Just a Number (Downtown #1)

by Fifi Flowers

  I took a big breath and kept going. “And, let us not forget that LA has the biggest fashion show of the year. The whole world tunes in for it to see who is wearing what and whom. Celebrities are matched with fashion designers; The Academy Awards. There is no other city in the world that can compete.” I settled back in my chair with my arms folded, waiting and taking a few, much needed, breaths.

  “Okay.” His word was simple.

  “Okay?” Had I won? Or did he just what be to clam up?

  “Yes. You win.” He smiled, amusingly, with his beautiful full lips.

  I knew he said I won, but I needed to convince him just a bit more. “I would never do anything to hurt a client. And certainly not one of yours, either. I calculate everything. I research. I make sure when combining clients that it’s truly good for both of them. I love Pinard wines. I love Lark’s showroom…” I love you. Where did that come from? How did that flow so easily?

  “What happen to you, Willow?” I knew exactly what he meant.

  “I was told I couldn’t be a business woman, that I should be a wife and mother. That I should go to college to find a successful man to take care of me. That women were ruining the corporate world, along with the institution of marriage, and neglecting their children.”

  “I want to know you…”

  He wanted to know me. I already felt like I knew him. He had never spoken about anything more than superficial things: food, drink, current events, whatever was going on around us. It was the unspoken words that made me feel a connection with him. It was physical and yet, it wasn’t. I had never been so quiet, yet so alive. The way our bodies slipped, twisted, bent, and curved together. So quiet, I noticed our breathing. How linked it was, like the ebb and flow of the sea. His exhalation… my inhalation. His inhalation… my exhalation. I had never felt a man’s body like I did his. Our hands roamed and explored. His skin was soft, thinner in some spots, thicker in others, rough and textured with coarse hair varying in density. Our movements, slow and rhythmic; we were in tune to each other. Fast and rough, bent over downward dog, rabbits pose, taken from behind, face to face—we fueled each other. Panting. Breathing. Moaning. Simultaneously we connected without words.

  “Where did you go, Willow?” How long had I zoned out?

  “I was thinking… We don’t know each other. Rex and Tomasina spent one night together swapping stories. They know each other’s history. We don’t know details about each other but…”

  “I want to know you. No rules. No restrictions. I want details—lots of them.”

  “Spiritually…”

  “Spiritually?”

  “We know each other spiritually… We fit together. Without details of our pasts. Without shared hopes, dreams, and wishes. Our connection…”

  “We are connected. I feel it too. I want more with you, Willow. Only you.”

  It was my turn to give a simple answer. “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “Yes. But not tonight. Tomorrow. We’ll meet up, have brunch, and lots of champagne. For now, let’s just drink. Eat. Listen to…”

  “No, Willow. I will not be leaving you tonight. We will walk to brunch tomorrow. Tonight, we will dance and then I will walk you to your house… wherever that may be.”

  “You want to go home with me?”

  “Yes. I am going home with you. I am going stay with you all night. I am going to take us to a whole new spiritual level.”

  “Feed me first.” I smiled, sitting across the table from my… yes, my gorgeous man, dining by candlelight.

  We enjoyed a variety of enchantedly named foods: Little Gem Lettuces, Filet Mignon Au Poivre, Little Bunny Frou Frou and finished off our meal with Chocolate Pot de Crème for dessert. Ready to move into the lounge area to sample a few uniquely titled cocktails crafted by the bar staff: Hemingway on the Beach or Midnight in Paris for me, a French Maid or Lolita for him, we stopped abruptly as a certain familiar female co-worker came into view.

  Standing in front of us, behind a stack of electronic equipment—DJSuze—with red headphones perched on top of her wild blonde tresses. She was moving her body along to the rhythm of the music she spun. Wearing a sexy halter dress, a brightly colored butterfly, surrounded with musical notes, tattoo was visible on her left shoulder blade, another secret revealed.

