by R. S. Lively
She looks abashed for a moment, but quickly brightens again. Standing behind me, she wraps her arms around my waist, letting them drift a little bit lower. Taking her by the wrists, I pull her hands off me and step out of her grasp without a word, crossing the room to put on my cufflinks.
“Everything okay, baby?” she asks, a pouty expression on her face. “Did I do something wrong?”
I let out a long breath. “No, it's not you,” I say. “I just don't like doing these things.”
Audrey is a beautiful woman. Five-foot-eight, amazing breasts, and a body to kill for. She's got honey blonde hair, deep blue eyes, and dusky colored skin. She puts a lot of effort into her appearance and it shows. Of course, she's a model, so it goes with the territory.
She's also my date for the evening. I've been seeing her the last couple of weeks, but honestly, I've grown bored with her. Our time in the sack is always fun – she's always willing to let me do as I please – but, beyond fucking, we don't have a lot in common.
That's kind of my history with women – terrific sexual chemistry, not much happening outside the bedroom, and I get bored being around them rather quickly. Audrey, for as gorgeous as she is, doesn't make anything, other than my cock, perk up – just like so many before her.
She closes the distance between us and starts to rub me through my pants. I feel my cock stirring and she grabs hold of it, stroking and squeezing it.
“Then, why don't we stay in tonight?” she coos, running the tip of her tongue around her lips. “I'm sure we can find something you do like doing.”
As much as I'm tempted to bend her over, push her gown up, and fuck her right there, I push back the urge. I take hold of her wrists again and give her a wan smile.
“Can't,” I say. “I'm expected to be there.”
She tightens her grip on my rapidly hardening cock and kisses my neck softly. “Blow it off,” she says.
“I have responsibilities,” I say. “I can't just blow things off.”
As difficult as it is, I disentangle myself from her and step back. She pouts for a moment, but then the corners of her mouth turn upward and there is a seductive gleam in her eye – and something more. It's then I realize she feels me pulling back and losing interest in her. Which is making her cling to me even tighter.
Which is making her go a little over the top with the one thing we mutually enjoy – sex. It's like she thinks she can fuck my interest in her back into me. It's not a bad strategy, but unfortunately for her, probably not a winning one.
I clear my throat and run a hand through my hair, my cock still rigidly standing at attention. My mind just isn't into it right now, but obviously, my body has other ideas.
Seeing the obvious bulge in my slacks emboldens her and she steps forward again. Her eyes are locked on mine as she strokes me through my pants again, the tip of her tongue peeking out from between her full, moist lips. My cock is hard, straining against my slacks, begging for release. Like a shark smelling a drop of blood in the water, Audrey senses the momentary weakness in me and smiles salaciously.
She steps away from me and goes over to the house phone mounted on the wall near the bedroom door. Never taking her eyes off me, she picks up the handset and pushes the button.
“Roger?” she says after a moment. “It's Audrey. We're running a little bit behind. Give us a few minutes and we'll be down. Have the car ready, please.”
She hangs up the phone and saunters over to me, that sparkle of her desire glittering in her eyes. Standing before me, she reaches out and grips my cock hard through my pants, drawing a soft gasp from my lips.
Audrey unzips my slacks and falls to her knees before me, her eyes still fixed on mine. And when she takes me into her mouth, I let my head fall back and moan.
“Yeah, we can be a little late,” I say.
~ooo000ooo~
The cameras flash and the assembled paparazzi shout questions over each other as I stroll up the red carpet, Audrey on my arm. She lives for this kind of stuff, always enjoying being in the limelight and the public eye. Personally, I don't care for it and can take it or leave it. I'd prefer to not be fodder for the tabloids, but being something of a public figure myself, I can't really escape it.
“Carter,” Shannon says as she steps up to embrace me. “So good to see you. Thank you for coming.”
“As if I would miss it,” I say. “And let me say, I'm honored to be receiving your award.”
