Chapter Four
In the end, he stayed with her for ten days, more than twice as long as he’d originally planned to remain in the area. But every time he thought about moving on, driving south to the next stop on his itinerary, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He wanted more than anything to stay here forever – in this wild, rugged coastal town that he’d felt an instant affinity with; in this cabin that after less than two weeks already felt more like home to him than either of his parents’ houses back in Ohio ever had; and with this beautiful girl who was really still in the first throes of womanhood, the girl who could easily be “the one” for him, his soulmate, his once in a lifetime.
They had never actually talked about how much time they would have together before he needed to move on to his next stop along the route. And neither of them had ever once mentioned the future, where they went from here, or tried to define exactly what this relationship of theirs was or could be. They seemed to have reached an unspoken agreement to live in the moment, to enjoy each precious minute they spent together, and not to think beyond the next hour or two.
And enjoyment was exactly the right word to describe the past ten days. They had managed to cram a year’s worth of living – of memories – into a scant week and a half. Each day with Lauren was an adventure, a crazy, madcap experience, and that was saying a lot for someone like Ben, who’d already traveled to every continent except Antarctica and frequently engaged in extreme sports like mountain biking, rock climbing, ocean kayaking, and snowboarding. He’d gone bungee jumping in New Zealand, on safari in Kenya, and climbed to the top of Mount Aconcagua in Argentina. But his time with Lauren had been far more exhilarating and definitely more memorable than any of his previous experiences.
She’d continued to drag him out surfing with her each morning until he was able to stay upright on the board for nearly a minute at a time. And he’d learned that most of the guys who flirted with her so outrageously had all grown up with her, and they were more than happy to welcome Ben into their close-knit circle.
Lauren had taken him for hikes on several of the trails her Uncle Malcolm had first introduced her to as a young girl. And while the hikes had been challenging, over some very technical terrain, it had actually been the drives up to a couple of the more remote trailheads that had scared the shit out of him. Lauren had insisted on driving, and she’d maneuvered that beast of a pickup truck as though it were a Formula One race car. During the drives along a series of dusty, unpaved roads with more than their fair share of steep grades and hairpin turns, Ben had alternately shut his eyes, clutched the roll bar for dear life, and dredged up some long forgotten prayers. He’d exited the truck on wobbly legs, almost kissing the ground in relief, and thanking the stars above that they had made it this far in one piece.
The hikes themselves had been amazing, and for most of the time they hadn’t come across another soul. With the camera Lauren had insisted on giving him – after a series of protests on his part and stubborn rebuttals on hers – he’d snapped dozens, hundreds, of shots to accompany his article. Lauren had packed snacks and drinks into their backpacks, along with a space blanket so that they could have an impromptu picnic along the trail. And in between sips of soda and bites of peanut butter sandwiches, the little minx had brazenly stripped off her clothes before tumbling him onto his back. His rather feeble protests about someone walking past had quickly been swallowed up beneath the sweet pressure of her lips on his.
Then, with the warm summer sun beating down on their naked bodies, they’d fucked with unrepentant hunger right there on the hard, rocky trail, the thin, unsubstantial blanket providing precious little cushioning. Back at the cabin, he’d winced when the spray of the hot shower had pounded down on a dozen or more bruises and scrapes, but the discomfort had been quickly forgotten when Lauren had joined him in the spacious stall. Her small, soapy hands had stroked his cock persuasively until he’d groaned in arousal and spun her around, shoving her up against the smooth granite shower wall before thrusting inside of her.
And he’d somehow let her persuade him into letting her drive the motorcycle. Surprisingly, perhaps because it was unfamiliar to her, Lauren had driven the bike with considerably more care than she had the truck, and he’d been slightly less terrified as he’d ridden just behind her.
He’d discovered that she went through her martial arts exercises religiously each day, and after a couple of days watching her out on the deck as she smoothly executed a complex series of punches, kicks, spins, leaps, and arms balances, Ben had experienced a renewed interest in the practice. Lauren had been delighted to have a sparring partner, and he’d been pleasantly surprised at how quickly his training had come back.
