We enter the restaurant, and the hostess seats us at a booth by the window. Sitting across from one another, we scan the menu in silence for a minute or two. I’ve been trying to think of a way I can bring up the flowers without making a big deal about them. I don’t want him to think that I thought more of them than he had intended. Since he hasn’t mentioned anything and the text message reply wasn’t quite the response I was looking for, I’m sure they were purely congratulatory in nature. As much as that disappoints me, I still feel that I should express some sort of gratitude for the gesture.
“Thank you for the flowers,” I blurt out, peering at him over the top of my menu.
He doesn’t move his menu, but I swear he begins to smile as I see wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes.
“You’re welcome,” he states simply. After a short pause, he lowers his menu to the table and makes eye contact with me, holding my stare. “Listen, June, I need to tell you—”
The waiter chooses this moment to stop by the table and collect our drink orders.
“Can I get you something to drink?” the waiter asks.
Cohen looks to me, offering me the chance to talk first.
“I’ll take a sweet tea,” I say.
“And I’ll have a water,” Cohen adds.
When the waiter walks away, I continue our conversation.
“You don’t need to say anything. I feel like I should apologize for being so unprofessional in New York,” I say.
About that time, another waiter arrives at the table to take our food order, and we give him our entrée choices in quick succession.
“Unprofessional? Don’t be crazy. I just wanted to say that your suggestions at the meeting in New York were refreshing, and your input on this project so far has been outstanding. Your company is lucky to have you.”
“Oh.” I push a smile through the disappointment I’m feeling. I knew I was reading too much into our shared meal in New York and the flowers last week. Things like that must be typical in the business world. “Thank you.” It’s all I can say without allowing my voice to falter.
From my point of view, the remainder of our meal is a little awkward, but I go ahead and try to make small talk about work and family. Cohen is kind, but he doesn’t seem overly engaged. I guess I can move on—to what, I’m not sure. Past the hope that Cohen had any level of interest beyond business, I guess.
On our way back to the office, our conversation becomes more casual.
“Have you ever been to the Museum of Fine Arts?” he asks, his eyes focused on the sidewalk. “I was thinking of going to view one of their exhibits while I’m in town.”
“Sure, I’ve been a few times. I don’t think it’s too hard to find. It’s over on Bissonnet. I can show you a map when we get back to the office.”
“Actually, I am pretty directionally challenged. Do you think you could come with me? I mean, if you’re interested in seeing the exhibit.”
“That is a strange thing for a man to admit.” I laugh. “Sure. I don’t mind. It sounds like something I would like to see.”
We part ways at the office as he goes into a meeting with Mr. Hargrove for the afternoon. I head back to my office and begin working on another project. Within a few minutes, my computer trills softly. Seeing Cohen’s name come across my email excites me in ways that it shouldn’t. I’m going to have a nervous breakdown if I don’t get these stupid emotions in check.
June,
I’m staying at the Omni Hotel at Four Riverway.
Why don’t you pick me up at 6:30? See you tonight.
—Cohen
I’m certain he has no romantic interest in me at this point. Asking the girl to pick up the guy is business-friend territory for sure.
That evening, I pick him up, and we enjoy the museum together. Cohen’s laughter and smile are a common occurrence throughout the night. I laugh until my stomach hurts and my cheeks burn. In fact, the museum staff asks us to keep it down at least three times.
I know I shouldn’t torture myself, but I keep thinking about what it would be like to spend more nights with him. Instead of being holed up in the apartment, watching television shows or eating take-out from the same tired restaurants, I could be with Cohen, enjoying culture and art.
I feel a connection with him, but it’s obvious he doesn’t feel the same way. At different times during the night, I purposely stand close to him, but he never once reaches for my hand or touches me in any way. He’s a perfect gentleman. He opens doors for me, and as we walk through the museum, he even offers time for me to sit and admire the exhibits.
Instead of being bummed that I won’t get a shot with this funny, gorgeous guy, maybe I should be positive. At least guys like this are out there, right?
I get the feeling his charm and wit have been in place since birth. I catch myself wondering about what his father and mother might be like. His role models must be kind and gentle people. I toss these thoughts aside like the lunacy they are, and I remind myself that I will never know the influences that have made him so desirable.
I feel a tug of sadness as I pull up to his hotel. “Thanks for inviting me along. I really enjoyed it,” I say, hoping for a little more than a smile and a wave in return.
He sits, hips angled toward me, and stares at me as words tumble from his mouth. “I would have never found my way without you.”
Looking into his eyes, I feel like there is some deeper meaning I should understand, but before I can explore my thoughts with more conversation, he begins to get out of the car. We part ways with a polite nod and wave, but I know I caught sight of those wrinkles at the sides of his eyes as he turned away.
Monday
I have read the last few text messages from Liam over and over again. Trying to interpret their meaning is giving me a headache. Does he think we need to talk because I want too much too quickly? Or does he think it’s time we gave a real relationship a try? Either way, he is driving me to bad habits. I have ingested far more chocolate in the past few days than I have in the past year.
