by Zoe Norman
“How boring was your flight, Owen?” Marc asks as he swirls his two fingers' worth of scotch around in his lowball glass.
“Actually, it was pretty amazing,” I reply, debating on whether to share my flight experience with them.
“Oh?” Marc says curiously. “I've never heard anyone describe their flight as 'amazing' before. What happened?” he asks flatly.
“I had a sexy seatmate to pass the time with.”
“Why does this not surprise me?” Travis exclaims a bit too loudly. “You always have the best dumb luck.”
I smirk and proceed to tell them about my ogling Olivia at the airport bar and then the irony of our being seated next to each other on our flight to Seattle. I told them about my incessant flirting and how I followed her into the lavatory for a quick and dirty make-out session. Marc and Travis listen intently and occasionally exchange knowing glances while I share my story.
“You fucked her, didn't you? You joined the motherfucking mile high club! You bastard!” Travis shouts.
“No. I did not. There's always the flight home though...” I answer, lifting my eyebrow.
Travis gives me a fist bump, but Marc rolls his eyes.
“You like her,” Marc states.
“I don't know her well enough to say I like her, but I do know that I would like to see her again,” I retort.
“Who are you right now?” Travis asks. “You never want to get to know the women you 'spend time with.'”
Okay. I'll admit that I'm a bit of a player and obviously I tell my friends way too much about my escapades, but Olivia is different. A good, albeit uncertain different.
“Maybe I'm ready for something different,” I reply, finishing my beer.
“A tiger doesn't change his stripes that quickly, my friend,” Travis chides and downs the remainder of his beer.
“It might if it's for the right woman.”
“Fuck!” Marc yells, throwing his head back and looking towards the ceiling. “Do not tell me that you're looking to get your man card revoked too.”
“A guy can to talk to a beautiful, smart, sexy woman, can't he?” I ask with a sly smile.
An hour passes quickly as we catch up with each other. We covered all the important things: sports, sex, dates, jobs, and family. We talked about how Travis proposed to his fiancée, Lucy, and gave him a hard time about him not talking to Marc or me ahead of time so we could have talked him out of it, but I guess we can't all be Peter Pan forever.
“Okay, I have a serious question for you two,” Travis says, wrapping an arm around my neck.
Marc rolls his eyes. “Oh boy…”
“Shut up…I'm serious,” Travis continues in his slightly inebriated state. “Now that Owen is here, I wanted to ask you two a serious question.”
“You said that already. Out with it,” Marc grunts, starting to get annoyed. I just laugh. I really missed these guys.
“Okay. Okay. I love you,” Travis declares, patting my face. “And I love you sometimes.” He points to Marc. “And I want you both to be my best men. You both are the most important men in my life and I want you and you”—he gestures to each of us—“to be at my side when I marry my Lucy. Will you do that for me? Huh? Will ya?”
“I'd cry if I had a heart, because that was beautiful,” I say sarcastically, “but I would be honored to be in your wedding, Travis.”
Marc dabs the corner of his eye with a napkin, soaking up his fake tears. “That was special. Of course I'll be there.” Marc wads up the napkin before tossing it at Travis and we all roar with laughter.
“Serious though, thanks, guys. It means a lot to me.”
Because guys are typically shitty at expressing their emotions, we sit around the table and stare at each other. Thankfully the waitress comes around for last call, breaking the awkward silence. We request another round of drinks and order is restored as we fall into our familiar banter.
I yawn and stretch my arms out to my side, my muscles pulling tight. “All right, guys. I'm going to be the buzzkill and end this. I've had a very long day and my bed is calling my name. What's the plan for tomorrow?” I ask as I take out my wallet to pay for drinks.
“Brunch with Lucy and her bridesmaids at Coastal Kitchen on Capitol Hill. Kind of a get-to-know-you thing before you all are meeting for the first time at the wedding thingy,” Travis explains.
I groan and give him a look that screams Really? as I pay the bar tab.
