It's Got A Ring To It

by Desconhecido(a)

  A kiss with a complete stranger, though nothing about it felt strange. Unexpected. Extraordinary. Surprising. Yes, all of the above. I could say it was like high school all over again, but nothing in high school ever felt that good. Sure, there were clammy hands, sweaty palms, and a good night kiss at the end of the night. But there were no moments of teetering on the edge. Mom and Dad might flicker the porch lights in warning for getting too fresh with a boy. But, he was all man. And, I’d never felt more like a woman.

  Yet, it wasn’t a date. It was me, desperately deluding myself into thinking it was something more. But what if it could be much more than I allowed it to become? Was I standing in my own way? Just the thought gave me uninhibited courage. Without detaching our lips, I whisked him away to the side of the house where I could continue ravishing him.

  Just as quickly, he took control and expertly twirled me against the house. My body melted under the heat of his lips as they found their way to the nape of my neck. The same place that made him jolt earlier sent fire blazing to every inch of my skin. Moans seeped out into the open air. Telling sounds. Whimpers of need and desire. Calls of our bodies’ untamed, unrelenting cravings.

  “Laila,” he whispered into my décolletage, now openly displayed for his feasting eyes and mouth.

  It all sounded like gibberish. I only understood body language at that point. My mind idled, incapacitated, along with the feeling in my knees. Glancing down toward them, I realized that they’d weakened. Myles was supporting my wilted body. “Myles,” I moaned as he lifted me up, tilting my hips toward him. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I could feel his rigid hard length pushing through, so I squeezed a little tighter.

  Temptation had gotten the best of me. Rhythmically, my body simulated what I wanted to do. Needed. In the shadows between the house of my childhood home and Mrs. Parsons’s house, the cat-hoarder, I was practically begging a stranger to fuck me on faux grass—thank God they never went for the desert landscape.

  At some point in my haze, I remembered throwing my cute pale blue V-neck to the ground because Myles’ voracious mouth was the only thing covering my shirtless body. Horny, couldn’t quite sum up the mind-blowing sensation coursing through my veins. “Lay me down,” I mouthed into his ear. Obediently, he obliged as he squared me to the ground. It had nothing to do with embarrassment, as much as need to end my longstanding drought. In fact, my regret was wearing skinny jeans to cover up my unshaven legs.

  In record time, I’d unbuttoned my jeans and unfastened his, rushing for his zipper before I exploded from want. My searching hands found him, sending a sensation through his body. Myles’ eyes closed and a moan of satisfaction rumbled over me. The desire was mutual. It was too late for tact, so I didn’t hesitate to release him from his pants and angle him toward my accepting body.

  “Laila, are you sure you want to do this? I really like you and I don’t want you to have any regrets.”

  My core and my heart screamed a resounding Yes I want to do this, but my brain sided with Myles. No matter how good it would feel—and I knew it would—after, I’d beat myself up for not waiting. Then, the expectations would absolutely follow.

  “I do…but…” But I didn’t know what the but was. All I did know was that there should have been a but, given that we’d only just met.

  “That’s all you have to say.” He began to stand, as I pulled him back down to me and kissed him deeply.

  “Myles, I want you.”

  “And you can have me whenever you want me. It doesn’t have to be right now.” He looked me straight in the eyes to ensure he had my undivided attention, it was torturing him, too. “Laila, when we do share each other’s bodies, and we will as long as you want me, I want you to have no questions, regrets, or doubts about it. I want you to know that it’s right and feel like it was passionate lovemaking, instead of a lust-filled mistake.”

  Defeated with my throbbing body still craving his, there was nothing more to say.

  Silently, we fastened our pants and he straightened his blazer. On my own two feet again, I worked to put my T-shirt back on.

  “Just a second.” He took me in his arms once more to kiss me, then took my bosom into his mouth for one last quench of his hunger. Holding one finger up, he looked at me appreciatively. With both hands, he caressed me downward upon my curves from my torso to my waist to my hips, slowly in the motion of an hourglass. Feeling modest again, I winced away to put my shirt on.

