I snicker and Dominique sends me an amused glance.
“So we are about to get busy, and all of a sudden, he starts asking questions.”
“What questions?” Vivian says.
“Oh, a whole lot of questions,” Stephy says and starts a hilarious impersonation of a robot. “Can I kiss you? Can I take off your shirt? Can I take off your bra? Can I kiss you here? Can I kiss you there?”
“C'est ridicule,” Dominique says.
“Ridiculous, indeed,” I confirm.
“It was such a turn-off, so odd. It was like robot sex.”
As our hoots subside, I turn to look out the window and my smile immediately dies. The cake in my stomach all at once feels like a brick. In some sort of an unexplainable sadistic penance, I keep watching the couple on the street as they disengage from a lingered tight embrace. The beautiful lady with the tight ivory blouse and knee length, snug pencil skirt smiles wholeheartedly, looking up at the guy. She tilts her head back; her silky dark ponytail jerks with the move and bounces back as she inches up on her killer crimson heels to kiss Sebastian’s lips. He grins at her as she cleans lipstick off his lips with her thumb. My stomach clenches. They keep smiling amicably at each other while exchanging some more words before Sebastian’s hand hones in on her lower back and they turn the other way. I watch them absorbedly till they disappear in an alley that leads to the main square at the old city center.
My insides feel queasy when I rerun the scene I’ve just witnessed before my eyes. The reasonable part of my mind objects to conjuring an incriminating scenario, while the emotional one counters with red lips kissing Sebastian, the fond smiles, Sebastian’s hand low on her back, and sadly so, how good and . . . happy they looked together. Reason argues against irrationality and says they’re just platonic friends or business acquaintances. Not jumping to conclusions, injured emotions dispute in bitter disdain with: he was in his running clothes, and almost shouts, “she cleaned lipstick off his freaking lips.” That pretty woman just cleaned the lips that told me they liked everything about me a few nights ago, the same lips that kissed me softly and deeply before they left me last night.
“Liv? Liv?” someone says. I’m not even sure which of the ladies looking inquiringly at me has asked the question.
“Uh . . .”
“You seem, très troubled,” Dominique determines.
“Sorry, I was just, um . . . never mind. What’s up?” My friends trade flit glances between them before turning back to me.
“Should we buy you a ticket to the show on Friday?” Stephy asks.
“What show?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, did you listen to anything we said?” Vivian eyes me, mildly exasperated. The look on my face calls for them to repeat the exchanging glances part again.
“Liv, dze flamenco show. On Friday?” Dominique comes to the rescue.
“Right, sure, why not. Of course.”
. . .
No matter what I do, I can’t seem to make the images flashing before my eyes go away. Her thumb brushing his lips, their intimate smiles, his hand on her back.
“That’s about it, so what do you think?” Saul’s voice over the phone snaps me out of my niggling reverie. I turn to watch the endless blue water and push my toe against the wooden floor to keep the rhythmic swinging.
“Sounds interesting.”
“Right, huh? Interesting enough for you to actually take a look at the numbers and maybe draw up an offer?”
“Yeah. Hold up, what?”
Saul lightly laughs. “Would you like to have a look at the numbers and . . .”
I cut him off mid-sentence. “That part I got. If I were to agree, what does it really mean? I’m not coming back you know, at least not in the next few months.” Saying I’m not the least bit interested in Saul’s offer would be a gigantic lie. I’d be more than thrilled to help him with the offer to the client I essentially brought in. It was my baby; this new software company we’ve been working with forever to persuade to take us on. It was my baby just before I handed him to Saul, the assigned adoptive mother, just before leaving for Spain.
“Do it from there.”
“Do I have a deadline? As tempting as it may sound, I’m not too keen on working like crazy again.”
“How about a month?”
I furrow my brows. For whatever reason, Saul is giving me way too much time to get this work done. We both know that if I take my time doing it, I can have it done and polished in less than two weeks. I can’t help but wonder what the catch is.