Travis sees the look on my face and throws his hands up in defense. “I don't know. Lucy thought it would be a good idea.”
“Is Lauren going to be there?” Marc asks Travis with a tight smile as we all get up from the table to leave.
“Yes,” Travis answers cautiously. “Why?”
“Shit,” Marc mumbles, pressing his palm to his forehead.
“What did you do, Marc?” I ask with a smirk.
“I was a dick to her. Well, first I gave her good dick and then I was a dick. I fucked her and never returned her calls or texts.”
“What?!” Travis bellows and swings around to glare at Marc. “When the fuck did this happen? You never said anything to me about it!"
“At your engagement party.”
“At my engagement party? The one AT MY HOUSE?” Travis roars as we push open the doors to leave Pete's.
“Same one,” Marc confirms.
I can't help but laugh. Have I mentioned how much I've missed these guys?
“Well, fuck me,” Travis exclaims, flabbergasted.
“That's what she said,” Marc laughs. “And then I did. In your bathroom.”
I reach around Travis to give Marc a fist bump, unable to contain my laughter.
All Travis can do is shake his head while he laughs along with us. “So, tomorrow may be a little awkward. Is that what you're saying?”
“Probably.”
“Was she any good? Think maybe I should …” I tease and wiggle my eyebrows.
“Meh.” Marc shrugs his shoulders. “A little too tame for my liking.”
“None of this is spoken of tomorrow. Got it?” Travis demands with as much seriousness as a drunk man can muster. “Lucy would flip tables if she knew you fucked one of her best friends.”
“Got it,” Marc and I confirm in unison as we all climb into Marc's SUV.
On the short drive to my hotel, Marc fills us in on how Lauren ended up on his dick. It's a good story. You should ask him about it sometime.
“Thanks for the ride, Marc. You got him?” I ask, pointing to Travis.
“Yep,” he says, grabbing Travis's shoulder. “I'll drop his drunk ass off at his place and then be back tomorrow at 10:30 a.m. to pick you up for brunch.”
I wave goodbye to my friends and find my way to my hotel room. After kicking off my shoes, I flop face-first into my turned-down bed, beyond exhausted from the events of the day.
CHAPTER SIX
Olivia
Despite my somber mood after leaving Owen, Charley and I laugh for the majority of the ride to the hotel. I've told her all about my time with Owen and she is giddy with possibilities.
"I told you something good would happen if you came out here! See!"
She clearly thinks that she has had some karmic impact on my meeting up with Owen, and it's so endearing, I can't tell her otherwise.
"I don't know, Charley. Seriously, it was nice to flirt for a few hours, but it's not going to be anything. I'll bet you twenty bucks I never hear from him. He's obviously a player since he had the guts to come after me in the bathroom. Plus, he made it clear he doesn't want anything serious. I don't want that, you know? I'm not looking to be someone's distraction." I stare down at my hands in my lap.
Charley reaches her hand out, taking mine, and I look up at her. "Liv, honey, you have to have a little fun. You have to let someone remind you why you are worthy of someone's love, respect, and interest. I know you, and I know what goes through your head. Don't discount this guy just because he showed some interest in you. You ar
e worthy of that too, you know."
I smile over at her, tears threatening my eyes. She knows me so well. "Thank you...for that," I sniffle. That's all that needs to be said.
"Good," she declares in a tone that indicates that this part of the discussion is over. "So let's talk about the amazing sex you're going to have with this guy when you see him again this weekend." We giggle like school girls while we fantasize about Owen and his sexpertise the rest of the drive to the hotel.
As we pull up to the hotel, I climb out and grab my suitcase from the back seat. "Thanks again, Charley, for the ride. I really appreciate it."
"Never a problem, chicky. Call me later, okay? We'll make plans for dinner?"
"Absolutely. I wouldn't miss it," I say. I lean back into the car and give her a quick hug before standing back up to make my way into the lobby of the hotel.
