Dating Games

by T. K. Leigh

  “Sure, I read the classics, like any person who loves the written word. But like my mother, sometimes you want the fantasy, too. Although I don’t think I realized it was just a fantasy. So, being the planner I am, I made a list of who my dream man would be. I pictured it all in my head. I’d meet the love of my life in college when I was old enough to have some experience, but young enough that we’d both come into adulthood together. We wouldn’t rush into getting married right after graduation, as I researched the statistics and the success rate of marriages increase as you near thirty. He’d be a professional of some sort. A doctor…”

  Julian lifts a brow. “Or lawyer…”

  “Yes. Or a lawyer. We’d spend our twenties finding out who we are individually and as a couple, as we’d both navigate our chosen career paths.”

  “And what would your chosen career path be? In this plan you made for your life, I mean.”

  “I always wanted to write for a magazine. Being a writer is often considered a lonely profession, and it is. I love the idea of being part of a team, so that’s why I wanted to go the magazine route.”

  “Then why didn’t you study journalism?”

  “I did my research. Many of the columnists at the top magazines had non-journalism degrees — English, political science, art design. So I studied English, despite my parents insisting I study education with an emphasis in English, if only to have it as an option in case things didn’t work out. For a while after graduation, I thought maybe I should have taken their advice. I moved out to New York. Yes, it was to be near Trevor, but also to be in New York, where so many magazine offices are located. I had so much hope and drive those first few months…until I realized how difficult it was to crack into the industry. They were all looking for someone with experience. I had none, apart from working on the university newspaper and magazine. It was by pure luck I even landed the job at Blush. When I saw the posting, Trevor told me I was crazy for applying since I lacked any of the qualifications. But that didn’t stop me. I figured it was better to get rejected by the magazine than myself.”

  “If you weren’t qualified, how did you get the job?”

  I shrug. “By doing what it appears I do in all uncomfortable situations.” I pinch my lips together, giving him a knowing look. “I made Viv laugh. I used humor in my cover letter. It caught her attention, so much so that she brought me in for a chat. She was trying to shake things up at the magazine, bring in fresh talent. So she told me to come back in a week with a piece she could run in the sex and dating column. That was when I concocted a tongue-in-cheek article about what all women should do for the first thirty days of any relationship in order to keep the guy interested. It starts out pretty innocent, but as you continue reading, you realize it’s satire.”

  “I’m not sure I want to know what’s in it.”

  I smirk. “You probably don’t. But Viv loved it. Better yet, readers loved it. It was the most read article on the website the week it published. So Viv hired me, much to my parents’ chagrin. Like Trevor, all they think I do is write about sex without any substance. So having a chance at this promotion and writing an article about something other than the best sex position for maximum pleasure is exactly what I’ve been searching for ever since I told my parents I didn’t want to pursue teaching. But now…”

  “Yes?” He places his elbows on the table, leaning toward me.

  “The story’s falling apart and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

  “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

  “It’s not to the level I need it to be if I want this promotion.”

  “This is the August Laurent piece?”

  I nod. “All I have is his perspective, his side of things. It’s too one-dimensional. There’s no drama, no compelling reason people would want to know more about this guy. But I know there’s a story there, that there’s more to him than he’s told me. But to figure that out, I need to talk to some of the women who’ve hired him. Unfortunately, he flat out refused to reveal any of their identities, even when I guaranteed their names would never be disclosed. I thought I’d try to encourage him and mentioned I’d heard the rumors of him and Sonia Moreno, asking if it were true. He never responded. It’s been over a week.

  “So not only is the piece complete crap, he’s no longer cooperating. There’s no way I can submit this story to Viv like it is and hope to be promoted. Hell, as it stands now, she won’t even publish this piece as a column, let alone a feature story.”

  “You sure about that? There must be another way, a different angle you can take to make it compelling.”

  “I’ve tried.” I push my now empty plate away. “Boy, have I tried. I’ve written and rewritten that article a couple dozen times. No matter what I’ve done, it still falls flat.” I stare into space, trying to figure out a solution, but it remains out of reach. I shake off the thought, smiling at Julian, my voice brightening. “But I don’t want to think about that right now. The idea that my parents were right about teaching being the best career path for me will only depress me. For the rest of the weekend, I want to pretend I’m not a complete failure.”

  “You’re not a failure, Guinevere. You’re an extremely talented writer. You just need—”

  I shoot up my hand, silencing him. “Not now.”

  “Going to pull another Scarlett O’Hara?” He smiles slyly as the memory of the night we met fills me with warmth. We certainly have an unusual story, one most people would never believe, one you read in romance novels and fantasize about. Like I’ve said from the beginning…it’s a real-life Cinderella story. Except this version won’t end with Julian tracking me down after he finds my glass slipper. It will end when the clock strikes midnight, no matter what.

  “Why, Mr. Gage…,” I coo in my best Southern accent, burying the thought. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I do use humor to mask my emotions. “That is absolutely what I plan to do. Because—”

  “I know, I know. ‘Tomorrow is another day.’”

