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Dances with Monsters

Page 12

by D. C. Ruins


  Drew sighed and pressed her fingertips into her temples. "What about the food?" she asked. "Do you think what I made is okay?"

  "It's perfect," Bunz said reassuringly, shooing Drew toward the door. "Stop freaking out."

  "I need, like, a tranquilizer," Drew said. "Or like a Quaalude."

  "A Quaalude?" Bunz repeated, stopping in her tracks. "Do you even know what that is?"

  "Obviously I'm not being serious," Drew replied with a frown. "But I can't relax and I really don't want to take my meds."

  "Really?" Bunz said, momentarily distracted. "Good for you." She waved a hand in front of her. "What you need is a good, stiff shot of whiskey and you'll be fine."

  "Right, I'll get drunk," Drew said sarcastically. "Perfect mindset to entertain."

  Bunz laughed. She grabbed the deposit bag from Drew and shoved her out the door, locking the café behind her. "Just go. Go get ready, go relax, and have a good time. And I want a full report in the morning, thanks."

  Drew waved and trudged off toward her apartment. It was only a three block walk, and she'd have over an hour to get ready. The dinner she'd prepared was ready to go; it just needed to be assembled after he arrived. She'd prepared a simple dessert as well. She felt fine about the food despite her earlier insecurity; really, she was just insecure about herself.

  She hurried up the stairs into her apartment. She'd straightened up last night. She generally kept things very tidy and deep-cleaned once a month, so it hadn't been too much work other than to fold throw blankets and scrub cat hair off the upholstery. Her small kitchen was sparklingly neat and the whole place smelled of vanilla, caramel and cinnamon—her favorite aromatic combinations. She fiddled with the light switch on the wall, adjusting the level of lighting. She finally decided to keep the lighting bright enough to see by but not so bright as to be overpowering. She wanted a welcoming, home-y glow—not romantic lighting. She shuddered at the thought.

  Finally she moved to her bedroom. She studied herself in the full-length mirror. Bunz probably had a point—being that Heath's "work attire" consisted of athletic clothing, she should probably expect him to show up in that and not a three-piece suit. Currently, she wore jeans, knee-high, heeled boots and a sheer, peach-colored top. She decided to dress it down and go the comfortable route, so she pulled out a clean pair of black yoga pants that had a leopard print, fold-down waist and her favorite old NYU sweatshirt. It was dark charcoal gray with red lettering, and she'd cut the neckline out to hang off her shoulder. It had been washed enough times to take the stiffness out of the cotton, and it was deliciously soft against her skin. She pulled her bobby pins out of her hair and let her long locks fall free. Since they'd been twisted and wound into a bun, they held a deep wave and she ruffled it to make it more voluminous. She tidied up her makeup a little, deciding not to add anything else and brushed her teeth before applying a lightly tinted lip balm that tasted like peppermint. She spritzed herself with her favorite perfume and studied herself critically in the mirror. She blew air hard between her lips and stalked out of the room.

  She went into the kitchen and pulled down plates from her cabinet and set them out neatly on the counter. She glanced at the clock on the wall. He would be there in fifteen minutes. Anxiety spiked through her and she clutched the edge of the counter. Her stomach twisted itself into knots.

  "Get a grip," she mumbled out loud to herself. She squeezed her eyes shut as panic threatened to consume her. She opened her eyes and spotted her prescription bottle a few feet away and moved down the counter toward them. She reached out to grab them, then stopped herself and pulled her hand back. She was becoming too reliant on the medication. Her therapist in New York had given her a number of ways to calm herself down, cautioning her that the medication should be used as a last resort if the relaxation techniques failed to work. Somewhere over the last year, she'd skipped the techniques and gone straight for the meds. She realized she didn't want to be dependent on them to "save" her anymore.

  She thought back to what he'd taught her and she shut her eyes again and took some deep breaths, using her entire diaphragm to coax air in and out of her lungs deeply. She held her breath at the peak of her inhale for a few seconds and blew the breath slowly out between her lips. At the same time, she began to count backward from ten. She repeated the process two more times, and when she finally opened her eyes, she found that for the moment, she did feel a little bit more relaxed.

