Made to Love (17 page)

Reagan

               
September 19, 2003 started out much like
the countless days that had come before it.  After Buddy had stopped coming
around, Mom had seemed to emerge from whatever drugged cloud she’d been living
under, and began to put forth an effort.  Small, and not nearly enough, but an
effort nonetheless.

                The visitors had diminished to just a
faithful few that came three or four times a week. The havoc Naomi Casteele had
put on her body through her constant whoring and drug use had begun to manifest
itself in lifeless, tired eyes, the occasional small sore on her face, the pale
skin and the muscle that had gone soft.  Perhaps her regulars had decided she
was no longer worth the time and money. 

                At any rate, she’d started to come out of
her room more.  She didn’t speak much to us; the occasional ‘thank you’ when I
handed her a plate of whatever it was we’d managed to scrape together for
dinner that night, or a “hi” when we returned from school, were often the only
words spoken.  But we’d settled into a routine of watching television together
in the evenings on the nights she didn’t have any visitors.  She’d even gone so
far as to leave a few tens on the kitchen table, although sporadic,  for our
food needs so Jacob didn’t have to steal that week to keep us fed.  Like I
said, the efforts weren’t nearly enough, but they were there.

                I’d often wondered if she’d ever known
about Buddy’s visits to me.  The first time she had made a feeble attempt to
embrace me, I had reacted by slapping her across the face.  I’d done it before
I could stop myself, my heart pounding so hard and loud I hadn’t been able to
think clearly.  She’d slapped me back, but then her eyes had welled with tears
as she stared at me for several long moments.  She’d shuffled off to her room,
and nothing had ever been said.  But I’d wondered if she’d known, and if she’d
even cared.  Surely she’d understood that something had happened to cause her
daughter to react like I’d done when she’d touched me.  It wasn’t normal.  But
then, had she even had a grasp on what was normal anymore?  Perhaps she’d
suspected, but had been afraid of the truth and that’s why she’d retreated in
tears.  Or perhaps she’d just been upset that I’d slapped her, and her tears
were more for her own hurt feelings than out of any concern for me.  

                On the morning of September 19, 2003, I had
woken early and set about making a sandwich for Jacob, Alex and myself, using up
the last of the bread Jacob had managed to snag from the outlet bread store. 
Mom wasn’t up yet, but she’d had a visitor the night before, so that wasn’t
uncommon.  Jacob, Alex and I had headed out for school, our one-sandwich lunch
in hand.  Just like the day before, and the day before that.

                It wasn’t until we’d arrived back home from
school and Mom was still in her room that I began to feel a niggling sense of
foreboding.  Her staying in her room all day used to be her norm, but for the
last several months, she would at least be laying on the couch when we came
in.  Jacob had taken Alex outside to play, while I had pushed my worry aside,
and fixed a meager dinner of Ramen. 

                Dusk was approaching when I had finally
made the move to tap on her door.  Receiving no response, I had turned the
handle and entered the room, something I very rarely ever did.  It was then
that I learned September 19, 2003 was unlike any other day of my life, and
would forever be seared in my memory. 

                My mother, Naomi Casteele, was dead.       

The next week passed in a whirlwind. 

                I had woken up the morning after my late night
phone call from Nathan, to find a message from Isaac requesting I come home
immediately.  Apparently my mid-morning meeting with Tyler and his associates
had been rescheduled for a later date.

                My initial reaction to the news had been to
freak the hell out.  What was wrong that I had needed to come home so
suddenly?  Had Tyler reported back to Elite that I was completely inept?  I had
flown back to New York, nervous and upset.  I had tried to contact Nathan, but
had only received his voicemail.

                I needn’t have worried though.  Things with
Tyler and his hotel had been fine, and my job intact.  I had given an update on
the Winston Suites project to Isaac and then jumped back into the swing of
things at work. 

                And then there was Nathan. 

