Tiago

by Shayne Ford

  There were a lot of firsts for both of us.

  He was my first man. I was the first woman he fell in love with.

  Neither of us had lived with anyone else before, so everything was new and fresh, and so delightful. From eating together, and doing stuff together to going out or making love whenever we felt like it, everything seemed like a dream.

  A small smile creases my lips as I shift my focus back to my plate.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asks.

  I raise my gaze. He reads my eyes.

  He must’ve caught sight of my smile as well.

  I gesture with my fork.

  “Nothing...” I say grinning and moving my gaze away.

  He stays silent. I have no other choice but look at him again.

  He studies me intrigued.

  “The past,” I say.

  A hesitant smile slides across his lips.

  “Our past?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  Our eyes lock for a moment.

  “Up until the end we had a good time,” I say, harboring mixed feelings about my words.

  I look down at my plate as I pick another morsel of food and then up as I slip it into my mouth and chew on it.

  He stares at me, more intrigued than before.

  “You forgave me for what I did to you?” he asks.

  Smiling faintly, I motion with my fork again.

  “Nah-huh,” I say, flashing a dose of dark humor. “I forgot what you did to me.”

  He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even break a smile.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

  Well, the outcome was all the same.

  “It’s part of life,” I say, no longer smiling, shifting my focus to my plate.

  A few moments of silence tick by before I hear his voice again.

  “If it makes you feel any better, my life didn’t turn out the way I wanted either.”

  I swing my eyes up and observe him for a second.

  No, it doesn’t make me feel any better. Not at all.

  Even the way the conversation goes begins to irk me, but talking about the past seems to be unavoidable. Without it, we’d be two strangers with nothing to talk about.

  “It’s not something I wanted for you,” I say. “What happened, anyway?”

  He sets his fork on the plate, brings his glass to his lips, and takes a swig of ruby wine.

  A rueful smile creases his lips as he places his glass next to his plate.

  “One of those things. We’ve grown apart,” he says, his voice soaked in sarcasm.

  I refrain from commenting.

  He continues.

  “She found someone else. Someone better than me, she said.”

  From the tension dripping in his voice, I gather that it still hurts him.

  I can see the irony of it as well.

  Tipping my gaze down, I try to hide my expression.

  “You can say it,” he says with a lighter tone.

  I raise my eyes.

  He pushes a stoic smile to his lips.

  “You can say that I deserved it.”

  I flick my hand up.

  “I don’t want to sound judgmental. Or vengeful for that matter.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  I can’t comment.

  Neither can I look him in the eye.

  “I’m sure you had your good moments with her. You shouldn’t paint the entire story with the same brush,” I mutter.

  He stays quiet.

  I swing my gaze to him.

  “There were moments–– I can’t deny it, but I’ve always feared that I made a mistake.”

  His words spur my curiosity.

  “Why?”

  “I blame it on my lack of experience...”

  He pauses.

  “Please don’t laugh at me,” he says.

  I smile.

  “I didn’t say a word.”

  “I lost my head for her in the beginning, but sadly it wasn’t what I thought it was.”

  I clear my throat, still grinning, yet I keep my mouth shut.

  “I know. I know,” he says. “It’s probably not news to you... Seriously now, she was very taken with me in the beginning, but it wasn’t so much because of me as it was because of you.”

  “Me?”

  I want to tax him for that claim. It sounds ridiculous.

  “How can you say that to me?” I toss at him.

  “I didn’t know then, but I learned later on. I was flattered that she pursued me, but I’m not so sure she would’ve been interested in me had I not been with you.”

  “This makes no sense.”

  His eyes slide to the table.

  “Let’s say that she has a very competitive nature.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “She left me for a married man who split from his wife and moved in with her.”

  My smile withers away.

  I don’t know if it’s my poker face, or my puzzled expression or what, but he flashes a twisted smile. It’s drenched in sadness.

  “I’m sure you didn’t expect that,” he says.

  He’s right. And once again, I can’t help but notice the dark humor of the universe.

  It all makes sense now.

  I couldn’t convince him to do anything for us, and yet, she had him wrapped around her finger. I don’t know if she wanted him because of me, but she sure knew how to push his buttons.

  I couldn’t do that to him because I didn’t think it was fair to him.

  And look what he ended up with. He got what he deserved.

  And what did she get? I have no idea.

  What did I get? I didn’t get what I didn’t deserve.

  My life would’ve been so much different had we ended up together. Not better or worse, just different.

  I’m grateful that we didn’t last.

  I dab my lips with a napkin just as the waitress nears our table carrying the first course–– crab ravioli with cream sauce and fresh chives for me and gorgonzola and salmon lasagna for him.

  We forget about our conversation as we begin to eat the delicious food and the topics steer away from our past and shift toward politics and the economy and the prospect of a better job for him here in New York.

  I have no idea how him moving here for work would fare for me, considering that he’s already making visible efforts to patch things up and reconnect with me.