“I can do that.”
“Great. When you’re done, and if you’re interested, I just heard that we got shortlisted on the Buchman and Fearnley RFP.”
A tingly buzz covers my skin. “You’re kidding me? Wow, that’s just . . .”
“Yeah, it is.”
I can just imagine the smile spreading on his face.
“What are you trying to pull off by dangling B&F before me? Are you trying to get me back?”
He chuckles in response. “Always. I’ll send you the files later this evening.”
I gaze at the phone in my hand with an excited smile. The thought of working again couldn’t have been better timing. To be completely honest, these past few months have felt a bit mind numbing. I’ve been feeling this prickly restless itch to do something more substantial, like actually using my brain for something other than easy conversations, beautiful views, and everything Spanish lover. A little bit of sinking into analysis and numbers would be perfect.
The roar of a motorcycle makes my heart slightly rattle in my chest. Excitement laced with a pinch of disquiet washes over me as I watch Sebastian kick down the stand with his heavy boot clad foot. He takes off his helmet and my heart does yet another little jiggle. He climbs down the sturdy vehicle, helmet tucked under his arm while he runs his fingers through his hair with the other. As he lifts his eyes, after unzipping his black leather jacket, they immediately find mine. A side smile nestles on his lips as he pauses to admire me. I smooth down the fabric of my cotton, white dress till my fingers reach the crochet hem ending mid-thigh.
Sebastian takes the stairs, keeping his eyes on me. With one final step, he halts before me. He bends at his waist and sends his hand to the side of my face, leans forward, and brushes his lips on mine. He says, “Hola,” and leans back in for another kiss. I stiffen and pull back from his kiss when the thought of him with that woman earlier today invades my mind, again.
“I’m getting a drink, get you something?” I straighten to stand, no longer sure how to act around him. He follows me inside, leaving the helmet on the dining table. “How was your day?” I ask and inwardly beg for him to tell me about his earlier encounter. If it were just an innocent happenstance, he’ll surely tell me about it, no?
“Nothing much, went for a run, worked from home, and packed for tomorrow.”
I wait, willing him to go on. Sebastian moves toward the fridge.
“That’s it?”
He cranes his neck to look at me over his shoulder, holding the fridge’s door. “Yeah.” His answer makes me take a step back and hug myself. “Beer?” he asks. I shake my head.
“I saw you earlier today.” I tensely wait for his reaction.
Sebastian twists off the beer’s cap and turns to fully face me, leaning his hip on the counter. “Why didn’t you come to say hi then?” He takes a swig.
“You seemed busy.”
“Busy doing what?” He eyes me.
So here’s where I have two options, the classy one – tell him that I saw him with a pretty lady – or go with the next thing that comes out of my mouth and I regret about half a second later. “Having someone clean your lips after she had soiled them.” Go rational, sophisticated behavior.
Sebastian’s face scrunches as he ponders my words. He cocks his head, gazing at me. “After she had soiled them?”
Hearing him repeat my sentence out loud has me squint my eyes toward the floor; maybe there’s a loos
e tile I could crawl under. I shrug, not sure how I could possibly rectify my approach of the soiling topic now. Adding assault to injury, his eyes crinkle at the sides and his lips curve up from behind the bottle’s neck.
Sebastian crosses his legs at the ankles. Amusement dominates his eyes when he scratches his bristled cheek and looks at me from under his lashes. “It might be a language barrier here, but I’m not sure I understand what you mean by someone soiling my lips.”
I grimace while sidestepping him on my way to the fridge and murmur, “Having fun?”
Sebastian’s firm arm circles my waist, flinging me back against his chest, and pulls me backward. “It’s more than fun; I love every second of it.”
“Glad for you.”
His bristled cheek grazes below my ear as he nuzzles my skin. “I’m glad to hear you are bothered by someone kissing me. It means you care.”
