One Look At You (25 page)

“Come here,” he says as he motions for me to join him.

“I’m in charge, remember?” I remind him boldly. I kneel between his legs and cup my breast. I slowly slide the straps of my bra across my shoulders and off. The cups fall off and I see his eyes roaming hungrily over every part of my nakedness. “Suck me,” I moan and his mouth wraps around my nipple. The sight of his dark head immersed in the taut peaks of my breasts is so erotic. A searing need rises within me. He looks up at me and then trails his tongue all over each globe, the engorged tips thrust forward for his talented mouth.

I push him back on the bed and crawl above him until I straddle his face. He moves the thong to one side and I lower myself on his face. His tongue glides over me and his smooth fingers play with my juices. I groan loudly as I drown in pleasure. “That’s so good,” I say, and move my body slightly forward and backward.

“I need to get inside you now,” he says in an almost unrecognizably guttural voice.

I slide backwards over his chest and run my fingers down his chest as I squat over him. His eyes widen in surprise and I give him a little naughty look as I hold him and lower myself above him inch by inch. I put his hands on my hips and grind in circles. A sheen of sweat covers us both. My hair clings to my face and back. As if in a trance, I move up and down. Instinct has overtaken me and I just keep moving mindlessly until we reach the moment of release.

“Come closer,” I say as I pull his shoulders toward me so we can both be face-to-face. He reclaims my mouth, his tongue darting in and out. As he fondles my breasts, my hands frantically touch his back, wanting to mold myself with him. Then I feel it – the dizzying explosion of ecstasy. I cry out loudly as the uncontrollable, shuddering contractions rack my body. Soon after, I feel him clenching deep inside of me and we both collapse in the rush of intense sensation.

“Tony?” His arm is wrapped so tightly around me while he spoons me from behind.

“Hmmm?” he asks sleepily.

“I have to go.”

“Where?

“Home.”

“This is your home now,” he says with a tone of finality.

I immediately twist around to face him. “What are you talking about?”

He opens his eyes and kisses me on the tip of my nose. “Well, it will take some time before we can find a house and furnish it.”

‘I hope you’re not serious,” I say with a nervous laugh.

“Why? Do you want to stay at the hotel?”

“It’s not my decision where you should stay.”

“I want you to make it with me,” he insists.

“But why? I’ll only be coming once in a while.”

He jackknifes to a sitting position. “Are you playing with me?”

“No, but I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

“You told me you wanted to be with me.”

“Yes, but I didn’t mean it in the way you think.”

His expression clouds in anger. “So how did you mean it then?”

His reaction has taken me off guard and I carefully consider how I should answer his question. “I do want to be with you, but I cannot live with you.”

“What’s it gonna be like then? You’ll come around when you have the time or perhaps have sex when you feel like it?” His belligerence is out in the open now.

“Shouldn’t that be my line?” I ask with sarcasm.

“Livie, I’m not interested in having a series of one-night stands with you.”

“Well, they won’t be one-night stands then if there’s a series of them,” I say lightly, with an attempt at humor.

“I think you know what I mean. A short-lived affair is not what I had in mind,” he says in a serious tone.

“Don’t you think it’s ironic that you, and I quote, can’t offer me anything, yet expect me to make a commitment to you of some kind?”

“I thought you understood that if… when… Izabel comes to her senses and gives me a divorce, I will be able to make a commitment to you.”

His response floors me. I’m shocked that he is actually considering a long-term arrangement with me but, at the same time, the dispassionate, almost clinical way he expresses it – ‘make a commitment’ – leads me to conclude that he still doesn’t have a clue what I want or ‘expect’ – if I may be allowed to use that word – from this ‘relationship’… again, if I may be allowed to use that word.

“You’ll be able to make a commitment to me?” I repeat the words to his face. “What is wrong with you?” I ask, unable to comprehend what he’s saying and why he’s saying it.

“What am I not understanding?” There is an undeniable chill on the edge of his words.

“I don’t want you to make a commitment to me.”

“But, isn’t this what you want?” His brows move together in a mixture of bewilderment and antagonism.

“No, this is not what I want.”
Why doesn’t he get it?

