by Wade, Ellie
But it won’t be today. I’m not that strong.
London
“I desperately want Loïc Berkeley, and I’m used to getting what I want.”
—London Wright
I relax back into the large tan chair as the massaging balls beneath the leather roll up and down my spine. The contraption working my tired muscles isn’t as divine as a real massage would be, but it’s a close second, especially when it’s paired with a pedicure. I let out a content sigh as a woman massages one of my feet with a soft scrub.
Just what the doctor ordered—and by doctor, I mean, me.
Paige and I love spa days. They’re very healing. When we feel a moment’s stress, our go-to fix is an old-fashioned mani-pedi—and by old-fashioned, I mean, one that takes place in the newest salon in town with the most attentive staff and state-of-the-art massage chairs. Oh, and free wine, not that piss water the cheap spas offer. This is real yummy imported wine.
Ah!
I shoot up, and my entire body cringes when the pedicurist rubs the rough brush across the sensitive skin on the bottom of my foot. My fingers grasp the sides of the chair. My knuckles go white from the force of my grip.
Paige chuckles next to me. “Your favorite part.”
I can’t reply or even give her a look. All my focus needs to be on enduring this small amount of torture on my way to perfectly painted nails and soft-heels heaven without drop-kicking the kind woman’s face in front of me. The struggle is real.
Yes, I know…First World problems.
She finally finishes assaulting my feet and starts to massage my calves with a lotion that smells like coconut, reminding me of the beach.
Ah, this is more like it.
I release the breath I was holding.
Reaching for my phone, I swipe across the screen even though I know I didn’t miss a message. But the pathetic girl in me checks anyway.
Nothing.
I set my phone back down in a huff.
“No message from Romeo?” Paige’s question is rhetorical. She knows as well as I do that my phone hasn’t chimed since I checked it ten minutes ago.
I sigh before answering her anyway, “Not yet.”
I suppose I should be worrying less about text messages and spa days and more about finding a job. When I left Kentucky two weeks ago, I was hell-bent on growing up, obtaining meaningful employment, and being a better person. But my valiant motivation was stripped from me the second Loïc’s lips met mine on that airplane. Now, my entire life’s mission is to continue tangling my lips—among other body parts—with Loïc’s.
He’s all I think about. We’ve been in each other’s presence a total of four times, yet I’m a total goner. I’m not so naive as to think that I’m in love with the guy. More accurately, I think it’s some sort of insane desire paired with an equal measure of obsession. It’s not entirely his looks either. Though I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that his good fortune in the appearance department had fueled my initial crush. I’m not certain if it was his tan skin, muscular arms, sexy bone structure, kissable lips, or those mesmerizing blue eyes. More than likely, it was the combination of each gorgeous attribute wrapped up like a fine little package of hotness in a military uniform. I only had to look his way once to be enraptured.
While all of that is still very much true and extremely lust-worthy in itself, he’s more than a pretty package. I think I knew that almost immediately. From the start, something about him called to me. It was as if I could feel his pain, read his heart, and appreciate his struggles. It was as if he was put before me for me, and I, for him. It was as if I was the person he required to heal his wounded spirit. I’ve had this knowing feeling, all along, deep within, telling me that he needed me.
Am I crazy to think that? Maybe I am.
It might very well be true that I’m not destined to be with Loïc. Perhaps I’m having a post-graduation life crisis, and I’m clinging on to the hot Army guy, who is set on playing hard to get, as my own mission to sanity. Maybe I’m making this all into more than it should be. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve created drama in my life where none should have existed.
It honestly doesn’t make a difference if it’s delusional infatuation or once-in-a-lifetime true love because I’m already invested. Regardless of the origins of these desires, they’re here to stay. I desperately want Loïc Berkeley, and I’m used to getting what I want.
I’m back to sounding spoiled again. I’m working on becoming the person I want to be. Rome wasn’t built in a day.
