She sits across from me staring at my mother’s Mexican plates. She is doe-eyed, and I want nothing more than to grab her and kiss her. Her innocence is enchanting and contagious. She’s making me look at the plates my mother has bragged about for ages in a completely new way.

“You know, these plates are from Mexico,” I say. “My mother brought them back with her many years ago. Apparently, they are quite unique and expensive, because they are so plain. Mexican pottery isn’t known for that.”

Brielle’s eyes open even wider than before. Now, I have her full attention. I just wish we weren’t talking about fuckin’ plates.

“Oh wow,” she says running her fingers lightly against the grain of her plate. I want more than anything to be that plate. No, I want my cock to be that plate. I want her to run her fingers so carefully and lovingly along the curve of my erect cock.

“Wyatt?”

“Huh?” I come back to reality. Unfortunately.

“I just asked if you know what time period these are from.”

“Oh, before the revolution. Mexican revolution. So, at least at the beginning of last century.”

When can we stop talking about the goddamn plates?

Finally, Mr. Whitewater emerges with two servants. They are carrying two plates.

“Pine nuts and kale salad with strawberries,” Mr. Whitewater presents the food.

Brielle smiles and the world lights up.

“This looks delicious,” she whispers and smiles at me, then back at Mr. Whitewater.

I pick up my glass to make a toast, but she has already dug into her salad.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she swallows quickly and drops her fork. Her crudeness makes me horny.

“No, it’s okay. I just wanted to say thank you for joining me here. It’s a pleasure.”

I have a whole speech planned out, but I leave it at that. She waits for me to continue, but I don’t. Something is making me tongue-tied. I’m never tongue-tied.

“Thank you,” she smiles. We clink glasses.

The rest of dinner goes without a hitch. We don’t speak much, and when we do we are consumed with formalities. By the time, the dessert comes, I realize that this wasn’t the best idea. I shouldn’t have made this dinner so formal. She feels awkward, and her awkwardness is making me feel uncomfortable. This place, this formality, isn’t her. It’s not me, either. I just thought that it would be impressive. It worked on so many other girls that I’m lost as to what I should’ve done.

After dinner, I walk her back to her room. She walks a few steps ahead of me, and I watch the way the taffeta under the dress bounces as she walks. I want to push it up and wrap my fingers around her ass.

“Did you have a good time?” I ask when we reach her door.

“Yes, very much so,” Brielle smiles at me. “Dinner was delicious.”

“And besides dinner?”

“You mean with you?”

I nod.

“Yes, I had a good time. To tell you the truth, I’m really glad you didn’t end up being some 70-year-old creep. I had no idea who Mr. Wild was when I got here.”

“Well, I’m not 70-years-old. Whether or not I’m a creep is for you to decide.”

I take a step forward, and she takes a step back. Suddenly, there’s nowhere to go. Her head hits the back of the wall. I take another step forward.

I take her chin and tilt her head toward mine. Our lips touch, and I run my tongue on the side of her lips. She tastes like honey and lavender. She smells like the cheesecake, which we just ate for dinner. I pull her face closer to mine, and she wraps her hands around my shoulders. My cock grows large and pushes into her taffeta. She steps up on her tip toes, and my cock slides just a bit in between her legs.

Our kisses grow stronger and more powerful. I am thrust into a passion the kind of which I have never felt before. I grab her breasts and pull on the straps of her dress.

“Wyatt,” Brielle whispers.

“Brielle,” I manage to say. I kiss her neck. The urgency in my kisses intensifies, and I run my fingers up her naked leg.

“Wyatt,” she pushes on me. I push back on her and continue to kiss her. “Wyatt, stop!” her voice is powerful and needy, but I continue to kiss her. She’s feeling just like I am. She must be!

“No, no, no, I can’t,” I whisper.

“Wyatt, stop!” she knees me in the balls. Shooting pain surges through my body, and I drop to the floor.

“What the hell, Wyatt?”