  “Don’t be embarrassed, you’re so beautiful. Do you have you any clue just how gorgeous you are? How perfect you are?”

  When I said nothing, he centered me with his eyes to make me aware.

  “Laila, I don’t know how I got so lucky to be here with you tonight. Not, as lucky as I would’ve liked to.” He laughed at the magnitude of willpower he’d displayed. “But, I really do feel like I must have done something right with God, to be here with you tonight.”

  Brushing my lips softly against his was the only thing I could think to show my appreciation. With his words, he’d lifted my spirit, heart, and slightly reinflated my ego from the years of self-doubt.

  Fully dressed, I checked and rechecked my clothes to make sure I wasn’t completely disheveled. “How do I look?”

  “Like you almost had sex with your sister’s wedding photographer,” he joked.

  “Be serious.”

  “You look fine. Listen, Laila, before we go in, I wanted to ask you what you think about maybe having coffee with me sometime.”

  “Well, you’ve already seen me half-naked, so…” I smiled deviously, as I enjoyed giving him a hard time. “In all seriousness, Myles, you don’t owe me anything. Please don’t feel obligated to try to turn this into something. I’m not naïve to think that you’re not seeing other women. I don’t expect that you’ll stop seeing them on account that we had one exhilarating night together in the shadows.” You do have a concert with some eagerly anticipating woman tomorrow night.

  “Uh, I was thinking we could talk about the photos for Lena’s wedding, but we both know how you like to make assumptions,” he said sounding like he was kidding, with a little too much truth behind it.

  Embarrassed and feeling guilty again, I nodded in agreement. “Oh. Okay that sounds fine.” With my head a little lower, I said, “Coffee it is.”

  “Just pulling your leg, don’t give me that sad face.” With a peck on the cheek, we headed back into Mom’s, who was expertly perched upon her favorite chair, heavily involved with a book, that from upside down, I could read was John Grisham’s, The Innocent Man. Ironically, I knew she was neither a man, nor innocent. By her flustered intensity and agitated breathing, she had definitely been up to no good. Darting my eyes toward the window in the formal dining room, I noticed that the never out of place curtains were as tousled as her hair.

  Red with mortification, I thought about the window that faces Mrs. Parsons’s house. I glanced back at Mom as her eyes followed my line of vision. I prayed she had the decency not to watch everything.

  Planted in my thoughts, I nearly jumped at her words when she addressed Myles. “Given your smiles, I trust you were able to help my stubborn daughter come to a meeting of the minds?”

  “Stubborn as a bull on the outside, but all putty once you get to know her,” he jested playfully.

  “Well then, what have you decided for our Lena’s wedding photography?” As sly as a fox, she toyed with poor Myles, who struggled for a feasible answer. He wasn’t privy to my mother as the expert manipulator, only the sweet lady from the post office.

  Eying Myles, I said, “Actually, Mom, we decided to meet for coffee to really narrow the options and compare our notes of what would be best for Lena. I’m completely booked tomorrow, but Saturday afternoon, I’m available. Work for you, Myles?”

  “I’m putting it in my phone right now. Lena and Sam Carter Wedding. Coffee with maid of honor, Laila Smart. Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf on West Charleston. One p.m.” Taking the cue, he keyed with exaggerate
d purpose. “There. It’s in the phone and now it’s set in stone.”

  “Myles, you can be so corny sometimes.” I laughed at his rhyming skills.

  “Well, I’ve got a lot of preparations to get started on for our appointment Saturday, so I better get going.” He fumbled as he gathered his portfolio and photo books. In the manner of a gentleman, he gave a quick kiss to Mom’s hand and shouted a polite good-bye to my father. And though I thought he’d be just as professional with me in front of Mom, he spared no passion as he gently touched his lips to mine a minute too long for us to hide behind the façade of solely a newfound friendship. “I’ll see you Saturday.”

  Lazily, my eyes opened in time to see him out the door. But before I had time to recompose myself and stabilize the beating of my heart, the weight of Mom’s stare was heavy upon me. A knowing smile crossed her face and I was prepping for the brunt of what I had coming, but she only muttered, “I won’t say a word.”

