Forgotten Yesterday (8 page)

“What? You didn’t want to be on top?” I smiled against his grin.

“It’s my birthday.” He smugly placed his hands behind his head. “My choice. I get what I want.”

“Is that right? Well, I hope you like your choice.”

I sat up and straddled his waist, tossing my hair while arching my back. Adjusting myself over him, I inhaled and lowered my body slowly until he was settled deep within me.

I rolled my hips leisurely at first, savoring the feeling, while palming his chest with one hand and gliding the other up my stomach.

“Good choice,” he stated, watching my hand as it continued upward toward my breast. “Amazing choice.”

“Good,” I moaned. “So good.”

I leaned down to kiss him, but he tilted his head and took my nipple in his mouth instead. He cupped both of my breasts and his touch sent a warm sensation to my bones—exciting and enticing me more than I expected. My hips rocked harder in response.

“God, you feel good,” he groaned. “So good.”

He grabbed my ass, hard, pulling me down on him over and over.

“Ruby…” he panted.

“Oh, god.”

I kneaded my fingers into his hair, teased his mouth with mine, and continued to move my hips until we both reached that moment—that indescribable moment where we lost ourselves to each other.

~Present~

I jostle slightly in my seat when the bus makes a left hand turn. The chilly windowpane cools my cheek. Sitting up, I vacantly stare ahead, waiting for my stop.

I can’t deny that things were really good between us. Brent and I were something special. There’s no doubt in my mind about that. I haven’t felt remotely that way about anyone since him. Not that I’m looking or trying to find someone, but for me, Brent really is the one that all others compare. It’s not a conscious comparison. But while I have dated other people since he and I broke up, no one has ever made my heart soar like him.

The bus announces my stop and I get off onto Michigan Avenue. Veering around the corner, the wind blows fiercely and I see nothing but the crisp blue lake before me. My footsteps quicken, racing to find refuge from the bitter air. When I reach the door, I’m greeted by the doorman and take comfort from the heated awning.

I smooth down my hair as I enter into the lobby, searching for a place to sit. There’s a group of upholstered chairs near the stairs. I unbutton my coat, shove my gloves into my pocket, and take a seat. Pulling out my phone, I see that I have ten minutes left to spare. I text Brent letting him know that I’m here and waiting in the lobby.

Tucking my phone back into my purse, I sit back and wait as patiently as possible. I fidget with the cuffs on my sleeves and tame my wind-blown hair some more. I cross my legs and bounce the top one over and over, unable to keep still.

Sensing him even before he’s even in my field of vision, I turn and see Brent walking in my direction. His stride is confident and strong. Not stiff, but not casual either. He’s wearing a pair of charcoal grey slacks and a dark green shirt, which is almost the same color as my dress. In one hand, he carries a black leather jacket.

I attempt
not
to smile, but my mouth betrays me when his expression ignites. Standing up, I grab my bag off of the chair and wait for him to meet me.

“Hi,” I say, adjusting the strap of the purse on my shoulder. The scent of his cologne intoxicates my senses.

“Hi,” he replies, shrugging on his jacket. “So, you said you know of a place we could go?”

“Yeah, it’s just down the street, but not too far.”

“You ready?”

“Sure.”

He waves his hand toward the door signaling for me to lead the way. I start out, fastening up my jacket as we descend a small grouping of steps.

“So, is this where you’re staying while you’re in town?” I ask, referring to the hotel.

“Yeah. The whole team is here.”

“Ah, I see.” I play with end of my scarf. “It’s nice.”

“The hotel? Yeah and the location is good, too.”

We make our way out of the hotel and tread silently together to the end of the street. When we reach the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change, Brent steps out in front of me so we’re face-to-face.

“This is weird, right?” he asks. “I mean, it’s not just me, is it?”

I let out a relaxed laugh, my tense shoulders dropping. “It’s completely weird. You have no idea what I was thinking about on the way here.”

“What?” he asks, captivated.

I shake my head, tossing my hair along my shoulders. “Your birthday.”

He tightens his lips, forcing them into a hard line, withholding…something.