  Then the buzzer next to her door went off, signaling that someone was at the main entrance to see her, and her stomach tightened again as her heart rate picked up speed and panic climbed back up into her chest.

  "Fuck," she murmured, then went to the small box in the wall next to the door. She pressed a button. "Who is it?" she asked, struggling to keep her voice steady. She knew who it was.

  "It's Heath," came the reply, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

  "Okay," she called back, then realized she hadn't pressed the button. She growled in annoyance and pushed her finger against it. "Okay," she repeated, and hit the button to unlock the main entrance. She heard the electronic lock give and knew that he'd be upstairs in moments.

  Frantically, she tried her techniques again, but all she succeeded in doing was making herself lightheaded as she couldn't control the speed at which she was breathing. She heard a light knock on her door and she chewed her lip.

  "Get it together," she whispered to herself, then reached for the knob with a shaking hand. She let it rest on the doorknob for a moment, steadying herself, then opened the door slowly, practically cowering behind it. Her stomach dropped when she saw him. He was wearing jeans and a long sleeved light blue shirt. He wore clean tennis shoes and she could smell his spicy, clean cologne from the hallway. She felt like a slob next to him.

  He peered at her curiously. "Hi," he said.

  She shook herself, realizing she'd been staring like an idiot. "Hi," she replied, feeling shy and horribly inadequate. She stepped back, still mostly behind the door, to let him in. She shut the door behind him and leaned her forehead against it for a moment before triple-locking it automatically. She turned slowly to face him.

  He stood in the middle of her living room with his hands shoved in his pockets, looking around at her décor and the various pictures of her family she had in frames on the various shelves of the large mahogany entertainment center against the wall.

  "You got a nice place," he said finally. "Are they all your family?"

  "Yep, all of them," she replied, wrapping her arms around herself. "Some of them are extended family, but mostly it's my immediate family. That you'll be meeting soon enough," she added wryly.

  He glanced at her over his shoulder and half-smiled. "I'm looking forward to that."

  "You don't know what you've gotten yourself into," she said, shaking her head and pulling a laugh out of him.

  "It sounds like fun," he replied.

  Drew realized they were both still standing and she gestured to her cream colored, microfiber sectional couch. "Have a seat," she offered and stepped around it to join him. He settled into a corner and she sat a few feet away and hugged a cushion to the front of her body.

  "You look nice," she commented. "I thought you'd be in your regular gym clothes. I feel like a slob now."

  "You look great," he replied automatically, then shifted his eyes from her. "I mean, you don't need to change."

  Her smoke-gray, green-eyed cat sauntered into the room then, pausing in his journey to his water bowl in the kitchen to look at Heath curiously.

  "I didn't know you had any pets," Heath said. He flicked his head at the cat. "What's his name? Her name?"

  "His name is Rocky," Drew replied, then lowered her hand to invite Rocky to come closer. He immediately moved toward her to rub his face against her hand and silently beg for behind-the-ear scratches, purring loudly.

  "Rocky, huh?" Heath said. "As in, Balboa?"

  Drew laughed. "No. Although, he thinks he's tough when he's squaring off ag
ainst the alley cats. Through the window, that is." She ran her hand along Rocky's back as it arched and scratched the area where tail met rump. Rocky's purrs grew louder. "I named him Rocky because of those dark gray rings circling his tail. It reminded me of a raccoon tail."

  Rocky jumped agilely onto the couch, stepping over Drew's lap as he moved toward Heath. Heath didn't move but his eyes followed the cat's movements as he got closer. Finally, Heath extended a hand slowly and Rocky sniffed at it delicately. Apparently approving of Heath's scent, he leaned his head against his hand and rubbed.

  "Is that ok?" Drew asked. "Are you okay with cats, are you allergic or anything?"

  Heath shook his head, his eyes still on the cat. "Not allergic. Not a huge cat fan, but he seems cool enough." Rocky crept closer, swiping his cheeks against Heath's forearm before gently butting his head into Heath's bicep.

  "Aw," Drew crooned gently. "He likes you."

  Heath glanced at her, then back down at the loudly purring cat. "Why do you say that?"

