Wanted Always (Xander Barns) (7 page)

Chapter
Four

*Demetria*

Upon our arrangement, my cell number was
programed into Xander’s phone at once.

Here’s where the picture doesn’t make any
sense, I received the news of Xander’s spontaneous arrival at around 11am; it
is now 8:30 pm, and my cell has sat motionless beside me on my bed while I’ve
been awaiting the phone call I knew was going to happen.

It didn’t happen.

My fingers clench automatically into tight
fists, digging into the comforter as my eyes close. I try to remind myself that
he is probably just busy and will call me as soon as he is done with the many
charities he works free of charge while visiting Ottawa.

That’s the kind of man he is: sweet,
caring, giving, generous, everything I want in a man, a potential partner, all
for life.

There is no other way around it; he and I
are meant to be, with or without a phone call. I snap my eyes open and unclench
my fists, bringing them up and pushing my wild curly hair to the sides.

Suddenly, an idea pops into my head; a
brilliant one, if I do say so myself. If he is not going to come to me, I’m
going to go to him. There’s nothing better than a surprise home visit; one I am
sure he will appreciate. And why wouldn’t he? I am the one for him, and he
should be overjoyed upon seeing his one and only after so long. I know where he
stays usually when he is in town, considering I had met him numerous times at
the same hotel, in the same room in downtown Ottawa.

I fling myself off the bed with adrenaline
coursing through my veins, excitedly making my way to my locked door. I unlock
it and swing it open fast.

“Mother!” I yell into the dark hallway.
“Mother!”

After a few seconds, the sound of her
expensive Louboutin’s click against the marble staircase. “Yes, darling, I’m
coming. No need to shout; Mommy’s coming!” she calls out, beginning to sound
more and more out of breath as she completes the trek up the stairs. I cross my
arms impatiently over my chest.

What is taking her so long?
I hear her feet shuffle down our long
hallway.

“Hurry up! I don’t have all day!” I
command curtly as she comes to a halt in front of me. My mother is really an
older version of myself. Wild, dark-brown curly hair and white alabaster skin
that would rival the smoothest surfaces of the world (thanks to the best
dermatologist in Canada). She isn’t as tall as I am; I’m 5’9”. And let’s not
forget our eyes, which are a deep blue.

Yeah, we are pretty like that, everything
a man could ever want. That’s why Daddy is always away for work; he has to work
constantly to support our extravagant lifestyle. He cares for us. That’s why he
works so much; and I’m sure Mother has no problem with his absence. I, on the
other hand, have been in constant pain without my one and only. I yearn for his
strong arms to hold me at night, and it’s been so long since I’ve been within
reach of him. Honestly, it’s been dreadful; I would practically be suicidal if
I didn’t love myself so much.

“Yes, darling, is everything okay?” Mother
asks concerned.

I stare at her for a few seconds, and then
tilt my neck to the side abruptly, creating a quick cracking sound.

“I need a ride downtown in half an hour.
Do you understand?” I narrow my eyes as I make my demands.

Mother’s eyes widen for a moment; it’s
nearly nine at night. It’s been so long since I’ve been out at that time, many,
many months actually.

“Out now?” Mother asks, obviously confused
at the sudden change of my nightly habits. Normally, about now, I’d have been
preparing for bed, considering most nights I get about ten hours of beauty
sleep.

“Did you just question one of my
requests?” I ask her slowly, holding a hand to my heart as my jaw literally
drops in shock.

Oh no, this just won’t do! I blink
repeatedly at her; it could have been a few seconds or a whole minute; all I
know is the next words out of her mouth had better involve an apology.

“Of course not, darling, my apologies. You
know Mommy is not like those other mothers who want to get in the way of their
daughter’s fun!” Mother exclaims, horrified at the mess she almost got herself
into.

That’s what I thought.

“I need a ride in half an hour; do you
understand?” I ask her again. This time slowly, enunciating each word so she
understands with great clarity, these are instructions I don’t have time for
her to dwell on and configure. I need things to get done, like now.

Mother visibly takes in a deep breath
before doing the right thing and nodding her understanding.