When I think of him, I am giddy and nervous at the same time. I have been laughing at jokes that aren’t funny, feeling all mushy inside when I see old people holding hands, and daydreaming about the way his lips will feel against mine. After just one week and a few tense moments, I am envisioning myself in a relationship with Liam. It is a strange and foreign feeling.
My most recent relationship lasted for only a weekend when I went out with the same guy on consecutive Friday and Saturday nights. The following Sunday, he sent me two text messages and called my phone three times before one o’clock in the afternoon. I guess I should have been flattered, but instead, I was annoyed.
June repeatedly told me that my commitment button was broken. To me, it felt as if this so-called button was yanked from the wall, disconnected, and covered over. It wasn’t dysfunctional. It just wasn’t there. Every time a guy came remotely close to finding that button, an annoying alarm would sound off in my head, and I would run the other way. So many guys were either too sweet or too rude. They paid too much attention to their looks, or they appeared too ragged around the edges. Jocks were too involved in sports or other activities while geeks were too lazy, living life as a couch potato in front of a television or computer screen. I could never find a happy medium—until now.
Liam makes me want more. He’s carefree without being careless. He’s the perfect mixture of messy short hair and neatly pressed clothes. I thought I would die when he came down for Sunday dinner after just taking a shower. His hair was still heavy with wetness while his body was covered with crisp clean clothes. Although it’s obvious he spends some time on presentation, his appearance always has a take-it-or-leave-it look, and I will definitely take it.
Working through this Monday morning is going to be tough while carrying around images of Liam all day.
June called me earlier to say she can’t do lunch, so I send a quick text to Liam.
Busy for lunch? —Car
oline
Have a meeting. Can we get together after work? —Liam
Sounds good. What were you thinking? —Caroline
How about a movie and then a quick bite? —Liam
Sure. —Caroline
I’ll see what’s playing and text you later. —Liam
I’m slightly disappointed about not having lunch with him, but a movie could be fun. Two hours in a dark room while sitting next to a hot guy doesn’t sound too bad.
Since I’m not heading out for lunch, I try to take the time to get ahead on some new projects. Audrey and I order in lunch and work diligently through the afternoon. The day goes by slowly, but I don’t mind. It gives me an opportunity to linger on thoughts of Liam as I imagine what our relationship could be. Of course, these thoughts are also interspersed with ideas of why it couldn’t work out. I push the latter option to the side and try to stay positive.
I get home from work and change into my best jeans and a sexy green tank top. I’m pulling a cardigan around my shoulders when I hear the front door open.
“Hey, June. How was lunch?”
“He asked me to take him to a museum.”
“For lunch? That’s a little weird.”
“No, tonight!”
“What kind of date is that?” I ask, walking into her bedroom as she throws some clothes onto her bed.
“It’s not a date. He wants to see this exhibit, and he doesn’t know how to get to the museum.”
“Sure,” I say sarcastically.
“Shut up! He said that I’m a good employee, and my company is lucky to have me. Does that sound like a pick-up line to you?”
“Alright. Geez, settle down. What are you going to wear?”
“I’m thinking this blue skirt and white top. What do you think?”
“I think you’re hoping it turns into a date.”
“Ugh! Get out! I can’t talk to you right now.”
I laugh as I head back toward my room. When I walk into my bedroom, I notice my phone light is flashing. Crap, Liam must have texted me.
What do you think about seeing the new Bruce Willis movie? —Liam
Action sounds perfect. —Caroline
He’s a man after my own heart. I think I would have cried in utter disappointment if he had recommended a chick flick or some other sappy story.
Was beginning to think you were backing out on me. Is June home? —Liam
She’s leaving soon, but I don’t know what time. I could meet you there. —Caroline
Okay. Meet you there at 6:30? —Liam
See you then. :) —Caroline
I finish getting dressed and say good-bye to June. She is seriously stressing out about this guy. I know she likes him, but he must be some really good eye-candy or make some really great money. She is tied up in knots. I hope he’s good for her. She deserves someone really wonderful.
As I walk up the steps to the theater, I see Liam standing with his back to me. I give myself a couple extra seconds to take in the view, and then I make myself walk up beside him. He looks down at me with a sweet smile as he places his arm around my shoulders. It feels comfortable and easy, like he has touched me this way a million times before. It’s like nothing I have ever experienced. I don’t want to squirm away or make an excuse to go to the restroom. Instead, I fold myself into his side, and I enjoy the feeling of his arm tightening around me in response.
“Hey there. If there’s something else you’d rather see, just let me know.”
“No, I like Bruce Willis. This movie should be good.”
We walk together to the ordering kiosk, and I watch as he chooses the movie and pays for our tickets. He takes my hand and leads me into the theater lobby.
“Do you want something to drink?”
“Sure. Do you mind if I grab something to eat here? I don’t want to ruin your dinner plans,” I say, wondering what he’ll think.