  Most of the time, I don’t want to hear anything she has to say, nor any of her speculations of how this guy might be the one. But, after that kiss. After Myles, I was dying to get her take on the two of us. How cute we looked together. How it must’ve been kismet that we had the phone number mix-up. Would it have killed her to oblige me and tell me what findings her sneaky snooping revealed? The whole night had been so surreal. I needed another person’s perspective for it to be real. Or, at least to pinch me.

  TWELVE

  Curse the Fine Line.

  Well, not them personally, but their songs. They were in town and every radio station was playing them back-to-back. Which, on any other occasion would have been fine. But the fact that Myles, not so casually mentioned that he’d be at their concert, made it a constant reminder that he was going with a woman, who wasn’t me.

  It wasn’t as if we were an item or anything, so I had no right to be jealous. But Fridays had always been date night for Ethan and me, so all I could think about was Myles and me having dinner or walking The Strip like tourists, having fun and getting to know each other, the right way. But that wouldn’t happen as long as he was out with that hussy.

  Rather than dwell on the depressing reality, I tried my luck at music again. Pandora wasn’t much relief either, so it was back to the old fail-safe, CDs. My collection was rather extensive. I refused to give it up mostly on principle, but it also felt nice to have something tangible. Change never was something that came naturally to me. It always came back to tradition and loyalty. Nevertheless, I opted for the classic sounds of Michael Bublè. As he crooned “Everything” through the speakers in my bathroom, I put on my prettiest, buttercup yellow summer dress with comfy gold ballet flats. I knew it was all superficial and psychological, but my mood lifted instantly.

  It wasn’t even eight yet, and I’d already knocked a few things off my to-do list. I grabbed the bullet-pointed Post-it from my desk and placed a check mark next to each of them. Marketing updates. Check. Confirm pending candy orders with tracking numbers. Check. Despite the unfinished website, online sales had already taken off and the doors weren’t even open yet. Work on website. Check. Finish up second batch of assorted candy sample bags.

  Against the wall next to my desk were a few bags without ribbons and business cards. With my own sweet tooth, it took sheer willpower not to devour them. Cherry sours. Licorice and lollipops. Cinnamon bears, lemon drops, orange slices, and chocolate galore. My weakness has always been chocolate. Milk, dark, white, it didn’t matter. Sweet goodness either way. But they were for potential vendors, I reminded myself as I sealed another bag and laced it with a bow. Business first.

  I was pumped. Things were getting done and the progress was finally visible. The shop only needed a few finishing touches. Everything was falling into place, except for the cookie-cutter website. I had the domain name, the hosting services, and the e-commerce buttons, but that was the extent to what I’d done. Call me creative, but technologically savvy, no. My engine had long since stalled once I got past the excitement of conjuring up the concept. Rather than finish what I’d started, I switched to something else. Anything as important as overhauling my entire closet in the name of spring cleaning to stocking up on supplies for which I hadn’t actually found a functional or aesthetic use. Really, any viable excuse would do. The day before, it was kissing a beautiful stranger and today, the sun.

  Beaming in on me, it called, whispering enticingly to grab a good book and a drink, preferably alcoholic despite the hour. “Unwind,” it said, “while I spray on your summer bronze and wash away the tolls of winter.” Images of long white sand beaches with a hammock and surrounding ocean waves came to mind. Piña coladas. Reading until I’m lulled to sleep by warm breezes. But, it was Vegas.

  Substitute the beach, and the sun and the book would have to suffice. The tower of books lining the walls of my home office stared me down. I was in the mood for a happy ending, even if it wouldn’t be mine. As I scanned the romance section, the Outlook calendar on my computer popped up with a reminder.

  I had no plans. I’d purposely left the day open for a little down time. What could I have forgotten? Moving with purpose, I clicked on the reminder to open the details of the appointment. Instantly, rainclouds shaded my sunny day. A dark omen. Jury Duty.

  “Shit! What time is it?” I yelled at the computer, for daring to be the bearer of bad news.