There had been quieter times, too, like the twice daily walks with her parents’ dogs, the three Australian Shepherds all seeming to have boundless energy. Ben’s favorites were the sunset strolls along the beach, accessed by a secret, mostly hidden set of wooden steps that had been built into the hillside just beneath the cabin. He and Lauren would hold hands or link arms, taking turns throwing sticks for the dogs. Even Lauren would be uncharacteristically quiet during these times, saying little, but words never seemed to be necessary.
And despite her earlier protests that she wasn’t much of an artist, he discovered that she hadn’t been entirely truthful on that score. More than once he’d come upon her out on the deck, or perched along the bluff top with a large sketchpad and charcoal pencil in hand. With a renowned artist for a mother, and a famed architect for a father, Ben wasn’t the least surprised to note that Lauren had real talent of her own. She sketched whatever took her fancy – a tree, one of the dogs, a seagull, him. She’d torn the page from the sketchpad and handed it to him rather impulsively, mumbling “Here. It’s not the greatest, and you can just trash it if you want to. No big deal.”
But he knew that he’d keep the remarkably good likeness of himself forever, would always cherish it. Like the woman herself, Lauren’s sketches were on the wild, unconventional side, the edges a little rough, but the overall result both unique and breathtaking.
He’d never come close to being in love before, had never even had an actual relationship with a woman – at least not one that had progressed past the point of fucking like rabbits for a day or two before moving on. And, frankly, he’d yet to meet a woman who’d made him think about things like commitment or putting down roots or falling in love. But even though such ideas were completely foreign to him, Ben realized pretty quickly that he’d fallen in love with Lauren – deeply so. He couldn’t – wouldn’t – tell her how he felt, however. Oh, not because he feared she didn’t return his feelings, despite the fact that she’d also remained silent on the matter. Lauren would always be the sort of person who wore her heart on her sleeve, who would never be able to keep her emotions bottled up inside, or hold anything back. And even though she had yet to utter the words – oddly, perhaps, because she was still old-fashioned enough to want him to say them first – Ben knew she was as crazy about him as he was about her.
No, the reason he didn’t dare to discuss his feelings – or the future – with her was because he knew for her own good that he couldn’t figure into her plans. If they were to try and continue seeing each other after it was time for him to move on, it would only destroy the brilliant future Lauren had in store for her, and because of that so, too, would their love eventually be damaged beyond repair.
It had been the most difficult – and, he hoped, unselfish – decision he’d ever had to make in his life thus far. And, up until yesterday, Ben had still been trying desperately to find a way – any way – for he and Lauren to remain together in some way or another. Sure, he had to finish up this article, but maybe after that he could find a way to move to Los Angeles. He knew Lauren rented a house with several other students, and given that he had precious few belongings of his own, he’d wondered if she would be agreeable to sharing her room with him. He’d find some sort of job – it didn’t really matter what – just until she graduated next year. And after that – well, after that the world could be their oyster.
Lauren had listened with something akin to wonder as he’d told her about the places he had traveled to thus far, then quizzed him in great detail about his visits to Australia, Brazil, Morocco, and even Cuba. She’d told him then of the top five places on her bucket list to see one day – Patagonia, India, Iceland, Bora Bora, and the Swiss Alps. Ben had let his imagination – and his emotions – run a little wild as he pictured the two of them traveling around the world together. Lauren would take the photos while he wrote the accompanying articles, and they would sell their stories to travel magazines, websites, blogs, and maybe even publish their own travel guides. It would be amazing, a never-ending adventure, and life would be good, so much more than he’d ever hoped to have, so long as his beloved Lauren was always by his side.
He’d come close to broaching the subject with her, to gauge her reaction to his proposal. He had, in fact, finally decided to discuss it all with her over dinner last night, had mentally rehearsed what he would say. But all of that had changed after he’d accompanied her into Carmel to check on her parents’ house and her mother’s art gallery.