I give her a hug and a smile. Shannon is the director of the Sheldonhurst Foundation – the group responsible for putting on this little party.
“There is nobody more worthy of the honor,” she says. “You've done so much for these kids.”
I shrug. “I was there once,” I say. “I know what it's like.”
Audrey looks at me, an uncertain smile on her face. “Award?” she asks.
Shannon turns to her and takes Audrey's hands in her own. “You are stunning, dear,” she says. “Truly stunning.”
Audrey gives her a smile that says she knows she's gorgeous. “Thank you,” she replies. “What award is Carter receiving tonight?”
Shannon's eyes widen, a look of surprise on her face. “Oh, he didn't tell you?” she asks. “Well, your man is a humble guy, so it shouldn't surprise me.”
They laugh together, and I bristle, suddenly wishing I had skipped the event. I have half a mind to correct Shannon about being Audrey's “man,” but I let it pass. It's not worth creating all the awkward tension that would quickly follow.
“Carter is receiving the Sheldonhurst Seal tonight,” she says. “It's our highest honor and it's given to those who have made a transformative change to the community.”
Audrey looks at me, the light of surprise in her eyes. “Oh, really?” she asks. “And what sort of transformative change has he made?”
Shannon looks from Audrey to me, perhaps realizing for the first time how little I've shared of my life with my date. A little color blooms in her cheeks, realizing that she has perhaps, overstepped her bounds. I don't fault Shannon for it. How was she to know?
“I didn't really do anything,” I say. “I wrote a few checks. Honestly, I don't feel worthy of such an honor. It's the Sheldonhurst Foundation doing the real work.”
Shannon quickly recovers and smiles wide at me. “Well, thank you for saying so,” she says. “But, without generous benefactors like you, we wouldn't even be in operation. Your contributions to our efforts make you more than worthy.”
“Thank you for saying so,” I say.
She kisses me on the cheek and motions us toward the door. “Go, go,” she says. “There are refreshments inside. Go and enjoy yourselves.”
Audrey takes my arm and we walk inside a gallery that's stuffed with people. On the stage is a string quartet, playing soft classical music that can barely be heard over the buzz of conversation. A waiter stops before us bearing a tray with champagne. I hand a flute to Audrey and take one for myself.
Drinks in hand, I guide her over to one of the showcase displays that contains some of the work that will be up for grabs in the silent auction later. The Sheldonhurst Foundation is dedicated to improving the lives of the underprivileged in New York. They have a ton of different programs that span a wide range of things.
The program I'm directly involved in is the Ravere Group. The Ravere Group identifies promising young artists across a variety of mediums. The Group works with these underprivileged kids, honing and shaping their craft. The best of the best get into one of the most prestigious art schools in the country. The competition is always fierce and produces some truly inspiring work.
But more than anything, the mission of the Ravere Group, is to provide hope to kids who might not otherwise have it. It gives them a way out of lives filled with little more than pain and misery. It gives them a place to belong and nourishes the creativity and passion within them.
When I first heard about the Ravere Group, I was immediately drawn to it. I began donating and working with them w
ithout stopping to wonder why. Over the years, I realized it's because I identify so strongly with the kids in the program. I was one of them once. I know what it's like and I know what they're going through.
If not for somebody reaching out to help me – if not for Pops – who knows where I would have ended up. No place good, I can tell you that.
On another level though, my interest in the Ravere Group in particular, was because of – her. The one who got away. Darby had opened up my heart and my mind all those years ago. It's because of her I developed an appreciation for art. It's because of her, I began studying it a bit and collecting it.
Oh, I'm not anywhere near as refined and knowledgeable as some. I'm probably an artistic moron compared to most people. But, because of Darby, I began to actually see the beauty in the world around me and that art can really frame and encompass it. Art across a variety of mediums, can really capture complex thoughts and emotions, and move you in ways you never thought possible. Ways I never thought possible.
