“It’s easy to lose yourself if that’s what you want. I don’t.” ~Johnny Outlaw
This is ridiculous. I barely know the man. The excitement I felt from our weekend together in Vegas has been replaced by a strange dull ache, much like heartburn, but antacids won’t make it go away. A little warning about these changes in emotion would have been nice, but I got nothing from Tracy on our drive back. Maybe nobody knows because nobody has felt the way I feel about Dalton. At least that’s what it feels like to me.
I’m an independent woman. I shouldn’t be letting some guy run away with my more sensible side. Yet here I sit staring at my computer on Monday afternoon, the Bite Me Lime dancing across the large monitor in front of me, and I realize I’m being utterly ridiculous.
Pushing back from the desk, I realize I’m useless. This isn’t good. I don’t get like this over guys. Guys are for my entertainment. I leave them wanting, not the reverse.
When did I become that girl? I stand at the window and wonder when I became one of those girls—you know, the type of girl whose life revolves around a man—the type of girl until now, I’ve judged as weak. The answer is obvious but I refuse to acknowledge it. I make myself a cup of chai tea instead.
My Lime-itude greeting card line is due and I only have ten of twenty cards finished. Sitting out on the patio, I hear the ocean breaking in the distance. I should take a walk to clear my head and get the creative juices flowing, so I slip on my flip flops, grab my phone and head out.
The beach is three blocks away from my condo. It’s a nice walk, the streets lined with palm trees and flowering shrubs, but there’s just something about when I first lay eyes on the ocean. It gets me every single time—the realization that the world exists beyond my online community. It’s a nice reminder that life happens beyond the stucco of my sanctuary. I take a deep breath and appreciate the awesomeness of this life I’m so fortunate to lead.
Finding a bench to sit down on, I pull my knees to my chest and rest my chin. Dalton is half way around the world from me and my heart seems to have packed a bag and joined him.
I haven’t called him, but it’s been a struggle not to. The thrill of this new relationship and what might be is too exciting not to dream about. But I’m a logical girl, one everybody relies on for a reason. Sure I can be spontaneous and fun, but it feels like that was the me of many yesterdays. The success of my business has taken a toll and I’m starting to think I’m its first victim. I love it too much to give it up, so I’ll learn how to balance.
Maybe dating a musician who’s on the road all the time is the kind of relationship that will work best for me. I can be me, and he can be him, and when we find ourselves in the same city, we can be together.
I’m not sure anything works out that easily. My heart’s got a wager on the line that says yes, but my head still has doubts.
My phone rings and I pull it from my pocket. I stand up and start walking when I answer. “Hey Trace.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m at the beach.” The sun is high, the temperature nice.
Her tone shows her surprise. “You are? You’re taking a day off?”
I laugh. “No, you know me better than that. I’m just taking a break and getting some fresh air.”
“This is Los Angeles, Holli. We don’t have fresh air here. Smoggy air—yes, but not fresh air.”
“You know what I mean,” I say, smiling. “What are you doing?”
“Eating a salad. I’ve been thinking about what you said on the drive home yesterday… Or maybe more about what you didn’t say. I’d like to hear about Jack if you want to share.”
“I do, but not today. I feel weird and need time to process the weekend. It still feels surreal, like a dream to me.” I take a deep breath and exhale loudly. “I’m afraid if I start to believe it was real, I’ll jinx it. Does that make sense?”
There’s a sigh in her tone, the kind where you know the other person feels sorry for you. Then she says, “When you’re ready, I’m here to listen. I should go. I have a ton of work to do and I’m trying to make yoga class tonight. You should come.”
“I can’t tonight, but I’ll be there Wednesday.”
“Hey, Holli?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s real and I know you’ll see him again.”
“You’re always the sentimental type.” Looking back at the waves breaking before me, I say, “Never change. Okay?”
“Okay,” she says with a laugh and then hangs up.
Only time will tell. I just wish I had more patience.
At the corner, I cross the street to head home. Sea air, the ocean view, and people watching are things I love and usually helps center me before putting in long hours of work. But not today. Dalton isn’t easily forgotten or I’m not easily diverted from the memory of his strong arms, how he bites his bottom lip, and the way he looks at me after sex. He’s altogether too distracting.
I close the door, walk straight to my bedroom, and flop on the bed. I rest my head on his pillow—the one I stole from the penthouse in Vegas—the one that still smells like him and close my eyes. I like the closeness, but it still doesn’t alleviate the ache.
Work is the best course of action. I’ll trudge forward. After heading into my office, I have one foot propped up on the seat and the other pushes off my desk and I do a slow spin around. Funny fruit anecdotes. Comedy. Sad Fruit, Happy Fruit. I try to think of more greeting card quips. My eyes target my phone with each pass I make, so I grab my keys and wallet and go for coffee down the street.
Standing at the end of the coffee counter, I wait for my name to be called. My phone rings and I see the name I’ve been dreaming about all day. “Hello,” I say, trying to sound casual, but the fluttering I’m feeling gives me away.
“Holliday Hughes.” His voice is low and seductive, making me a little weak in the knees. “How are you?”
I press the phone a little closer and lean my head down for privacy. “I’m good.”
“What are you doing?”
“Dalton, half-caf toffee-nut latte.” I hear my order being called and look up at the barista, hoping Dalton didn’t hear what I named my coffee.
“I’m getting coffee. I needed a break from the office. I can’t seem to focus on much today.”
“I hope I have something to do with that.”
I smile, and maybe blush a little. “You might. What are you up to?”
“I’m watching a talk show in German with no subtitles.”
“Is it good?”
