I adjust my black cello case in my grip and continue my fight against the bitter January wind. The walk from the parking garage isn’t terribly long, but with the wind as harsh as it is, it’s making me regret my decision on skipping the offered valet parking.
My eyes slyly observe the Monday morning crowd that seems less lively than normal. It’s probably the unexpected change in weather. After a beautiful, almost fall like Saturday, freezing temperatures swept through the city forcing me into flannel pajamas and to dial my heater up to unspeakable levels. Most of the time, I prefer it cool if not cold while I play. Sweaty, slippery fingers are not conducive to productivity.
“Angel?”
The voice stops my movements.
No…There’s no way that’s-
Blake’s body slides in front of me proving my worst nightmare has come true.
Okay, so not my worst nightmare come true. As much as I hate to admit it, not any nightmare, but more like guilty fantasy I hate myself for having. Loathe myself for having. Daydreaming about him doing dirty, unspeakable things is against all of my better judgment. Kinda like walking a 5K.
I fight the urge to give his heaving body a good stare. “Are you seriously following me? Do you need me to explain to you the distinct difference between persistent and stalking? Should I invest in pepper spray?”
Despite my snapping, he grins wide. “So you do remember me?”
Of course I remember him! It’s not like we met seven months ago instead of just two days. However, if it had been seven months there is a high probability I still wouldn’t have forgotten him. It feels like an impossible task. How could anyone ever forget his solid, sculpted arms or impressively cut face? How could anyone forget his bright brown eyes or his deep beautiful laugh or the save the damsel accent? Oh, and let’s not forget the fact he’s gigantic. 6’3? 6’5? God, I wish I knew other women who have forgotten him so I could contact them for help because his face, his words, and his own the world attitude have been all I can think about when I’m not rehearsing.
“Taking your silence as a yes.”
My eyes twitch a glare yet are immediately distracted by the sweat dripping down his neck. Like a helpless slave to his sex appeal, I allow my eyes to follow it down to his black fitted t-shirt covered chest. Once it hits the shirt, my attention drinks in the remainder of his presence. His low hanging sweats give me small peek of the waist band to his underwear and my mind quickly wonders how amazing he probably looks naked. How his muscles tense from being touched. If his thighs are ideal for being grabbed onto while licking the pre-cum off his cock…
I give the collar to my coat a tug.
Why does it suddenly feel like there’s a heat wave on the rise? Is the sun going through menopause?
“I live a few blocks away,” he speaks again, redirecting my eyes back to where they belong. “This is part of my usual jogging route.”
“Then why haven’t I seen you before?”
“Maybe you have and you just didn’t know it.”
It’s a valid rebuttal. Besides I get so focused on getting my mind in the right headspace for rehearsal, I rarely remember how I got where I was going in the first place. I often wear metaphorical blinders, which is a huge contributor to the reasons why I haven’t dated much in my life.
“I was jus’ squeezin’ in a quick run before my doctor’s appointment. You know, have to make sure the herpes haven’t magically disappeared.”
The rude reference I made during our last encounter heats my cheeks at the same time I slightly smirk.
“Is that…Is that the start to a smile, I see?” He teases, which only makes it harder to deny. Overdramatically he clutches his chest. “Are you actually sacrificing a smile for me?”
Against my will…
Blake promptly continues, “Where ya headed?”
“To work.”
He gives my body a slow, rolling stare that causes me to hold my breath.
It’s like his eyes are trying to undress me, but he can’t decide where to start. Would it be so bad to let his hands do it instead? Wait. Yes. Yes, it would. Very much so would. How do I make these thoughts stop and why the hell have they begun now after basically a lifetime of not having them?
Blake attempts to gather more information. “Work. Alright. Which is…?”
“Are you asking me where or what it is I do?”
The push for a clarification receives me another heart stopping smirk. “What you do. Contrary to the conclusion you’ve gathered, I am not and have no interest in actually followin’ you, Angel.”
“I’m a principal cellist.” I adjust the grip on my case. “Do you know what that instrument is or do I need to waste seven minutes of my life trying to explain it to you?”
Blake folds his arms across his chest. “I’ll take seven minutes of your time anyway I can get it.”
Frustration and fluster collide in my expression.
Why does he insist on flirting with me? What will it take for him to get the clue I’m not interested? Which I’m not! Sure, he’s sexy, sweet, and oddly irresistible, but he’s also egotistical, obnoxious, and screams avid one nightstand fan. Not interested in only being remembered because I forgot my bra under his bed or panties on top of his nightstand.
A couple brushes past us, reminding me we are in the middle of a busy downtown sidewalk filled with people who need to get to work, myself included.
Before I can stroll away, Blake grabs my free hand, and pulls us out of the main walking traffic. “Do you have a band or something?”
I refrain from my rolling my eyes. “No. I’m not a nineteen-year-old girl in a rock group with dreams of being the next Aretha Franklin.”
Blake’s head tilts. “You do know she was soul, pop, gospel, jazz…basically everything that’s not a rock band, right?”
His music correction causes me to scowl.
I knew that. Well. Sort of. My knowledge of music history and music in general is more limited than people imagine. I have an extensive knowledge of what is beneficial to my career or playing. It’s the way I was raised. It’s the way my parents preferred.
Shifting my head a bit higher, I announce, “I’m part of the Highland Symphony Orchestra.”
“Wasn’t aware we had an orchestra.”
“My guess is it’s because you prefer to only listen to music that includes a twang that matches your own.”
Blake shrugs unaffected by the snide comment. “Actually, pretty easy going when it comes to music, hence my knowledge about the queen of soul, but why don’t we discuss my tastes and your preferences tonight over dinner?”
“You really don’t give up, do you?”
“Not when it comes to you, Angel.”
Line. A very over used, line….but kick me because it sure sounded amazing falling from his lips.
Defiantly, I state, “Rehearsal won’t be over before six.”
“How early do you have dinner?”
Is that not the time everyone else has dinner?
Blake chuckles to himself and shakes his head. “Let’s make it eight. That should give you plenty of time to take your instrument home, shower, and change.”
I stand my ground. “I’m not driving all the way back into town to meet you for dinner.”
“Then I’ll pick up take out and bring it by your place.”
“I-”
“Chinese, okay?”
My fondness for egg rolls will not outweigh the repulsion I have over the idea of him stepping foot in my house. Men like him do not belong anywhere near my doorstep.
“Text me your address.” Blake smirks, winks, and prepares to jog off. “I know you’ve got my number.”
There’s no waiting for a response. He quickly resumes his run leaving me equal parts annoyed and flattered.
It doesn’t matter if his repeated efforts to want to spend time with me seem genuine by the way he keeps handing me the reigns to do it when I feel comfortable. It doesn’t matter his eyes are only on me whenever it is we have a conversation. And it really doesn’t matter that my body buzzes with this unfamiliar sensation any time he’s near. No. I am not going on a date with a serial beer drinking, bed hopping, most likely afraid of monogamy type of man. I refuse.
His warm, smiling face flashes in my mind again.
No. Absolutely not. Just because he was right about me having his phone number, though now it’s in my phone, doesn’t mean he’s right about me using it or me seeing him again. In fact, when I get to rehearsal, the first thing I am doing is deleting it. The last thing I need in my life is to be distracted by a man like Blake. Hm. I guess I should say more distracted. Regardless of my logical reasoning for abandoning the idea of having even one date with him, part of me can’t help but want to give into the little voice in the back of my head demanding I give him a chance. Demanding to venture out in the unknown. I need to figure out a way to remove that voice before I end up being able to relate to the very music I just shamed him for loving.