He’d been good on his word, and we’d spent
the entire Saturday, after my return, together.  He’d taken me to some bistro
in downtown Manhattan for a late lunch, and then we’d spent the evening in
Central Park.  We’d ended the evening at a blues club; some hole in the wall
place we’d seen as Nathan was maneuvering through traffic.  We’d laughed, danced,
and talked about everything and nothing for hours, and I’d fallen into bed that
night exhausted, but insanely happy.

That started the next week filled with those
insanely happy moments.  We easily fell into a routine.  He’d meet me in the
lobby at Elite each morning, a caramel macchiato in hand, and we’d ride the
elevator together until I exited on the eighth floor, while he continued to his
office.  We didn’t see each other much throughout the day at work, both of our
schedules not allowing for it.  Which was really for the best, since I still
had reservations about our friendship being misconstrued and therefore causing
problems for me at work.  So he’d taken to ‘checking in’ via instant message or
text several times throughout the day.  My heart fluttered and I couldn’t
contain the cheesy grin that came every time his name popped up on my screen or
cell. 

And we’d spent almost every evening this last
week together.  Dinner, the movies, driving around in hopes of finding another
good dive bar. . .being spontaneous.  Spontaneity, having a friend like Nathan,
all of it was new to me.  But I was slowly learning to become accustomed to
it. 

Being with Nathan was thrilling, and not just
because I teetered on the edge of wanting to rip his clothes off every single
second I was with him.  Which was true.  The sexual tension had not lessened
between us, but instead remained there like a downed electrical wire that
sizzled and sprayed sparks if one got too close.  Every meeting of the eyes,
how I touched his arm too much and often unnecessarily, how he placed his hand
on the small of my back as we walked into a restaurant, or when he’d reach up
to brush the hair from my face. . .all of it was as if we couldn’t help
ourselves.  We knew there had been this barrier erected between us; this friend
zone that I wasn’t yet ready to come out of, so we each danced around it, never
completely crossing the line, but coming as close as we could. 

But that alone wasn’t the only thrilling
part.  It was the efforts Nathan was putting into our friendship, things he was
doing to make me feel comfortable and at ease with the limits I had placed on
us.  I had sensed on more than one occasion this last week that Nathan wanted
to kiss me, but he hadn’t (to my disappointment!).  He was doing his best to
respect my friends only rule, as hard as it had to be for him.  The desire was
there, I could see it. . .feel it.  But he seemed to sense my need to take it
slow.  Which didn’t mean that he wasn’t calling me the second I left work,
ready to get started on our evening adventures.  As a friend, he did like to monopolize,
but I wasn’t complaining.  I didn’t feel like my day truly began until I left
the office and was with him. 

It seemed something had changed the night of
our late night phone call.  I was learning about him, his likes and dislikes,
what made him,
him. 
But most of all, and more importantly, I was
learning to trust him.  

It was Friday morning, a week after my return
from Vegas.  Nathan had uncharacteristically escorted me right to my office
door, under the guise of getting yet another update on one of my various
projects.  The truth was I had just declined his offer of dinner at some fancy
French restaurant he wanted to take me to, and had clearly thrown him for a
loop.  Our elevator ride had been too short for him to find out why.

“What do you mean, no?”  He followed me into
my office and shut the door behind him, despite my warning look not to. 

“I kinda had something else in mind,” I
answered.  “Can you open the door?”

“No.  What do you have in mind?”

Stubborn, much?

I did my best to glare at him, but then
conceded.  It was relatively early, and much of the department hadn’t made it
in yet anyway.   “Well, I was wondering if we could eat in instead.”  It was an
idea I’d been mulling over in my head the last few days.  Brooke was still
gone, so I didn’t have to worry about that, and after all the fun and
excitement he’d shown me the last week, I wanted to do something nice for him
in return.  Cooking him dinner was all I could come up with, but that in itself
was huge.  It was something I’d never done for a man before. 

Nathan raised an eyebrow as he leaned against
my office door, one hand in his pants pocket.  “Eat in?  Okay.  Where?”