“What then?”

“I think you know.”
I’m not gonna spell it out for you.

“What’s the problem?”

“There is only one problem, Tony.” He waits for me to continue. “You know nothing. Nothing at all.” With that, I turn around and get off the bed.

“Well I think, that can be said about you, as well,” he replies, his features cold and emotionless. I can’t be in front of him in a state of undress, so I quietly pick up my clothes and go inside the bathroom to change.

I come out and see him in a robe, taking a drink from the mini bar. He looks scornfully at me and turns his back, gulping down whatever-it-is he’s drinking.

And we’re right back where we started. It all began with me drinking and blacking out. Now it ends with him drinking to forget. There is a reason alcohol is the devil’s brew.

“Don’t forget, the new game goes into beta testing in ten days,” Eve, my superior at Happy World informs me. She has been giving me a countdown ever since I came to work here two months ago. Now we’re almost down to single digits. It’s not a bad job. I actually make more money than I did at Gallo’s, and work fewer hours. My co-workers are mostly programmers who have neither the time nor the inclination to socialize. The few non-tech workers, such as myself, are either in admin or research.

I like the anonymity of working here. I think only four people know my name. Make that five, if you add the Human Resources supervisor. I don’t answer phones or schedule appointments. My work is purely research based on parameters they provide me with. I’ve never even seen the kids from the focus groups. We hardly talk directly to one another. Eve is the only one who gives verbal reminders. Communications are strictly by email. Even then, no one has ever sent me an email asking if I want to go out for lunch or chip in to buy a gift for someone’s birthday. I keep to myself mostly, and then go home.

Usually, I have dinner with Jen. When she’s out on a date, I get take-out and eat from the box. Sometimes, I just go straight to bed and read a book until my eyes close. Mark proposed to Melanie last week. Melanie is gorgeous, but not the type Mark is usually attracted to, which goes to show that love is strange and wonderful. They started as friends and ended as lovers. And I’m so happy for them both. We celebrated their engagement by going to Cabo for the weekend. Everyone got drunk, except for me. I didn’t dare touch a single drop.

Yesterday I was surfing the business section of USAToday.com when my heart skipped a beat. There was a photograph of Tony with Maximo Gallo. Mr. Gallo has announced that he’s stepping down as CEO and Tony is taking his place. There was a paragraph about his educational and professional background, but no mention of his personal life.

Am I ever tempted to google his name for news about him? Yes, all the time. But I don’t do it because, just like a recovering addict, I want to get out of the dark side. I’m moving on, or at least trying my damnedest to. There were days when tears would start streaming down my face for no apparent reason. Then there were also days when I would just stare out the window at nothing in particular for hours on end. Once in a while, I still have those days, but they pass more quickly now.

Let me be honest. Sometimes, I think that I should have just taken what he was offering. Does it matter that he doesn’t love me? He wanted to be with me. That’s not even a bad deal. Maybe that’s as good as it gets. Other women would have exchanged places with me in an instant. But, I know myself. I would have been content, but not truly happy. My insecurities and fears would have gnawed at me. I want what every person wants – to love and be loved. I want what someone – I forget who – once said… my reality to be better than my dreams.

I never had the chance to return the painting. I did keep it and it still hangs on the wall opposite my bed. Jen disapproves. She believes I won’t ever forget and move on if a reminder of what once was is right in front of me. But, that’s just it. I don’t want to forget. Why would I want to do that? I want to remember. I choose to remember those moments and the feelings they engendered.

Mom never found out what happened. She doesn’t pry, but she knew I left Gallo’s with undue haste. From time to time, when I’m in a pensive mood, I see her looking at me quite anxiously. Maybe what they say is true – a mother can always tell.

“Livie, we’re going out to dinner tonight and we want to set you up with Chris, Mark’s banker friend. It will be a foursome,” Melanie tells me over the phone.

“Mel!”

“It’s been a lifetime. You can’t keep moping around. I don’t want you to die from heartache,” she says in her usual droll way.

“First of all, it hasn’t been a lifetime. It’s only been two months. Secondly, I’m not moping around. Okay, I do from time to time, but I’m getting better at snapping out of it. Finally, I don’t want to go out on a date, especially a blind one.”

