Illusions Complete Series (3 page)

“I….” There were no other words. I blinked rapidly, coming out of my brief catatonia.

He was finally standing up, his hand out. I stood up too, and he grabbed my hand and smiled.

I still couldn’t speak.

“I paid the bill. Let’s go get my car, and I’ll drive you to yours.”

I dazedly followed. He opened the door, and the night air brought me a little bit more to my senses. It was still over 90 degrees, even though it was 11:30. He held my hand as we walked down the street. I could still feel my hand trembling a little. My legs felt like spaghetti.

He was talking. “Now, with mountain biking, you just have to feel like you are in control. You have to make the bike and the trails your bitch. That's the secret. Don’t worry, you'll get the hang of it. We'll begin you on the slightest grade of trail, although you'll soon get bored with that, and want to graduate to a bigger trail. But I don’t want to rush you.”

I must've had a look of horror on my face when he said that, because he hurriedly added “but only if you feel comfortable.”

God, I feel dumb. Why couldn’t I talk?

We were soon at his car, and I felt even more intimidated. The guy had a brand new Porsche 911.
What the hell is he doing with me?
 

He opened the car door. As I started to get into the door, he put his hands on my shoulders. Then he put one hand in my hair as he leaned to kiss me again. His tongue was slowly exploring inside my mouth. I was aware that I wasn’t breathing again. I was also aware of his heartbeat, which was surprisingly loud. The kiss was longer and deeper than the one in the restaurant. The jolt of electricity that I felt during the first kiss was stronger now, coursing completely through my body. My heart was beating fast and hard. His kiss remained soft, his lips feathering on mine, his tongue lightly gliding just inside my mouth.

He was an amazing kisser.

After what seemed like an eternity, he broke away. I looked up, and he was looking down at me, smiling, his hand still in my hair. I was aware that his other hand was around my waist gently. My breath caught. I was still shaking. Smiling, he gestured for me to get into the car. I stumbled into the front seat, my legs giving way beneath me. I was vaguely aware that he was fastening my seatbelt, then getting into the driver’s seat next to me. Once he got into the driver’s seat, he leaned over and kissed me again, feathery, light. Then we were off.

We drove in silence to my car, which was a beat-up 15-year-old RAV4 named Priscilla, because she was purple. I still didn't have words, and he was probably tired of trying to fill the silence. But, at every stop light, he would gently take his hand off the steering wheel, and place it in my hair, gently running his hands through my mane, and sometimes stroking my cheek.

We finally arrived at the battered car, but I somehow didn’t feel embarrassed about it. And it wasn’t until I arrived home that night, after driving home with the radio on, feeling that every love song was written especially for me, that I came down to earth. He had kissed me again before I got into my car. His kisses were tender, sweet. He was very respectful, keeping his hands around my waist and in my hair. That kiss at my car lasted awhile.

I wanted it to last forever.

However, getting home somewhat brought me back down. Madison, my kitty cat, gave me her usual greeting when I came in the door, which was pawing the cork disk on the floor while mewing. I looked around the apartment. It wasn’t a bad apartment, really, just quite small. I had painted the walls a dark shade of green in the living room (there wasn’t a dining room), and the bedroom was painted a dark shade of rose. Above the fireplace was an enormous Andy Warhol print of Jacqueline Kennedy. I wasn't really a fan of either Warhol or Jackie Kennedy, but, for some reason, that particular picture drew me in, and I had to have it.

My bed was strewn with clothes, both dirty and clean, and I really didn’t feel like throwing the clothes on the floor so that I could sleep. So, I plopped on the couch and thought about the night. Was I dreaming it all? 

Then, just before I was about to fall asleep, the phone rang. It was him. “I just wanted to call and wish you a good night.”

“Yes, thank you for tonight,” was all I could manage to say.

“Iris?”

“Yes?”

“I think I might be falling in love with you.”

I didn’t even run my negative loop in my head -
too soon, don’t be crazy, he just wants to get you into bed again.
“Um, yes, I’ll see you tomorrow,” I managed to mumble, stunned once again.

“Tomorrow. Remember, the bike is your bitch.”

I laughed. “Yes, my bitch.”