“What’s the last thing you texted to him?” Amusement lines Paige’s voice.
“You know exactly what I said.” I turn and give her my best attempt at an evil glare.
She just laughs. Obviously, I’m not as intimidating as I think I am.
“Tell me again. I just love it.”
“I told him that his chicken-shit ass had better contact me today because he promised me a second date, and I expect him to deliver.”
She slaps her hand on her thigh in a fit of giggles, startling the women working on our feet. “And you’re surprised he hasn’t responded?”
“I know. It wasn’t my best moment.” I sigh.
In my defense, I was slightly tipsy when I sent that text last night—and by slightly tipsy, I mean, wasted. In addition, it has been a week since our first date, and since then, I’ve received one measly text from him before nothing but radio silence.
The morning after our drive-in movie date—and one of the best orgasms I’ve ever had, I might add—I texted Loïc to tell him that I had a great time. He responded with, Me, too, and that’s the last I’ve heard from him. I’ve texted him once or twice a day since then. I tried keeping my messages upbeat and nonchalant at first. I wanted to give him the I’m-a-cool-and-laid-back-kind-of-girl vibe.
But, after the fourth day of being ignored, my texts changed in nature, and somehow, they turned into the I’m-the-type-of-crazy-that-you-don’t-want-to-bring-home-to-mama vibe. Not that he has a mama. Ugh, wrong analogy.
I should cut him more slack than this. He obviously has issues.
Isn’t his wounded heart part of my intense attraction to him?
Yet would it kill him to text me?
Paige and I leave the coconut-smelling heaven. Our feet and hands have been buffed and lotioned to soft perfection, and our nails are painted a lovely royal blue—our current color obsession. My mom thinks that blue nails, regardless of the specific shade, look trashy, but I disagree.
We hop into my Mercedes, and I start the car, making sure the AC is on full blast. It’s a hot and humid summer day, so immediate AC is life-and-death. Before I can put the car in gear, my phone dings. I whip my head to the side, and my eyes go wide as I look at Paige. She gives me a hopeful smile. I’m sure she thinks my Loïc obsession is a little odd, but as my best friend, she supports me one hundred percent. If I decide to jump aboard the crazy train, she’ll be the first to buy a one-way ticket.
Careful of my freshly painted nails, I reach into my bag to pull out my phone. I have a text, and it’s from Loïc.
Loïc: Pick you up at five. Be ready.
God, he’s bossy, and damn, how I find that so hot.
I peer up to find Paige’s expectant look, and I smile big and squeal. She claps her hands in rapid succession and squeals along with me.
There’s a knock on the front door exactly at five o’clock.
He might be bossy, but I have to give it to the guy; he’s punctual.
I quickly say good-bye to Paige and make my way to the front door. My knees go weak when I see him. He’s just so beautiful in that closed-off, rugged, moody kind of way. He’s wearing a form-fitting T-shirt, board shorts, and flip-flops. For some odd reason, the fact that I can see his feet creates intense lust-filled thoughts to storm through my mind.
I take in a breath and shake out the rogue hormonal desires that saturate my brain. Focus.
“You were going to cancel again,” I say.
<
br /> Yes, I’ve spent all week praying to the gods of dating that he would call and come through on his promise of another date. I admit, I’ve been almost desperate, which is so not me. Relief to have him in my presence again washes over me, flooding me with happiness, but that doesn’t mean I’m not annoyed. Despite my longing to tightly hug him and thank him over and over for coming, I’m not that girl, and Loïc needs to know that.
“But I didn’t,” he says casually.
“You wanted to. More so, you wanted to avoid my texts altogether,” I huff out in frustration. “You told me you wanted to go out again. We had a great time, and then you made me wait all week for a response. If you don’t want to see me again, fine, whatever.” I don’t mean that at all. Please want to see me many more times for all eternity. “But don’t play games, Loïc. I don’t like them.” I’m proud that I’m holding my ground.
Undoubtedly, this probably isn’t the best way to start a date.
