Impulses (50 page)

Her words are a wrecking-ball that collides with my stomach, knocking all the air from my lungs, winding me for the briefest of moments. I never contemplated until now, how much Jessie has sacrificed for me.

“Oh, Jess…” my heart swells with a tangible guilt that I feel it rise into my throat, marred by the bitter taste of remorse. Wretched, I shake my head and tighten my brow, yet she continues to smile. Her altruistic act is one I’ll never forget and will always be indebted to her for that. “You needn’t worry, no more.” Reaching up, I caress Hayden’s hand, which still massages my shoulder. “I am happy, we’re strong. I’ve changed. If I was a horse, I could quite happily say you both broke me in. Please, it’s your time to be happy.”

Extending my free arm over the width of the white surface of the bar, I grasp her hand and glare at her with wide, solemn eyes. I’m rewarded with a tightlipped smile and an assuring nod.

“That reminds me, have you asked him yet?” Jessie glances up at Hayden, who is still working wonders at getting those knots out of my shoulders.

“Asked me what?”

“Nope, not yet,” I shake my head, and wince concurrently. “I haven’t found the right time.” A feeble excuse, I know. But to be honest, I feel a little nervous about asking him. My mouth turns to cotton and butterflies perform the Okie Koki in my stomach when the words are pushed to the front of my mind.

Get a grip, woman! It’s not like you are asking him to marry you,
my subconscious crosses her arms and her mouth forms a ridiculous, overstated pout.

“Ask me what?” Hayden repeats himself, surrendering to a low snicker as he fails to hide his tickled curiosity.

Twisting around on the stool, I guide him around to sit his might-fine ass on the vacant seat beside me. Grasping both his hands and resting them on his thighs, I sigh heavily and swallow the burning sensation that is leisurely rising at the back of my throat.

“Do you have any traditions for Thanksgiving?”

“Not anymore.” His thwarted words scarcely caress my ears. His chocolate eyes are glossy like a rich fondue. Even when he is saddened, he still looks beautiful. His dark, silken wave rests against the right of his brow.

I sheath my teeth with my lips then, with hefty reluctance allow them to roll free. “I know it is short notice, but would you like to spend Thanksgiving, here? With me…I mean…us?” I glance through the hatch at Jessie, before focusing back on Hayden.

Short notice…? No shit, Sherlock,
my subconscious mocks.

Point taken, Thanksgiving is in two days, but at least I asked him.

Looking dazed, he finally succumbs to a megawatt beam. “I would love to. Thank you,” he retorts, both his expression and tone overflowing with gratitude.

Pulling me up from the stool, I fall forward into the vacant space between Hayden’s legs. He enslaves me in a tight, expressive embrace, while I take advantage of the moment and let my hands wander haphazardly up and down the distinguished physique of his back and broad shoulders.

“So it’s settled then. Although, it is customary for the guest to provide the dessert––at least, it is in this house.” Pursing my lips, I flash a questionable glare in her direction, as she remains stooped over the countertop.

“Well, of course. You wouldn’t think I would turn up empty handed, do you?”

“So, sweetie, it looks as though you are relieved from duty this year.” Hayden furrows his brow. Pointing her index finger at me once, she continues, “Sammy always does the dessert. No matter how full you are, guaranteed, you will go for second helpings.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, Jessie. I’m lucky I had a good tutor,” I counter flippantly as I pull away from Hayden’s grasp and turn on my heel. Strolling to the small corridor passed the dining table I peek over my shoulder. “Are you going to turn in, too, honey?” I arch a perfectly threaded eyebrow and flaunt a salacious grin at my target.

Without delay, Hayden is soon behind me, his powerful arms winding around my middle as his chin rests against my shoulder. “Night Jess,” we call back in unison as we head for my bedroom.

“Goodnight, lovebirds. Oh, and show some consideration for the single tenants of the apartment. Put some damn socks behind the headboard.”

I am slowly pulled away from unconsciousness. Regardless how much I struggle to stay in my fantasy world, of white houses and picket fences with strong hands massaging me, my body overpowers my wishes, and reels my mind back to reality.

