands, she pushes me away, seriously this time. As she steps back, she glares at me, her eyes like icy daggers even as they brim with tears.
Then she runs back into the woods.
“Abby!”
I start to run after her but Roger stops me, having emerged from his hiding, his gaze telling me all I need to know.
I fucked up. Bad.
And now, I wonder if I can ever make it right.
Chapter 7
Give and Take
Abby
No!
My mind screams as I run down the trail as fast as I can, the soil, pebbles, and leaves crunching beneath the soles of my sneakers and the wind blowing in my face.
Where am I going? I don’t know. I’m not even sure if this is the same trail I walked on with Roger earlier. The trees and shrubs all look alike as I pass them by – a green and brown blur. I just want to get away, to be alone.
Why am I running away? That’s easy. It’s because I’m scared.
Suddenly, I find myself at the top of a small slope. I run down, hoping to find safety in speed, but my foot slips. Losing my balance, I slide down and end up at the bottom of a pile of leaves.
I don’t get up. Instead, I stay still as I catch my breath, looking up at the sky that has suddenly turned gray.
Just like my body has turned from one burning with heat to one burdened by worry and fear.
It isn’t Grant exactly who scared me away. It’s what he whispered in my ear.
You can’t fight it, Abby.
It’s scary for one reason only – because it’s true.
I can’t fight the guilt gnawing at me inside out from rejecting Grant. I can’t fight the joy that bursts in my chest whenever I remember watching Miss Saigon with Grant or dancing in his arms at that party. I can’t fight the blush that coats my cheeks at the slightest recollection of how he made my body feel. And most of all, I can’t fight the desire to feel his body next to mine again – a feeling that washes over me from the top of my head to the tip of my toes at his slightest touch, just like earlier.
What is all this? Love?
Whatever it is, it makes me feel helpless and that scares the hell out of me, so much so that it has my body in a state of panic and anxiety, my chest heavy and tears spilling out of the corners of my eyes.
It scares me. Not only because I’ve never felt like
this before, but more so because I never thought I’d feel this way. I promised myself I’d never feel this way.
I promised myself I’d never end up like my mother.
Just then, I feel a drop of water on my forehead, followed two seconds later by another on my chin. And another. And another. I get up, running to seek shelter under the nearest, largest tree as rain falls all around me and trickles down the leaves and splatters off the ground to the tune of its own melody.
A little rain can hardly hurt me now…
It was raining when my mother died. I don’t remember much of that day – not the words said during the funeral service in the chapel, not the guests clad in black, not the music playing as they laid her down into the earth. I clearly remember, though, that after everyone had left, I knelt in front of her open grave. As I threw in the rose that I had been gripping so tightly, I swore that I would never live like her or die like her.
For seven years, I watched her go from one man to the next. It was a cycle, really. During the first few days or weeks, sometimes months, she would go around wearing freshly styled or dyed hair, makeup, and sexy clothes, euphoric that she had a man. She was constantly doing anything and everything she could to please him – cooking, dressing up, giving him gifts, massaging his feet, squealing like a pig while she let him fuck her night after night. Anything in the hopes of keeping him from leaving. He left anyway – the second phase – and she would beat her fists against his chest and grab his thigh like a toddler, sobbing uncontrollably. I hated seeing her like that but the third phase was worse – the phase when she wallowed in self-pity, crying her eyes out every day and drowning her sorrows in alcohol every night. Sometimes, it lasted for days. Sometimes, longer than when she was with the last man. After that, she’d come to her senses. It was what I called her Phoenix Phase. I liked being with her during this phase because it was when we spent times as mother and daughter. During those days, I tried to make her feel like she was good enough and that I was enough for her. But it was never enough, and it wasn’t long before the cycle started all over again.
I swore to my mother and to myself that I would never be a victim to such a vicious cycle. A cycle, as my mother demonstrated, that could only end in ruin and death. I swore that I would never give too much of myself and definitely not give without getting as much in return. I swore that I would always be in control of how I felt.