“Good night beautiful.”

“’Night.” We hung up, and I drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Four

Ryan arrived at my apartment at 8 AM, just like he said. I had come down a little since the previous evening, but I couldn’t bring myself to clean up the apartment. I was too wired.

And, oh, God, I didn’t have biking shorts! I couldn’t possibly bike without biking shorts! 

He was knocking at the door. I shut my bedroom door (my clothes were still all over the bed). At this point, I had to find my keys, as they went missing sometime during the night, and my cell phone, which went missing somewhere else during the night. I tore around the apartment, lifting up magazines and newspapers, throwing everything out of drawers, tossing the couch cushions, over and over again. Somehow, I kept looking in the exact same places about 20 times, as if they would somehow magically appear in these places, when they clearly were not there before.

“Just a second!” I called.
Shit, where are these goddamned things?
I opened up the refrigerator, and there were my keys.
Go figure.
Which gave me an idea – I climbed up on the counter to look on top of the fridge, and my cell phone was there.
Bizarre.
I got the idea to look on top of the fridge because it occurred to me that I might have put the cell phone up there, because years ago I put a pair of glasses on top of the fridge. Of course, I was drunk at the time. But, last night, I was drunker than I had ever been. Not literally, just high from the evening.

I opened the door, breathless. “Gosh, I am so sorry. I overslept. Um, I can’t go.”

He looked perplexed. “How come?”

“I wasn’t thinking last night. I don’t have a pair of biking shorts.”

“Ah, well, you aren’t getting out of this so easily, my friend.” He was smiling impishly.

“What do you mean?”

“I picked up a pair of biking shorts for you.”

“This morning? Already?”

“Yeah. Dick’s is open early.”

I wasn’t aware of this. Somehow, I was suspicious that he got the shorts yesterday afternoon.
Presumptuous.
Or, god forbid, he bought them for somebody else.
Whatever.

“Huh. What's the real story?”

“You caught me. Actually, I have a friend who knows the owner of Dick’s. I called in a favor, and asked him if he would let me shop early this morning, before the store opened.”

I was impressed.

“Just a sec, let me bring them up and make sure that they fit.” And he was gone.

In about a minute, he was back, shorts in one hand, his other hand behind his back.

“Here, try these on.”

“Ok, but you can’t come in.”
He can’t possibly be ready for cyclone alley, as my mother would say.

He looked perplexed. I suddenly realized that I was supposed to notice his hand behind his back and ask him about this. “Whatcha got there behind your back?”

His impish smile was back. “Well, this is a cliché, but I am very much a romantic.” And he then produced a dozen red roses from behind his back.

I was shaking again. Just when I was starting to regain my composure around this guy, and he produces roses. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I received flowers of any kind from anybody. “Oh, these are beautiful. Let me find a vase to put them in. Wait there, though.”
Why, why, why didn’t I clean up the apartment before he got here? What is wrong with me? He probably thinks I am the world’s rudest person.

I dashed into the apartment. No vase. I hauled out an empty wine bottle from the trash can, smashed the top of the bottle, filled it with water, and put the roses in that.
That will have to do for now. Must remember to buy a vase.
Then I had to sweep the galley kitchen floor, because I was liable to step on glass with my bare feet, and Madison might get glass in her delicate paws. “Sweet kitty,” I said, picking her up, getting momentarily distracted. She purred loudly in my ear.

Next order of business was putting on the shorts. They fit perfectly. I threw on a t-shirt, then realized that Ryan’s bike probably had clip pedals. Luckily, I had an old pair of clip shoes and threw them on. However, I couldn’t find my helmet.

On my way out the door, I grabbed a Slim Fast shake, shook it up, and downed it.
That’s all you are going to have until lunch time.

I opened the door. Ryan was chatting with my across the hall neighbor. Funny, she never even said hello to me. Ever. She was giggling animatedly, flipping her hair, batting her eyelashes.
Give me a fucking break.
I looked at her, and she looked back. Daggers from her.
Bitch.

Ryan immediately turned his attention to me. “Well, Sheila, it was good to meet you.”

“You too,” she said, giggling and hair flipping. Eyelash batting.