I guide Audrey to the showcase displaying the photography. As much as I enjoy a painting, something about photography speaks to me more than any other form of art. It's the immediacy and realism of it. Be it photographs of buildings, places, or people, there is always something I can find so relatable and powerful.
The pieces in the showcase are amazing. Visually stunning, and they all seem to tell a story. I admire the work in silence for several long moments, taking in all the detail of the images. I look over at Audrey, who's looking away, obviously bored out of her skull. I let out a long breath, wishing I could share my awe with these works with somebody who can appreciate it.
I make a mental note of the pieces I'm going to bid on and then we move on, Audrey looking more than happy to do so. She's here to be seen – on my arm, no less – and nothing more. And it irritates me. Not that I really want to be here either, but at least I'm here because I believe in the mission of the Foundation and not just because I want my face in the tabloids.
I drain the last of my champagne and set the glass on the tray of a waiter who's passing by. Audrey's glass is still mostly full. But, then her face lights up and she lets out a shrill squeal when she sees somebody she knows. The two women embrace like old friends. I recognize the woman, but can't quite place her. Probably some model, or B-list actress or something.
Audrey and her friend quickly launch into a conversation filled with nothing more than gossip, practically forgetting I'm even standing there. I roll my eyes and touch Audrey on the shoulder. She looks up at me, annoyed that I'd interrupted her.
“I'm going to need something a little stronger,” I say. “I'm going to head to the bar.”
She nods and turns back to her friend. I don't even know if she processed what I'd just said, but whatever. I weave my way through the throng of people, heading for what looks like the relatively quiet oasis of the bar.
This is mostly a wine and champagne sort of crowd, and other than a few other older men who look like they'd rather be anywhere but here, the bar is pretty much empty. I order a scotch and when the bartender hands it to me, I throw some cash into the tip jar and turn around, lean back against the bar, and survey the crowd.
A small gap opens in a pocket of people and I feel my eyes grow wide.
“No way,” I mutter. “It can't be.”
I look closer and feel the disbelief washing over me. She looks exactly as she had the last time I saw her ten years ago. Exactly the same.
“There you are,” I hear Shannon say. “Come, come, dear. It's time for your speech.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now,” she laughs.
I'm afraid to look away, wondering if she's just some sort of mirage that will vanish the moment I do. Shannon takes hold my arm and pulls me toward the stage, but my eyes remain fixed on her. Then the pocket in the crowd closes up again and I lose sight of her.
It had to be her. There's nobody else it could have been.
My heart is pounding within me so hard I feel like it might explode. Not because of my speech, but because I'd just seen her – Darby. The one who got away.
As I let Shannon drag me to the stage, I vow to myself that she's not going to get away from me again. I'm not going to let anything – not even her prick of a brother – come between us again. She's mine. Nobody's but mine.
Chapter Eight
Darby
Some probably think it's silly, but it's been my dream to be invited to the Sheldonhurst Foundation Gala for years. Truthfully, long ago, I'd wanted to be one of the artists showcased at the Gala, but given the fact that it's a spotlight dedicated to the underprivileged, and I grew up on the Upper East Side, I didn't exactly fit their criteria for consideration.
But, the Ravere Group is a prestigious program and some of today's most influential artists, across a variety of mediums, have passed through its doors.
While some of my work is sold in fine galleries around the city, I haven't quite made the name for myself I dreamed I would when I was younger. Which is fine, I guess. I mean, if I'm not a world-renowned artist, I'm not going to curl up and die.
Though, I'll admit that it would be nice to hear people talking about my work. Being exposed to my unique vision of the world around us. But, that's just selfish ego talking. I'm honestly grateful anybody at all sees and appreciates my work.
As I walk past all the showcase displays, I feel a small twinge of jealousy float through me. But, more than that, I simply feel awe. There are so many talented kids in the program and seeing their work, seeing the world through their eyes, brings me no small amount of joy. Pure and unfettered joy. Some of the kids in my class, I think, are good enough to be accepted into the Ravere Group, and I'm going to make a point of pushing them toward it.