  “Did you know about this side of her?” Stepping back a bit, we stood obscurely out of her line of sight, watching her master her sound system.

  “I didn’t know she was performing here, but I did hear that she was spinning music around town. I did see her a few weeks back on the top of the Standard.”

  “You’re quite the night clubber.” He ribbed me, lightly.

  I snickered. “Hardly. I was actually there with one of my walkers—not the one you met—eating at the German beer garden on the west side of the building, situated behind a row of trees. As we were leaving, I saw her spinning vinyl, sliding gadgets, maneuvering a laptop, and incorporating lighting. She looked like she really knew what she was doing. She’s good!”

  “She’s great! Look at her.” His eyes sparkled as he watched her.

  Nudging him, I suggested, “I think we should slip out without her seeing us. I’d rather she come out of her musical closet on her own time.”

  “Agreed.” He offered me his arm. Excepting it, we turned to leave the bar.

  “Funny! You two are perfect partners. So alike; you the rockstar-yoga-guru, her the DJ-goddess.” I laughed as we escaped down the ornate, yet rickety, old elevator.

  Out on the street, we crossed Pershing Square, and rounded the Sixth Street corner to my apartment. Hand in hand, we walked, stopping occasionally for Dash to gift me with a brush of his lush lips on mine. A little taste of what was sure to escalate inside the privacy of my loft.

  Chapter Twenty

  Dash

  As we stopped in front of the entrance of her building, I gazed around, familiar with the area. I had walked past her place hundreds of times. On the way to work in the morning, I grabbed my favorite coffee drink from a shop that was kitty-corner to her apartment. On weekends, I often had brunch at the tavern at the end of her block after teaching or attending a sunrise yoga session in downtown. My pastry cravings took me to Bottega Louie around the corner from her, too. For months, we’d been living so close to each other. Almost even closer. When I first decided to rent a place in LA, I actually toured a couple units that were going to be available in her building. Not able to wait, I secured other temporary housing.

  Pulling on my arm, I followed her inside. A quietness enveloped us from the elevator to beyond her front door. Our eyes said things that no words could verbalize. There are rare moments in life when actions speak louder than words; that was true for us. I wanted her to know that I didn’t come home with her merely for a roll in her bed. I was serious when I said I wanted to take us to another level. That was what I was attempting to convey.

  Moving her through the loft space to a bed, visible around an opened sliding door, I took total control of her. I undressed her. I stopped her attempt to disrobe me. I wanted everything to be a new sensation. Removing my necktie, I tied it around her head, concealing her icy-blues, her pursed red lips gasped open wide.

  Taking my time, I explored her spectacular body. Caressing, kneading, rubbing, pinching, licking, and biting, I was reacquainting myself with her reactions. I hadn’t forgotten our times together; I just had the desire to make her feel even better. The additional use of a blindfold invoked a greater level of sensitivity from her. She was uninhibited. She was louder than I remembered, her breathing… her moaning. She wriggled. She moved into my touches, but she remained patient. Silent, besides beautiful noises that escaped her lush lips. She never demanded. She never begged.

  When I sensed she couldn’t take any more of my hands and mouth skimming her body, I opened her legs and settle my head between them. With my hands softly holding her thighs, I mimicked all the same movements with my mouth and tongue to her swollen lowe
r lips. Panting, stretching, straining, she pushed into my lips. Smiling as I watched her delicious thrust, I rewarded her with two fingers that brought her over the hurdle and had her thrashing as a series of orgasms rolled on and on.

  Removing the tie, I was able to see her gorgeous eyes watching me as I removed the rest of my clothes. Seeing her lick her lips, I sensed that she was ready to return the pleasure, but I had other plans. Taking her into my arms, her back to my front, I nuzzled into her neck. I just wanted the night to be about her. I just wanted to be with her, next to her, smelling her, feeling her—only her—always. Forever.