  "He bunted you," she said, then smiled at Heath's confused expression. "Bunting is where cats knock their heads against you lightly. It's a form of affection for a human. He bunts me all the time. Usually against my chest." She shook her head slightly and laughed.

  "Huh," Heath said absently, looking back down at the cat. "Can't say I blame him."

  Drew's head snapped up but Heath never looked at her. Finally, he lifted his hand and scratched Rocky behind the ears as Drew had done. Rocky's eyes closed to slits as he leaned euphorically into Heath's scratch. Drew's eyes flickered between her pet and Heath, and she bit back a grin when a half-smile finally crossed Heath's face.

  "I guess you're all right, buddy," he murmured to the cat, moving his fingers to scratch below his chin. After a few moments of Heath's ministering, Rocky abruptly decided he'd had enough and moved back toward Drew, crawling into her lap and raising himself up on his hind legs, pressing his front paws hard into her chest as he leaned into her face.

  "What's that about?" Heath asked, chuckling lightly at the sight as Drew tried to push him down. He refused to budge.

  "He's hungry, that's all," Drew sighed. "It's his dinnertime." Suddenly she remembered the purpose of Heath's visit and glanced over Rocky's head at him. "Are you hungry?"

  "Sure," Heath said, leaning forward to place his elbows on his knees.

  "Okay. I made grilled chicken salads with feta and grilled flatbread. Is that okay? I tried to make something healthy since I know you're training."

  Heath bobbed his head agreeably. "Sounds good. Thank you."

  "All right. The bathroom is around the corner, first door on the left if you want to wash your hands. Get off me, Rock," she added to the cat, scooping him up and setting him down on the floor. She got up to move into the kitchen, Rocky at her heels. She scooped some cat food into his bowl and he dove in, somehow managing to purr as he ate.

  Drew washed her hands at the sink and dried them, then fixed the salads quickly and warmed the pita in her microwave. She heard Heath in her bathroom washing his hands. She carried the plates back into the living room and set them down on the coffee table as he walked back in, his sleeves pushed up his forearms.

  "I have iced tea, lemonade, water," Drew said, ticking off on her fingers. "Hot tea. Wine."

  Wine? she thought. Why would you even present that as an option?

  "Iced tea is fine with me," Heath replied, sitting back down on the couch. "Thanks."

  Drew retrieved his requested beverage and a bottle of water for herself and returned to the living room, seeing Heath sitting still with his eyes closed. She realized he was praying and quietly took her seat on the couch, not wanting to disrupt him. She said her own brief prayer and quickly crossed herself as Heath opened his eyes and looked at her. He glanced down at his plate.

  "This looks really good," he said, sounding impressed. "You made this?"

  Drew nodded modestly. "Yes. Don't be fooled. It was really easy. I can't cook very well." She speared a piece of chicken timidly and watched from under her lashes as he took a bite. He chewed for a moment then nodded.

  "It's great," he said.

  She smirked and tore off a piece of pita. "I'm not sure I believe you would tell me even if it wasn't," she teased. She was feeling more and more at ease with each passing moment. "You're too nice for that."

  He made a wry expression as he forked up some more lettuce. "Not always," he replied.

  They continued their meal, and to her surprise, Drew found herself doing most of the talking. Sometimes she wondered if Heath was really listening, as he rarely made eye contact with her, but then he would ask a question pertaining to something she'd just said, probing for further information, and she would launch into her reply. She was surprised that he seemed to be genuinely interested in what she was saying. She wasn't sure how he was so good at getting her to talk when not very many other people around her were.

  "Would you like dessert?" Drew asked when they were finished. "I made yogurt and fruit parfaits."

  "That'd be great," Heath replied. "Thanks," he added as she bent to take his plate. Drew nodded over her shoulder to her extensive DVD collection.

  "Feel free to pick out a movie," she said as she headed back into the kitchen. "If you have time, that is." She heard him move off the couch as she placed their dishes in her sink. She quickly prepared their parfaits, adding a sprinkle of granola on top, and brought them out, seeing Heath turning a DVD over in his hand.

