Tiago

by Shayne Ford

  “Eight.”

  He presses the elevator button before we both wait for the doors to pull closed. Eight levels later, we walk out of the car on my floor.

  “Which way?”

  “Right,” I say, gesturing in that direction.

  We take a few more steps.

  “Here,” I say.

  We stop in front of my door. I slip my hand into my purse and start looking for my keys.

  “I’m not coming in,” he says.

  My chest tightens. I lift my gaze and read his eyes.

  I must look disconcerted... disappointed.

  He takes my hand and kisses it as he usually does, his tender smile wrapping around my heart.

  “It was nice spending time with you this evening,” he says.

  That very moment I freeze. Lips parted, eyebrows lifted, and eyes widened, I stare at him.

  He says the most unexpected things. When I expect them the least.

  “It was a pleasure for me, too.”

  “What does your schedule look like tomorrow afternoon?”

  “I’ll be off from work at five. I usually go to the gym around seven.”

  He checks something on his phone.

  “What about we meet at six o’clock?”

  “Okay.”

  “For a different kind of workout.”

  I think my eyebrows just fell off my face–– I pushed them up so hard. He reads my expression for a second before he breathes out a chuckle.

  I smile sheepishly.

  “It’s not what you have in mind,” he says.

  “How do you know what I have in mind?”

  “Everything reads on your face, baby.”

  Oh, please.

  Can I stop time, press rewind, and hear him calling me ‘baby’ again?

  It sounded sweet and sultry–– so addictive.

  “I wasn’t thinking about that,” I say, smiling cheekily. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Do you know how to skate?”

  “Yes. Are we going to skate?”

  “You are going to skate. I am going to take pictures of you.”

  “Not fair,” I say, smiling.

  “You’re going to like it.”

  “Me skating or you taking pictures.”

  “Both,” he says, closing the space between us. “Get some warm clothes. I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”

  He smiles.

  I nod.

  “All right?” he mutters, setting his hand at the root of my neck.

  I feel his touch on my left collarbone and then around the column of my neck. His fingers splaying as he tilts his head.

  He lowers his mouth.

  “We’ll do ‘this’ just the way you like it,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice vibrating across my skin.

  For a moment, I have no idea if he refers to skating or something else, but then I know.

  Spellbound, I nod once, my voice completely gone.

  Slowly, he kisses the corner of my lips, and my entire body shivers against him.

  This is the softest, and most tender touch I’ve ever felt, and I want to pinch myself to make sure that what I sensed was real.

  “Good night,” he says, his hands sliding off me as he takes a step back.

  Still in a trance, I watch him walk away.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, walking backward.

  “Uh-huh,” I finally mumble, waving him goodbye.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says and winks at me before he spins around and heads to the elevator.

  Not once, he glances back after that.

  A few seconds later I hear the elevator door closing, and I shift my focus away from him.

  Distracted, I shift the key in the lock and open the door.

  I. Am. So. Screwed.

  16

  EVE

  “Tell me more. I need to know everything.”

  Rain’s eyes flicker with excitement on my phone screen.

  I fold my legs under me, slide the blanket onto my lap, and lean back against the pillow.

  My hair is still damp from the shower.

  I’m excited as well. I’m always upbeat, but I haven’t felt so good in a while.

  She stares at me, waiting for me to speak.

  “He is... I don’t know. There are no words to describe him. He’s too good to be true.”

  “That’s not what I wanted to here. Think positively, please. Work with me here,” she says humorously.

  I laugh, wholeheartedly.

  “I am. You know I am.”

  I take a slice of orange from a bowl of fruit and pop it into my mouth.

  “You know how I always complained about men,” I say, chewing on the fruit.

  “Mmm-hmm,” she says, popping a piece of chocolate into her mouth.

  “And it wasn’t because I focused on their flaws. I’ve never looked for perfection, but there was always something that made it impossible for me to click with them. But he is...”

  I pause, trying to find the best words to describe Christian while Rain gets closer to the camera, her eyes sparkling, bright.

  “He has me wrapped around his finger. That’s all I can say. And I only saw him twice–- well aside from last Sunday when I ran into him in that restaurant. He didn’t even kiss me. I mean really kissed me, let alone touch me. He left a kiss on the corner of my lips this evening, and I completely melted. He never says anything wrong. He doesn’t rush. He takes his time to romance me. Can you believe it? He makes me feel as if I’m the most important thing in the entire world. I didn’t even realize it until tonight, what a big difference it makes.”

  Her smile withers away, the corners of her eyes slanting down.

  I continue.

  “He didn’t do anything out of extraordinary. Just simple gestures that made me happy,” I say.

  “And he’s hot.”

  A grin tickles my lips, blood rushing to my face.

  “Yes, he is. I told you that he is.”

  She stays quiet.

  I take a long breath as I ponder a bit more.

  “There are a few things about him... Things that he didn’t want to share with me, but I’m not eager to look into them right now.”