The hotel itself is amazing. It's beautiful. Ornately furnished and bustling with activity. It screams of money and good taste, and I love that I feel like I'm on vacation. This feels special, and it is. It's a big deal for me to be here, on my own, supporting my own work, and I am downright thrilled about it.
My talk just happens to be in a boardroom here in the hotel, which will make it easy for me to focus on preparing my presentation prior to giving it tomorrow evening. Just knowing that I have that much time to prepare calms me down. I look at the time and see that I have enough to take a quick shower, change into something more comfortable, and head down to the bar for a glass of wine and something to eat before calling it a night. Even though the time difference is in my favor, I am exhausted.
As I make my way to the elevator, I notice a couple kissing passionately in the lobby. His hand is running over her ass. Her hand is in his hair. They have that slightly disheveled look of a couple who just had sex and are basking in the afterglow. He nuzzles her ear, and for some reason, I immediately go damp. I have a momentary flashback of Owen in the airplane bathroom. Of his lips sliding down my neck, nibbling my ear, his hand slithering up my thigh. I press my legs together as I turn back toward the elevator. I regret not having just asked him to come to my hotel.
What is wrong with me? I know nothing about him at all. The fact that some of my walls are coming down and that I'm entertaining some very risky behavior makes me nervous. My legs go weak as I contemplate what it would be like to have a physical relationship with Owen. The elevator doors slide open and I stand inside. I turn just as the doors start to shut and I could swear, through the rapidly narrowing opening in the elevator doors, I see Owen walk by. Jesus. Now I'm seeing him in places he's not. Freak.
I walk into my room and drop my carry-on to the floor. The room is beautiful. It is dominated by an enormous king-sized bed, and it has a luxurious bathroom with a Jacuzzi tub. I walk over to the bed and start to take my clothes off. All I want right now is a hot shower, something to eat, and a good glass of wine. But first, I need to call my brother, Simon, and let him know I got here safely.
I grab my cell phone from my purse and notice that I have a missed call from him. Without listening to his message, I dial his number and receive his voicemail immediately.
“Hey, big brother. Just wanted to let you know I'm here and getting settled. Just in case you've forgotten, I'm at The Fairmont Olympic in room 1121. Call if you need anything. Otherwise I'll let you know when I'm back in the city.” I disconnect the call and kick off the last of my clothes before walking into the bathroom.
I turn the shower on to scalding hot. As I step under the water, I can literally feel my muscles relax. The shower is decadent. It has multiple jets coming from different angles in the walls and ceiling and a detachable wand that provides spray of varying strengths and pulses. I pick up the wand and play with settings. I find one that is strong with a rapid pulse and start to slowly run it over my shoulders, my back, my arms, my legs, my thighs…
A burst of water hits the soft flesh between my legs and I jump. Whoa, that felt...good. I lift the head of the wand again and let the pulsing water pass over the “landing strip” of curls between my thighs. An errant but powerful shot of water slips between the lips of my sex and hits the tiny nub of nerves there dead-on, and I yelp. Oh my God, that felt really good.
I look around as if someone might be watching. Who do I think would be watching? I lean back against the wall of the shower and let the water pulse against my clit again, this time with more consistency and at a closer proximity so it almost feels like tiny fists pummeling it head-on. My head falls back slightly and my eyes close, and I am immediately greeted with a vision of Owen. Sweet baby Jesus.
With my eyes still closed, I start to imagine him walking into the shower with me. He is on his knees and his face is between my thighs. His tongue is powerful, insistent, lapping at me, nibbling at me. Suddenly, I feel a familiar pull in my groin, heat flaring up my body from my toes to my brain. I come, my knees shaking, my head hitting the marble wall of the shower with a gentle thud.
“Oh my God...” I groan. As my orgasm starts to come down, my hand drops the wand to the floor and it skitters away due to the force of the spray. I jump down and grab it, returning it to its cradle. That was unexpected but...yum. I shake my head and sigh, tilting my head under the water.
