Jaded (10 page)

She looked behind her, and then back at him. He could see in her eyes that she did want help, but was too stubborn to ask.

“I should be able to get it.”

“Let me move that cabinet for you, at least.” He stepped into the room and felt her bristle a bit. He didn’t care—the woman needed his help and he was going to give it.

“You really don’t have to. I can get it.”

“You have other things to do, Isabella. This is easy for me, so let me help out at least. This is your office, so it needs to be kept nice so you can work in it. Right?”

She mulled over his words, and then nodded. “Good point.”

He went to the cabinet, aware of a noticeable spike in energy since he’d laid eyes on her. “Where do you want this?”

She pointed to a corner opposite from where it had been before. Luke tested the cabinet and realized it would have to be pushed. He grabbed a couple scraps of cardboard that were lying around and nudged them underneath the cabinet. Then he looked at Isabella and said, “This should be easier. Here, you can help.” He gestured toward the cabinet and moved to one side. “That way some big, burly guy doesn’t come in here and do all the work for you.”

She smiled, a blush entering her cheek. She moved closer to him and, without looking at him, said, “You’re not burly.”

“Well, I appreciate that. One the count of three, we move. One, two...three.”

Between the two of them, they moved the cabinet easily to the other side of the room. Once it was against the wall, Luke nudged it into place and then looked at Isabella and raised his hand for a high five.

“Good work,” he said. She high-fived him. He could sense her reluctance to engage—no doubt a residual emotion from the previous evening—but she was at least humoring him.

“Now you can still say you don’t need men in your life.” He winked at her, about to leave, then noticed a pile of ripped-up paper on the floor. “What’s this? The lost manuscript of Isabella Moreno?”

“Definitely not.” She raised a brow, appraising the pile of paper. “Just some old things I found that I’d rather never read again.”

“What, some bad poetry?”

“You could call it that. Love letters from former lovers are pretty much the same as the worst poetry ever, I’d say.”

Realization crept across his brain. “Ahh. I see.” He nodded, watching her. “From high school or something?”

She laughed. “No. From my last ex-boyfriend.” She paused and swallowed, eyes on the pile of papers. “It’s important to purge in life, right? This sort of crap doesn’t help or serve any purpose if it sticks around here.”

“Fair enough. Did he have anything interesting to say in his love letters?”

“Mostly just lies.”

Luke watched her as a flash of guilt seared through his body. Was he lying to her by not having confessed the bet? He was suddenly torn; telling her meant that he thought there was a reason he should clear the air, meaning that he wanted to be honest in case things went somewhere. But where would things go? He didn’t want a relationship—he wasn’t in that game. But he still felt he should be honest. Bottom line. He’d always done things that way, and the mere presence of this dirty little detail felt like it was staining his mind. He gulped, wondering how he could bring it up.
Sorry about your ex-boyfriend, Isabella; by the way, my buddies and I bet on you?
He needed to think about it.

“Maybe someday you’ll get a better love letter,” he said, shrugging. “Or maybe a better boyfriend.”

“Here’s hoping,” she muttered, turning back to her desk. “Thanks for helping, Luke. I appreciate it.”

“Hey, no problem. I’m happy to force you to let me help you anytime.” He grinned. “Have fun purging.” He let himself out of her office and hurried to the work van, eager to act on an idea that had occurred to him while they’d been talking about her ex-boyfriend. He was happy she was entertaining him despite their spat the night before, but he was pretty sure he’d gain a few steps with what he had in store for her.
Try all you want, Isabella, but Luke always gets what he wants.

***

Later that evening, Isabella was dividing her time between emotional cleansing, girl talk, and yoga. After a particularly vigorous Ashtanga yoga class at a beachside gym renowned for its ocean views and sparkling water, she and Lizzie were strolling the beach, at times unsteadily, between the uneven sand and their super-relaxed muscles.

“It’s been nine months and I’m still sulking about it sometimes,” Isabella lamented, sucking hard on her water bottle. She looked out toward the horizon, where the setting sun was a bloated crimson half-circle. She sighed, suddenly overwhelmed by the beauty of nature and the pointlessness of her man drama.