“Are you kidding? You’re not ruining anything. I love theater food. What do you want?”
“Popcorn and a hot dog?”
“Are you okay with sharing a drink?”
“Sure. Whatever you like is fine.”
We order our food and drink, and then make our way into the theater. We’re about thirty minutes early, so we have our choice of where to sit. Liam picks seats toward the top and in the middle of the row. We finish eating before the movie starts. As the previews begin to play, Liam’s arm finds its way around my shoulders again. His arm stays there throughout the movie, and his fingers gently caress my upper arm every few minutes. He makes no attempt to touch me in any other way, and I sit in total stillness, not wanting to ruin the connection we have.
As the plot wraps up, I realize I wouldn’t be able to tell anyone what happened during the movie if my life depended on it. I know that Bruce Willis kicked some ass, but that happens in just about every movie he is in. When the theater lights begin to brighten the room, Liam pulls me against him in a quick side hug before he gets up to leave.
As we exit the theater and round the corner at the bottom of the stairs, he takes my hand in his. I feel butterflies kicking up in my stomach. This is the part of the night when we go our separate ways. We walk into the parking lot and the unknown ending of our date is driving me crazy. My body is shaking, and I hope he doesn’t notice it as he holds my hand. I need to get in control of myself.
“So, do you know what time June will be home?” he asks.
“No, she was going to a museum, so I imagine it won’t be too late.”
“I was planning on dinner, but since we already ate, would you like to come back to my place?”
Don’t act too eager. “Sure. That sounds fine.”
“Alright. Do you want to follow me there?”
I nod in agreement as he opens my car door. I slip in and give him a quick smile before he closes the door. All the way to his apartment, I’m thinking of what I will say. I know we should talk about what we want from all this, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to resist kissing him if he touches me in any way. I resolve to keep my emotions in check, so we can discuss the important issues we need to work out. Not to mention, a kiss after eating a hot dog for dinner could be disastrous.
It only takes a few minutes to reach his apartment complex. We pull into the parking lot and park side by side. Meeting on the sidewalk, we walk down a short hall to his door. He pulls his keys from his front pocket and unlocks the door. My mind is racing, and I can’t seem to contain my body’s response to his. He swings the door open wide and motions for me to go inside.
His apartment isn’t a complete bachelor pad. There aren’t any big posters of sports stars or hot models. His television and furniture are modest, but I do see a couple of different gaming systems in the living room. I watch as Liam reaches into his back pocket to take out his wallet, and I begin to wonder how it would feel to have my hands in his back pockets with my body pressed against his. I’m lost in thought when Liam’s voice interrupts me.
“Come here,” he says, holding out a hand. “You look worried. Is everything okay?”
“Sure. I just know we need to talk,” I say, stepping to him.
His arms encircle me and pull me closer into his chest. I breathe in the scent of his cologne. When I close my eyes, I feel his lips against the top of my head.
“We don’t have to talk tonight. Let’s just relax.”
He must be oblivious to how he affects me. There is no way I can relax in this moment. He leads me to the couch, and we sit, our hips touching. His hand caresses my face, and I smile hesitantly. I lean toward him, knowing I should just give in now because my willpower has no chance. He presses his thumb against my chin, turning my face away from him. I feel his lips against my neck. Prickling specks of energy rush down my arms and through my torso. He continues to the hollow of my neck, and moving my face the opposite direction, he traces an imaginary line up the other side of my neck. I take in a breath and close my eyes. Maybe I can relax.
The world stops. There
is no sound more important than the breath leaving his body and moving toward mine. As Liam rests his forehead against mine, I wonder how I will hold myself back if our lips touch. I don’t want to push things too far if he doesn’t want more, but I don’t want him to think I’m a prude. I push aside my worry and take a small breath.
Then, gently, as if not wanting to interrupt my personal calm, he kisses my lips. There’s no pressure to deepen the kiss. I let his hands warm my cheeks as I try to let go in this moment. I tell myself that all my worrying is pointless because I don’t have to be in control when I’m with Liam. I can let him take the lead and allow a little piece of myself to become lost in him. When his lips leave mine, I sit with my eyes still closed.
“Relaxed?” he asks.
I open my eyes. “Very.”
This is the point where I would normally leave the guy’s house. I would make some excuse about needing to get some work done or having to go to the grocery store. Instead, I pull my legs underneath me and get comfortable on the couch beside him.
We spend the next hour or so watching sitcoms and laughing our asses off. Then, someone knocks on the door. Liam stands, walks to the door, and then looks through the peephole.
“Holy crap,” he whispers in my direction.
“What?”
“It’s June!”
My eyes widen in surprise, and I jump up from the couch. I haven’t been to any other room in his apartment, so I don’t know which direction to go. Liam points to what I assume is his bedroom, and I run to it without question. I shut the door behind me and lean my body against it. June’s voice is soft as she enters the apartment, and I stand with my ear to the door, straining to hear their conversation.
Crossing Paths Page 9