“I’m sorry…” I whisper. I can’t say it any louder. I’m laying on my back in the fetal position on the floor. I hear Brielle go into her room and lock the door. After a few minutes, the pain subsides, and I manage to scramble up to my feet.

I knock on her door. No one answers. I knock again, and for some reason try the door knob.

“It’s locked, you asshole!” Brielle says.

“I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry, Brielle.”

“Go away!”

“Please, Brielle. I’m really sorry. You don’t have to let me in…”

“I know that! I mean, what did you think? You invite me here, get me a pretty dress, wine and dine me, and I’ll just do whatever you want? I’m not a whore, Wyatt.”

“I know,” I say. “I never meant for it look like that. I just got carried away. I thought we were both feeling something, Brielle. I didn’t mean to take it too far.”

“Well, you did. And you’re an asshole. When a girl says no, it means no. Keep that in mind for the future.”

I’m so embarrassed. I can’t believe this happened. I can’t believe I did that.

“I honestly thought that we were both into it, Brielle. Please. You’ve got to believe me.” My voice cracks a bit at the end.

“Fuck you!” Brielle says. “Oh yeah, and I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”

She can’t! I will stop her! She has no right! “You are?” I ask. Please, don’t.

“I’ve decided that I’m not in debt to you,” she says. “You paid for my Momma’s treatment knowing that full well. And I’m not going to sleep with you. Not for any amount of money. Not even for a quarter of a million dollars.”

She’s right, of course. I did all that knowing that. I just thought that maybe as a thank you. No, that’s not right. I wanted her to want me. I didn’t want her to just sleep with me once. There’s something about her that makes me want more. It’s like she has some sort of spell on me.

“Okay,” I finally say. “I understand. I’m leaving now.”

I walk back to the library. I don’t know where I’m headed. I’m just lost. Distraught. Ashamed. Who was that person back there? Not me, for sure. Brielle’s right. I was an asshole. Am an asshole. She deserves much better than that. Who knows how far I would’ve taken it if she hadn’t kneed me in the balls.

“Agh, I’m such an idiot!” I say out loud. The words echo across the library chamber.

I hit my fist on the built-in bookshelves.

“Dammit!” I say. Now, my hand is hurting, and my heart is pounding even faster than before. I take a deep breath and look up.

The bookshelves are stacked three high with old books, but only one stands out. Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre. The library is poorly lit, but this book seems to have a spotlight on it. I look out of the window and see the bright yellow moon looming high in the sky.

She’ll like this, I decide. I pick up the first edition and flip through the pages. She won’t be able to throw this gift away, I decide.

There’s my grandfather’s old writing desk in the corner. I sit down and open the top. I take a small piece of decorative paper from the top shelf and pick up the old ink pen, which miraculously still writes.

---

Brielle,

This is a first edition of Jane Eyre. I hope you like it. I hope you accept this gift as my apology. I’m sorry.

Love,

Wyatt

---

I read the note over. Of course, she will know it’s a first edition. It says so in the front! I ball up the piece of paper and toss it in the trash can.

---

Brielle,

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do any of that this evening. Well, that’s not true. I did mean to kiss you. I loved kissing you. I loved tasting you on my lips – I want to taste your sweet cunt.

---

I read this note over again and again then crumple it up. This is supposed to be an apology. And like all apologies, it will have to be partly true and partly untrue. I can’t say everything I want to say. Otherwise, she won’t accept it.

I write another note. My final note. When I’m finished, I wait for the ink to dry before carefully folding it and place it in front of the title page. In the back of the writing desk, I find a small box, which ends up being the perfect fit for the book. Now it really looks like a gift.

I walk back to Brielle’s room and knock on the door. She doesn’t answer. I don’t know if she can hear me, but I decide to leave the box right outside. After trying one last time, I finally give up and walk away.

I’ve done all I could. At this point, I have no choice but to accept her decision. Whatever it might be. No matter how much I hate it.