“You loved him, Isabella. You loved him so much and he broke your heart. You might never fully recover.”

“Great.”

“Well, it’s just something that stays with you, the same way that all important events in our lives stick with us. It doesn’t mean you won’t get over it, but he has helped shape you into the woman you are now and maybe, at least, you can be thankful for that.”

“Yeah, I’ll have to remember to send him a thank-you card,” Isabella muttered.

“And it certainly doesn’t mean you won’t find someone else, or that your perfectly tailored second half isn’t out there somewhere waiting for you.”

“All this coming from a girl just as single as I am,” Isabella said. “How do you manage to stay so optimistic, when all of our combined experiences have taught us to expect failure?”

Lizzie sighed, looking happily toward the ocean. “I’m a perpetual optimist, Isabella, you know that. I can’t change what men do to us, I can just change how I react to it. And I choose to believe that there are good people out there, similarly damaged and vulnerable like us, and that they will find us in due time.”

Isabella took her friend’s hand in her own and squeezed it gently. “Thanks, Lizzie.”

Her friend turned to her and smiled wide. Her brown hair, a deep shade of auburn in tight ringlets all over her head and halfway down her back, blew lazily in the evening breeze. She brushed back a stray hair and pinched Isabella’s cheek. “Anytime.”

“You know, I sort of broke my own rule,” Isabella said quietly, embarrassed to admit the breach of conduct. “I went out on a date with Luke, the construction guy.”

Lizzie stopped walking and looked at her, mouth agape. “No way.”

“I did. And it was the best date I’ve ever been on, I’m sorry to say. The guy is nothing like me. We come from such different places in life, and he’s honestly the crudest person I’ve ever shown an interest in.”

“So, what, he lets his underwear hang out and scratches his balls all day?” Lizzie seemed intrigued, like her friend might possibly be falling for a blatant hillbilly.

“Not like that. He’s just, not refined. I don’t know. He’s a real smooth-talker, and really smart, but, I don’t know, the world he lives in is so different from mine. He says inappropriate things, he’s been openly hitting on me since the day we met, and I’m pretty sure he’s a player.”

“Not exactly on par with your track record,” Lizzie said, who had witnessed almost all of her most serious relationships.

“Exactly. But that’s not all. We went on the date, which was bending the rules, but then we started to, you know, hook up back at my house, which totally destroyed the rules.”

Lizzie’s mouth once again fell open in shock and their steps slowed to a crawl. “Ms. Celibate takes a bite from the apple, I see!”

Isabella grinned. “We didn’t go all the way...I stopped it pretty fast. But, Lizzie, I can’t tell you how sexy this man is. As soon as he was gone, I was hitting myself over the head. He’s unspeakably gorgeous. And I know we don’t usually find the same men attractive but...I think you’ll be inclined to agree on this one.”

“I have to meet him,” she whispered, watching Isabella with wide eyes, as though she’d just revealed she were having sex with a merman.

“You will.” She sighed. “I have a feeling he’s not done trying to seduce me. Luckily, he’s so cocky and rude sometimes that it keeps me from falling to his feet whenever he enters the room. I just can’t figure him out. Sometimes he’s sweet and endearing, and the rest of the time he is a total pig.”

“I suppose this is what happens when you enter my world,” Lizzie said, raising her brows. She was referring to the marked difference in their upbringings. While the two of them enjoyed similar post-graduate lifestyles, Lizzie had not been bred in a fast-paced world of beauty and wealth. She frequently commented on the differences in the men they dated—how Isabella’s type seemed to hail from money and important last names, while Lizzie’s type hailed from football associations and only one important last name, Budweiser. “Unfortunately, I can’t give you any advice; these men are just as obtuse and incomprehensible as the rest.”

“Well, I’m back on the wagon now,” Isabella said, “so it shouldn’t matter. I need more time away from the whole dating scene. I think that’s obvious.” The two girls were coming back to the parking lot of the gym and digging for keys. “And thanks for the talk. I really needed to hear a voice of reason.”

