Love to Love Her YAC (35 page)

I skip the trail and pick my way across a
rougher, less traveled route to one of the more deserted sections
of beach. Here there are only rocks, no sand, and pine trees grow
close to the water’s edge. I jump rocks until I’m as far out as I
can be along a spur of boulders that jut into the lake. An eagle
circles above, drifting on the current of air that swirls above the
water. I wrap my wool bomber jacket tighter against the cold and
stare across at the mountains, lost in thought.

I’ve been committed to giving Rhiannon the
space she needs. Every day—hell, every waking
hour
—my
fingers itch to pick up the phone and call her, but I’ve resisted.
I’ve figured she’ll call me when she’s ready. Maybe there’s
something else that’s happened with Tawny, and it’s got her running
scared. Maybe she’s afraid I come with too much baggage, the guy
whose girlfriend cheated on him. God knows she doesn’t need
anything else to complicate her life right now. It’s this train of
thought that drives my resolve to keep my distance.

Of course, I might know more if I’d thought
to ask more questions, demand more answers when she called me that
Saturday night. I had been reeling from the shock of it and hadn’t
known what hit me. I still don’t. And I can’t stop beating myself
up for not thinking faster or knowing the right things to say.

All I can do is wait.

Rhiannon – Saturday, 7:00 PM

I
’m usually a very
orderly person, but Corinne has managed to completely trash my
bathroom in the space of about twenty minutes, completely flipping
my world upside down. When I told her I had agreed to go out with
Andy tonight, her response had been, “Be there in ten.” You’d have
thought she was moving in from the amount of stuff she showed up
with. At that point there was nothing I could do except answer the
door and patiently await the onslaught. Now that the pregnancy
scare has officially been laid to rest, it’s back to business as
usual.

“Christ, Cori, we’re just going to a
movie
,” I groan for about the eighteenth time as she begins
styling my hair. “It’s going to be
dark
—you’re wasting your
time!”

“Shut up and turn around,” she says as she
takes the straightening iron to my hair. It’s been ages since I
wore my hair straight, and there’s a reason for this—I hate it.
Used to the body normally present in my wavy locks, I can’t stand
the limp, lifeless look of my hair when it’s flattened against my
skull. That I’m even allowing this little misadventure in the first
place is a testament to how much I actually don’t care. Andy is
nice and all, but he’ll probably think I’m sufficiently attractive
to want to kiss me regardless of the shape of my hair, and that’s
really all I’m after. That and a nice, handsome distraction who
happens to also be fun to hang out with.

In the end it really doesn’t look all that
bad. Corinne takes shorter pieces of my hair from the top of my
head and arranges them across my forehead in a curtain of
side-swept bangs, which does a decent job of framing my face.

“Okay, now for makeup,” she says. “Look up.”
I roll my eyes toward the ceiling while she applies a heavy coat of
mascara to my lashes and dabs at the excess with the tip of her
pinky.

I sigh heavily as she reaches for her next
weapon, a compact of translucent powder. “What?” she asks.

“Nothing…”

“Not nothing,” she argues, her hand on her
hip. “You were thinking about things you shouldn’t, weren’t
you?”

I whimper a little, nodding into my lap. “I
wonder why he hasn’t called,” I say quietly.

When I glance up again Corinne’s stern
expression has softened to a look of understanding. “R, if you’re
this miserable, why don’t you just pick up the phone and call
him
?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I just keep thinking
how he didn’t even try to—I don’t know…change my mind or anything
when I called him that night. I mean, not that I want him to
chase
me, you know? But it just—it makes me think he agreed
with me, like he wanted out, too. Like maybe he’d been thinking it
all along.”

“Oh, Rhiannon,” says Corinne, irritation
creeping into her voice. “Please stop second guessing yourself. You
are a smart, gorgeous, funny, sweet girl, and any guy would be
lucky to have you. I know Blake thought so, too—he’s probably just
trying to give you what you said you needed. So quit feeling sorry
for yourself, and just do something about it already.”

I know she and Ruthie are sick of my
whining—it’s been two weeks, after all. And Blake and I were never
really even
together
—the one week we spent together when we
could hardly keep our hands off each other now seems like a figment
of my imagination. Still, I miss him, and not just because he was
amazing at sex. There hasn’t been a single time when I’ve hung up
the phone after talking to Tawny when I didn’t want to immediately
call him, whether it was to talk about how much I hate cancer, or
just to get my mind off the topic altogether. I hate him a little
for not even
trying
to reach out to me, but I hate myself
even more. And as much as I desperately want to take Corinne’s
advice, I just
can’t
. At least, not right now.

Corinne finishes with a bit of dark eyeliner
(“to make your eyes pop”) and a layer of cherry pink lip gloss. She
stands back to inspect her final product, and clucks her tongue in
approval. “You look smokin’,” she says. “No pressure or anything,
but should you decide you
want
to have sex tonight, I don’t
think Andy will hate the idea.”

I roll my eyes with a chuckle. “What would I
ever do without you,” I say sarcastically.