“Very good!” I take a step back and slam
the door in her face, locking it at once.

There, one obstacle completed. Now that my
ride is arranged, I need to choose an amazing outfit, one that will make his
jaw drop and make him never want to have me out of his sight again. This also
includes what my baby loves the most, and I’d find it all in my bottom right
hand dresser drawer, which I conveniently keep supplied with brand new undergarments,
at least ten new pieces a week at the very least. I didn’t know when I’d get
the call to be at my darling’s service, and I know that he loves certain
clothing items best suited for my shape; but that doesn’t even matter, because
if
he
loves it, then so shall I…always.

Anyone who has a problem with that would
have to deal with me. I don’t like it when people who don’t understand his
passions make swift ridiculous judgments. They’d never understand because they
don’t know what love is…and I do.

Chapter
Five

*Marisa*

I am so
hungry!

For the
millionth time, I’m reminded of how hungry I really am.

My stomach
grumbles loud enough that my sister stops in the middle of telling me about her
school year so far and she bursts out laughing.

“Marisa, what
was that?” Darcy laughs loudly, showcasing her invisible braces that she got
just before I left for Toronto.

I pat my
stomach in response and look at her sheepishly. “I’m so hungry, Darcy,” I
murmur.

“Didn’t you eat
something before coming? Or what about the appetizers? Fried shrimp; I saw it
earlier, and you love shrimp!” Darcy says loudly.

Thanks,
sis.
Now I’m back to thinking about the shrimp appetizer I passed up when I
first arrived inside. And on that note, I’ve been drinking a cranberry-vodka
drink on an empty stomach. This is not good. I’m beginning to sway slowly from
side–to-side.

My body is
feeling warm all of a sudden. I don’t want to start sweating, especially in my
fab dress. Getting drunk also means my senses won’t be as strong, and I need to
be strong tonight. There is no way I’m conceding, even if Ben’s eyes still did
that sexy twinkle thing that made my body want to just give in.

Don’t
think about Ben, especially his sweet eyes. Lovely eyes. Just don’t.

Go back
to thinking about food!

I’m
starving. That’s right. That’s why I’m weak right now, weak and a little bit
buzzed. I should not be drinking on an empty stomach; what is wrong with me?

The smell of
savory tomato sauce and meat take control of the air around me. My eyes want to
roll back, but I stop them by putting them to the task of finding the food that
I smell.

Oh glorious
food, where art thou! My eyes stop searching as I find the location of the
food. Across the dance floor, in the corner of the room, I spot long
rectangular tables with steam escaping the platters spread across them. Right
beside the buffet sits my biggest problem: Ben’s table. Along with the rest of
the people our age, Ben sits with his empty cup in front of him. He laughs
loudly and his face turns red.

This is just
great; another splendid way to make things even more awkward. There is no way I
can get to the buffet tables without walking past his table; and I know if I
do, I will become the subject of conversation at that table.

I don’t like
to be stared at, especially from behind. I know he would stare at me, or even
worse, come join me in line and make small talk. Maybe even try and win me back
with his schmooze talk, thinking I’m the same girl just putting on a front for
him.

I mean
business, and this girl
did
change. I changed for the better and I’m not
going back, no way, no how! I glance around the room as the partygoers get up
and make their way to the buffet. There’s soon a line wrapped around the room.

Just great!
Either I’ll have to wait for the line to die down, or take my chances and join,
in hopes that it will be faster.

I need to
make a choice now. The kids at this table are getting up; I’d stick out like a
sore thumb at the table all by myself while everyone is waiting in line.

I do not
want to stand out. I get up and smooth my dress down in the process. From this
distance, I see Ben and the rest of his table get up at the same time. I follow
Darcy across the dance floor. From the corner of my eye, I keep an eye on Ben,
making sure that I won’t get stuck behind him, or him behind me. I’d slow down
or hurry up in either case. Thankfully, Ben and his table join the line and a
few other people quickly join behind him. That means I will be far enough away
from him.