  When I hear Julian speak with a Southern drawl, I practically come in my chair. It’s almost as beautiful as listening to him speak French. Truth is, the mere sound of his voice sets my heart aflame.

  “Yes, it is.”

  He pushes back from the table and takes a few steps toward me, extending his hand. I eye him as my fingers link with his, standing up.

  “So what would you like to do tonight?”

  “We can always make a fashionably late appearance at whatever party’s scheduled. That way, you’re not sacrificing your entire weekend.”

  “Out of the question. This weekend is all about you. If you weren’t here, what would you be doing? How did you spend most of your Friday nights before we met?”

  “Usually watching a movie and being a complete couch potato.”

  “Then let’s be couch potatoes.”

  I step back, brow furrowed. “Really?”

  “Yes. What’s so surprising about that?”

  “You don’t strike me as the couch potato type.”

  “Didn’t that steak teach you?”

  “Teach me what?”

  Leaning toward me, his breath tickles my neck. “I’m just full of surprises.”

  With that, he pulls me away from the patio and into the house, despite my protests that we need to clean up. He assures me he’ll take care of it later, then leads me to a part of the house I’ve yet to spend any meaningful time in…the theater room. It’s impressive, an enormous projection screen across the far wall. About a dozen leather recliners fill the tiered setup, along with a lush sectional in the front, which is where he heads.

  “What do you want to watch?” He settles into the corner of the couch, draping his arm over the back. “Name the movie and it’s yours.”

  “Any movie at all?”

  “Any movie at all,” he confirms.

  “Even a chick flick?” I walk toward him, sitting next to him on the couch, but leaving a few inches between us. “You’d seriously be happy wat
ching some sappy romance?”

  “Like I said, this is your night. If you want some sappy romance, sappy romance you shall have.”

  “And if I wanted to watch porn?”

  His eyes grow intense as he narrows them on me. “Do you want to watch porn?”

  “If I did?”

  “Whatever Evie wants, Evie gets.” The sensuality in his tone has me squirming in my seat. “What does Evie want?” He toys with a few tendrils of hair in my ponytail, the light touch sending a shiver down my spine. “What movie makes you happy?”

  A slave to his touch, I say the first thing that pops into my mind. “Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”

  His mouth gradually curves into a brilliant smile. “You got it.” He grabs a remote and presses a few buttons. The screen sparks to life. After sorting through a few menus, he hits play and the familiar strains to the opening measures of “Moon River” fill the room.

  “We don’t have to watch this if you don’t want to,” I say quickly, crossing my arms. “I’m sure you’d much rather watch something with big explosions and lots of boobs.”

  Shaking his head, he wraps his arm around my shoulders, enclosing me in his embrace. “Absolutely not.” He props his long legs onto the cushioned ottoman in front of us. “Actually, this is one of my favorite movies.”

  I tilt my head, meeting his eyes. “It is?”

  “It is.”

  I peer into his deep blue pools. “Why is that?”

  “I like the story. How even someone who didn’t think she was worthy of being loved eventually found someone who did love her.”

  “Everyone deserves to be loved,” I whisper as my gaze remains locked on his. He reaches out, brushing an errant curl behind my ear, his finger tracing the lines of my face. My heart rate increases as desire heightens deep in my core. I focus on his lips, what they must taste like. I’ve thought of little else the past few weeks, how much I want to kiss him, but I fear I won’t be able to stop at just a kiss. I’d want more. I’d want everything he’s adamantly insisted he could never offer me.

  “Come on.” He clears his throat, the moment breaking before it had a chance to begin. He gestures to the screen. “Watch the movie.”

  I peer at him for a moment longer, then shift my eyes to the movie, watching as Holly Golightly, wearing an oversized nightshirt, accessorized with an eye mask and earplugs, meets Paul Varjak. I laugh at the absurdity, reminded of my own initial meeting with Julian, how I was thrust into his life just as Holly and Paul were thrust into each other’s.

  I nuzzle into Julian’s chest, inhaling a deep breath of his familiar scent. The first time I smelled this soothing aroma, I nearly had a heart attack, thinking I’d just had a one-night stand. Heat radiates through me as I reflect on how far we’ve come since the night I expelled the contents of my stomach all over my dress and his shoes.

  He rests his hand on my hip, lightly tracing different patterns on the small slice of exposed skin between my tank top and maxi skirt. It relaxes me even more than Julian’s mere presence does.

  “I like this,” I murmur, no longer worried about how he’ll respond to my admission.

  Leaning down, he places a soft kiss on the top of my head. “I like this, too.”

  That’s the last thing I remember before dozing off, the gentle beating of his heart the perfect metronome to lull me to sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  A soft snore rips through my slumber and I flutter my eyelids open, my surroundings unfamiliar at first. Then the day trickles back… Spending the afternoon with Julian. Having dinner with Julian. Falling asleep cocooned in Julian’s warm embrace as we watched Breakfast at Tiffany’s, where I remain. The movie still plays on the screen, but it’s the final scene where Holly Golightly frantically searches for Cat in the alley, rain pouring down on her.