I’m about to reply with a sharp comeback and stop short when the words “someone kissing me” pummels at my stomach. I try to wiggle out of his hold while muttering his name in a low warning tone.
His hold on me tightens. “It was this old friend of mine I told you about. Lola. We met on the street after my run, and I walked her to her meeting on my way home.”
Sebastian gently turns me to face him. His arms wrap around my waist and he tilts his head just enough to align our stares. I trail my eyes over his handsome face – his high, hard cheekbones, long lashes, and creamy brown eyes. He dips his chin lower as I rise to stand on the heels of my feet. We lean in an inch closer, our stares heating up. An inch closer and in a shaky intake the blend of his scent and breath reaches all the way inside of me. An inch closer and our lips meet in a feathery touch.
“I don’t want to be kissed by anyone else,” he whispers.
With my next kiss, I show him that I feel the same way. My hands reach his chest. His trace my back. He tips his head sideways, deepening our kiss. I dictate our pace next, skimming his tongue, seeking more. I bite his lower lip and slide my tongue right back with an urgent pant. His firm body against mine, his hands touching, caressing, grazing over my neck, collarbone, chest, cheeks, everything about him, everything about our intimacy sets fire to lick up from my thighs to ignite the rest of my body.
“So, are you coming tomorrow?” he asks out of the blue while lightly sucking on the heated skin below my ear.
“Where?” I breathe.
He presses a swift, chaste kiss on my lips and rests his forehead on mine. He takes a deep breath and to my utter reluctance, leans back, leveling our stares.
“To that wine event I told about.”
Oh, that.
I bury my hand under his white tee, slightly grazing his warm skin. “I don’t think so.”
“I really want you to come with me.” The graveness in his voice makes me carefully choose my next words.
“Maybe some other time. I have this thing my former boss asked me to look at and I might go to a show with the girls.”
“Okay and the real reason?” The impatience in his voice tells me that we’re probably not about to continue the blessed, blessed activity we were so engaged in less than an irritating question ago.
I add a dash of sweetness to the smile I work to put on my face. “We’ve been through this before. I don’t think it would be . . . the right place for me. For us to be together.”
“Can you hear just how little sense you’re making?” He inches backward and crosses his hands over his chest, clearly signaling for me to back off. My hands drop from under his shirt.
“Whatever we have between us is not that kind of . . .” I wave my hand, trying to find the right word to name our thing. “Relationship.”
He shakes his head. There’s a vein noticeably pulsating in his neck. Dangerously ticking. “Increible.” He shakes his head again. “And here I thought we were past this casual phase. Liv, we’ve been seeing each other for months. Months.”
I gaze at him, somewhat shaken while having the mother of all internal battles. It feels like it’s one of those moments in which you’ve frozen in place, knowing full well you’re watching an advancing train wreck, one that will leave you wrecked.
“Why are you blowing this out of proportions?” I say in a dainty voice.
“Am I?” His eyes burn into me. “Because, as I see it, I’m trying to give this a chance to actually grow into something meaningful while you keep going one step forward and ten back.”
“Sebastian.”
“You know, Liv, I wouldn’t be pushing this if I had the slightest feeling that there is indeed something paramount behind your reason not to join me, but I know, just as you do, that it’s only because, for some reason that’s beyond me, you are afraid to give us a chance.” He takes a step forward and frames my face with his hands. “Can you please stop this . . . how is it called? Pretension.”
“Pretense,” I say.
“This pretense of yours. We both know that what we have is much more than what you pretend it not to be. Joder! Liv, you were jealous just a few hours ago because a friend kissed me. I don’t get you.” To my silence he says, “Okay, you know what? Go ahead, name my wrongs, have at me. Maybe finally I’ll fucking understand why you keep pushing me away.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you.” There’s something wrong with me because I’m afraid to let you in.
“You are doing a great job of making me believe the very opposite,” he drawls.