  "What did you find?" she asked, and he held it up in reply. She saw that it was the Devil's Advocate, and she realized she hadn't seen that one in a while.

  "Sure, that's fine with me," she replied. He opened her DVD player and placed the disc inside as she used her remote controls to switch to DVD-mode on the television. She handed him his dessert dish.

  "Fancy," he commented, flashing her a quick smile.

  He seemed totally relaxed around her, she had noticed, completely in contrast to how flustered she felt internally. She felt nowhere near the anxiety she'd felt before, since he'd done a good job of putting her at ease with his calm presence, but the more she studied him, the more flustered she grew. She had always known he was a good-looking guy but she felt a jolt each time she looked him now. His lips were tantalizingly full, especially for a man, and his face was lightly covered in a scruffy five o'clock shadow. She found herself mesmerized by it, wondering what it would feel like under her delicate fingertips.

  As though he could feel the heat of her stare, his eyes suddenly slowly rose from his dish to her. She quickly averted her eyes and focused on spooning up the cool, creamy vanilla yogurt, feeling her face heat up.

  She heard his spoon tinkle against the glass of the dish, and she glanced up, seeing he was finished. She rose quickly just as he did, reaching out for it.

  "I can take –" she began, and the words died in her throat when he stepped close to her and reached out, gently taking her dish from her hand, his fingers lightly brushing hers.

  "I got it," he said softly, looking down at her and meeting her eyes full-on, and she swallowed hard when she realized she was practically against him. She stepped back and dropped onto the couch.

  "Thanks," she said, clearing her throat and willing the fire on her face to extinguish. She heard him quietly set the dishes in the sink before he reappeared. She expected him to take up his spot in the corner again, several feet away from her, but instead he dropped down right next to her. A surge went through her as she kept her eyes on the TV.

  Holy fuck, she thought. She felt completely conflicted. On one hand, it had become her natural reaction to instantly shy away from physical touch from most people. Even being affectionate with her family was hard sometimes, although closeness with her nieces and nephews was not a problem for her. And although she'd hugged Heath the previous weekend, it had been different because she had been the one to engage the touch; moreover, it had been quite tentative. But on the other hand, she knew how rude it would
seem if she scooted away from him. It wasn't like he'd sat down in her lap, and there were still several inches of space between them. But he was close enough for her to feel his body heat and that made her want to run screaming into her bedroom and slam and lock the door. She swallowed hard and forced herself to stay absolutely still, trying to draw deep breaths through her nose as silently as possible and calm herself. After a moment, she felt herself relaxing a little. He smelled amazingly, and if she were being honest with herself, she realized—she remembered—that she liked being close to him.

  "How many times have you seen this movie?" she asked him quietly, glancing over out of the corners of her eyes. If he sensed her discomfort at all, he kept it to himself. His body posture was completely relaxed, his long legs splayed out in front of him, his arms folded comfortably over his chest. She relaxed when she saw it; he wasn't going to be reaching for her. She wondered if he'd done that on purpose to put her at ease; if there was one thing she'd picked up about him, it was that he was much more observant and sensitive to her moods than he would ever let on.

  "Handful," he replied, not taking his eyes from the screen. "I'm a big Al Pacino fan."

  "Me, too," she said. "And Keanu Reeves is just comical in this movie."

  Heath's full lips pulled up into a smirk. "Yeah, come to think of it he is. Probably the worst actor in Hollywood."

  "Pretty close," Drew agreed. She moved the sofa cushion so that it was between them, but she placed her elbow on it, propping her head on her hand, and leaned closer into him. She felt better about doing so with the barrier between them.

  They watched the film for a while, laughing at the parts that Drew was certain the filmmakers had not intended to be funny. She felt herself blushing and inwardly cringing during the sex scenes, wishing she could hide her face in the pillow. Sex scenes in and of themselves didn't bother her, but she struggled with watching them with anyone but herself. Especially with a guy she happened to be attracted to sitting right next to her. For his part, Heath seemed totally unmoved by it. He watched it with the same expression as he had watched the rest of the movie and seemed completely nonplussed by the naked female breasts and thrusting on screen.

 

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