  Waking the next morning, I felt incredible. And, hard as a rock. I was ready to redeem the prizes she had tried to offer me throughout the night, after every climax I gave her. Pressed up against me, teasing me with her little wiggles and groans, I broke away to grab a packet from her nightstand that was filled with toys that assisted me in pleasuring her during the night. Reaching, not only did my hand find a foil wrapper but also a full tube of something. Pulling it up for a better look, I laughed.

  “Have you had to use this?” I dangled it in front of her. “Some poor guy need a little extra added help?”

  Shaking her head, she swiped it from my hand, leaned over me, and tossed back in the drawer. Moving back to her side of the bed, she huffed with a grin. “Believe it or not, my friend Hazel bought a couple of them and gave me one.”

  “Sure.” I winked. “Did she also buy you the other items you have in your drawer, naughty girl?”

  She attempted to vacant the bed, but I grabbed for her. “Don’t leave.” Securing her hand, I tugged her back. Settled next to me, I reached back into her toy drawer. “I have a confession.”

  “What else am I going to learn about you?” She raised an eyebrow as I pulled the erection cream out. “You definitely do not need that.” She was right, at that moment, I needed the exact opposite.

  I laughed. “I might someday.” Flipping the tube to read the label, I pointed to the letters written below the ingredients. “LTRD Inc.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Leo. Trey. Rex. Dash.”

  “No!” Snatched out of my hand for closer look, those were the first letters of each of our names.

  As she stared at me, shocked. I laughed more. Then, I filled her in on our very lucrative endeavor. “Yes. It was a college project. We put our heads—pun intended—together, but not literally. Came up, another pun, with the idea to develop an actual product. Brainstorming, we questioned: What does every man want? Answer: Sex… an erection. Bingo: Our solution.”

  “Did you sell it to a company?”

  “No. Trey is a consultant for a biochemist company that specializes in natural products that are sold in healthy stores, online, and storefront. They also happen to be the ones that manufactured and developed our product. Trey worked closely with the chemists, and they ended up hiring the genius right out of college. He has remained with the company, seeing as how he—we—still have a vested interest in the company.”

  “Speaking of making things, you owe me some good strong coffee, followed by cranberry mimosas.” She pulled herself up and padded across her wood floor toward the bathroom. “You kept me in bed way past my usual coffee hour.”

  “You didn’t seem to mind those few rhythmic stretches,” I reminded her as I moved from her bed and joined her in the shower. I was in major need of release.

  Sated, cleaned, and dressed, we walked out to greet the quiet city. Weekends in downtown LA were nothing like Manhattan. Some streets were literally like a ghost town. The day was unusually serene. It could’ve been my mood. For the first time in a long time, a peaceful calmness had swooped over me and taken charge. Total Bliss.

  Holding hands, strolling out of our way to pick up a newspaper, I savored every step, being with Willow. Starting something new felt so right. I wasn’t even worried about a hitch in our working or personal relationship. Positive thoughts would get us through anything. Sensing she might not be having the same images floating in her mind, I brought her hand up and kissed it. If she wanted reassurance, support, or understanding, I was prepared to give it all to her.

  Arriving just down the way from her place, we opted to sit outside on the small patio of the Sixth Street Tavern. The sun was shining; no need to hide away inside. Skipping the coffee she said I owed her, we ordered liquor infused beverages, and perused the menu, waiting for their arrival. I was able to vouch for almost everything they offered for brunch. I was there so often, the servers knew me by name.

  “You come here much?” she asked laughing.

  “Yes. If I knew you lived only a hop, skip, and a jump away, I would’ve insisted you join me every time.”

  Willow was so overwhelmed with the selections, she begged me to share a variety. Not one to deny her, we ordered four different things, asking them to bring them at varying times. As we nibbled, we exchanged different sections of the Times: Sunday Edition. Fashion was obviously her favorite as she stripped it right out of my hand with a giggle. Whatever made her happy, it was hers.