Damn it…I’m going to scare him away. Why am I not capable of shutting my mouth?
He smiles, and it’s a full-on devastating event. Before I can register what’s happening, his strong hands grasp the sides of my face, and he pulls my mouth to his. The second our lips connect, I lose all my pent-up annoyance and will to prove my point.
What was my point? I couldn’t care less.
Nothing feels as right as Loïc’s lips on mine. Nothing. The kiss is soft, void of crazed desire. It’s sweet, communicating apologies and longing. It’s a timid reunion of two souls so desperate to be together yet so close to imploding and finding themselves at a place from which they won’t be able to return.
Loïc and I are on the fine precipice between utopia and a nightmare. We’re at the thin space between unfathomable love and devastating loss. One step in the wrong direction would seal our fate, and we’re too new, too fragile, to come back from it. I’m terrified of making the incorrect move, but the only option for me is to be myself. I’m not capable of anything else.
Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to mind my earlier outburst because his lips continue to move against mine with such reverence that my chest aches.
When he pulls away, he continues to hold my face in his hands. Our faces are so close that I can see the multiple shades of blue in his eyes.
“We good?” he asks, his deep voice thick with desire.
I nod.
“Good.” He leans in and kisses my forehead. Pulling back, he says with a chuckle, “And what are you wearing?”
“What?” I’m in black shorts and a flirty sleeveless top. “You told me to dress casual.”
“You’re wearing heels.”
“Casual heels, and they match this outfit,” I scoff.
“Heels aren’t casual, London.”
“They are to me,” I protest. “What does it matter?”
“We’re going kayaking. They’re not what I would think of as appropriate footwear for outdoor sports.” He smirks, and it’s so adorable that I want to kiss him again.
“Listen, Berkeley”—I throw out his last name as a warning to the serious nature of choosing an outfit for a date—“if you tell me casual, I’m going to dress that way. Next time, perhaps tell me to dress in attire appropriate for kayaking.” I offer him a glare though it’s empty of annoyance, and he knows it. “So, should I change?”
He shrugs with a grin across his face. “It’s up to you, but I would.”
“Fine. Come on.” I grab his hand and pull him into the house.
Paige is sitting, cross-legged, on one of the couches in the living room. She sports a knowing smile, and I’m sure she just heard everything.
“Loïc, this is my roommate, Paige,” I introduce them.
They’ve seen each other a couple of times—at the car wash and the club—but they’ve never formally met.
They exchange a few words.
“I’m going to go change my outfit. Apparently, it isn’t suitable for all the physical activity that Loïc has planned for me this evening.” My face turns red as soon as the words are out. I meant it as a joke, but I’m painfully aware of the innuendo that came with that statement.
Paige giggles. “Good idea. I have some extra condoms in my top drawer, if you need them.”
My mouth flies open as I shoot a scowl toward my best friend. Brat.
I’m not a prude or anything, but she knows that this is the first time Loïc has actually dated someone, and I don’t want to scare him away.
Thankfully, he’s laughing.
She’s lucky.
“The outfit you were wearing the first time I saw you would work,” Loïc offers with a teasing grin.
I recall the barely there bikini top and short shorts I wore for the car wash. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I shake my head in amusement. “You two had better behave.” I point my index finger between them.
“All is well that ends well,” Paige calls out as I turn to leave.
She’s ridiculous.
After I’ve changed into a pair of jean shorts and a baby tee, I slide on my flip-flops and head back to the living room. Loïc and Paige don’t notice me right away, and I have a few seconds to take in the scene before me. Loïc is laughing at something Paige said while she nods with a big smirk on her face.
She’d better not be telling secrets about me. I’ll get to the bottom of this later.
What I can’t take my eyes off of is Loïc—more specifically, Loïc laughing. That vision is a gift to my sight.