“At The Drake,” I continue.

“Oh, I knew what you meant.” He wipes his hand over his mouth. “I was thinking about it all last night.”

I laugh harder. “No wonder you had trouble sleeping.”

“No kidding.”

The light changes indicating we can cross the street and I step off the curb with Brent next to me. When we’re almost to the other side, his hand touches my lower back and my stomach drops.

My heart wants to soar.

Nine

We ascend the escalator to the sixth floor of the shopping mall located on Michigan Avenue. Brent keeps his hands in his pockets, and so do I, but acutely notice our proximity to one another.

I’ve only been to this restaurant a few times before, but the food is really good. The first time I came here was with my cousin, Cody, when he came to visit about a year ago. The reviews were intriguing, so I convinced him that we should give it a try. My cousin called the food “snooty,” but found a way to devour every bite.
He always has been a lot of hot air.

At the host stand, we check in. There isn’t a wait and we’re soon lead through the restaurant toward a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook Michigan Avenue. The hostess gestures to an empty table right along the view. I shrug out of my coat, hang it on the chair and then take a seat. Brent does the same. She hands us each a menu and tells us our server will be right over. 

My nerves are more noticeable now that we’re sitting and unmoving. I open the menu and pick the first item that looks mildly appetizing, unable to give a lot of thought to eating, and then sit back watching Brent’s eyes sift through the food choices. He puckers his lips a few times and their tiny movements mesmerize me. His fingertips rub the outside of the menu over and over. I can’t help but smile. He’s nervous too. 

“What are you smiling at?” he questions, still focused on the menu.

Caught, I relax my cheeks.

“Nothing,” I reply a little too quickly.

He smiles widely, releasing those wicked dimples and continues to look through the menu.

Knowing that I won’t be able to keep my unabashed ogling and curiosity under control, I stare out the window into the grey street bustling with early morning shoppers and tourists. People watching is always a good distraction. This morning, the sidewalk is filled with couples bundled together in their wool and leather coats, adorned with scarves, hats, and gloves. 

Out of my peripheral vision, I see Brent has finished searching through the menu and is sitting back in his seat, watching me. 

“What are you looking at?” he questions.

“People.” I reply, still angled toward the street below. “They seem so different from up here.”

Brent leans over in his seat, to gaze out the window. I dare to glance in his direction—and another—and another until I openly watching him. He’s lost in what’s happening below and I’m lost in his profile.

I can’t seem to help myself.

In the daylight, there’s a different side of him to take in. Since we’ve come back in contact, I’ve only seen him in the dim lights of the restaurant. This morning, I’m enthralled by all of his features captured by the early light. His deliberately messy styled midnight hair. His prominent nose, which used to be a little too big that now, fits in with the rest of his face. His mouth, that despite his defined jaw and chin, remains relaxed—soft.

With an imaginary finger, I trace the side of his neck to where it meets the green collar of his shirt. There, ever so faint, is a small nick from shaving. It’s a reminder that he’s real. Not perfect and calm, like he often exudes. Those were the things I loved about him the most—his humanity underneath all of his perceived perfection.

He always made heads turn, but all I ever saw was the way he looked at me, until that day we could no longer look at each other.

Brent swiftly snaps his head in my direction and I’m caught gawking, once again. He raises an eyebrow.

“Did you notice we’re wearing almost the same color?” I ask, redirecting. 

“No,” he says with jest, settling back into his seat.

“We look like one of
those
couples.”

Brent unfolds the cloth napkin and lays it across his lap, not countering.
Maybe the couple remark was too much.
I didn’t mean anything by it. I was trying to be funny. Apparently, he didn’t get the joke, or didn’t like it. 

Our waitress comes by and takes our orders. Brent orders a Belgian waffle with a side of fruit and I get an omelet. Then we’re left alone, with nothing left to do other than “catch up.”

I fold my hands in my lap, twirling my thumbs, examining the plate on the table. It’s white porcelain, nothing special, with minor imperfections due to the heating process.

Brent clears his throat and I lift my eyes to meet his through my lashes. 