Thank God! I
don’t know how long the line will take. The line is moving; the DJ begins a
big-band track and I lean against the wall as Darcy and the rest of the kids
grumble how hungry they are. I sneak a peek at Ben and his tablemates, careful
not to seem like I’m staring.

Did he get
taller? Did his shoulders grow wider? Has he been pumping iron? He fills out
his jacket nicely, and unfortunately, looks really good.

Too good. In
fact, if I wasn’t so hungry, I’d say mouth–watering. I quickly look away from
his broadened shoulders in fear of combusting.

Imagine if
he turned around and looked me dead in the eye. I think I would just grab him
at that point, and take him to one of the empty banquet rooms to take care of
business.

Oh God! Now
I’m salivating for ex-boyfriend sex. Just great; I’m horny now. I suck in some
air; hopefully, the oxygen will give my brain the clarity it needs to make the
right choices.

I wait. The
nerves don’t die down, and now I feel restless and annoyed that I have nothing
to suppress these feelings. I’m low. Ben better not come near me; I don’t know
if I have it in me not to pounce. I hold onto the wall behind me for support,
moving along with the line. All of a sudden, my body feels tingly, and a memory
from the past takes over my thoughts.

The last
time we had sex.

****

“Hey Johnny!”
a
familiar voice says, interrupting the
aftereffects of remembering the last time I had sex. Unfortunately for me, the
familiar voice belongs to the person who just gave me an orgasm in my memory.

Ben.

What the hell
does
he want all the way over here?

I feel heat rush every pore of my face.
Careful not to look up, my eyes are melting with lust
.
I can literally feel every emotion from that last
time. Who knows what he’d take from that expression?

Maybe hope?

That would be conceding, even if my body
welcomed a quick concede to dim down some of my restless nerves. I keep looking
at the floor, waiting for Ben to leave.

This is going to be torture. My body sways
to the right as Ben’s voice takes presence in my space.

“Johnny, don’t forget to take your pills,”
Ben says to his brother.

“Dude, I know, you don’t have to remind
me!” Johnny replies, exasperated, his voice clearly embarrassed from the call
out.

Yeah Ben, he knows!

Why couldn’t he just text him or do a hand
signal from his spot way ahead in the line? I mean, he didn’t have to leave his
spot just to remind his brother of something he clearly didn’t need reminding
of.

Maybe he just wanted an excuse to make eye
contact with me? Well, if that is the case, then he’s out of luck, because my
vision is not going to leave the floor. The floor and I, we have a thing going.
Focus.

“Alright, alright. Just
,
reminding you, little bro,” Ben says. A
few seconds of stalling and I sense that he has turned back and headed toward
his spot.

Thank God! I glance up quickly and find
Darcy and Ben’s sister
are
staring
at me with a knowing smile.

What?!

“Why are guys staring at me like that?” I
narrow my eyes and look down at them. Give them a couple of years and I know
I’ll soon be looking up at them.

I got the shit genes. I quickly glance at
Cameron; just a normal big sister habit of checking on my siblings. That’s my
first mistake. As I glance at my brother, who is in the direct line of sight of
Ben, my ex just happens to turn his head right at the moment.

Great. He’s
,
going to think I’m staring at him, which I am now.
His beautiful eyes take control over mine in an instant, and for a moment
,
I think I spot sadness.

Am I dreaming? Does he look sad? I blink
away the spell he’s trying to cast and look away. It’s a good thing some of
that heated memory has melted away, or else I’d have some explaining to do
later when he thinks there could be something that isn’t there anymore.

There is nothing there anymore! I just
have to keep reminding myself of that. Please, let me have the willpower to
stand against him and not surrender.

Please, I’m calling on a higher power
here; if you’re out there, give this girl here some mojo to be able to swing
back at her cheating ex.

And I don’t care if it was just a kiss! I
don’t care that he thinks I shouldn’t have made it out to be bigger than it
was. And I especially don’t care that we were fighting that week, and things
hadn’t been good in a while because I wasn’t pulling my end of the deal.