“I’m not sure. The canned laughter tells me I should find it funny, but… you know what, I’m not really into it. I’m just killing time. We leave in forty-five minutes for the concert.”
“Is it a big show?”
“Regular.”
“What’s regular?” I ask, wondering if he means five or twenty thousand people.
“I think this arena holds fifteen thousand people.”
“Holy Hell, that’s a lot of people to perform in front of. Do you ever get nervous?”
“Every time.” His answer is quick.
It makes me wonder if I shouldn’t have asked. Will asking make him more nervous? “I’m sorry. I’m being nosy and it’s probably annoying to answer these kinds of questions.”
“It’s okay. I like this, this normal conversation we’ve got going on here. I’ve been thinking about you—on the flight over and today,” he replies easily.
“What were you thinking?”
“About your hot ass, and I’m still a little bitter about the Twix.”
“Dude! I will buy you a Twix and won’t make you work for it this time.” Smiling, I ask, “And what about my hot ass?”
“I think I was getting used to having it around.”
“Oh, Mr. Dalton, you’re such a charmer,” I tease, but I love that he’s thinking about me too. Makes me feel a little less crazy.
“Know what else I’ve been thinking about?”
Feeling like this conversation is about to get a lot more intimate, I lower my head, keeping my voice quieter as I walk out of the coffeeshop. “What?”
His voice is low, a deep confidence emphasizing the words. “I’ve been thinking about how good it feels when I’m inside you.”
I stop on the sidewalk, my breath catching. “You have?”
“When I close my eyes, I can feel your breath against my chest while you sleep. I can hear your laughter when we walked from the 7-11 back to the hotel, and I can see your face when you come. You’re hard to forget, Holliday.”
My body yearns for him in ways I haven’t felt before. “I remember the feel of your wet body against mine in the shower, the taste of your skin. But when you kissed my hip and left a mark over my tattoo, I will never forget the feel or sight of you doing that to me, Dalton. Never.”
Muffled voices on his end, draws his voice away and he shouts, “Alright.”
I wait for him to return, curious to what’s going on.
“Hey?”
“Yeah?” I ask, lowering my voice to match his, a seriousness overtaking him.
“I need to go, but I want you to know, we may be playing, just joking around with each other, but I meant what I said.”
We’re dancing around our feelings, but the meaning is caught. When I remember the sincerity in his eyes when he would say such sweet things to me in Vegas, I smile again. “I meant what I said too.”
“And I’ll kick any guy’s ass that comes within twenty yards of you. Have I mentioned my fierce jealousy streak?”
Now I laugh. “You must have overlooked that little detail.”
There’s a silence that spans more than a few comfortable seconds as I walk inside my home. “I should go,” he says. “I need to.”
He hangs up and I’m left with a racing heart. I start a slow spin in my chair again, back at square one and my whole world revolving around the emotional dependency I’ve developed for this man.
Two hours later, I’ve gotten two greeting cards done and with that, I’m ready for my first of three meetings scheduled for the week. I call it a day and go to meet Tracy. I didn’t think I’d make yoga, but decided I need to go.
When I arrive at class, I toss my mat down next to Tracy, which causes her to look up. She smiles and whispers, “Didn’t think you were coming.”
“I need to clear my head and workout after this weekend of debauchery.”
She’s shushed by the instructor when she giggles, which also causes me to giggle. “We’ll talk after,” she mouths.
We walk down the street for drinks after class, hoping to burn some bonus calories before consuming more. The margaritas are set down and as soon as the waitress walks away, Tracy says, “Tell me every single detail. And don’t hold back. You had sex with a rock star and I need to live vicariously. My God, talk about a fantasy come to life.”
“You get to have sex with Adam.”
She rolls her eyes. “We’re a boring couple and…” She looks away, the smile leaving her face. “I’m not ready to go there.”
Sensing the change in her demeanor, I tap her hand. “When you are, I’m here for you.”
“Let’s get back to the fun stuff like you and your hot sex life.”
My cheeks heat under her gaze. I touch my hands to my face to cool them down, but it doesn’t help. Flashes of taut abs, kisses down my stomach leading to other wonderful places, and seeing that number forty-four flex as he thrusts down and then back up fill my thoughts.
“You’ve got it bad,” she says. “So was the sex better before you knew he was famous or after? Because I would totally think after would be better.”
“Dalton is different than I expected. I think I’ll leave it at that.”
“Nicely dodged, my friend. Guess I’ll ask that again when you’re drunk.” She laughs. “Why do you call him Dalton anyway? Why not Jack or Johnny?” she asks, resting her chin on her hand.
“He introduced himself as Jack, but it didn’t seem to fit his personality.”
“Can’t believe you fell for that ID pickup line.”
“I didn’t fall for it. I just didn’t want to make a scene. If he was a legit security guard, he had rights to ask for my ID,” I try to justify.
“He’s smooth. I’ll give’em that.” She looks at me and asks, “So what now? He has your number, you’ve got his. Is there a future here?”
Looking down at the table, I touch the screen of my phone bringing it to life and smile. He took a picture of him touching his tongue to my ear while I slept and made it my screen image. It makes me smile every time I look at it and I’ve been looking at it a lot. “Am I stupid if I hope there’s more than a one-night expiration date on us?”
“No one can answer that but the two of you.” She takes a long sip of her cocktail and says, “Anyway, he’d be a fool to let you go.”
“You say that every time.”
“And every time they’re fools. Face it, Holli, you date idiots…until now.”
“Why do you think Dalton is so different?” I ask. “Everything about him shouts complicated and inconvenient.”
“It’s not Dalton. It’s you. You’re different this time.”