Turning to me, Ryan asked “How did the shorts work?” I then noticed that he had a pair of clip shoes in his hand, and a helmet in the other hand.

“Great, great. Wow, you really think of everything.”

“Well, I see that you already have the shoes. But do you need this helmet, at least?”

I nodded. “I can’t find mine anywhere.” He handed me the helmet, and I adjusted it to fit my head. “Actually, let me see those shoes. Those look nicer than mine.” And, indeed they were. I put them on. They fit better than mine as well. “You get all these things at Dick’s this morning?”

“Yeah. I realized after I went home last night that I didn’t ask you if you had the right gear, so I just decided to pick this stuff up, just in case. I'm glad that I did.”

“Everything actually fits perfectly,” I said, thinking about the irony of him bringing me shoes that fit perfectly. Cinderella popped into my head for a brief moment.

“Groovy. Then let’s get going.” I smiled at his use of the word “groovy.”
Maybe we are going to get along after all.

Once in the car, Ryan grabbed my hand, and kissed it, then kissed me. “I know that this is going to sound crazy, but I missed you last night after I left.”

Crazy isn’t the word for that. There are no words for that.

We drove along in silence for a few minutes. I was back to my speechless mode. This was all so bizarre to me. I mean, I had experienced this kind of crazy ardor before, usually from some weaselly loser who won’t stop calling me. Never from somebody like Ryan.

“What’s on your mind?” Ryan asked, driving.

“I am just trying to figure out what it is that you see in me.”

Ryan smiled. “That’s easy. You're fun. You're real. You’re passionate. You're damned sexy. And you're beautiful.”

I blushed, finally beginning to believe that he was really into me, and I wasn't on an episode of
Punk'd
after all.

We got to his trails, and I immediately felt that the whole scenario was not for me. For one thing, I was terrified of going down the trails. We started out on some flat trails, and this was fine. I could roll along and keep up. However, when it came to the steep downhill trails with all the rocks and branches, I couldn’t go down them because I was too fearful. The few times I tried, I wiped out and landed painfully on rocks. Ryan was always very good about this, coming to my aid, and he was ready with some bandages and Neosporin, but I ended up with a great deal of road rash for my efforts.

And biking up these steep hills? Forget about it, although Ryan was an expert at all of this. I watched his sinewy legs peddling up those hills, and I momentarily forgot my misery. Only momentarily, though.

Finally, we arrived at one of the streams that he was talking about earlier. He had a lunch ready, with turkey sandwiches and granola bars. We got our water bottles out of the cages on the side of our bikes, and sat down beneath a tree.

“So, how're you doing, beautiful?” he asked with a gentle smile. I saw him looking at the road rash sympathetically.

“I don’t know if this is for me.” I felt defeated.

He smiled. “Relax. We can try again, if you like. If you don’t, it’s no biggie. Really. Honestly.”

I shook my head skeptically, remembering that we had talked about how he loved to ski last night as well. Ryan told me that he skied black diamonds. I had to Google this, not knowing what black diamonds were, then found out that they were the most difficult course. “I don’t ski, either,” I said, miserably.
This guy is going to get so bored with me.

“Sweetheart, it's ok. I like you. I don’t care if you're not into adventure sports. I'm impressed that you're trying this. Most girls wouldn’t.” He tousled my hair, and lay down on the ground next to me. He patted the ground, and I lay down as well. He kissed me slowly, lightly, and the familiar jolt of electricity coursed through my body. I had to admit that I didn’t recall ever feeling this way about anybody else before. At least not this amount of electricity. I understood that he was feeling just as much electricity, because I could sense it from him.

We lay there for a little while, kissing passionately, yet innocently. I found myself wanting him to strip off my clothes right then and there, and explore my body eagerly with his tongue.

Looking into my eyes, Ryan said “We should probably get going before it starts getting dark. Uh, the trail exits onto the street, which might be better than taking the trail all the way back. I think you've had enough of mountain biking for the day.”

Truer words were never spoken. So, we followed the trail for a little bit, then were soon out on the street. We biked the 10 miles back to the car on the street, me struggling to keep up, but not wanting him to know that. I wanted him to think that I was better than I really was.