I was and am. I was and am! If that makes
sense. This girl will change when she sees fit. Not for anyone. Especially not
for cheating, ‘It was just a drunken kiss’ ex-boyfriends. The line progresses
forward as the DJ changes to a more relaxed big-band track. My mom probably
made the order, thinking something light and fun would be more appropriate
while all her important guests ate this high-class food.

Speaking of high-class food, what did she
pick for this buffet? After a few minutes waiting in the line, I finally stand
in front of the plates and cutlery table. I pick up a lightly warmed plate,
with a napkin wrapped cutlery medley. I’m jumping with anticipation; I’ve never
been this happy to eat.

First table is two selections of salads, a
mixed green, and a Caesar. I smile happily, approving both choices. I grab some
Caesar salad and put it on my plate.

Next table.

The first tray has steam coming out of it.
I smell something tomato-y and cheesy; I hope it’s lasagna or some sort of
pasta. Workers from the kitchen stand behind each tray, spooning out equal
amounts onto everyone’s plate. I halt in front of the first and peer into it to
see what is smelling so good.

It smells so good; that is, until I
actually see what it is.

“What is that?” I ask the food attendant,
horrified at the cheese covered pancake shaped vegetable.

“Eggplant Parmesan,” the food attendant
quickly answers, and my eyes widen at the same time my mouth drops. I quickly
close it and pull my plate back.

I hate eggplant! Mom knows this! I inhale
through my nose and quickly shake it off. It could just be a coincidence;
perhaps it’s the facility’s specialty, and knowing Mom, she always wants the
best.

Even if it’s fucking Eggplant Parmesan!

“No, thank you.” I quickly move to the
next tray. It’s some sort of rice dish, but it looks gooey and sticky. There is
also some sort of white meat sticking out of it.

“What’s that?” I ask the next attendant,
while trying to mask the look of confused disgust on my face.

“That is squid risotto, the attendant
answers. My plate jerks back at the word squid.

Squid! How could she? This time I’m unable
to hide the look of distain from my face; I have stomach issues whenever I eat
anything from the octopus family. Again, Mom knows this.

Next table. There are three more trays on
this table and I stop in front of the first one, praying that it’s something I
can actually eat. I peer over the tray then look away while desperately trying
to hold back the frustrated groan that’s been stewing since I passed the salad
bowls.

Onions. Lots and lots of onions cover some
kind of meat, I think chicken. I let out a small breath before asking the
million dollar question again.

“What’s that?” I ask the third food
attendant, an older woman who looks like she’s on the cusp of retirement.

“Chicken and onions,” she answers tiredly,
which is also code for ‘Bitch, if you don’t want it, move on’. Fuck!

All I hear is ‘onions’, and I cry silently
as I cling my plate to my body.

I hate onions. Yet again, Mom knows this.
So why would she have a tray with chicken and onions? And who makes a dish with
just chicken and onions, anyway? I don’t care if it turns out to be a specialty
of this place; it’s fucking gross.

But I’m hungry.

“Can you give me the chicken with
absolutely no onions on it?” I ask the woman. She peers into the tray and moves
things around with her tongs.

“I’ll do my best,” she says, then grabs a
piece of chicken with the least amount of onions on it and places it onto my
plate. I look back and forth between the chicken that still had onions on it,
and the woman, horrified and confused that maybe she didn’t understand what I
asked her.

There are onions everywhere, on the
chicken and on my plate! I look at her and she lightly shrugs her shoulders as
if to say ‘What can you do? This is life!’ and looks past me to the person
behind me.

Fuck! I’d have to do some careful
maneuvering when I went back to the table. All I know is if one piece of that
disgusting vegetable gets into my mouth, there will be hell to pay.

Don’t mess with me when it comes to
onions. It’s bad enough that she had eggplant, then squid, which I couldn’t
eat. But to pick a dish with onions as a main star, knowing full well how much
I hated them? That is mean and it is deliberate. I quickly twist my neck and
search the room for her, finding her seated at her special table, laughing it
up with her people, eating this poor excuse for food.

Look up and face me! I urged her silently,
hoping she’d look up and catch my death glare. She doesn’t.

“Are you going?” The person behind me
asks, breaking my focus. I shake it off. I turn to them.