  Taking our time, relaxing in the warmth that was part environment, part us being together, we talked about a bit of this and that as we had in the past. Until I mentioned words that caused her body to stiffen. Looking up from behind the car section, I inquired, “Dane Motors; my parents bought cars from them, any relation?” Maybe I shouldn’t have asked that, I thought as she was slow to answer, but it was too late. It really was an innocent question.

  “Yes. My brothers own it. They took it over when my father retired early.”

  “You weren’t interested in cars? No interest in the family business? Not interested in getting a little grease on your couture?” I smiled. But, it faded quickly.

  “I wasn’t wanted. Cars and women don’t mix, according to my father.” She brushed it off as a casual comment as if she was stifling her emotions, not wanting to ruin our bubbly meal as she referred to it.

  I wanted to know more. That’s what we were doing, right? Getting to know each other. “And you didn’t persuade them to let you do their PR?”

  “No,” she answered flatly, taking a sip from her glass of champagne mixed with cranberry juice. Her lips almost matched her libation. “Women aren’t meant to be in the work place. He would never have a woman represent his precious car empire.”

  “This is a modern world. Women drive cars, fix cars, race cars, and sell cars. He must have women working for the company?” I folded up the newspaper and tossed it aside. I couldn’t believe men like her father still existed.

  “Yes. But I can only imagine what he would say about them in private. For sure, he’d say what he always did to me when I challenged him with questions, ‘not the women in this household.’ So, I left as soon as I could to prove him wrong.”

  “How did you manage? How did he let you?”

  “I didn’t give him a say. I had my own money from a relative, once I turned eighteen. While finishing my last year of high school, I applied for an unpaid internships. I had no job experience, so an internship sounded like the smart way to gain some on-the-job training. I had already been accepted to a local college, and I needed something to do for the summer. As soon as I graduated, off I went to do my internship with a fashion magazine in New York. If I spoke French, I would’ve to run all the way to Paris.”

  “Most kids pack illogically and run to a nearby park or around the corner and wonder, what do I do now?” I imagined her with a suitcase of fashion magazines.

  “I wanted to leave home as soon as I could. I never returned. I lived on the college campus. Then, I lived with Tomasina before moving downtown. Besides, I loved fashion. Fashion magazines. If I couldn’t be part of the family business, I’d find my own.”

  What did I just say? “A little fashionista.”

  “I grew up with a mother that prided herself on grooming to look perfect for her husband. I learned about the right makeup to wear and the steps to apply it flawlessly. Hair was always washed
, combed, and cut on a schedule at a posh beauty salon. Clothing? Marian Dane only wore the finest looking frocks, pants, blouses, shoes—some designer, some knock-offs. But, they were tailored to her body precisely.” I loved how she stood briefly to imitate her mother. I also loved her curves.

  “And I suppose you were also outfitted fashionably?”

  “Of course. Shopping was on the schedule, too. My closet was filled with something for every occasion and season.” Finally, she laughed. “I was never allowed to do things boys did.”

  “You have brothers. Didn’t you try to tag along? A little bit of tomboy?”

  “Oh God, no. My mother was already appalled with my friendship with the neighborhood tomboy, Tomasina… TomKat.” She snickered. “Besides, my brothers were so much older when I was born. By the time I was old enough to hang around them, they were gone off to college, working, and one with a wife and kid.” It seemed that she was tired of my probing as she began to question me. “Do you have brothers or sisters?”

  It was my turn to take a gulp of my spicy Bloody Mary. “I had a brother. He died. He was struck down by a car, walking home from school. He was in the crosswalk, two steps away from the curb. A woman, reaching back to care for her children, whipped around the corner. She never saw him. She stopped knowing she had run over something…”

  “Oh, my God.” My heart sank to the pit of my stomach as she covered my bare arm with her warm hand.

  “Yeah. He had massive internal injuries. He couldn’t be saved. My parents had the burden of pulling him off life support. Beyond the sadness, they couldn’t bear to share the grief together. They each blamed themselves. He wasn’t supposed to walk home. There was a mix up over who was supposed to pick him up.”