His jaw had dropped open in awe at the first sight of the McKinnon “beach house” as Lauren had so casually referred to it. The prime oceanfront location alone had to be worth millions, while the spacious, custom built house with its vast wraparound decks would likely double the value of the property.
While Lauren had bustled about the house – opening up windows, watering plants, collecting the mail, gathering more dog food – Ben had made a quick but thorough inspection of the place, his heart sinking a little deeper as he walked past each room. Once again, there was a feeling of understated luxury, a lived-in, comfortable, bohemian décor, but he knew that every piece of furniture, each area rug, even the coffee mugs and hand towels, were all of the very best quality. There was simply no escaping the fact that Lauren was used to a particular standard of living, had grown up in comfort and with a certain amount of privilege, and Ben had shuddered to imagine her reaction if she ever accompanied him on one of his admittedly low budget journeys.
He always flew coach, often having to make multiple connections or endure long layovers in order to get the cheapest fare. Once at his destination, he typically relied on the local transportation to get around, quite often noisy, dusty trains or hot, crowded buses. His accommodations were the most inexpensive he could find, and often barely habitable. And while he knew Lauren had a sense of adventure and not one ounce of pretension in her body, Ben still couldn’t picture her being happy or content to live the life of an impoverished nomad for very long.
Things had only gotten worse when they’d walked inside the Spindrift Gallery in quaint, downtown Carmel. While Lauren carried on a spirited conversation – in rapid, fluent French – with the thin, elegantly attired older woman who was the gallery manager – Ben glanced around at the various paintings, sculptures, and framed photographs that were for sale. He was extremely self-conscious of the fact that his worn jeans, faded T-shirt, and biker boots stood out like a sore thumb in these surroundings and among all of the well-dressed patrons.
And the shocks continued to pile up by leaps and bounds when he discreetly inspected the price tags of several pieces, many of them in the five digits. He was astounded to realize that even the photographs could bring in thousands of dollars each. Lauren’s photographs in particular could bring in a whole lot of money, and she could make herself a very comfortable living just by selling a few pieces a month here at her family’s gallery. She wouldn’t have to traipse to remote corners of the world with him, living on a shoestring budget, would easily be able to travel in style wherever she wanted.
And that was when he knew he couldn’t ask her to make the sort of sacrifices she’d need to do in order to be with him. He had absolutely nothing to offer her at this point in his life – no steady job or income; a nearly empty bank account; no home of any sort, not even a stick of furniture or a single dish. Ben grimaced as he imagined the reaction Lauren’s parents would have upon meeting him for the first time, his only possessions what he could carry on his beat-up motorcycle. He knew that two people as talented and successful as Natalie Benoit and Robert McKinnon would naturally have equally high expectations for their daughters. And those expectations would not include one of their girls becoming a gypsy, with an unreliable source of income and less than ideal living conditions. While Lauren – stubborn, opinionated, independent Lauren – would more than likely give up or alter her own dreams and ambitions to be with him under any circumstances. And there was no way – no way – he would allow that to happen.
So he quietly made up his mind to leave, to head on down the road to the next stop, and by doing so to allow Lauren to have the sort of life she’d been raised to expect, the sort she deserved so richly.
Ben cherished each second of their last day together, committing it all to memory along with all of the hundreds of other memories he already had of her. He snapped photo after photo of Lauren – gazing out at the water, her long hair blowing carelessly in the breeze; giggling like a little girl as one of the dogs eagerly licked her face; as she wielded a spatula like a pro, flipping burgers and hot dogs on the big gas grill; taking a leisurely sip of Chardonnay from her wine glass; winking at him suggestively, her lush mouth quirked up in an inviting smile.
Thank Christ she hadn’t seemed as yet to detect that anything was amiss, because the very last thing he wanted was to provoke a confrontation, to give her a chance to argue and debate and demand. He’d seen firsthand just how stubborn and determined Lauren could be, how she held nothing back, and Ben knew she’d rant and rave and curse if she even suspected what his thoughts were, would call him ten kinds of an idiot for even thinking of leaving, and react furiously at the very idea of him making decisions for her.
