21.
Becca
He’s there beside me when I wake. As soon as I feel his weight next to me, a deep calm comes over me. There was no other way to put it: it just felt right having him here.
I roll over and look at him. He’s facing me, his hulking frame silhouetted in the early morning light. I reach out and run my fingers down his side, smiling to myself as he shivers, a slight rumble echoing in his chest. What muscles! It was like running my hand over one of those mannequins in the sporting goods store.
I lie there for a long time, softly running my hands up and down and over his thick shoulders and back and chest and tummy. All the while, he doesn’t wake, not even when I climb out of bed and pad into the bathroom.
In the bathroom, I click on the light and take a few minutes to examine myself in the mirror. I’m almost unrecognizable with how happy I look. Who was this woman staring back at me? I looked ten years younger, and felt fifteen. My skin is glowing, my hair shiny and no longer brittle with stress. The bags under my eyes that had plagued me for as long as I could remember are nowhere to be seen.
I run my hands down my sides, shivering as my fingers caress my skin. It’s not me touching me, it’s him. I draw in a sharp breath. Suddenly, I’m craving him, desperate to feel his body against mine.
Back in the bedroom, I climb carefully into bed. In a moment, I’ve rolled Rich onto his back and have my leg slung over his waist. Still he does not wake. I slide my hands down his chest and stomach, my fingers tracing their way to his most sensitive parts. He groans as I take hold of him.
Ever so slowly, I lower myself onto him. This, finally, does the trick. His eyes crack open. Seeing me atop him, he smiles and murmurs my name, his mind hazy with sleep. The entire time I’m working on top of him, he remains in this half-woken state.
I feel even better when we’re finished. Rolling off onto the bed, I snuggle up to him, my head on his chest, his heartbeat pulsing in my ear. It would be no trouble to live right here next to him for the rest of my days.
Only now I’m hungry. Ravenous, actually. When was the last time I had eaten? Not since breakfast yesterday. All I had had since then were a whole bunch of piña coladas and a couple of handfuls of peanuts.
Rising slowly so as not to wake my sleeping baby, I go over to my bag and fish out a bikini. It’s my last one. I was going to have to do laundry soon. I pull one of my cover-ups over it, slip on my sandals, and sneak out the door. I have my computer under my arm. I’m feeling energetic this morning. Inspired. It was finally time to start thinking about the next step.
The dining area is completely empty seeing as the day has just barely started, though the breakfast buffet is already fully stocked and open for business. A plate of fresh fruit in hand, I settle in at our table. I start by researching jobs back in Portland, though soon my search expands to other cities. Before I know it, I’m perusing listings in Seattle, Rich’s hometown. There are so many options I don’t even know where to begin. What was it I wanted to do?
What if you worked for yourself?
It’s a thought I’ve had a number of times but never really considered before. Not until now, that is. Well, why shouldn’t I work for myself? If others could, so could I, right? What did they have that I didn’t? Nothing but the willpower and the courage to chase their dreams.
After a while, tired of looking at jobs, I open up my e-mail. As expected, a response from Sophia awaits. Before opening her message, which I notice is not a response to my last message but a standalone email, I work through the rest of my inbox, clearing out the various newsletters from companies I’ve shopped from over the years. For a good twenty minutes, I browse through an online lingerie store, imagining as I scroll through the offerings what I would look like in each one. Mostly I’m picturing Rich’s face upon seeing me. How was it that that man made me want to do things for him and to him that I had never once thought about before?
Finally, the garden now bustling, I return to Sophia’s email. Hmm, how strange, I think when I open it up and see only a short greeting followed by several links to various websites. This isn’t like her normal messages at all. Where are all the words?
I click on the top link. When it loads a few seconds later and a picture of Rich sporting a full beard greets me, I cock my head to the side. Wait…what was a picture of Rich doing in an article about football?
I read through the article quickly, my eyes opening wider and wider as I work my way down the page, my mouth following suit.
“No,” I murmur. “No…”
I click on the next link in Sophia’s email. It too makes my breath catch in my chest. I click through the rest of the links, unable to believe what it is I’m reading. Rich Anderson, star quarterback, accused of sexual misconduct by long-time girlfriend. Rich Anderson involved in drunken orgies. Rich Anderson addicted to cocaine and hookers. Rich Anderson accused of beating long-time girlfriend Charlotte Humphrey in drunken hotel dispute. Rich Anderson and his purported secret tryst with former teammate. Rich Anderson allegedly pays off mother of bastard children. Rich Anderson...
“No…”
No, it couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t be…
My hands shaking, I open up a new tab and type ‘Rich Anderson’ into the search bar. Half a second later I’m staring at a list of articles, each one saying the same things. With every story comes a picture of Rich. Even with the beard, it is most definitely him.
The world is blurry, tears streaming down my face. A feeling of defeat washes over me. Of course, you idiot. Of course it had been too good to be true. Your Prince Charming was nothing more than a dream. All of it was a lie. A beautiful, beautiful lie.
I draw in a shaky breath and wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. Okay, girl. Hold it together. Hold it together. Just hold it together.
My heart feels like it has stopped cold in my chest. There’s an awful pressure right where it should be. And to think I had just slept with him! Suddenly, I feel disgusting, absolutely and utterly disgusting. I want to tear off my skin, want to throw away my body. How could I not have known? How could I not have seen?
I slam my computer shut and sit back, too astounded to do anything other than just sit there and force myself to breathe. Becca, how…why…what...
But there are no words for the feeling that has gripped me. Empty. That was the best I could describe it. I’m empty.
I want to run back to my room but can’t because he’s there, sleeping in my bed. I can’t stay here though. I had to move. There was just too much pent up inside of me. If I stayed here, I was going to explode.
Wearily, I push myself up from my seat. Not halfway up, I sink right back down. Rich has just entered the garden.
Please, I beg, knowing even as I do that it’s no use. I’m sitting at our table, after all. Please don’t see me.
His eyes meet mine and he raises his hand in greeting, a wide smile on his face.
I have no idea what to do. A part of me wants to turn and run. But I can’t. I can only stay frozen in my seat.
“Good morning, beautiful,” he says as he reaches the table. Bending down, he kisses my cheek. It takes everything in me not to shudder. “How did you sleep?”