Just One Look (Women of Substance)

by Lee, Marilyn

  She inhaled slowly. “If that’s your not so subtle way of telling me your interest is strictly sexual, I already know that.”

  “Good. Then there won’t be any misunderstandings between us,” I said, annoyed at the turn the conversation had taken. Why the hell couldn’t a woman ever leave well enough alone? Why the fuck did she have to keep pushing until she destroyed all prospects for a great, guilt-free, sexy-filled weekend.

  She gave me a long, unblinking look.

  If she were foolish enough to think I was so horny that one night with her would make me want more than a brief fling, it was time she had a damned reality check. I stared back.

  “No. There won’t.”

  “Good.”

  She rose and walked through the French doors into the living room.

  I sat, watching her leave the living room. If she thought I was going to chase her again and ask her not to leave, she could damn well think again! I’d already allowed her to jerk me around more than any other woman ever had. If she wanted to storm off—fuck her!

  Although I’d lost my appetite, I ate my breakfast. When she reappeared in the living room with her suitcase, I steeled myself not to move. You are not going to beg her. If she wants to leave, let her.

  She put her suitcase down and came to the French doors. “Last night was a mistake.”

  Her words stung far more than they should have, but damned if I’d give her the satisfaction of showing it. I shrugged. “Sorry you feel that way.”

  “I’m sure you do too.”

  “I don’t need you or anyone else speaking for me.”

  She shrugged. “Why would you need or want anything from me now that you got what you wanted?”

  I had gotten what I’d wanted from the moment I saw her—sex. She was right. There was nothing else I needed or wanted from her. But there was no way I’d admit that because I knew hearing it would hurt her. And I didn’t want that.

  I had planned to just let her walk away but found I couldn’t. “You were going to spend the weekend with me.”

  “That was never really a good idea.”

  I shrugged. “Then don’t let me keep you.”

  She compressed her lips and swallowed before she spoke. “I won’t.”

  “I’ll get my keys and drive you home.”

  “Don’t bother.”

  “It’s no bother.”

  “I’d rather go alone,” she said.

  “Fine.”

  “I already called for a cab. I’ll wait in the lobby.”

  I rose slowly and reached for my wallet.

  “No,” she said. “I got myself into this mess and I can get myself out.”

  I resumed my seat and stared silently at her.

  “I’ll see myself out.”

  You do that.

  “Goodbye.”

  I swallowed the urge to ask her not to go and inclined my head instead.

  She bit her lip, met my gaze briefly and turned away.

  The moment I heard the entrance door open and close, I slammed my fist down on top of the table so hard, my hand stung. Oh fuck! I felt a knot of rage in my gut I found difficult to contain. I’d ended my relationship with Caren for a damned one-night stand with a woman who clearly possessed unreasonable expectations. What the hell had I been thinking?

  While I felt certain Caren would welcome me back into her bed, I knew doing that wouldn’t be fair to her. Why had I allowed my lust for Narena to lead me into trashing a perfectly good relationship with Caren? Overcoming the desire to follow her yet again, I went into my bedroom, kicked off my shoes, and fell across the mattress.

  Lying on the bed I’d shared with Narena the night before, I couldn’t suppress memories of eating her pussy and later making love to her. Recalling the taste of her lips…the tight heat of her pussy encasing and massaging my cock aroused me. And the was no forgetting the incredible sense of delight I’d felt lying with my body curled behind hers that morning. Last night was a mistake. Last night was a mistake. I told myself knowing she viewed one of the most sexually fulfilling nights of my life as a mistake wounded my masculine pride. But I think part of me knew even then that the disappointment and anger I felt had little to do with pride.

  I was angry with her and myself. I should have insisted on taking her home. If I had, I might have been able to change her mind. Of course there really was nothing stopping me from following her and attempting to change her mind. I’d done it before and now that we’d made love, I knew I could do it again.

  But it will be a cold damn day in hell before you do that! She walked away and she can keep on walking. There are a lot of other women who will gladly sleep with you without expecting you to fall for her and want to marry her after one damned night. She’s nuts and if you follow her—you’re just as crazy as she is. Besides, she’s not your type and she couldn’t have held your attention for long. This way is better for you both.

  Yeah. Right.

  I got through the rest of the day but slept badly that night. Each time I woke, bile rose in my throat when I thought of the possibility that she might be sleeping in another man’s bed. Why the hell did you let her walk out without making even a token effort to stop her?

  After one of the longest and most frustrating nights of my life, I woke Sunday morning with the rest of the weekend I’d expected to spend with her stretching emptily ahead of me. I couldn’t concentrate or keep my thoughts from lingering on her.

  After spending several hours thinking about her and wondering what she was doing and who she might be doing it with, I decided seeing her again would be a mistake we would probably both regret. And one or both of us might end up hurt.

  So stop thinking with your dick and move the hell on already, Prescott.

  I managed to get through the rest of the weekend and the following one until I finally convinced myself that our night together was a semi-bitter memory I had no desire to hold onto.