But because she was so impulsive – not to mention so young – he had to be the strong one now, the one to walk away. Lauren was the sort of woman who very much lived in the moment, damning any consequences, and wouldn’t ever think ahead a year or two or ten. And it would break his heart if she ever decided that the life he led wasn’t what she wanted after all, or worse, blamed him for holding her back from what she could have made of herself.
No, he thought sadly as he drank his wine, much better all around to make a clean break before either of them got in much deeper. She was only twenty, he told himself firmly, and so beautiful, so completely desirable and passionate, that she could have any man she wanted. She’d forget that a man named Ben Rafferty was ever in her life without much difficulty at all. Whereas he – well, Ben knew he’d never forget this woman, would never love another in the same way. And he was probably ten different kinds of an idiot for even thinking of walking away from her, but he also knew it had to be done.
They went for one last moonlight stroll along the beach; took one final soak in the hot tub; watched another of the action/adventure movies that Lauren adored; and devoured almost an entire batch of her specialty slutty brownies. And all the while she never seemed to notice a single thing was wrong, chattering on as usual as though she didn’t have a care in the world.
But when he took her to bed later that night, he was terrified that he’d give it all away. Especially since Lauren was in a particularly feisty mood, leaving him in little doubt that she wanted to take control tonight. And while he enjoyed the times she played at being the dominant, tonight he simply wanted to cherish her, to savor her, and let the touch and sight and scent of her permeate his senses, to burn her into his memory banks for all time.
“Let me,” he whispered, tumbling her to the pillows as she would have crawled on top of him instead.
She gave a stubborn little shake of her head, trying to push him off of her, but then gave a little “mmph” of surprise as he captured her lips in a long, searching kiss. Within seconds her arms were wrapped tightly around his neck, pulling him in close rather than shoving him away. He kissed her with a sense of near desperation, as if to memorize the taste of her sweet mouth, the feel of her soft, plush lips beneath his. He rained kisses over her forehead, the tip of her small nose, across each rosy cheek, and then down the side of her throat.
Lauren gasped as his hot mouth traced a path between her lush breasts, and then around the underside of each full, round globe. She clutched his head to her as his lips closed over one pale pink nipple, sucking it hard, while his fingers plucked at the other tight little bud over and over. He’d brought her to an orgasm just like this once, simply from stimulating her breasts, but he was far too hungry for her tonight to try and repeat the experience.
But when his lips continued on their downward path to her belly and lower, Lauren somehow managed to squirm out from beneath him. Before he could protest, she’d urged him onto his side and then flipped herself around until they were both in the perfect position for sixty nine.
They’d experimented with this particular sexual position several times before, and each time Ben had thought that nothing could be much better than the twin sensations of eating out Lauren’s sweet, juicy pussy while she sucked his cock with deep, hungry pulls. It didn’t take very long at all for her to climax around his tongue and fingers, his cock slipping from between her lips as she moaned loudly with pleasure. He took advantage of her momentary lapse to ease her back onto the pillows just before surging deep inside of her pliant body before she could summon up a protest.
Even as he rode her hard, pumping his rampant cock inside of her over and over, Ben knew that what they’d shared had always gone far beyond mere fucking. As raw and hard and dirty as sex could be with Lauren at times, it had always, always been lovemaking from the very first time.
He forced himself to keep his eyes open so that he could gaze down at her beautiful face while keeping up the rhythmic thrusts of his cock inside her tight, slick cunt. She stared back up at him, her green eyes still glazed over from her earlier orgasm, and she was so fucking perfect that it made his heart ache with the realization of how much he loved her. It was only when he felt tears form in his eyes, trickling down his cheeks to mingle with the sweat that poured from his brow, that he forced his eyes shut. He couldn’t allow Lauren to see that he was crying, see how deeply their lovemaking was affecting him. And not because he was afraid she’d think him weak or less of a man. Ben was too assured of his own masculinity for something like that to ever bother him. No, the reason he couldn’t permit her to witness his emotional breakdown was because he was terrified that Lauren – with her innate gifts of perception – would suspect what he planned to do.
