KNOT: A Wake Family Novel (4 page)

So when said company began applying pressure to my twenty-four-year-old self, self being one who loved to dabble in women like some dabble in do-it-yourself projects, I was forced to listen.

I’d never been flashy about my fraternizations. I was a one woman at a time type of guy, and the women I saw privately were like-minded. Career focused, but also needing release in the form of sex. It’s no secret that when working in high-stakes business, stress can be abundant. Sex was a remedy for the tension.

Being focused on work like I had been, it wouldn’t have been fair to a woman who was looking for more than what I had to offer anyway. I was careful to find company with those of a similar mindset. Believe me, there were plenty of women in the dating pool who weren’t interested in anything serious.

Women of our generation didn’t just let the men handle it—at least the ones I knew. They were smart. Motivated. A lot of them single, most with no children. Ambitious and aggressive in the workplace, but lucky for me, they loved letting go in the bedroom.

Yet, they were climbers—just like me—and I respected that. They didn’t want to tag along to my work functions. They had obligations of their own. They weren’t interested in spending a lot of time with me, they had lives, too.

No. What they wanted was a weekend on Lake Michigan once in a while. A nice hotel with a spa. Good food and light conversation. Then, they wanted their eyes to roll back in their head as I made them come until I was satisfied to stop.

In those years, I’d casually dated a few who’d liked what I liked. They’d come and go, always on good terms. We’d all practiced the same open-door sexual politics. When I was in a relationship of sorts I only asked one thing—I wanted to be the only one they were with.

Besides, I wasn’t aimed at the domestic life yet. I wasn’t ready to be responsible for taking care of a family—one hundred percent—the way my dad had. I was still focused on work. Building a foundation for the future.

But as I moved up, the future crept closer and closer.

Still, the picture they wanted to see painted wasn’t the worst thing, and I was mature, so I understood. The company wanted to see me settled. I was a young commodity they didn’t want jumping around. They were under the impression that if you give a man a good woman and some children, you’d see someone dedicated to providing everything they could for them.

That was almost always the case. Those were the kind of men my firm was interested in. The invested kind.

I liked that about them. And, for the most part, that’s how I was. I took care of things. I managed things. If you were looking for someone responsible, you’d find I fit the bill.

I was an honest and dependable employee. Yet, I was a bachelor.

So there I was, on a date with well-educated, fresh-faced Lauren—well, almost.

It was eight thirty-four, and I’d only just seen her walk through the doors.

I watched her as the host finished with another couple before he could show her to our table. She smoothed shaky hands over her clothes and pinched her cheeks. She was aware she was late.

That helped.

The waiter came by and dropped off my beer, and before he left, I requested, “Can you please bring a bottle of Abeja Cabernet Sauvignon, and two glasses?” I’d noted it on the wine list when I’d first been seated.

He looked behind himself and saw her looking in our direction as she waved, then he gave me a relieved grin.

That’s right. I wasn’t stood up, friend.

My eyebrow cocked at him, and I smiled confidently.

“Right away,” he answered.

Lauren was an ideal woman. She was a young lawyer, still working as a paralegal, until a spot opened up, at a firm in the same building as Price-McClellan downtown. She walked to our table slowly, her light pink pea coat hid her skirt but revealed two beautiful legs.

If it wasn’t for being our first date, I would have allowed myself to fantasize about them spread apart, her bent over my bed, as I patiently talked to her, waiting and watching her grow wet for me from a chair.

I loved getting a woman turned on before I ever touched her.

But it was our first date, so I took a firm hold of the reins and didn’t let the fantasy continue.

Well, I didn’t dwell on it anyway.

Her curly light-brown hair was perfectly disciplined as if each curl were one twisted ribbon. She had brown eyes and a petite little frame that made my mouth water. Very attractive.

When she arrived at the table, she apologized, “Sorry, I’m so damn late. I couldn’t get a cab, so I walked from about ten blocks down. I guess it
wasn’t
as close as I remembered it.”

She still looked mildly out of breath, so I gave her the benefit of the doubt. I could respect someone who wasn’t comfortable waiting, for a cab
or date
. Whatever the case may be, I liked that she walked, instantly going to Plan B when needed.

I got over her tardiness immediately as she regretfully smiled at me.

“I hate being late, too,” I admitted, but in a nice way. I hadn’t been waiting to have dinner with someone only to turn around and be a dick to them.

I stood to kiss her cheek, then helped her with her wool coat, handing it to the waiter who was once again there at our table with our wine.

I’d see how the night went to decide if I wanted a second date. Nevertheless, I felt optimistic from my attraction to her.

“Thanks again for inviting me out. I rarely go anywhere,” she confessed. She placed her hands together on top of the table, and then, when she noticed it, took a drink of her water. She seemed parched from her walk.

“So, Lauren, are you from Chicago?”

She nodded as she swallowed before talking. “Kind of.” She gingerly sat the water glass back down on the white linen tablecloth. “I’m from about an hour south of here, but I’ve been coming downtown all my life. So I’m familiar, but I didn’t grow up in the city.”

Her lips turned up as she spoke about both her youth and the city. I could tell by the way she spoke, she liked Chicago; and she’d had a pretty good childhood if I were a betting man.

Body language, for a man like me, was a second language.

“Makes perfect sense. I hope you like Cabernet Sauvignon.”