“So,” he starts. “What’s new?”

I laugh. I don’t even know what he’s asking me. Does he want to know about the last four years, or the last four days?

“I think you need to be more specific than that,” I tell him humorously.

“You know what I mean.”
And there’s that charming smile.

I sigh, giving him a look.

“All right,” he chuckles. “Seriously though, how have you been?”

“Honestly.” I smooth my hands over my lap. “I’m doing really good and I can’t complain. I’m back at school, life is pretty steady and I’m on track to graduate this spring. Nothing too exciting, which is a good thing.”

“Is that why you came back to Chicago? For school?

“Sort of.”

“And you didn’t have any trouble getting back in?”

“No. They were really great about it. I had to take a few extra classes, but it was a pretty smooth re-entry.”

“Yeah,” he huffs. “That doesn’t surprise me. You always did have the grades despite everything.”

I become stagnant, not sure how to react.
That sounded like a jab. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.” He runs his hand along the cutlery on the table. “This is harder than I thought it would be.”

Dropping my shoulders, I lean my forearms on the table, clasping my hands in front of me. “What? Talking to me?”

“Yeah. I thought...I don’t know what I thought.”

I’m not sure why, but I reach out my hand and place it on top of his as he continues to play with the silverware. He stills at my touch and so do I.

“Let’s start over,” I offer softly. I’m not sure what I mean exactly as the words cross my lips. It could be construed to just this conversation or to us in general. I’m unable to commit to either thought fully, which is a dangerous feeling. 

Not wanting to draw out the heart pounding tension any longer, or allow myself down that dangerous road, I pull my hand back to join the other. 

“How’s your brother doing?” I ask, changing the subject. 

Brent sits up straighter. “He’s good. Cohen got into UNC and has about two years left. He ended up going into chemical engineering and plans on applying to grad schools soon. Guess he got all the brains in the family.”

“That’s not true,” I object. “You got into a good school and you’re smart.” I tap the table a few times. “Plus, who cares? You get to do what you love and most people can’t say that. Can you honestly tell me that you’d rather sit in an office all day rather than play soccer for a living?”

“Hell no,” he chuckles. “I can’t even imagine.”

“See. It all worked out for the best.” 

Brent tongues the inside of his cheek, glaring at his plate. Maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say, either.
Man, I’m batting a thousand with him right now.
Catching up like this
is
hard. There’s no handbook for this shit. Someone should make one.

“So how are your parents?” I ask, keeping the conversation rolling. “Are they doing well?”

“Yeah. My mom moved to Seattle a couple of years ago for work. They offered her a promotion with the West Coast division. And my dad, he remarried just last year. He met her, Julie’s her name, online on one of those singles sites. They live up in northern Michigan now. I try to visit them both once a year.”

“So, I take it you never go back to...” I trail off, referring to where we grew up.

“No, no reason to.”

The waitress comes by with our drinks. She leaves and we sip our beverages, filling the void of dialogue.

“So how about you?” Brent asks, as he sets his glass back on the table. “How’s your dad?”

“He’s...” I glare at my napkin. My chest feels heavy. It’s not that I’m embarrassed about what has happened.
I’ve come to terms with it.
However, a weight still presses down anytime I have to share my father’s whereabouts with anyone. Brent already knows so much about my dad and his issues of addiction. But this, this is something beyond what most people want to hear or could even fathom. “He’s doing well all things considered.” I adjust a little in my seat, waiting for the words to feel comfortable coming out of my mouth.

“Is everything okay?” Brent asks, attentive. 

“Yeah, it’s fine. It’s just.” I look him straight in the eye. I want to see his reaction. Whenever I tell someone this, the first reaction is the one I care about the most. “He’s in prison.”

Shock glimmers over his face and then I can see the reality of the situation register. Compassion takes over as he holds my attention. He doesn’t move, but I do. Adjusting the napkin in my lap and then playing with the ends of my hair as Brent continues to spear me with his eyes. I sit. I sit forever it seems, waiting for some reaction. Everyone always has one.