He did cry a little, however, when he came – his body bucking from the sheer, unadulterated pleasure of coming inside her for long, endless seconds. Unable to control his reactions any longer, to hide the sorrow he felt at knowing this was his good-bye to her, Ben buried his face against the side of her neck, hoping against hope that she would mistake his tears for perspiration, would think his body was trembling all over merely from the force of his climax and not from his silent weeping.
And when he sensed Lauren’s concern, felt her slender fingers caressing his damp cheek or rubbing soothing circles over his back, he didn’t allow her the opportunity to question him or think about it any longer. Instead, he kissed her again, his hands cupping her breasts, squeezing her ass, caressing her thighs until she was groaning with pleasure and his cock responded faithfully.
He kept at her for hours, as though in just one night he’d be able to make up for the lonely lifetime without her that awaited him. He kissed her until her lips were bruised and swollen, sucked her nipples until they were red and sore, and whisker burn covered every inch of her torso. And when she reluctantly admitted she was too sore to fuck again, he replaced his cock with his lips and tongue, not in the least concerned with the fact that she was still wet and sticky from the multiple times he’d come inside of her tonight. His balls ached from the numerous orgasms he’d enjoyed, his back scored in too many places to count from her fingernails, and his throat was raspy and raw from the cries of pleasure she’d coaxed from him.
And when Lauren finally succumbed to exhaustion, falling into a deep, soundless sleep, he held her in his arms for a long time, unwilling to let her go. In the end, it took every ounce of control he could summon up to gently ease himself out of the bed where he’d shared far more than just his body with her over the past ten days.
As silently as possible, he dressed in the same jeans and T-shirt he’d been wearing when he’d first arrived here a week and a half ago. He had never actually gotten around to unpacking, living instead out of his saddlebags as he always did. His fingers hesitated as he picked up the expensive Nikon camera Lauren had insisted he keep, at a loss as to what to do with it. If he kept it, then he’d feel like even more of a freeloader than he already did. But if he left it here, it would seem as though he was rejecting her gift – in much the same way, he thought grimly, that he was rejecting Lauren herself.
Furiously blinking back tears, Ben picked up the camera and focused it on Lauren’s prone body. He couldn’t help smiling as he watched her sprawled out carelessly, her small body nonetheless taking up more than half the bed in the way she always slept. Keeping the flash off, not daring to wake her, he snapped half a dozen shots to add to his already sizeable collection of Lauren photos – a good many of them showing her in various stages of undress, and even in the nude as she was now.
He put the camera away reluctantly, storing it with the utmost care among his things, and then gazed down at her one final time. When it had been time to leave Ohio to go to college, Ben had thought nothing of bidding his parents, half-siblings, and friends farewell, not giving any of them much of a second thought. And there had been no regrets, no overly sentimental feelings when he’d graduated from college and said farewell to his friends there. Ben had few real friends, no permanent ties, and he’d never once felt the urge to overstay his welcome anywhere or with anyone.
But as he stared down at the woman he knew would be his one and only, no matter who else might pass through his life in the years to come, Ben’s heart broke into a thousand tiny pieces. He blew her a kiss, not trusting himself to touch her again, for fear he’d tell all of his good intentions to go fuck off before crawling back into bed with her.
“Good-by, sweetheart,” he whispered brokenly. “Be brilliant for me. Shine brighter than the brightest star. And know that I’m doing this because I love you too damned much to stay and ruin your life.”
He made it as far south as Lucia, the tiny coastal outpost where Lauren had brought him to explore just a few days ago, before he had to pull off to the side of the road. It was only then that he allowed the tears to fall freely and without restraint.