  I choose not to think about it.

  As we finish our dessert, a man stops at our table.

  Andy seems surprised at first and then delighted as he recognized his colleague from college.

  He invites him to sit with us after he asks me if I’m okay with it. I have nothing against it. More so, I use the opportunity to let them chat and make a trip to the bathroom.

  12

  EVE

  Minutes later, I exit the ladies room and take a few steps toward the lounge room, the space adjacent to the restaurant. A beautiful covered terrace sprawls in front of me.

  From where I stand, I can see both rooms.

  The restaurant is filled with people, some of them migrating to this spot too. I can see Andy and his friend. They’re still talking.

  I tear my gaze away from them and start to pivot when I stumble into the back of a man.

  He spins as well as we both mutter an apology at the same time.

  And then our eyebrows go up.

  “Christian?”

  “Um...?” he starts, his eyes glinting with surprise.

  “Eve.”

  “Eve. Yes. I knew that. What are you doing here?” he asks with a clipped voice, his gaze sweeping me from head to toes.

  He fashions an elegant suit with a modern cut that neatly fits his broad shoulders and hard body. The fabric––a shade of blue-gray, has a little sheen to it, setting off his white dress shirt.

  His clean-shaven skin looks like satin. Dark-green eyes pierce me from behind his silky lashes–– they’re long and dar
k and thick, and look as if they’re wet.

  “Eve...” he mutters again.

  My name on his lips sounds like a love song–– soft and mellow, an lovely memory.

  It makes my cheeks burn with a blush.

  “What are you doing here, Christian?” I ask, suddenly suspicious.

  His eyes look like the water of the deep mountain lakes, his gaze reflecting mixed thoughts.

  “Having dinner? You?” he asks, a faltering smile clinging to his lips.

  I register curiosity and suspicion in his words and also the instant distance that this unplanned lounge meet has created between us.

  This is not how I envisioned this.

  Bumping into each other without having the chance to speak on the phone first, spells disaster for me.

  For both of us, it seems.

  “I’m having dinner as well,” I say.

  Inadvertently, I swivel my head, pointing my gaze to the table where Andy and his friend sit and chat.

  Something crumbles inside me when his eyes shift to that spot as well, and his brow begins to furrow.

  Suddenly, I feel the need to explain myself to him.

  As if I wasn’t the one who hired him to fuck me three nights ago.

  As if we haven’t made an ‘arrangement’ to meet outside his schedule this coming week.

  “It’s, um... I’m having dinner with a friend. Andy and I used to be together when we were in college. He got married and moved to LA. He’s separated now and looking for a job here in New York. He may want to move back at some point.”

  I can’t stop, it seems.

  I bite my lip to keep my mouth shut while reading his face.

  His hands slide into his pockets as his gaze swings back to me. I read mistrust in his eyes. And sadness. As if he lost something. As if my words left him bereft.

  I may be wrong.

  I may project.

  I may be right as well.

  Whatever the reality, I feel bad.

  Bad for needing to explain it to him.

  And bad for feeling him so cold with me.

  After this blunder, meeting him next week seems to be out of the question.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, making no sense.

  My apology is unwarranted.

  It’s not as if we are together.

  It’s not as if I know the slightest thing about him.

  And yet, here I am making a fool of myself, iceberg floating in his darkened eyes.

  A few moments of painful silence tick away from us when a dark-haired woman clad in a chiffon dress walks to us, smiling.

  His eyes are still on me.

  “Is the table ready for us?” she asks him, unaffected by my presence.

  My heart drops.

  She barely glances at me as she slides her hand up on his forearm, waiting for his response.

  His hands don’t leave his pockets, and he doesn’t make the slightest gesture to acknowledge her, yet that doesn’t mean a thing to me.

  Our eyes stay locked, the moment surreal.

  A few seconds later, he tears his eyes away from me, leans closer to her and whispers something in her ear.

  Her expression doesn’t change a bit as he straightens and pulls away from her.

  “Sure, no problem,” she says before she spins around, heading to the restaurant.

  My eyes stay on her floral dress all the way to the door.

  “A friend?” I ask because I can’t keep my mouth shut.

  An enigmatic smile sprouts on his lips.

  He slants his deep, gemstone-like gaze down, slightly amused.

  Too bad, I can’t see a shred of humor in this awkward situation.

  “Uh-huh,” he says.

  His beautiful lips part and curl into a crooked grin.

  I wait for him to raise his eyes.

  He does it slowly, his gaze dragging up my legs and waist and thighs.

  He really likes what he sees, the glint in his eyes says to me.

  “Cobalt blue is your color,” he says with a warm and intimate voice as if he is my longtime friend.

  “Thank you,” I answer, still tormented by the circumstances.

  There are so many questions that I’d like to ask, and yet, this is my opportunity to walk away, my pride intact.

  I stay put.

  “Or are you working tonight?” I blurt out, having nothing better to do.

