This Could Have Been Our Song!: A coulda woulda shoulda ballad

What was that noise? Noor? Can’t be; she’s not supposed to pick me up for another... What time is it anyway? Oh my God! I either have a headache or I’m dying. But someone is definitely knocking at my door. I guess I have to see who it is. Let’s start with one eye then slowly opening the other, raising my head a little, and please make the knockings stop.

Okay, I
’m leaving the comfort of my bed now. I’m doing good. Looks like I’m not dying after all. I’m wrapping myself with a sarong and heading towards the door. I feel like I’m forgetting something, and Noor she would never be awake at – checking the clock in the living room – 9.00 a.m.! Just five hours after leaving me. She should be worse off than I am right now. She drank most of the shots. Besides, she has a key… So, who the hell is it? When was the last time I drank this much? Definitely Noor’s thirtieth in January and nothing has ever come out of our crazy nights out.

“
Yes I’m coming!” I scream back to the knocking stranger. “I heard you the first time.” I look in the peep hole. I stand corrected; something good has come out of our crazy night after all. It’s not Noor but another familiar face: a tall, dark, handsome one with a sexy five o’clock shadow and piercing hazel eyes. I knew I forgot something. Wait a minute; didn’t I just leave him in the bed? When did Marcus leave my apartment and, most importantly, why is he back?

“
Who is it?” I ask, but I know who it is. Or do I? I just met the guy last night. Maybe it’s not him. Maybe he’s still sleeping or is in the bathroom.

“
It’s Marcus. I’m back,” he answers, waiving a bag.

Well thank you for stating the obvious, Mister Handsome.
“Who?” I teasingly ask again, and what’s in the bag?

“
Very funny, Lucia,” he responds. “Open the door... Please.”

At least he remembers my name; that
’s a good start. I open the door and let him in.

“
Did you forget something?” I casually ask.

He looks at me then smiles. Did he go home and change? I
’m almost certain he wasn’t wearing jeans last night. Okay, Did
I
forget something? I’m stepping back as he’s stepping forward, still flashing that sexy, arrogant smile of his. I remember too well where that smile led to the night before. And he has changed his clothes. This is awkward; I have plans with my sisters.

“
I told you I’d be right back,” he says before handing me the bag and giving me a quick kiss on the lips. He did? I really don’t remember; must have been sleeping. I’m what my sisters call a sleep talker.

“
Happy Birthday, Luce. You look beautiful first thing in the morning.”

He
’s good; I look like an escaped mental patient. I forgot to tie my hair up and now my big curls are all over the place. I clumsily comb them with my fingers.

“
Don’t open it now. You can check after I leave. My team’s playing today but I wanted to make sure you have your gift this morning.So… It was lovely meeting you, Luce.” “Thank you. Very nice indeed,” I manage to say. At that moment my sarong slips from the back of my neck and of course, Marcus catches it as it reaches my bust. Avoiding complete eye contact, I try to take it back. I don’t know where that sudden shyness came from; I can even feel myself blushing. I’m sure he can be a gentleman about all this, right?

Wrong!
Somehow I end up getting pulled even closer. “

Yes, very
…very nice indeed, Luce,” he softly states, leaning his face down towards mine for a passionate kiss, and I wonder how you can ever know whether a kiss is great because you’re a great kisser or because you’re being kissed by a great one. Marcus is an amazing kisser; I can’t even feel the ground just his hands all over me. He’s carrying me back to my room. “What about the game?” I ask him as he gently places me on my bed.

He laughs.
“They’re not having the best season anyway. I’m sure I won’t be missed.”

I pull him toward me and take his shirt off. Oh my
… Happy birthday to me…

“So, he came back. Then what?” Noor is asking, chewing on her eggs benedict.

We had finally made it to brunch. She was only two hours late, something about her alarm clock not going off probably because she never set it. To be truthful, it was a blessing in di
sguise; Marcus left fifteen minutes before her arrival.

  
“Then, nothing. He left. His team was playing, remember?” In reality, we shared a very hot and steamy shower. I’m still nicely flustered just thinking about it.

I can barely stand the smell of my own food; I should just have ordered pancakes. But no; it
’s my birthday so I had to get the fancy dish, Eggs Baron à la carte: two eggs, fancy looking home fries, expensive-looking sausages with a very heavy mustard sauce – something I could have cooked with my eyes closed. And I’m sure it would have tasted much better.

“
I don’t believe you,” Noor says. “What kind of man will leave a naked woman?” She points her fork at me. “
This
naked woman. Please! Your breasts alone –” I stop her before she goes too far. “Noor, please! We have an audience. We spoke about this.”

She flashes me her
“I-don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-about” look with those big, dark-grey eyes, so identical to mine. The rest of her face is also the same as mine, from the button nose to the slightly rounded frame. We used to have the same mouth but Noor went for the Angelina Jolie lips a few years back. She also went for a dark-red hair color, which is still blow-dried straight from yesterday but in a ponytail. My hair is still a total mess; I didn’t have much time to do anything with it after Marcus’s departure. I did my best to control my big black curls but they refused to be tamed and we were already late. So, I went for the bohemian chick look, wrapping my head in a scarf to cover most of them up. It’s classy enough for The Four Seasons on a Saturday afternoon, but I have to say that with the red sundress, the big earrings I’m wearing and my light-brown complexion, I look like a gipsy. Noor opted for her favorite Lululemon black pants and a matching tank top; this has been a rough morning for her after all. She still looks cute, dark circle around her eyes and all.

I turn to another almost identical face at the table with us, but with no makeup or tired lines to hide, unlike Noor and me. Axelle is too quiet; her food can
’t be that good. She’s eating a smoked salmon omelet. Her hair looks perfect in its natural, light-brown shade and is cut very short. Her dark-grey eyes, nicely hidden behind her glasses, have been avoiding mine for the past fifteen minutes. She sure put her judging hat on this morning.

“
So, are you going to see him again?” she asks, finally making eye contact. She looks lovely as usual, even when she looks disappointed, dressed up in nice-fitting jeans, high heels and a designer blouse. She is about the same age our mother was when I last saw her and right now she looks exactly like her, from her current hairstyle to her light-brown, almost white, complexion. I’m suddenly very hungry and shove a big piece of sausage in my mouth. Axelle’s inquisitions never end well for me. I send a pleading look toward Noor.

“
Axelle, not all women meet the
lover
of their life at eighteen and follow him across the globe,” Noor says. “Some of us play the field, have a little fun.” She winks at me. “Or a lot of fun. Was ‘Just Marcus’ a lot of fun, Luce?”

“
So says the one who’s getting married in less than six months, on September twelfth,” Axelle responds, shifting her attention to Noor. “Don’t encourage her. She’s twenty-six now. The
fun
, as you call it, must stop at some point.”

“
Just let her live her life, Lelly. It’s not our fault if you couldn’t make it last night. You’re such a hater! But if you’d seen him, this Marcus guy… He was so yummy!” Noor teases. “Well built, brown, reddish hair, off the shoulder… And that smile… British…” Noor adds. She turns to me and I swear she’s blushing. Marcus is yummy and then some. I smile and blow her a quick kiss. She’s the best. But I know those looks; she and Axelle are not done with me yet. What have I done? And we’re not even drinking.

“
I didn’t catch the color of his eyes. What was it, Luce?” Noor asks me, all smiles. An awful wicked smile. I take it back; she’s my evil, older twin sister: four years older to be exact.