My heart tightens as I watch him. His wide smile, his eyes squinted in laughter, and his broad chest vibrating from the force of it combine into a perfectly constructed masterpiece. He looks so happy. More than that, he seems content within his soul. In this moment, he isn’t thinking about his demons, overanalyzing the second-to-second details of life, or using his rough exterior to compensate for his desire for constant control. He’s simply living.
There are still so many mysteries that surround Loïc. I’m sure I haven’t even scratched the surface of what horrors reside in his memories. Oddly enough, that draws me toward him even more.
I’ve never been the type of person to seek out those in need of emotional support. It’s not that I don’t care about other people, but I’m not comfortable with dealing with others’ issues. Maybe I’m selfish, but that’s just not who I am. I’m here for my close family and friends, sure, but the rest of the world needs to find someone else to be their pillar of strength because I’m not qualified for the job.
Yet, with Loïc, it’s different. All I want is to be there for him. I want him to trust me with his heart, to let me help mend it.
Finally, my presence at the entryway of the room is noticed. Loïc turns his attention to me. His laughter stops, but he still carries a smile. I shake off my deep thoughts revolving around Loïc’s redemption and healing. I can revisit those later. At this point in my relationship with him, getting to date three is my first priority.
“Is she telling you my deepest, darkest secrets?” I question before shooting an accusatory look Paige’s way.
“I guess you’ll never know.” The way he says it sounds like a challenge.
“Oh, I’ll find out.” I send a glare full of mock disgust toward Paige. I point my finger at her. “I know where you live, Paigey Poo. Don’t forget that.”
She laughs, which breaks my charade of anger as well, and I smile back at her.
With laughter in my voice, I add, “Remember where your loyalties lie, my friend.”
She responds with, “You two enjoy all your physical activities tonight.”
“I hate you,” I say, shaking my head.
Loïc grabs my hand and leads us toward the front door.
“Lies! You love me!” Paige shouts from the living room.
“You’re right. I love you,” I call back, my free hand grabbing my purse from the table before we exit the front door.
Loïc chuckles beside me. “Girls are so weird.”
“You’re just reali
zing this?”
“I suppose not. Maybe that’s part of the reason I don’t date.”
“You’re dating me.” He doesn’t respond, so I continue, “I think a second date qualifies as dating, don’t you?”
He lets out a noncommittal noise, letting me know that he heard me but, at the same time, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with my question. He opens the passenger door and waits for me to jump up into his truck.
After I’ve hopped up, I look over to him. “Why are you dating me, Loïc?”
He shakes his head and gives me a weak smile. “I have no idea,” he says more to himself than anything before he closes my door.
His cavalier statement and the sound of the door shutting make me jump in my seat. I have the feeling that he didn’t mean it as rude or hurtful but more speaking to his confusion about his feelings toward me. But I’d be lying if I said that it didn’t sting.
It’s about a thirty-minute drive to the river where we will be renting a kayak. We spend that time talking about our tastes in music. Loïc is a fan of varying rock. He likes classic rock, the hair bands—including the rock ballads of the eighties and nineties—and the alternative bands from the past two decades. He listens to a station on satellite radio that plays nothing but this type of music. The last three songs have been by Pearl Jam, Stone Temple Pilots, and The Smashing Pumpkins—and the only reason I know this is because each band’s name shows on his radio display.
I, on the other hand, am a religious Top Forty Pop music fan. Loïc says I’m a sellout, and I have shallow tastes. I argue that my preferences are the best because I’m listening to what the majority of people like at the moment.
“The songs wouldn’t be among the Top Forty most popular songs on the radio if they weren’t good, right? My music is relevant.”
“I’m gonna have to disagree with you on that one.” He chuckles.
What does he know anyway?
Right next to the kayak rental is a mom-and-pop diner, so we each have a quick burger before getting started.
While Loïc is paying, I try to be proactive, and I attempt to lift the kayak. The first thing I realize is that, despite how light and welcoming the kayak looks with its colorful plastic appearance, it is extremely heavy.