I weave my way through the crowd, moving from one showcase to the next, admiring the work I'm seeing – some of them so beautiful, it brings tears to my eyes. I'm alone, which is probably for the best – I can wipe away my tears discretely. Jade was supposed to come with me, but her son got sick, so she had to pull out at the last minute.
I wasn't going to let that stop me though. I've been wanting to see the Sheldonhurst Showcase for years, and I wasn't going to let the idea of flying solo deter me.
I take a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and turn to the stage as I see a woman with iron gray hair in a beautiful gown step to the microphone. The string quartet finishes their song with a flourish and then leave the stage to a warm round of applause.
“Good evening,” the gray-haired woman says. “My name is Shannon Watts and on behalf of the Sheldonhurst Foundation, I would like to welcome you to our annual gala, and thank you for your attendance. And also, for your generous contributions. As you know, our Foundation is involved in... ”
With everybody distracted, I tune her out a bit and head for the photography showcase – one of the only displays I hadn't yet seen. The images are stunning, and I'm absolutely blown away by the talent I see before me. It's simply amazing.
“... so, without further ado, I'd like to introduce you to this year's recipient of the Sheldonhurst Seal,” I hear her say, “he's a pillar of the community, and has been one of the Ravere Group's most generous benefactors for years now. Please join me in giving a warm welcome and a word of thanks to Mr. Carter Bishop.”
I freeze the moment I hear the name echo around the gallery's loudspeakers. A moment later, applause erupts around the room. I turn slowly, my eyes wide, and my heart pounding in my chest. I watch as he walks across the stage, the spotlight making him stand out – not that he needs it. He looks almost exactly the same as the last time I saw him. He's still tall, trim, and entirely gorgeous. My mouth is dry and I'm shaking as I watch him embrace the woman on stage and accept the award she hands him. He looks at the small crystal trinket, his face a mask of humility and appreciation.
He turns and sets it on the podium, leaning forward toward the microphone.
“Thank you,” he says, his voice as ri
ch and smooth as ever. “Thank you, Shannon. Thank you to everybody who does such an incredible job with the Sheldonhurst Foundation, and the Ravere Group, in particular.”
There is another loud round of applause that goes on for a while as I stand there, completely riveted to my spot. It's like I'm seeing a ghost, newly risen from the grave. My palms are as sweaty as my throat is dry. I swallow down the entire flute of champagne, drawing a curious look from the woman standing next to me. If she only knew.
“I'm humbled and honored to be receiving this award,” Carter says. “But truthfully, there's somebody who deserves it more than I do. Somebody, without whom, I probably never would have taken an interest in art. Or the world around me, if I'm being completely honest.”
Carter pauses and looks up, scanning the crowd. I'm sure he's looking for whatever blonde supermodel came in on his arm. Needles of pain pierce my heart as I look at him and remember the devastation he wrought in my life all those years ago. I feel the tears welling in my eyes, making them sting as I look at him. I want to turn around and flee, but I can't seem to make my body move. All I can seem to do is stand there and stare at the man who shattered my heart into a million pieces.
“It's funny, I had this whole speech planned and prepared to bore you all with tonight,” he continues, “but, I don't think I'm going to give it. I'm sure, much to your delight, I'm going to keep this very short.”
There is laughter and a smattering of applause around the room. Carter squints through the lights as he looks over the crowd – still searching for somebody – a smile on his face that could light up the entire gallery on its own. The same smile that used to melt my heart.
“Anyway,” he says, “if not for this person, I might not be standing here before such an esteemed collection of people, and I think she deserves to be recognized.”
Great. A girlfriend. Wonderful. That's exactly what I want to see right now – the man who broke my heart with the love of his life. Yeah, this is doing wonders for my self-esteem.