  “Maybe it’s too early to think about it.”

  “Yeah... Maybe.”

  “What things?” she asks, popping a slice of cake into her mouth.

  I pause for a moment as she starts to munch on it.

  “You’re really hungry, aren’t you?”

  She smiles.

  “I don’t know what’s gotten into me. It’s probably the cold weather. Or my period–– it should come any day now. Either way, the crumb cake is delicious,” she mumbles, her mouth full.

  “I bet it is,” I say, lifting an eyebrow. “Now I’m worried about you,” I add humorously.

  “There’s nothing to be worried about. Go on...” she says, gesturing at me. “You were talking about things that didn’t add up.”

  “Yes. So there were a few inconsistencies when I asked the concierge clerk about Christian’s last name.”

  Mouth full, she sways her head from side to side.

  “You shouldn’t expect an escort to use his real name when he meets his clients. I never used my real name.”

  “I know... I know. And then, I think he’s younger than his age.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She brushes crumbs off her fingers.

  “Like... How much younger?” she asks again.

  I shrug.

  “I don’t know. He looks his age–– twenty-six, but once in a while, he does little things–– like quirking an eyebrow or smiling cheekily, that make him look younger.”

  “That’s not bad.”

  “No, it’s not, but I just wanted to point it out. The other thing is, a couple of men recognized him this evening at the bar. They even knew his nickname. The Thunder.”

  “Okay...”

  “He said that it didn’t mean anything, yet he seemed
evasive about it. Eventually, he told me that he is writing and drawing as a hobby and led me to believe that the nickname had to do with that.”

  “He’s writing, you say?”

  “Yes.”

  “What does he write?”

  “I didn’t ask him, but maybe I will, next time when I see him. He picks me up tomorrow after work, and then we’re going to Central Park. I’m skating. He takes pictures of me. At least, that’s the plan.”

  She claps her hands joyfully.

  “I’m so happy for you. Maybe you can take a picture of him. I‘m dying to see him.”

  “Yeah... Maybe. I’ll try, anyway.”

  A few moments of silence pass by.

  “See... You can never tell what life has in store for you. You almost lost hope before you found this man,” she says, looking down pensively.

  I lift my hand just as she raises her eyes.

  “I wouldn’t get my hopes up. I got burned so many times.”

  “I hear you. So, what’s the scoop with Andy?”

  “Uh... Andy...”

  I let out a long sigh.

  “Andy keeps calling me since we met last Sunday.”

  “No, kidding? Did he have an epiphany?”

  “I’m sure he did. Not that it means a damn thing to me. He called me after the interview on Monday evening and told me that he got a job offer. He was excited, of course... To start a new chapter in his life and live in New York, to reconnect with me after all these years. He kept saying ‘us’ over and over again to the point that every time he said it, I was rolling my eyes. As much as I hated it, I couldn’t stop him. But I know that I need to address this with him soon. He called me every day this week. For stupid stuff, you know. What the best area to live in is. How to find an apartment like mine. If I knew someone who had a place for rent. I’m sure a real estate agent could’ve answered all his questions.”

  “He wants you back.”

  “Why?”

  I sound irritated. Because I am.

  She shrugs.

  “People do that sometimes. They lose something, and then they want to make it work again. Usually, after they have a bad experience with someone else. It’s natural.”

  “Whatever.”

  “When it rains, it pours.”

  “Yeah... Something like that.”

  “Well, I’m glad things work out for you.”

  “So far.”

  “And you still have a job,” she says, smiling.

  I laugh.

  “Yeah... And I still have a job.”

  “Okay. I’ll let you go to sleep now,” she says a few moments before we end the call.

  I set the phone down next to me and take another slice of orange from the bowl. Sunk in thought, I start chewing on it.

  This was an interesting evening.

  Prompted by a thought, I pick up my tablet and type Christian’s nickname in the search engine.

  A few social media accounts pop up–– a painter, a chef, a firefighter, and a teenager who loves drones. I dig deeper and find more, yet none of them match his age and profile. None of them are him.

  Oh, well. I didn’t expect to find much anyway.

  I set the phone down again when a silent alert flashes on my screen. I tap my phone. A picture pops up.

  A picture of me.

  I recognize the back of my hair, my colorful scarf, the sharp contrast between my cream top and black slacks.

  My elbows rest on the round table, my drink–– a cup of hot chocolate topped with a dollop of whipped cream and garnished with a cinnamon stick, in front of me.

  My chin is propped on my hand, my head tilted to the side as I look out the window.

  Snow falls in the background, like an unraveling drape of sifted powdered sugar. The soft light brings out my silhouette.

  The snapshot reveals a part of my profile and also my pensive expression. My posture, my hair, the slight curvature of my back, and also, my surroundings make the photograph look like a timeless vignette of who I am.

  Of how he sees me.

  A lonely, contemplative woman.

  Who belongs to no one.

  He does have the eye of an artist indeed. The picture is beautiful, the exposure great, the colors alive without being strident.