“Why not? Chris is a great guy. He’s a banker.”

“Are you saying he’s great because he’s a banker?”

“Just a little bit. But, really, he’s a nice guy. Not one of your heartbreaker types,” she says with gleeful malice.

“I didn’t say he’s not. I don’t even know him,” I counter exasperatedly.

“How are you ever going to know him if you don’t go out with him?”

“That makes sense. But, again, you’re forgetting what I just said.”

“What is that?”

“Mel, you’re being dense.”

“And you’re being stubborn.”

“Can you blame me?”

“Ahh, yes.”

“I don’t want to go out. Period.”

“Give me a good reason why.”

“I just did.”

“Actually, you did not.”

“Because I can’t.” I so want to slam the phone down on her.

“That’s not a good reason.”

“Because I don’t want to?”

“You’re grasping at straws.”

“Okay, compromise. Ask me again in a month or two.”

“No. Because Chris is available now. And we really, really want you to meet him.”

“I’m not ready.” There, I’m using the ‘I’m not ready and because you’re my friend, you have to understand’ card.

“Says who?”

“Says me, you dummy.”

“You know I think I’m smarter than everyone, right? Ergo, I think you’re wrong.”

“I’m gonna hang up on you now.”

“Olivia, don’t you dare.” Obviously, the use of my whole name means she is close to losing it.

“You’re not gonna wear me down, Mel.”

“It’s a foursome. We’re there to chaperone you so, if there’s no chemistry, you go separate ways and it’s not embarrassing at all. We can all pretend it was just dinner with mutual friends.”

“Shut up, Mel. You’re not gonna make me. Here’s a thought. Ask Jen instead.”

“Chris is perfect for you. Not Jen.”

“You decided this based on what?”

“It’s a complicated formula.”

“Humor me then.”

“Just take my word for it.”

“No! Why would I do that when you won’t take mine?”

“You think I don’t know what’s going on with you? Jen and I talk all the time.” Her tone is serious and I don’t respond with sass. “We’re your friends. Friends don’t let friends just wither away and die,” she says dramatically.

“I don’t know if I would be good company. I really feel I’m not ready,” I say in a pleading tone.

“Please. You’re gonna have a great time, I promise,” she says in her most persuasive voice.

“I don’t want to embarrass you guys.”

“I already told you that you won’t. If there’s a lull in the conversation, I’ll say something politically incorrect to get everyone talking again. If I see you zoning out, I’ll smooth things out. Mark and I will be there for you. Don’t you get it?”

“I’ll go on one condition.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“After tonight, you will never set me up again with other guys, no matter how perfect they may be. Deal?” I ask firmly.

“Fine. Be ready at seven. Oh, and dress formally, It’s at Castro’s. Mark got us a reservation a month ago. Fortunately, he was able to add two seats for tonight.”

“Seriously? Formal wear? You’re killing me, Mel.”

She laughs. “You love me. See you later.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit much?” I ask Jen as she shows me a dress from her closet. Naturally, I have nothing to wear so I go ‘shopping’ in her wardrobe.

“For Castro’s? I think it may not be fancy enough for the place.”

It’s a beautiful strapless tea-length dress with a metallic bodice. The textured jacquard skirt has pockets and a slim belt, and is in a very pale powder blue. I love it, but I really don’t want to give Mark’s friend the wrong impression. I’m going out because this is the only way I can stop my friends from trying to run my life.

“But I don’t have any shoes to go with it.”

“On it. I already asked Mel to bring her silver sandals and matching purse.”

I look at her with astonishment.

“Nothing’s good enough for you, Liv. And, just so you know, I’m doing your hair and make-up. I’m thinking a high sophisticated ponytail and a smoky eye to contrast with the outfit’s hue.”

“You really don’t have to go to all that trouble,” I protest. “I’m going out just so Mel can stop fixing me up with men.”

“No!” Jen says vehemently. “This is your first night out in two months. At the very least, you should have fun and feel beautiful again.”

I give her a peck on the cheek and sit down before her cluttered dressing table. “I’m in your hands, fairy godmother.”