  I so suck at this.

  A small chuckle falls from his lips, yet he seems entertained by something else.

  Something not related to what I just asked.

  “No. I’m not working,” he says, crushing his smile.

  His grin invades his eyes, regardless.

  “What is so funny?” I ask, cracking a smile as well, although I’m not in the mood for his dark humor or games as jealousy spreads through me like a toxic cloud.

  His lips open to give me an answer, but something catches his eye, making him shift his focus away from me.

  He sets his gaze on someone behind my back when I hear Andy’s voice.

  “Oh, there you are,” he says, curling a protective arm around my waist.

  His gesture is unexpected, and it rubs me the wrong way. I tense beneath his touch as Christian’s smile withers away.

  Stiff, I shift my position to face both of them, plaster a fake smile on my lips and start making the introductions.

  “Christian... A friend,” I say after a moment of hesitation. “Andy, the man I was talking about,” I mutter, my eyes locked with Christian’s.

  Something cold glints in the fabric of his gaze.

  Christian keeps his hands tucked in his pockets, removing the possibility of a handshake. I find it rude, but not surprising as an invisible battle thickens the air between us.

  Curtly, they both tip their chin down, greeting each other.

  The cold sentiment is mutual, it seems.

  “We should get going,” Andy says.

  The ‘we’ factor gets on my nerves, making my resentment surge.

  Helplessly, I watch Christian’s expression freeze while Andy makes concerted efforts to remove me from the dark-haired, green-eyed man.

  That very moment, it becomes clear to me that Christian will never call me.

  Perhaps, he never intended to, but I will never know.

  Crushed, I turn to Christian.

  “It was nice seeing you again,” I say, keeping my voice even, unable to remove the tremor from my tone.

  “Likewise,” he says dryly.

  I’m too mad at the situation to revel in the fact that he seems to be bitten by jealousy just like me.

  I’m also too busy commiserating over the fact that this is most likely the last time I see this man.

  Whatever moment I believed we had, it’s now gone.

  That second, when he didn’t feel like an escort but someone who sincerely wanted to spend some time with me seems to be forever gone.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  The fact that he is here with someone else–– friend or client or who knows what she is to him, cements my bad feeling.

  I guess it wasn’t meant to be.

  We lock eyes one last time, my heart bleeding in my chest as the seconds roll by fast, and the time closes the door between us.

  13

  EVE

  Four days later.

  “Vanessa?”

  Phone in hand, I clear my throat and try again.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “Is everything okay?” the woman asks affably.

  “Oh, yes.”

  “How would you rate your overall experience?”

  “Five stars,” I say curtly. “In fact, I was wondering if that spot in December is still available.”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s booked, but I can double check.”

  Wrapped in my plush pink robe, I sit on the couch in my living room and wait, staring blankly at the muted TV.

  “That spot is no longer available, but I have something at the end of Ja
nuary.”

  “He’s swamped, isn’t he?” I ask, daggers flying from my voice. “Repeat customers, too?” I probe.

  Her silence tells me what I know already.

  I’m acting territorially and not minding my business, and I might ruin my chance to get another meeting with him if I behave like a bitch, so I change my approach.

  “It’s understandable,” I say, trying to sound relaxed. “He is really good,” I add, trying to remove the touch of craziness from my voice. “I’ll take the next available spot.”

  “Okay, give me a moment.”

  I hear the soft clickety-clack sound of the keyboard as the woman inputs the information into her computer.

  “May I ask you something?” I ask.

  “Sure.”

  “Would I be able to communicate with him before that date?”

  “I’m afraid not, Miss. It’s our policy.”

  “Yeah, I thought so,” I say disappointed.

  At least, I tried.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  A few moments later, we hang up. I receive a text confirmation soon after.

  No way I’m waiting that long. I don’t want to see him again to have sex with him. I want to see him to ask him.

  Was I wrong?

  I turn the reading lamp on and take another sip of coffee before I finish eating the croissant. Buttery flakes fall on my lap as my mind spins a host of scenarios.

  Absently, I clean the mess and swallow slowly before I shift my eyes back to my phone.

  I pick it up.

  I wish I could call him, but I don’t have his phone number. Something tells me that even if I had it, talking with him wouldn’t be a good idea.

  ‘It’s not real, Eve. Let it go,’ the wiser part of me says.

  But my heart moans and groans, whispering to me that something must have been real that night.

  Grinding my teeth, I throw my phone away.

  It starts to ring a second later. I leap from the couch and snatch it from the coffee table.

  “Yes?”

  “Eve Malone?”

  At first, I don’t recognize the woman’s voice. Perhaps because she never called me on this phone.

  “Miss Jackson? Is everything okay?” I ask.

  “Yes, everything’s fine. My flight got canceled, and I’m stuck in Boston, and I just found out that the Robson meeting was moved up. I need you to do something for me. I know it’s short notice, but it’s an emergency.”