  Although I felt horny and had several dates, I never took any of the women I met home—even though a number of them came onto me. I spent most nights away from home. I had guys’ nights out and got blind drunk several times. After I called Manning to pick me up for the fifth time in three weeks, he told me I needed to get a grip.

  I told him to fuck off and called him again three days later for another pick up.

  He came and drove me home without a single lecture. That’s when I knew he was worried about me.

  And I admitted I had cause to worry about myself as well since I knew I couldn’t continue to keep thoughts of Narena under control by drowning my blues in liquor. That night I dreamed of fucking her raw—after I’d gone down on my knees and begged her to forgive me.

  I woke in the middle of the night with a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes. And I knew I was in trouble. I called Manning just after dawn. “You want to shoot some hoops?”

  “No. I don’t,” he said. “And I don’t want to have to come pick your drunken ass up again. It’s time to face facts and deal with how you really feel about Narena, Anderson.”

  He generally only called me Anderson when he’d had it with me. I couldn’t blame him. I felt a need to talk about her—immediately to the only person I felt comfortable doing that with. “You want to shoot some hoops, Manning?”

  “What I want is to sleep. If you’ll remember, I got out of bed last night to pick up your sorry ass.”

  “Would you have preferred I drove drunk?”

  “I would have preferred you faced facts and did what you needed to do to make things right with her, Anderson.”

  That was not going to happen. “I’m in the mood to shoot some hoops.”

  “Fine. I’ll go online to see if there are any open courts and call you back.”

  “Okay.”

  He called five minutes later. “Court five is open. I’m going to catch another hour or two of sleep and I’ll meet you there at nine o’clock.”

  “Thanks,” I said and hung up.

  Instead o
f trying to go back to sleep, I went for a run. When I returned a took a shower and sat on the balcony listening to some of my favorite jazz until it was time to meet Manning at court five in the complex sports center. Manning was already there with a basketball.

  “You want to talk instead?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Now can we play or what?”

  He shrugged. “Fifteen point?”

  I nodded and we jogged onto the court.

  Although I nearly always won, Manning blew me away 17 to 4.

  “You want to talk about her?” he asked as we left the court.

  Only almost every waking moment. “No,” I said and tossed the basketball at him.

  He caught it and unexpectedly sent it flying back at me. I barely had time to catch it to keep it from slamming into my nuts. “What the fuck, Manning!”

  “What the fuck, Anderson! I blew off a date for your ass because I knew you needed to talk when you called me. It’s time you admitted the obvious.”

  There were a number of men I was close with but I’d always considered Manning my best friend. I’d rarely been successful in keeping secrets from him. “Fine. Have it your way.”

  Looking relieved, he nodded. “My place?”

  “Why not?”

  We went to his unit and I told him about my night with Narena over a beer on his balcony.

  “Damn she must be packing some exquisite pussy to lasso your ass so effectively after one night.”

  Annoyed at the way he spoke about her—as if he thought she was easy—I crushed my empty beer can and threw it at him.

  He batted it away and slammed his palm down on the table. “Damn it, Andy, if you toss one more thing at me, I’m going to kick your lovesick ass all over this place!”

  Growing up Manning and I had often had loud, angry disagreements but we’d never actually ever come to physical blows. And I wasn’t about to allow that fact to change just because some silly, fickle woman had walked out on me.

  “Don’t make her sound like a whore.”

  He shook his head. “That wasn’t my intention, Andy.” He leaned back in his chair and stared at me. “You know you need to talk.”

  I ran a hand through my hair. “I feel like she pissed all over me,” I finally admitted.

  “Why did you let her go?”

  “How was I supposed to stop her?”

  “You could have asked her not to go.” He shrugged. “That’s always worked for me when I wanted a woman to stay against her better judgment. Unless you’ve lost your touch.”

  “I’m just as capable of changing a woman’s mind as you are.”

  “But?”

  “But what would have been the point? The train she’s on is a non-stop one leading one place—to marriage.”

  “And you don’t want to ride with her?”

  “I do. I really do but not if it means I have to marry her.”

  “If not her, who, Andy?”

  “No one.”

  “Then what’s with all this…anguish you’re radiating?”

  “You’re imagining things, Manning.”

  “The hell I am.”

  “Yes. You are.”

  “Okay, Andy. Then why wasn’t it one and done for you with her? Why the hell are you trying to drink her out of your system?”

  Why indeed? Why was I stressing over her when I’d never had any problem getting any woman I wanted in my bed? And she’d been there as well. I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe because you’re in love with her?”

  “No. I’m not.”

  “But you’re still interested in her?”

  My interest in her had not waned one damned iota. “Yes,” I admitted. “I am.”

  “Then do what you’ve already done once—pursue her.”

  “And risk hurting her when I can’t give her what she wants?”

  “She’s an adult. If she doesn’t want to see you again, there’s nothing stopping her from saying so.”

  “I don’t want to hurt her.”

  He shrugged. “Fine. Don’t. Who says you can’t give her what she wants?”