“My place?”  I hadn’t meant it to come out as
a question, but I was suddenly attacked with the crazy notion that he would
think it was a dumb idea.  The man was used to dining at five-star restaurants,
so perhaps the idea of a home-cooked meal held no appeal. 

He tilted his head to the side slightly as
his mouth curved into a smile, dimples creasing in all their glory.  “Your
place,” he repeated.  “Does this mean you’re cooking or should I bring some
take-out menus?”

“Of course, I’m cooking,” I shot back.  “Is
that a yes?”

Nathan didn’t immediately reply, but instead
stared at me a moment, and I watched as his pupils dilated.  The air around us
shifted and I was instantly aware of how close we were standing.  I needed to
only lean in and my breasts would be pressed against his chest.

When had I walked over so close?

My gaze fell to his mouth.  The full lips
that I knew from experience were hot, soft and biteable were close.  Oh, so
very close. 

I didn’t think; I just
did
.

I leaned in, placed a hand on the side of his
neck and touched my lips to his.  Every nerve ending in my body immediately
stood at attention.  This. 
This
is what I needed.

If Nathan was dumbfounded at my sudden
boldness, he didn’t waste time trying to reason it out.  Although he continued
to lean against the door and his hand remained in his pocket, the second my
tongue darted out to touch his lips, his mouth opened and he instantly became
the predator.  His other hand reached up and tangled itself in my hair, and
pulled slightly, making me feverish with desire.  Our breath mingled as our
tongues danced in tandem with each other, exploring, licking, while our teeth
gently nipped and scraped at bottom lips.

His breath hitched as I stepped even closer
to him, feeling the evidence of his desire pressed against my lower belly.  His
hand slid from my hair down across my collarbone and lightly grazed the
sensitive skin of my breast, my nipple pebbling in his palm beneath the
constricting fabric of my dress.  He gently squeezed as I reached down and
stroked his hard length beneath his pants, and sucked his bottom lip into my
mouth. 

He stood up abruptly, away from the door and
tore his mouth from mine, breathing in short, shallow gasps.  My hand fell
away, as he brought my forehead to his and we stood there, eyes closed and
hearts beating rapidly in sync.

“Shit!” he whispered, his fingers clenching
in my hair.  He was painfully hard, the feel of him hot against me.  I ached between
my legs, wet and throbbing, at the knowledge that what I needed. .. .wanted. .
. was here within my grasp. 

Except we were at work.  In my office, where
anyone could knock or just come in.

And we were supposed to be just friends.

“I know, right?”  My voice was shaky, coming
out in a breathless whisper. 

“Reagan, I . . .this isn’t. . .” 

“I know.  I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have.  I
just—“

His hand tightened on my hair as he pressed
my forehead harder against his.  It was as if he was hugging me, without
actually doing it.  “Don’t apologize.  Please, not that.  You can’t possibly
know how much I’ve wanted to. . .” he stopped, and inhaled deeply, his
breathing seeming to come back under control. 

He raised his head away from mine, and kissed
my forehead before stepping away.  I opened my eyes and peered up at him, not
knowing what to say or where to go from here.  It was obvious that by throwing
myself at him, I had just negated everything I’d ever said about remaining just
friends. 

Did this mean I was ready to move into
something more?  To actually
date
Nathan?  I didn’t know.  I wasn’t
thinking when I kissed him; I’d just done it.  I hadn’t been thinking about
what it would mean for the two of us. 

Some of the slight panic I was now feeling
must have registered on my face.  Nathan nodded once, reaching over to brush a
few strands of hair away from my face.  “Dinner at your place sounds
wonderful.  Is seven okay?”

I wanted to kiss him again in that moment. 
How did he always know how to put me at ease? 

“It’s perfect.”  I stepped further away from
him, creating some distance between us before I did something ridiculous like
bite his bottom lip again.

“Then I will see you at seven.  It’s a date.”

There was an edge to his tone, as if he was
asking if it was okay to consider tonight a date; an actual, real date.  It was
a loaded statement, and one that had the potential to change the very
definition of our relationship.