Chapter 9
My suitcase is packed. But something doesn't feel right. Mommy won’t stop crying. And she doesn’t have any luggage. We drive in the car for a long time. Mommy hasn’t said a word since we left. She won’t tell me where we’re going. We pull up to a building with bars on the windows. She takes my bag out of the trunk. “Are we staying here?” I ask, panicked. I clutch my stuffed bunny to my chest. She nods and rings the bell. A large woman comes out with curlers in her hair and a cigarette dangling from her lips. I can tell my mom is surprised and she takes a step back. They talk in hushed tones and I only make out pieces of their conversation. Mommy kneels down and says, “It’s time for you to go with the nice lady, Lulu.” I look at her and blink several times. “Are you coming too, mommy?”
“No, Lulu.”
My lower lip begins to tremble. “I’m sorry, mommy. I’m sorry I’ve been bad. I promise I’ll be a good girl. Please don’t leave me here.”
“It’s time for you to fly now, my butterfly.”
“I love you mommy!” I’m sobbing now. The woman takes me gruffly by the arm and pulls me inside. “No!” I scream. “Please don’t leave me! I love you. I love you! I love you!” I keep repeating the words until the door closes. And I’ve never said them again.
“Hey,” Coffee Guy says, wrapping his arms around me. “It’s OK. You were dreaming.”
I open my eyes and realize they are wet with tears.
“Sorry, bad dream.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he says. He holds me tight and some of my fear melts away.
“I was dreaming about the day my birth mom left me. I haven’t thought about that day in a long time.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I shrug. “I hated that place,” I say after a few minutes. “Mona, my foster mom, was a cold woman. If I didn’t finish my plate that meant less food the next time. I never liked what she made, so my portions became minuscule. I hardly ate at all. I think it’s where my compulsion with food comes from. I was deprived for a number of months, so when I come across something I want, it’s hard for me to stop.”
We gaze at each other, black eyes to blue, and I feel like I’m drowning—in him, with him, I’m not sure. He kisses my forehead and eventually I drift back to sleep in his arms. He doesn’t let me go.
I wake up before him. I maneuver my way out of bed and decide I should pick up a few things. There’s a Walgreens across the street from my apartment. I leave him a note and then slip out to buy us breakfast. It’s weird being outside—it’s like I’ve left the comfort of our cocoon where it’s only the two of us. Now I’m back in the real world. I buy a fresh loaf of bread, butter, jelly, two coffees, an extra toothbrush, a disposable razor and shaving cream. That’s more for my benefit because his scruff is like sandpaper against my skin. I walk into my bedroom and find him, awake, and looking at my butterfly collection.
“These are pretty,” he says, holding up a crystal monarch. “I take it you like butterflies.”
“I do.”
“Is it because of your birth mom?”
I stare at him, dumbfounded. “How did you know that?”
“She called you her butterfly. You were talking in your sleep.”
My eyes widen at this revelation. Toby, my ex, never mentioned anything. Oh, God. What did I say?
“Don’t worry. I only heard bits and pieces.”
I didn’t know I talked in my sleep. Why would I? No one’s spent the night in a long time.
“You’re very observant. But I guess I already knew that. She gave this to me,” I say, showing him my butterfly pendant. “It’s the only part of her I carry with me.”
“I figured it was special to you. You haven’t taken it off.” He lifts the chain around my neck for a closer look.
“It’s beautiful. Just like the girl who wears it.”
His comment makes me feel a warm glow inside. I’ve had men tell me I’m beautiful before, but it felt like a means to an end. The way Coffee Guy is looking at me makes me feel like he really means it.
“Which one’s your favorite?” he asks, motioning to my collection.
“The Palos Verdes Blue. It’s the rarest butterfly in the word. They’re native to California and became endangered when builders turned their habitat into housing and strip malls. People actually thought they were extinct because they vanished. But then they were rediscovered in the late nineties. I love their silvery blue color, but I also like that they’re survivors. They essentially lost their home and people thought that was the end of them. But they somehow managed to stick around.”
“I see.” He looks at me with an intensity I don’t think I’ll ever get used to. “I can understand why they’re your favorite.” He pulls me in for a hug and we stand linked together with my head resting against his chest. It moves in time to the rise and fall of each breath he takes. I’m content to let him just hold me, and we remain locked in an embrace, neither of us letting go. I don’t know why, but I keep opening myself up to this man.
I pull away and busy myself with putting things back on the shelf.
“Do you have any hobbies?” I ask, eager to know more about him.