  “She wants marriage!”

  “So you’ve said but why is that a problem? The last time I checked there was nothing stopping you from giving her what she wants—unless you’re worried about what your friends will think if you married a full-figured black woman.”

  “Fuck you, Manning! You know damned well I don’t have any friends backward enough to make that a concern for me.”

  “Are you worried what Mom would say?”

  Our parents had raised us with the firm conviction and belief that skin color and cultural differences were only important in the minds of ignorant and uneducated people. Our father had been twenty years mom’s senior. Her current husband was a Native American fifteen years her junior. Nevertheless neither Manning nor I had ever dated a black woman. I couldn’t imagine our progressive mother worrying if one of us got serious with a black woman.

  “You’re suffering under the false assumption that I have some emotional attachment to a woman I’ve only seen a few times.”

  “You can spin your friends a yarn about how your only interest in her is sexual, but I know better.”

  “If you’re implying you think I’m in love with her…”

  “Maybe you’re not quite there yet but I’ll bet the difference is too minute to matter.”

  I shook my head. “I am not in love with her.”

  “No? Great. Then why don’t I call Marla and ask her to round up one of her single friends and the four of us can have dinner tonight?”

  Marla was Manning’s favorite lover.

  Although I had no desire to wine and dine some pale, skinny friend’s of Marla’s, I wasn’t ready to admit there might be something to what Manning said. Because there wasn’t. It had been and was all about sex for me. Great, mind numbing sex. But still just sex. I nodded. “Fine. I’ll go home to shower and change.” And prepare to spend a long miserable night with another woman instead of the one I want to be with.

  Narena

  It took several weeks for me to overcome what I’d come to think of as my Anderson addiction. During the time I struggled to come to terms with the reality that he and I would never have a relationship, I was miserable. Once I allowed thoughts of how much I’d enjoyed his lips and cock to grip me, I felt overwhelmed with regret for a relationship I knew I could never have with him.

  Then I forced myself to accept the truth that he’d only wanted casual sex and that it was time for me to move on. After giving up hope that Anderson would contact me, I woke one Sunday morning feeling surprisingly rested after a sound night’s sleep. It had taken more than a few weeks before I finally felt as if my time was my own again. I didn’t waste hours hoping that he’d call me or send me flowers or show just up at my door. I spent my days working—two days in the office and three at home. My days were productive and full. During the early evenings, I generally had dinner out either with friends or alone.

  Then one Sunday morning I woke feeling rested and hopeful. Putting Anderson Prescott in the past finally seemed an achievable goal. After spending twenty minutes on my bike, I showered, dressed, had breakfast, and then sat on the balcony with my laptop answering reader email.

  Candi called as I sat over my second cup of coffee. “How are you feeling, Rena?”

  “I slept all night and I feel good this morning,” I said. That’s something I hadn’t expected given I’d had a number of graphic dreams of a raw fucks and declaration of love from Anderson.

  “I’m glad to hear that,” she said.

  She sounded more upbeat than she had during the last three weeks when she’d obviously been reluctant to talk about her relationship with Rob. “And you? How are things with you and Rob?”

  “We’re going to be okay—at least I think we are.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yes. I think. I hope.”
>
  I bit my lip. For the life of me I couldn’t imagine why she thought she had to settle for a man who worried about a few pounds. “Good,” I said.

  “Listen, Rob has a friend in town for a few weeks to look for a job. Are you in the mood to be a fourth so he isn’t an unwanted third for dinner and dancing tonight?”

  The alternative was sitting at home worrying my present mood wouldn’t last and I’d find myself wasting the day and night thinking about Anderson. And I was determined not to do that.

  “Yes. I’ll put on my Sunday Best and prepare to dance the night away.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I’m feeling okay and I intend to keep it that way. Tell me about Rob’s friend.”

  “His name is Tyron Williams. He’s over six feet, has beautiful dark skin, and a killer smile.”

  “He sounds perfect. Why can’t he land his own date?”

  “He can—if he were interested in meeting another woman. He’s not.”

  “Let me guess. He’s gay.”

  Candi laughed. “No. He’s very happily engaged. His finance’ is in the military. She’s in a support role in Iran. He’s looking for female companionship with absolutely no benefits attached.”

  “Can’t wait to meet him,” I said.

  Chapter Five

  Anderson

  Marla’s friend, Janine, was everything I liked in a woman: tall, slender, and beautiful with long blonde hair and gorgeous blue eyes. From the moment we shook hands, she focused her attention on me as if I were the only man in the restaurant.

  I found her obvious interest flattering and after two drinks, I stopped comparing her to Narena and started enjoying myself. When we danced and she grabbed my ass, I knew we were going to be spending the night together.

  “Your place or mine?” I asked, brushing my lips against her neck and inhaling her scent.

  “Mine,” she said and rubbed herself against my cock.

  “You keep that up and we’re not going to make it out of here before I fuck you,” I warned.

  “In that case, I’d better go freshen it up,” she said, slipping out of my embrace.