***
She’d always had a bit of a sixth sense about things, and thus she knew something was different – wrong – the moment she woke. The other side of the bed was empty, though she could still smell his scent on the sheets, mingled with the unmistakable odors of sex. Lauren winced as she pushed herself to a sitting position, feeling sore and tender in too many places to count. A quick check of her body revealed several patches of red, rashy razor burn, a handful of love bites, some rapidly darkening bruises. Last night’s wild, out of control sex marathon with Ben had been far more physically demanding – and punishing – than any of the sporting events she’d participated in over the years.
As she forced herself out of bed on surprisingly shaky legs, the first thing she noticed was the absence of Ben’s bags. Since his first day here she’d nagged at him to unpack, showing him the space she’d cleared for his things in the closet and dresser. But Ben had always demurred, saying it was no big deal and that he didn’t have all that much stuff.
At the time she’d shrugged it off, but now – as she padded around the cabin stark naked, searching for any sign of her lover – she began to realize that Ben had never intended to put down any sort of roots, or make any kind of commitment to her.
Lauren grabbed some clothes out of the dresser, barely noticing what items she took, and dressed quickly, anxious to see for herself if Ben was well and truly gone. The rest of the cabin was as quiet and empty as the bedroom, and by the time she hit the driveway she was running. She didn’t flinch even once as her bare feet made contact with the gravel, didn’t slow down even though she was jogging uphill.
And when she saw that his motorcycle was gone, she dropped to her knees right there, welcoming the pain from the gravel digging into her skin. For long minutes she just sat there on her haunches, staring at the empty space where the bike was usually parked.
He was gone. From the cabin, from Big Sur, from her bed, her life. He’d snuck out like a thief in the night, without leaving a note or an explanation, or even telling her good-bye.
But then Lauren realized that he had told her farewell, that his desperate, devouring lovemaking last night had been Ben’s way of bidding her adieu. What he hadn’t been able to express in words, he’d done with his lips and hands and body.
As she continued to sit there in the middle of the driveway, too frozen to move, her shock gradually began to morph into disbelief, and then into a slow, burning anger.
She surged to her feet, her eyes snapping as the curses began to flow freely from her lips. “Bastard. Prick. Conniving, cold-hearted sonovabitch. Scummy, no-good liar. Putano. Pendejo. Fils de pute. Salaud. If he was here right now I’d kick his ass over the cliff, dislocate all of his fingers, slice off his balls. Just for starters.”
Lauren stormed back down the driveway into the cabin, slamming the front door so hard that all three of the dogs looked up in alarm. In the kitchen she took great pleasure in making as much noise as possible while starting a pot of coffee and popping a bagel into the toaster.
She ate and drank without tasting a thing before storming back into the bedroom to find some shoes. She glared darkly at the mussed bed, suddenly finding the lingering scents of sweat and sex offensive, and promptly stripped the sheets off the mattress.
She took the dogs for their usual morning jaunt, ignoring the fact that the three of them kept looking around anxiously for Ben. “Traitors,” she hissed at them crossly. “And stop looking so sad. He isn’t here any longer. The big jerk just up and left this morning without having the guts to even say good-bye. Or leave his fucking email address.”
And then the stream of curses began anew, each one more colorful than the last, switching rapidly between English, Spanish, and French, three languages in which she was fluent, and knew all the dirty words.
Back at the cabin, she spit on the driveway where his motorcycle had been parked, thinking savagely that she should have slashed the tires of the beat-up bike. And then inspiration hit her as she quickly fed the dogs, gulped down another mug of heavily creamed and sugared coffee, and munched on one of the leftover brownies. With her ADHD, caffeine and sugar were two stimulants she had been warned to avoid but that she also had an admitted addiction to.
Five minutes later she was behind the wheel of her truck and tearing south along Highway One. She’d glimpsed Ben’s proposed itinerary once, knew that his next stop was at Hearst Castle. Lauren wasn’t sure exactly how long ago he’d left Big Sur, but she figured she could be in San Simeon well before lunchtime if she hustled.