“Not many. I don’t have a lot of free time outside of work.”
“I know how that goes.”
“But I do love sailing. My grandfather used to take me out on his boat when I was younger. He showed me the ropes and I took to it right away. I love being out on the water. No matter how stressed I am, once I’m at sea I can leave it all behind. It’s one of the few places I’m truly relaxed.”
“Do you have a boat?”
“I do. Maybe this summer I’ll take you out on Lake Michigan.”
This summer! “I’d like that,” I smile at him.
“What are those?” he asks, motioning to the bags I dropped near the door.
“Some toiletries for you. And I bought groceries. I figured we could use some fresh food. Are you hungry?”
“I am. But I thought I’d grab a shower first,” he says. “How about you join me and then we’ll eat.”
My shower isn’t that big but we manage. Afterward he dries me off, giving extra attention between my legs. He goes to kiss me but I shake my head. “Your face is like sandpaper. Why don’t you shave while I make us breakfast?” I hand him a razor.
“Point taken. Wait, will you keep me company?”
“Aren’t you sick of me yet?”
“Sick of you? Are you kidding me?” he says as he grabs the ends of my towel and pulls me to him. “I can’t get enough of you.”
I know the feeling. I smile at him and say, “Let me just throw some clothes on.”
“Clothing is totally optional,” he calls out after me.
I come back as he’s lathering his face. His eyes light up when he sees me even though I’ve been gone just a few minutes. “You got me shaving cream too,” he says, like it’s a thoughtful gift.
“I figured you’d want a masculine scent. Besides, it would be weird having you smell like me.”
“I like the way you smell.” He pulls me close.
“Stop! You’re going to get shaving cream on my shirt.”
He rubs his nose against my shoulder, leaving a patch behind. “You know, there’s an easy solution for that.”
“This is the first time I’ve put a shirt on since yesterday!”
“Suit yourself.”
My bathroom isn’t that big, so I stand behind him and watch his reflection in the mirror as he methodically glides the blade down his cheek. I’ve never seen a man shave before. And I have to say, I like it. He has only a towel wrapped around his waist, and I admire his broad shoulders and the muscles in his back and arms that flex with each movement. He works quickly and I worry he’s going to cut himself. I flinch and he laughs.
“Just don’t cut yourself,” I tell him.
“I’ll try not to. Wouldn’t want to ruin this pretty face.”
I roll my eyes at him. “I’d slap you right now if you weren’t holding a razor.”
“You can slap me anytime you like. Especially this guy,” he says, gesturing to his member.
This time I playfully swat him on the arm.
“I just don’t want to see you bleed. If that happens you’ll need to clean up because I’ll be passed out on the floor.”
“Wait. You can’t stand the sight of blood?”
I nod.
“Didn’t I see Grey’s Anatomy on your DVR?”
“I fast forward through all the surgeries. I just like the relationship parts. And I relate to Meredith Grey.”
“I take it she’s the ‘Grey’ in Grey’s Anatomy?”
“Yep. And she’s dark and twisty, like me.”
He turns to face me. “You’re not dark and twisty.”
“I am. You don’t know what goes on inside my head.”
“No. I don’t see it. Just because you had a dark childhood doesn’t make you dark and twisty.”
“So what do you see? And please don’t tell me I’m a ball of sunshine.”
He laughs. “I wasn’t going to say that. You’re more like the rainbow that comes out during a sun shower. It’s surprising, awe-inspiring, and a symbol of hope.”
“You think I’m a symbol of hope?”
He nods.
I want to laugh, but he looks so serious I decide it would hurt his feelings.
“Now you do me.”
I stare at him, assessing my answer. “You’re like thunder.”
“Thunder, huh? I could be down with that.”
“Mmm hmm. You’re powerful and command people’s attention.”
“And I invoke fear,” he adds.
“No. Thunder is all for show. It’s really lightning people need to be worried about. I’ve never felt frightened with you. In fact, just the opposite. You make me feel safe. I think you want to project an image that you’re this tough guy, but deep down you’ve got a big heart.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.”
“I like your assessment. I wish it were true. But the fact is I’m pretty ruthless. I work in a cut-throat industry, and I’ve learned that to survive you need to look out for yourself. I’ve done things I’m not proud of and hurt people along the way, even people I care about. I’ve stepped on a lot of egos to get where I am without as much as a second thought. People think I’m a pompous ass, and rightfully so. But I love that you see potential in me. I want to be that man for you,” he says earnestly. “You make me want to be a better person.”