  He captured the moment perfectly.

  He must’ve taken the snapshot when he returned to the table after he talked to those two men.

  A text message flashes across the screen.

  Christian: One day you’ll watch the falling snow and think about me.

  I smile.

  Me: What makes you think that I wasn’t thinking about you?

  I almost press send, when I change my mind, erase the message, and send him a smiling face emoji instead.

  He pulls his car in front of my building at six o’clock sharp as we agreed.

  And then he calls me from downstairs.

  “Are you ready?” he asks with a smooth voice.

  Frantically, I shoot a last glance in the mirror.

  “Mmm-hmm,” I mumble, my eyes going down my black sweatpants.

  They are soft and warm and have a nice cut that flatters my perky butt. A long sleeved fitted red sweater layers my V-neck white T-shirt. I put on a white winter jacket and wool scarf and hat–– both turquoise like my eyes, and the matching gloves.

  “I’ll be there in a moment.”

  “Take your time,” he says.

  He must not be from New York. Nobody takes their time here.

  “I’m done,” I say.

  Tossing a glance around the apartment, I make sure that everything is in order as I put on my boots.

  I grab my phone, my wallet, and my keys and run out the door.

  Moments later, I burst out of the building.

  “Hey,” he says, taking me in as I slide into the seat next to him, panting.

  His eyes travel to my cheeks. My skin gets warm.

  “Hey,” I say, a swirl of emotions flowing through me.

  Our eyes lock, my chest still heaving.

  His fist clutches the steering wheel as he looks at me with smiling eyes.

  “Hey, Eve,” he says again, softer this time, his voice enveloping me like a cloak of love.

  “Hi,” I say with a clipped voice, my gaze diving into his eyes.

  His grin clings to his lips as I lean closer to him, wind my arms around his neck and kiss him on his cheek.

  His skin warms up beneath my lips.

  Reluctantly, I pull away from him, my fingers trailing his smooth face.

  His eyes glint with a secret smile.

  “When was the last time you went skating?” he asks as moves his gaze away and lets the car glide onto the road.

  “When I was eighteen.”

  “How old are you now?”

  “How old do I look?”

  His eyes hover over my face and body.

  “Twenty,” he says, laughing. “You looked older in your office.”

  “Well, I’m not older than you.”

  “Good to know,” he says, swiftly evading my eyes.

  “Would there be a problem if I was older than you?” I ask.

  “No. I don’t have a problem with that. You do.”

  “With what?” I ask, a bit lost.

  “You don’t like the idea of a younger man.”

  “No. That’s not true.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  He chuckles.

  “Why would I have a problem?”

  “You tell me.”

  He tosses me a teasing smile that gives me tingles.

  “Okay. All right. It may have something to do with the way I was raised, and my traditional values.”

  I ponder for a moment.

  “It’s more than that,” I say.

  “Tell me.”

  “I always had this idea of a long-term relationship in my head. I never just went out there and hooked up with people. I always thought that I’d find my man and share my life with him.”
>
  I pause and look at him.

  He keeps his eyes on the road.

  “Go on.”

  “It’s old fashioned, I know.”

  He finally shifts his eyes to me.

  “It’s very romantic.”

  “Romantic is old-fashioned,” I say.

  His lips arch into a smile.

  A moment of silence ticks by.

  “So what does the age gap has to do with anything?” he asks.

  “It’s what I’ve seen as I was growing up. My father was older than my mother, and so was my uncle and my aunt, and everybody else in my family.”

  He raises an eyebrow.

  “But other than that, I think that younger men don’t always know if they want a woman for more than sex or not.”

  “That’s a crass generalization.”

  “Perhaps, but that’s how I see things right now. Maybe, I’ll see them differently in the future.”

  The car rolls to a stop at an intersection.

  “What about you?” I ask as we wait for the light to turn green.“What are you looking for in a woman?”

  “I’ve never looked for a woman. They usually just happened to me,” he says, his smile fading away.

  “Have you ever been with someone other than a client?”

  “I’ve, um...”

  Pretending that he looks at the road as we take a right and veer toward Central Park, he takes his time to answer.

  “I’ve had female friends... Older women, usually,” he adds, gauging my reaction. “They were always older,” he clarifies, giving me another smile.

  I look at him, intrigued.

  “By choice?”

  “By chance.”

  He searches my eyes for a moment before he shifts his focus to the road.

  “They liked me. And we always clicked.”

  “So, you liked them too?”

  “I prefer them.”

  “Why?”

  “Experience, for one, and then they know what they want. They’re not afraid to be with a man, say what they need, and call you out if they have to. I like it that way.”

  “As opposed to?”

  “Guessing.”

  I take a long breath.

  “So, I’m not your type.”

  “I didn’t say they were my type. It’s what happened in the past.”

  “So... um... How do you see me?”

  “You are very much like them. My older friends,” he says, smiling charmingly.

  “In what sense?”