Hearing muffled voices, I flutter my eyelids while stretching my limbs and arching my back off the bed. I see the door at the foot of the bed ajar. The voices beyond my room turn to lighthearted chuckles. I strain my ears to identify what is being said, but it is of no use, it’s far too early to eavesdrop from such a distance.

I glance across the empty side of the bed, toward the window. The sky a miserable, gloomy gray; raindrops splutter against the glass and trickle down the surface, leaving shimmering stripes behind them.

 Pushing myself out of the bed, I throw on my black and gold, oriental style, pyjama shorts and black camisole, brush my teeth and trudge out of my room.

“You’re up? I was just about to bring you coffee.” Hayden stands on the left corner of the breakfast bar and holds up a steaming cup for me to inspect.

“Good morning, sweetie,” Jessie’s lively voice pierces through my skull like an axe-pick to my temple. I love her, but you would think after all these years living together, she would at least acknowledge that I am by far, not a morning person…at least not until my first caffeine consumption.

“Morning,” I mumble. Reaching up onto my toes, I rest my hand on Hayden’s firm, naked chest and place a swift kiss on his mouth. He’s still wearing his satin pants. His tan is more appreciable against the darkness of the material. The dark brown hue of the disc of his nipple has me fantasizing about acts that should be deemed deviant to even conceive at this time in the morning.

I take a sip of the steaming, bitter liquid and instantly begin to feel the caffeine awaken parts of my mind that are still rebelling against responsiveness.

“I have to make a move in a little bit, beautiful,” he conveys, and my stomach knots and my heart lurches at his words.

I hate seeing him leave me––even if it’s only for a day. It’s like someone stamping over my heart, or cutting off my right arm. It hurts not seeing him, not breathing him in, not being in contact with him––I want to wrap my arms around him and stay clung to him forever. I find myself wonder idly if love can ever become unhealthy.

Pushing my matted locks behind my shoulder, Hayden strokes my left cheek with his tender, loving touch. I feel him placing me under his scrutiny, but I don’t look up…I can’t look up. I am too scared that my wayward emotions will overwhelm my determination and have me sobbing like an idiot, pleading with him not to go.

My focus remains on the waistband of his pants.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Jessie strolls from the kitchen to her room. And I’m grateful for the privacy.

His thumb delicately caresses the arch of my cheekbone. “Hey, what’s all this about, beautiful?” his voice is warm, smooth and teeming with concern.

I faintly shake my head and lift my left shoulder a fraction. “I hate it when you leave me, especially when it’s so early. I know it sound ridiculous, but, I feel as though I haven’t spent any time with you.”

Hayden coaxes my head up. I am rewarded with his sweet, gorgeous, likeminded smile. “I feel the same, Samantha. I hate it when you’re not with me. But, I have things I need to do today. Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving, I will be here.” Showering me with his words, the soothing, promising tone of his voice is enough to heat the blood that only a moment ago ran cold, and untangle the knots of anxiety that had formed.

Feeling uplifted––albeit, a little embarrassed at my downheartedness––I acquiesce.

Locking my arms in position around his neck, Hayden trails his perfect, straight nose down the length of mine before uniting our lips in a kiss that annihilates any further restiveness that ambushes us like a fierce sandstorm.

Under duress, I unlock my hands and trail them leisurely over the broadness of his shoulders and down his strong biceps. Our lips loiter against one another, unwilling to withdrawal completely, yet when they part and the coolness of the air bonds with the wetness of my lips, I feel like a child having her comfort bear taken away.

“I better get dressed.”

I nod, and allow him to slip away––but not without a firm appraisal of his delectable ass and the flexing of muscles and sinews in his back as he strolls down the hallway to my room. Pursing my lips, I incline my head as he gets further and further away, an unashamed groan of approval journeys from my throat and ricochets around the room.

Could I ever get bored of that sight?

I can’t win. I am a woman obsessed with a capital E––Extremely Obsessed. If Hayden is with me, we can’t keep our hands off each other, if he is not with me, then I spend every moment thinking about him and what he is doing. The hamster in my mind is running his wheel ragged, in an attempt to keep up with my racing thoughts.

Racy thoughts you mean, Samantha,
my subconscious exclaims, while filing her harlot, red polished nails.

“Sammy? Hello!” Jessie waves her hand in front of my face, snapping me out of my reverie.