“Thank you, I do,” she admitted and tipped her head. She was cute. Beautiful, but in a very classic way.

“You’re welcome. You look lovely,” I told her, hoping she’d know there weren’t any hard feelings. Besides, it was the truth, and women should be told they’re beautiful when it applies. I’d seen her many times in the building, but always after work and probably not at her best. I’m sure I looked like hell on some nights after a twelve or fourteen-hour day, too, but that evening she looked refreshed.

Flattered, she harbored a bashful smile.

The waiter arrived, and I motioned for him to offer her the taste. He obliged, and she approved. After our glasses were filled, he bowed a little and left us two single-sided menus.

“You look nice, too. All dark hair, dark eyes. I mean, I don’t want to sound silly, but I was a little shocked you wanted to go to dinner with
me
.”

She wasn’t blowing shit, and in that honest moment, I saw something in her face that reminded me of my younger sister, Blake.

It chilled my attraction, but at the same time relaxed me.

Maybe settling down, the way my job wanted me to, would be like that. Comfortable and mild. Tame. I took a deep breath and recognized it
could
have its merits. I was a lot more laid back with my family than I was at work, and therefore it would probably be good for me.

I undid the button on my coat, sat back in my chair, and took a drink.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m a confident woman. You’re just so… I don’t know…
you
,” she confessed. I liked the way she was candid with me, and how at ease she was.

I smiled as I tipped the green mouth of my beer bottle toward my chest. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.”

We’d ridden the elevator down together on a few occasions, exchanging names on the third or fourth time. That led to intermittent small talk about weekend plans, which then turned into me asking her out the day Justin informed me what the partners were
really
looking for.

It felt like the right time to do the right thing, and sitting there with her was pleasant enough.

She took a deep breath and exhaled quickly. “I thought you were way out of my league.”

“I’m not out of anyone’s league,” I reassured her. Although, if I wasn’t going to get physical with her that night, a firm stroke of my ego was a welcomed alternative.

Then, I considered changing my mind about the physical bit.

I’d never really liked sleeping with a woman on the first date, even with the casual women in my past. Sure, if I met someone in a club or at a bar, and I wasn’t seeing someone exclusively, then sex wasn’t off the table. But going to dinner and having a date, of sorts, was different in my book.

Besides, I’d learned that in those cases, when a woman was respected on the first date, it resulted in them trusting you that much more when things did get heated.

I liked being trusted—with all things.

Plus, it was like it turned them on even more. I fucking loved a turned on woman who handed herself over to me.

“What do you like to eat? They have an excellent prime rib here,” I said, changing the subject. I enjoyed praise, but I wasn’t a narcissist. I knew when enough was enough.

“That sounds good,” she answered and picked up her menu to read over the selections.

We ordered dinner—she chose the prime rib on her own—and everything went very well. Barring the fact that she was late, I’d had a good time and planned on asking her out again.

When I pulled up at her building, which was kind of a haul, all the way up north of Wrigley, I put the car in park and turned it off to let her out. Still, I had no plans of going inside.

“Lauren, I had a really nice time tonight,” I told her as I helped her out of my passenger seat.

I appreciated how she waited to get out, and in doing so, she let me get her door. It meant she could anticipate me. If she wanted a second date, I’d let her know how much I valued that intuition.

“So did I. Again, thank you for inviting me.” She didn’t bat her eyelashes, nor did she shift nervously. Instead, she leaned in and planted me with a rough kiss.

That’s where it all ended for me. Full stop.

Her mouth swallowed mine. She stuck her tongue inside and lunged it around.

What in the hell?

Who kissed like that?

Never mind her taking the lead, which I admittedly didn’t like, but it was a God-awful kiss. Waiting for it to end, I didn’t offer much in return. I didn’t even close my eyes because I was so shocked by it.

When she pulled away, obviously feeling differently than I had, her eyes were all lit up, but, sadly, that was our first—
and last
—kiss.

A shy kisser can bloom, opening up to a phenomenal kisser.

A kisser like Lauren was a mess. All movement, no feeling. Almost mechanical. There were no dynamics to it, unlike with most girls. No working your way to the good part. Which I can admit gets a little steamy, even wet sometimes.

Simply going from not kissing to car wash like she had, well there was no helping that.

Not interested.

“It was a great night. I’ll see you,” I said, leaving the statement noncommittal. She may not have been out of my league, but her mouth
was
out of control.

You see, I loved control.

She’d been late. That was forgivable.

She was a terrible kisser, which was not.

Time to move along.

Another date.

Another girl.

Another night in a club, and taking someone home to scratch an itch. It was becoming unsatisfying.

Some dates were good and led to a second date. Some dates were good, and the women launched our relationship right into picking out China patterns.

What was with that?

Maybe I was meant to be a bachelor, I thought as I looked out of my corner office window. Maybe I wasn’t cut out for a relationship.

Who the fuck knew?

The facts were: I wasn’t finding anyone who I was drawn to, and I wasn’t getting fucked on a regular basis because of the search. Realistically, I wasn’t getting promoted anytime soon; I’d just made junior that year.

After some thought, I decided I was going back to my old ways for a while. I’d just be quieter about it.

I’d spent months of going at it from the gentlemanly approach, I wasn’t finding success. Besides, I didn’t have much time to dedicate to it anymore. I was moving into my new apartment soon, and I’d acquired my first large commercial account.

The timing for a new relationship was off, and timing was everything.