  Flashing back at me, the clock read five past eight. Twenty-five minutes to drive all the way downtown and find legal parking. Quickly, I swapped the sundress for jeans and a long-sleeve shirt and grabbed a jacket. Despite the hundred plus degree summer outdoors, the AC would likely be blasting inside. Without looking, I snagged an orange and the first pink book that caught my eye. Armed with empty hopes for a case dismissal, I was out the door with fifteen minutes to spare.

  By the time I exited the southbound 95 freeway onto Casino Center, I narrowly escaped an accident and a couple speeding tickets. Five minutes left. Slyly, I parked in an office building lot adjacent to the courthouse. Not so much running, but sprinting, I made it to the front door and thanks to my timeliness, whisked through the unusually empty security line. Noticing that the officers on duty looked very bored, I thought of a mutually beneficial use for the one with a bare ring finger.

  With every ounce of charisma and charm in me, I cunningly asked the guard where I needed to be. A personal escort would be the only thing to save me. The sands of the hourglass ran out, but the plan worked. However, brief our walk may have been, Officer Daniels, as his nametag read, had been charmed nonetheless. As he escorted me to the holding room, he handed me his card and authoritatively instructed me to call anytime I needed anything. The words dripped with innuendo like hot wax. Digging into my purse, I handed him one of my freshly cut business cards, loaded with the same instructions along with a wink and a smile for effect.

  The room was cramped. Every seat taken and people lined the walls, awaiting the selection process. The stench of people from all walks of life meeting reflected on upturned noses, tightly gripped handbags, and the din of foreign languages rambling in succession. The DMV and courthouse were the two places where people, who would never intermix under normal circumstances, were required to do so for long spurts of time. I hadn’t a clue where I fit. I wasn’t covered with dirt from work on some sprouting construction site, nor was I rolling in the dough.

  The looks darting at me were not the same, though similar to the ones I’d received at Della Vite. Not warm and welcoming, just searching. Some for recognition. Others for a connection. Though most were calculating my worth. What category or clique, like high school. In there, I didn’t know who were the cool kids or misfits, but I usually found my niche somewhere in the middle between the geeks, the drama freaks, and the jaded hybrid hippie-yuppies. Most days, it was casually professional, but that day, I could’ve pulled off the hometown college student, clad with the Rebel red of my alma mater. But, like high school, most would likely loathe me for the fact that I could care less what th
ey think.

  With the next name called, everyone paused on edge. Not for the selection process, but for open seats. Really it was a grown-up version of musical chairs and the slowest people missed out. Then, movement. A lady with graying hair, a long tan cardigan tied at the waist, and matching orthopedic shoes, twitched. I jumped at the chance to do my good deed. “Ma’am, may I help you to your feet?”

  “Oh dear. Thank you so much. These old bones don’t move like they used to.” She smiled, revealing the lines of a full life. Mostly laugh lines, I could tell by the smile that lit up her face.

  “No problem.”

  She smelled of sweet pastries and the settled scent that only comes with years gone by. Besides a few frayed ends and mended snags, her sweater showed no signs of its age. But, I knew it was her favorite. Not because it was so stylish or beautiful, but there was something sentimental about it. My mind drifted to images of a mother she’d likely lost in her younger years, knitting it with care. She probably lost so many loved ones.

  Careful of her sweater, I gently helped her to her feet. I angled myself between her and the chair to stake my claim. “Will you be okay, now?”

  “Yes, dear. Thanks again.” As she turned to go about her way, I lowered myself to the seat. Then, she looked back. “Most people wouldn’t take the time to help someone else. You have a good heart and I’ll pray for many blessings for you, though I know they’re on their way.”

  “Thank you,” I said, tasting the truth in her words. It was something about the way she said it that made me think she knew something I didn’t. Maybe, if you got close enough to heaven, you heard the angels talking.

  I might’ve felt guilty for letting her seat be my ulterior motive, but when I looked around, she was right. Not one person in the jam-packed room even moved an inch to help her. Not even the people seated beside her. With a clear conscience, I comfortably settled in for the long haul. Names were called alphabetically. It would be a while before S.