“What?” Straightening my posture, I clasp the handle of the cart and peruse my surroundings. The potent fragrance of fresh fruit and vegetables hits me like a brick wall. It’s like I’ve been on auto-pilot––I cannot remember even getting here.

Propping her hand on her hip, she repeats herself, “Is there anything that Hayden doesn’t like?”

“Sorry, Jess. Umm…no, he will eat about anything.”

She picks some carrots and puts them in a bag. “You are driving me insane, Samantha Kennedy.”

I gaze at her apologetically and offer a small, I-may-drive-you-crazy-but-you-still-love-me grin.

“Go!”

“What?” I am caught off-guard at her monosyllable. Is she pissed at me? I would be pissed at me. Dammit––I
am
pissed at me. Jessie is my best friend, yet I have been so wrapped up in Hayden and me, that I haven’t really given her any of my time. I make a mental vow to try and spend some quality girlie time together.

“Go on. You’re not with it; I will get a cab home. Go and see your
lover boy.
”

Ecstatic, I rasp, “I love you,” and plant a big, wet kiss on her cheek.

“Yeah, yeah, Okay. You are smitten.” Playfully swatting me away, she leans over and adds the bagged vegetables to the cart. “I’ll see you later, Miss Insatiable.”

Smiling, I quickly turn and leave the market, before she changes her mind.

I pull up into Hayden’s underground parking lot at The Paramount. Shutting off the ignition, I tousle my hair as I check my reflection in the rear-view mirror, and then apply a little gloss to my lips.

As I swing open the door of my Honda, I feel a tidal wave of negativity wash over me. How will he feel about me showing up unexpected? It’s 4:30 p.m., we have been apart for only six and a half hours. Will he be agitated that I haven’t given him any alone time? Am I being to needy with my wanting to be with him constantly?

The day we came back from New York, he had gifted me with a key to his apartment sitting peacefully in a little blue box. So surely he would expect me to use it. Maybe I’m just over thinking things, as always.

“Fuck it,” I whisper to myself while retrieving my purse that lies on the passenger seat, and I substitute the warmth of my car, for the chilly, gloominess of the lot.

Reaching the thirty-eight floor, I stroll out of the large elevator, and stand at Hayden’s door, tapping the key nervously against the edge of my left, index finger.

I hear soft music echoing through the door and I’m instantly reminded of the sounds of Kenny G the night we first made love to each other. The memory broadens the smile on my face.

Expecting to see him perched on the platform gazing out into the distance of the Bay, watching the world go by, I carefully unlock the door, push it open and crane my head around the doorway. But to my surprise, his usual spot is left vacant.

I secure the apartment door behind me, while Ben E King croons about Standing by Me. However, the throatiness of his voice is soon interrupted by a rhythmic banging sound resonating from down the hallway to my left.

“Come on…that’s it…you can do it, baby.”

You can do it baby?
As his words graze my ears, I have a sudden urge to throw up. It’s as though someone twice my size has just punched me in my gut as I fight to catch a meaningful breath through the winded sensation that cripples my body. I know what kitchen sex sounds like, and that sounds like a dangling foot banging against a lower unit.

Seized by consternation, my body quivers. My legs are like Jell-O as I tread silently in my cherry red, heeled pumps towards the disconcerting sound of Hayden coaxing the unidentified being.

“Come on…” his rasps get louder as I approach as does the pounding.

My chest is constricting, the combination of salty tears and bitter tang has my eyes and throat burning. Adrenaline mixed with my Flight or Fight responses has me at my knees. Please no, not again. Not, Hayden––he wouldn’t do this…would he? Or has the reaffirmation of his ego in being with me, opened him up to more possibilities, reacquainting himself with that lost confidence of being intimate with another person.

Cringing, I turn the corner to the kitchen doorway.

Immobilized and stupefied, I stand with my mouth agape as I observe the once pristine kitchen. The black granite island is covered with white powder, and cooking equipment is scattered haphazardly on almost every surface. A slight haziness overshadows my vision, and I’m unsure as to whether it is just my vision, or actual smoke.

A surge of instant relief eradicates the fears that had me oppressed. I gaze at the man behind the island; his black coverall splattered with a thick, batter-type residue, his thick, dark hair bouncing as he thumps and shakes an upside-down tin.