  When she locks eyes with Paul, I lift my own to Julian, observing the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he sleeps peacefully. The sight brings a smile to my face. Despite practically living together these past several weeks, I’ve yet to see him sleep. I should feel like a creeper, watching him like I am, but there’s something so tranquil about his expression, I can’t look away. It’s the most relaxed I’ve seen him. The darkness can’t find him there, allowing his brain a moment’s rest.

  As the music in the movie swells, I float my eyes back to the screen as Audrey Hepburn slowly walks up to George Peppard, Cat stuffed safely in her trench coat. When they kiss, my heart expands with the emotion between them. I’ve seen this movie more times than I care to admit, can probably recite most of the lines from memory. But the kiss in the rain between Holly Golightly and Paul Varjak, once she finally realizes love isn’t such a bad thing, is one of my favorite kisses of all time. So much passion. So much heartbreak. So much hope.

  Looking back at Julian, I stare at his face, his eyes still closed, deep in slumber. His lips part with every exhale before his chest expands on a short inhale. My gaze remains transfixed on his lips, unable to look away. I’ve exhibited extreme restraint all summer by not kissing him, by keeping the ball firmly in my court. How much longer can I hold out?

  Chloe’s been pushing me to step out of my comfort zone and do something I didn’t plan. Thanks to Julian, I’ve done just that. I haven’t opened my planner once in the past two weeks, a tremendous feat for someone who usually spends several minutes of every day updating and meticulously planning out my life months in advance. Lately, I haven’t given much thought to what awaits me down the road, mainly because I know what awaits me… Life without Julian. Do I really want to walk away without knowing how his lips taste? I know the answer to that. It’s been evident from the beginning.

  Shifting in his arms, I carefully adjust my position, my eyes unwavering as I admire him. I inch toward him and my pulse increases, my racing heart thundering in my ears. All I can do is pray my clumsiness doesn’t decide to make its presence known and turn what I want to be a moment full of passion into one I’ll never live down. There’s no going back after this. I’m about to cross the line I insisted remain firmly drawn. But as I gaze upon Julian’s breathtaking face, I realize the reason I’d kept the line firmly drawn is no longer applicable.

  I’ve fallen for him. I’ve allowed him to burrow deep under my skin and into my heart. Kissing him won’t change any of that, won’t make it any less painful when the clock strikes midnight and I turn back into a commoner.

  Resolved that this is the path we were always meant to take, I graze my lips against his. They’re warm, soft, electrifying. It’s the slightest hint of a touch, but it still sends a shiver through me, the dull ache that settled in me during our first meeting growing more intense and prominent. I’ve fantasized about this moment on more than one occasion, but nothing could have prepared me for the real thing, the fireworks in my core, the music filling my heart. If this is how I react to the mere whisper of his lips against mine, I can only imagine what would happen if we took this further.

  Lost in the sensation, I almost don’t realize when Julian’s body tenses beneath mine, his breath hitching. I should pull back now that he’s caught me stealing a kiss, but I’m physically unable to retreat. And he doesn’t push me away, either. We remain in place, our lips barely touching, neither one of us moving. The meaning behind this isn’t lost on either of us.

  We’re at a crossroads.

  I can pull back, apologize, and pretend this never happened. Or I can take a risk on something new, something exhilarating that will inevitably end in heartbreak. I’ve spent all my adult life planning every second of every day. I allowed myself to be locked in a cage, feigning happiness in a life that made me miserable. It wasn’t until Julian, until I took a leap and did something out of character, that I finally felt alive. I want more of that.

  Threading my fingers through Julian’s wayward locks, I press my mouth more firmly against his. With a groan, he wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me into his lap, forcing my legs on either side of him. His embrace
is powerful, dominating, consuming, yet he allows me to remain in control, to decide how far to take this. There’s no question that the ball’s still in my court. I get the feeling that’s exactly where it will stay.

  I brush my tongue along his bottom lip, begging for entrance, which he’s more than eager to grant me. A hand goes to the back of my head as he digs his fingers into my scalp, urging me on. Moaning, I deepen the exchange, my nerve endings stirring. He tastes of mint, wine, and something unique to Julian. A flavor I’ll crave long after we say our final farewell. The way he kisses me, his tongue sweeping against mine, exploring me as if trying to imprint every tiny sensation to memory, only increases my need for more.

  My fingers digging deeper into his hair, I press my body against his. But no matter how I try, I can’t get as close to him as I want, as I need. Even a whisper of air between us is too much.

  I circle my hips, desperate to satisfy the ache building inside, but I doubt anything can ever extinguish the fire within. Julian’s kiss has sparked an inferno, one I fear will continue to burn for years to come.

  I rip my lips from his, panting, pressing my hand against his chest as I struggle to catch my breath. Chests heaving in near unison, we stare at each other as if seeing one another for the first time. I try to tell myself it was just a kiss. People kiss all the time. But deep down, I know this isn’t just a kiss. Not with him. Not with us.

  “Does this mean I can finally kiss you now?” he asks when I don’t say anything immediately.

  I peer into his blue eyes, a brow raised in question. He doesn’t close the distance between us, indicating this is my decision and mine alone. But it’s not even a decision. Not anymore. Not after a taste.