But she only made it ten miles out of town before pulling over to the side of the road. While it was extremely tempting to go find that lying, manipulative bastard and give him a piece of her mind – not to mention her fists – her pride was suddenly rearing its ugly head. Did she really want to go chasing after a man who clearly didn’t want her, who hadn’t even cared enough to leave a goddamned note? Where was her sense of self-worth, for God’s sake, to go haring after a man who’d dumped her without so much as a backwards glance?
“Fuck him,” she swore vividly. “If he doesn’t appreciate me, what we could have had, then fuck Ben fucking Rafferty to hell. I’ve got better things to do with my time than think about a loser like him for even one more minute.”
She turned the truck around and headed back into town where she hung around for an hour or so – grabbing another cup of coffee which would only make her hyperactivity that much worse; buying half a dozen items at the general store that she really didn’t need; popping in to say hello to some longtime friends of her parents who owned a local art gallery.
When she arrived back at the cabin, she threw herself into tidying the place up – putting clean sheets on the bed and starting a load of laundry; scrubbing the bathroom from top to bottom; restoring some sort of order to the admittedly messy loft space.
For dinner she made one of her favorite comfort food creations – mac and cheese with cut-up hot dogs – and ate until her stomach hurt. She took the dogs for their usual evening walk, blocking out the image of Ben strolling along leisurely by her side.
Back at the cabin she slipped into the hot tub sans clothing, as was her norm when she was alone – or with a gorgeous, chiseled hunk with dark blond hair and three day stubble. Ben was the only man she’d ever invited to stay here at the cabin, and she forced herself not to recall how many times over the past ten days they had kissed and cuddled and even had sex right here in the hot tub.
Lauren sat out on the deck for a long time after her soak, swaddled up in a well-worn flannel bathrobe that was riddled with holes and stains but that she loved beyond reason and always kept here at the cabin. She drank a beer, quickly switched to tequila, then sought out a bottle of single malt Scotch. Her normally cast iron stomach began to rebel at mixing alcohol, and she irritably slammed the shot glass down.
The first tear trickled down her cheek and plopped onto her lap before she was even aware that she was crying. And then the tears fell freely, the sobs wracking her slender body almost violently. It was only the feel of a cold, wet nose poking against her cheek that finally caused her brokenhearted weeping to slow down. Gracie, the lone female of the pack, had jumped up onto the settee, whimpering in distress at her mistress’s cries. Lauren cuddled the dog close, burying her face in Gracie’s soft coat, and drawing comfort from the warm, furry body.
And even though she normally banned the dogs from the bedroom, much less her bed, that night she urged all three of them to cuddle with her, unwilling to be alone for fear she’d never stop crying otherwise.
***
By the time her parents arrived home a few days after Ben’s departure, Lauren had forced her wayward emotions back beneath the surface. Robert and Natalie never suspected for a minute that during their absence their daughter had fallen deeply in love for the first time in her young life, only to have her heart and her spirit irrevocably broken. To them, she was the same carefree, outspoken Lauren she’d always been, the one who asked about their trip, updated them on the goings-on at the gallery, and discussed her class schedule for the upcoming fall semester.
Julia arrived in town for a visit towards the middle of August, and she, too, never noticed anything amiss with her twin. The girls made a quick trip north to Palo Alto to hang out with their best friend Angela for a couple of days, and it was just like old times back in high school.
And by the time early September rolled around, and with it the need to pack up her things and head back to L.A., Lauren had managed to convince herself that she was well and truly over that bastard Ben Rafferty. She shrugged off the ten days they’d spent together as nothing more than a fun, frivolous summer fling, and now she was more than ready to move on. Maybe she’d finally agree to go out with the hot, tattooed guitar player who lived across the street from her rental, the one she’d previously shunned because one of her roommates had dubbed him Manwhore of the Year. Or maybe she’d ask that cute sales clerk at R.E.I. to have coffee so they could continue their discussion on rock climbing.
Whatever she did – whoever she might date or flirt with or even fuck in the future – there were two things of which Lauren was absolutely certain. One was that never again would she put herself in a position to have her heart and her spirit crushed like Ben had managed to do this past summer. And the second was that she would never – ever – cry over a man again.