The friends embraced and said their goodbyes. On her way home through the humid evening air, top down and hair flying happily behind her, Isabella was unsettled to find that any thoughts of her botched night with Luke still inspired remorse and a raging fire between her legs. The yard was empty when she pulled into her driveway, as Luke and his crew had left hours ago. She hadn’t propositioned him to stay longer, and he hadn’t asked. Maybe the crazy sexual attraction was over, or at least she could pretend it was until the fire died down.

She breezed into the house, noticing that even after a half-day of being away, things had become slightly unrecognizable. Walls were missing, beams were perpetually being exposed, and it seemed the ladder was the new mainstay in her décor.

Again her mind wandered to the night before, back to the intense...breathtaking...
insanely
sexually charged date. The man held a power over her that she’d never experienced with any other lover. And where she’d found the resolve to abandon him on the bed, at that crucial moment between flirty kissing and lusty, mind-blowing lovemaking...well, she might never know.

And why? Why did you leave in the middle of it? And why did you make up that terrible lie about not liking him?

In retrospect, she knew she’d said that only to rationalize her guilt, to lessen her attraction and make it seem—to him, and herself on the surface, she supposed—like it didn’t matter to her.

But it did. It mattered so much. She wanted him with her right now, she wanted to explore that insane sexual energy, and she wanted to stretch it to its limits. What if he felt the same way? Ever since their discussion at the restaurant, she had been dying to know
everything
about him. Luke was mysterious, and intelligent, and—god, he was everything.

And he was a terribly great kisser.

Isabella shivered and headed to her bedroom. She’d get to bed early and then get an early start in the morning. Get up before the crew got there and do laundry, wash dishes, and maybe even weed the garden or something crazy like that.

She trudged up the staircase, still finding thoughts of Luke flitting through her mind like lightning bugs at dusk, flicks of light here and there, without a precise location, but ever-present.

She flopped onto her bed and buried her face in her pillow, hugging it closer to her. As she did, she heard something rustle beneath it.

“What the—?” She moved her hand beneath her pillow and found a small folded piece of paper. She sat up, heart flopping in her chest as she looked it over. There was nothing written on the outside, but upon opening it she realized that whoever wrote it had faint, scrawling handwriting and a curious habit of capitalizing all their A’s.

Dear Isabella,

I know you’re sad about that last guy you were with. But don’t be. I don’t know much about relationships, and I know even less about love. But if that’s what you think love is like, then maybe you haven’t really found it. From what I’ve heard, love is something great and indescribable. It doesn’t make you cry in your bed for weeks or months or years. It doesn’t make you hate men.

But whatever true love is supposed to be like, just stop thinking about it. If you like someone, maybe you shouldn’t lie to them. And if you want to see something happen with them, maybe you should invite them to your house during non-work hours more often. Maybe you could get rid of all your relationship books to convince them you’re serious about it too. These are just some suggestions.

In all honesty, I really like you and I have since I first met you. I only try because there is something indescribable about you. You’re the first woman I’ve told about Luke Titus Peterson in I don’t know how long. I know how you feel about dating and I’ve tried to change your mind, but the only reason I keep trying is because I really like you. I would hate myself if I didn’t try.

Maybe this letter can be filed in the “good poetry” cabinet.

- Luke

Isabella set the letter down, shocked. She stared into space for a while, feeling tiny tears prick the corners of her eyes. Her stomach knotted as she reread the letter, a mixture of breathless disbelief and happiness and confusion, and with a sigh she let it flutter to the bed beside her.

Despite her best efforts, Luke was digging his own little spot in her heart.

***

The next morning, Isabella couldn’t decide how to feel. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to throw her arms around Luke and hug him to death or never speak to him again. She couldn’t help but rehearse possible conversations in her mind as she dressed, limbs feeling awkward and sluggish as she shifted between potential elation and dismay. She smiled coyly in the mirror and then assessed her look of stern disapproval. Nothing seemed right. And looking to herself for the answer was no help. Her mind told her to avoid him—the temptation was too great and her future seemed much more stable and non-tumultuous without any male influences. But he had done something so kind, so blatantly sweet, that she was willing to postpone that elusive future stability for a chance to understand Luke more completely.