“You already are,” I say before pulling his lips to mine.
“I mean it. I’ve never met anyone who’s made me want to be better. Until you.”
His words go straight to my heart and a warm glow radiates deep inside. I think it’s the best compliment I’ve ever received. Scratch that. I know it. “I’ll leave you to finish getting ready,” I say, still reeling from the weight of his compliment. I make him want to be a better man. Maybe I should worry that he’s placed me on a pedestal, like something he needs to attain to prove his worth. But I try not to analyze the meaning behind his words.
I head to the kitchen to prepare breakfast while he gets dressed. Technically it’s after lunch time, but I’m calling it breakfast because it’s my first meal of the day. I manage not to burn our toast. He joins me, freshly shaven, and offers to help. I decline and he watches as I set everything out. I make a show of it for his benefit, sashaying around and bending over to pick up the knife I “accidentally” dropped. Our eyes meet and I can see the heat in his.
“Get undressed,” he says.
“Come on, I’m starved.”
“You can’t tease me and then not deliver. Now do it.”
I like his bossy side, probably because so far it’s been to my benefit. I don’t know that I’d want to be on the receiving end in a business deal, but in the bedroom, definitely. I peel off my shirt and stand naked before him. He approaches until he’s standing mere inches from me. Then he circles me slowly, like a lion assessing its prey. I know I haven’t had clothes on during most of our time together, but I’ve never felt more vulnerable. His eyes drink me in from head to toe. I try to cover my chest but he makes a tsking sound. I’m self-conscious of my breasts that I wish were bigger and my thighs that could be a tad bit smaller. But he’s looking at me like I’m a dish he wants to devour.
“You’re perfect,” he says as he presses a kiss to my lips.
I believe him. The way he looks at me makes my heart race. I know that I’ll never tire of the feeling.
He deepens the kiss and I expect him to take things further, but instead he hands me my shirt and says, “We can eat first, but then this coming off again.”
“Deal.”
After we eat I fulfill my end of the bargain. We’re both spent so we laze around my apartment. It surprises me how comfortable I am having him in my space. And that I’m OK with hanging out and not doing anything productive. I never sit and just relax—if I have free time I’m compelled to fill it with something.
“Tell me about your most perfect first date,” he asks, breaking the silence.
Does this count? Instead I go with, “I haven’t had one yet.”
“I’m talking ideal. What’s your ideal first date?”
I take my time to make it look as though I’m pondering his question. But I already know the answer. “It’s winter. I met someone at one of my events and he asked me to join him for a drink afterward. It’s a formal event so he’s wearing a tux. I love men in tuxedoes.”
“Bow tie or straight tie?” he asks.
“Straight tie. We’re having drinks on the back patio. They have heat lamps and a fireplace going, so we don’t feel the cold. We’ve been talking for hours but neither of us wants to leave.”
“What song would be playing?”
I think for a minute. “‘Gone, Gone, Gone’ by Phillip Phillips. Do you know that one?”
He shakes his head.
I attempt to sing the tune. “Even though it has a faster tempo I think it has the most romantic lyrics. My favorite line is about how his heart is like a drum and will always beat for his one true love. The song would come on and he’d ask me to dance. He’d take my hand and the moment we touch I’d feel a sense of connection I’ve never felt with anyone before. We’d slow dance, cheek-to-cheek, overlooking a beautiful snow covered field as a light flurry begins to fall. He spins me around and I’m surrounded by a whirlwind of beautiful snowflakes. Then the sky erupts with fireworks as he kisses me.”
“Literal fireworks, huh?”
I nod.
“Can they shoot off fireworks if it’s snowing?”
“In my fantasy they can.”
“Want to hear one of my fantasies?”
“Let’s hear it.”
“I want to tie you up and have my way with you.”
“Ha, ha.” I look at him and realize he’s not joking. “You want to tie me up?” I repeat, my mouth going dry.
He licks his lips and nods. “I want you to give me complete control.”
“I don’t know if I can do that.”
“Do you trust me?” he asks.
I hesitate. “I do. But what’s trust got to do with it?”
“If you do this for me I promise I will give you the most pleasure you’ve ever known in return.”
It sounds tempting, but it’s asking a lot of me. “I don’t know that I can give myself over to someone else. If you haven’t learned by now, I’m kind of a control freak.”
“Just trust me,” he says, trailing a kiss from my ear to my neck.
It’s a leap of faith for me, but I do.
“OK,” I whisper.
What is this man doing to me?