As I wash my hair and simultaneously come down from my orgasm, I start to think more about my encounter with Owen. He really is a nice guy. Funny, smart, sexy. Kind of the full package. It's too bad he has no interest in a relationship. And maybe even sadder that I want one. I'm kind of surprised I'm even thinking that way, given my relationship history.
As I start to wash my body, my mind travels back to the last time I saw Jay. Despite the hot water, I shiver. I need to figure out a way to get him out of my soul, to release the hold these memories have on me so I can move on. As a therapist, I know what I would tell a stranger about this and how I would help them through it. I would easily tell them to work on creating new memories. Focus on the future. Use positive self-talk to change your negative thinking. Turning the couch around and having me sit in it, however, is far more difficult. I want nothing more than to release myself from his grip, knowing full well that he isn't suffering the way I am. Friends who knew us both have told me that he slipped right back into his old married life as if nothing happened. Not surprising.
I turn off the water, promising myself that, even if it results in nothing, I'm going to enjoy my long weekend in Seattle and if Owen is part of that equation, well, so be it.
I wrap myself in a hotel robe and dry off as I head into the bedroom. I pull out a pair of jeans and a shirt. Casual but functional. I grab my keycard and head to the restaurant off the lobby. I can't wait to grab a bite and fall into bed for some well-deserved sleep.
* * *
I wake up the next morning feeling cozy in my bed. However, I need to get up and attend the presenter's brunch and say hi to some colleagues. It's being held in a great room off the lobby and the pleasant aroma of breakfast fills the air, tantalizing my stomach. I'm starving. As I walk in, I'm greeted by a woman I have seen before at these conferences. She is a psychologist studying servicemen too, but she's looking at their employment issues, and we have often connected to discuss our findings and help each other out.
After a quick hello with her, I make my way to the buffet. I feel a tap on my shoulder as I put scrambled eggs on my plate. I turn to see who has noticed me, a smile already plastered on my face. Oh Jesus. It's Rob. Clingy McClingerton at three o'clock. Shit. "Oh hey, Rob. Good to see you. I didn't know you would be here this weekend."
He runs his finger up my arm and I flinch away. Geez, he's so creepy. Don't touch!
"Yeah, well, I didn't know you were going to be here either. What a nice surprise. You want to eat together?"
I quickly scramble to think of something, anything, to keep me from eating with him. I look down at my folder of notes I brought down, which is holding my plate steady. "Actually I wanted to review my notes this morning so I could use the time alone, but
I'm sure I'll see you around."
He makes a face and leans forward. "Maybe I'll see you at the dinner tonight and then we can go back to my room? For a nightcap?"
Or for horrifyingly awful sex? I think to myself. "Gosh, Rob, I'm sorry. I'm meeting my friend Charley for drinks and dinner tonight, so I won't be attending." I rush to put some fruit on my plate and grab an orange juice. I hurriedly turn and give him a smile. "I'm sure I'll see you around though. Bye." I hastily make my way to my table, my back to the buffet.
An hour later, I have gone through all my notes. I didn't really need to go through them, but it makes me feel better that I have the information down so well, and quite frankly, it kept Creepy Rob away.
It blows my mind sometimes that I'm in the position to be speaking to my colleagues about my research. A year ago, I never would have thought this was possible. Studying servicemen is something that's been on my mind since childhood. My father was a police officer who witnessed some horrifying things in his years on the force. I saw the toll it took on him, and I also saw how he avoided getting any kind of help or support for the feelings and nightmares that haunted him. It is because of my love for my dad and my desire to help him that I chose this as my thesis topic and subsequently my most recent research.
Luckily I was able to find someone in my department who was willing to endorse me and help me with it. Tim, my mentor at the university, was unable to join me for this conference, but he has emailed me lots of supportive data and, even more important, lots of encouraging words. I'm lucky to work with someone who respects and supports me so much.
I decide that it's time to go upstairs and take a nap before my talk. Not to mention, I'm meeting Charley tonight and that will likely result in late hours being kept. I clear my plate, grab my paperwork, and head for the elevator.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Owen