I’m not even sure what it is that makes me stubbornly keep my walls up, what is it that I’m so scared will happen if I let him in.
“So?”
I slowly shake my head.
“I see.” He drops his head and heaves loudly. He lifts his eyes into mine and my breath hitches at the anger laced disappointment staring back at me. “I guess that’s it then,” he says with a shrug and starts toward the door. My eyes grow wide and my lips slightly part as I watch him walk past me. I turn to follow him with my gaze and call for him as his hand reaches for the doorknob.
“Don’t leave. Not like that.” My heart is pounding wildly in my chest.
He turns back to look at me and I fidget by the fury wafting from him.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. My bad. I forgot to fuck you, right? After all, this is what it’s all about, eh, Liv? I almost forgot the rules you set,” he retorts while retracing his steps till he is towering over me, ire radiating from his rigid demeanor. He darts his arm to my waist and pulls me against him, leaving tenderness aside. “So, how do you want it this time?” His mouth is aggressively on mine. His other hand, not less rough, grips my thigh, wrapping it around his pelvis. “Bend you over the sofa, go down on you on the floor?” His lips on mine are hard, demanding, and intrusive.
I squirm out of his firm hold and press my hands to his chest. “Stop it. No, Sebastian.” He draws back immediately. We both catch our breath, our eyes collide with so much heat and muddle that it feels like we’re trading flames rather than stares.
“No?” he questions with unconcealed contempt.
I hug myself, trying to ease my trembling.
“So tell me, what is it that you want from me? Because whatever I’m offering seems to not be good enough.”
I open my mouth to say something, make it better, stop this senselessness, but words fail me. “Say something, Liv,” he says with softened lining.
I try to control the lump forming in my throat. “Maybe we should talk about it when you’re back, when we both had some time to think. When you . . . when we’re less testy.” My voice traitorously shakes.
He sighs in blatant frustration. “No. If you’re not coming, then I’m done.” He waits for a tense moment. To my silence, his lips flatten and he starts for the door. I follow him with my eyes. With each step that he takes toward the door, the spring in my stomach tightens.
Sebastian shoves his hand into his front pocket and produces a small card. He leaves it on the dining table, takes his helmet, and continues to the door. I hold my breath as I
watch him leave. I flinch at the thud of the door as it slams behind him. Still hugging myself, I listen as he brings the bike to life, and I remain frozen as I listen to the roaring sound of the vehicle as it winds away.
As silence enfolds the house, the tears I’ve held back become impossible to restrain.
Chapter 16
“A Mistake”
Fiona Apple
Even after a night’s sleep, if tossing and turning could be constituted as sleeping, my emotions and thoughts are still all over the place. Pored over and unknotted. I’m confused, upset, gloomy, and angry. The anger part though, is mostly, if not completely, with myself. I’ve royally screwed Sebastian and my “thing” with my bare hands, or silent mouth, or ridiculous bipolar behavior, or all of the above.
I push the half-empty cup of coffee away and slide my open notebook closer below me. I lightly touch my lips with the pads of my fingers and close my eyes. Puffing out a heavy exhale, I reach for the card Sebastian left on the table right before he left yesterday. It’s silver, textured with black wording. A business card of the resort where the event is being held, or as I like to call it, my Last Chance card. By leaving this card, Sebastian has wordlessly told me that I could still make things right. Stop my pretense, as he said. I try not to ponder the implications of me not showing up. His words haunted me all through the night. “If you’re not coming, I’m done.” I rest the card next to the notebook and reach for the pen nestled in the gutter. I take another deep breath and start writing.
All answers are correct but choose one for the full mark. The correct answer that best elucidates my resentment for not giving in last night and having this unyielding guard when it comes to Sebastian is glaringly simple. I’m a coward. I’m scared.
I’m scared because he wasn’t a part of my grand plan.
I’m scared because I lose control when I’m with him.
I’m scared of how my feelings for him solidify each time we’re together.
Leaving Me Behind Page 15