Corinne begins scraping junk off the bathroom
counter into a tote bag. “I’d better scoot,” she says. “Prince
charming will be here any minute.”

Saturday, 7:45 PM

A
ndy hasn’t overtly
said or done anything that would prompt me to think of him as less
than gentlemanly, but I can tell he’s sexually frustrated. I also
know I’m probably a bitch for leading him on without any real
intention of following through…but then again, on nights like
tonight, some small part of me can’t help but think
Why the hell
not?
You are a single, independent woman, I think to myself.
Single, independent women can (and
should
) have sex with
funny, attractive guys.

Maybe if he would just quit being such a
goddamn gentleman and sweep me up in the heat of the
moment
…
Maybe then we could both have the outlet we so
obviously need.

But that plan didn’t work out so well for him
the last time he tried it, did it?

True story. Now quit having internal
conversations with yourself and pay attention
—
he’s trying to
talk to you for fuck’s sake.

I look over at Andy, who is looking at me
expectantly as if he’s waiting on the answer to a question. “I’m
sorry, what?” I ask, blinking.

He laughs. “Everything okay tonight? You
seem…distracted.”

“Oh, no, I just thought I, er—forgot
something.”

“Want me to turn around?”

“No, it’s okay, I’ve got it. You were
saying?”

“I just asked if the temperature is
okay.”

I look at the array of sophisticated knobs
and buttons on Andy’s dash, all backlit with a glowing blue light—a
far cry from the austere interior of Blake’s F150. He drives an
automatic, too, which has its advantages—for one thing, he’s kept
his hand curled around mine for the entire drive, saved from the
trouble of having to shift. There’s something sexy about a man who
can drive a stick, though…

Oh shut up.

I smile, attempting to reel in my itinerant
thoughts. “I’m fine. It feels good.”

He gives my leg a small squeeze in response,
then goes back to staring at the road ahead.

“I wasn’t lying when I said you look really
pretty tonight, by the way,” he says after a moment. “That sweater
looks good on you.”

I look down in confusion. I hadn’t been
shooting for sexy when I’d selected the slightly frumpy, purple
V-neck sweater. Now I see that its looseness has caused it to dip
down in the front across my breasts. I tug on the shoulders in an
attempt to reposition the fabric. “Thanks,” I say. I glance over at
him, feeling the need to return the compliment. It isn’t difficult
to think of something nice to say—he’s impeccably dressed in a tan
sweater that forms to the contours of his chest and a pair of dark
jeans. “I like your sweater, too,” I manage to get out. “The whole
ensemble, really. It’s working for you.” It’s about time I quit
acting like a boring old bump on a log. I offer him a small smile,
and he grins back at me.

Andy pays for our movie tickets once we reach
the theater. He waits patiently for me outside the ladies’ room
while I pee and even buys me a box of Sour Patch Kids when I
mention I loved them as a kid. So far he’s doing everything right.
So why do I feel so awkward?
Seriously, time to snap out of
it.

We’re seeing the new James Bond movie that
came out this week. Historically I’ve been pretty bored by all the
shooting and car chasing that feature so prominently in this
series, but I was agreeable when Andy suggested it. It will be nice
to zone out, maybe get caught up in the violence and intrigue for a
change. Plus, Daniel Craig is plenty easy on the eyes.

Andy reaches for my hand when we sit down,
and I give it to him. I even allow myself to enjoy the way he
brushes the pad of his thumb against the side of my hand as he
clutches it in his own. At one point he untangles our fingers and
moves his hand to my thigh. I don’t protest, and he doesn’t push
any further.

After the movie is over, he drives me home.
He pulls into a spot near the stairwell and shuts off the engine
before leaning his head back against the headrest and looking at
me, his eyes full of something it doesn’t take a genius to figure
out. I gaze back at him, trying to decide whether I should invite
him inside. Ultimately I decide it will be less complicated if I
don’t.

I do want to kiss him though. His eyes dart
to my mouth as I slowly lick my lips, and I can tell we’re on the
same page. I lean forward, no longer feeling shy. Unfortunately, he
has the same idea and we end up knocking foreheads.

“Ouch!” I cry, recoiling as I rub my head. I
look over at Andy doing the same thing, and suddenly the whole
ridiculous situation is just too funny to bear. I start to laugh,
and soon he’s laughing along with me as we both shake our heads at
our mutual clumsiness.

“Did you just head butt me?” I ask through my
fit of giggling.

“I’m sorry,” he says as he dabs at the
corners of his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. “Let’s try that
again, shall we?” He leans forward just slightly, cautious now.

I smile and move towards him, slowly this
time. A jolt of electricity shoots through me as our lips touch,
and I lean even further forward, eager to taste more of him. He
opens his mouth and I follow his example, allowing his tongue to
enter my mouth and tangle with my own. We go at it like this for a
couple of minutes before my neck begins to hurt from leaning over
so far. Sensing my discomfort, Andy lifts me by my hips and guides
me over the gearshift to straddle his lap. I place my hands on
either side of his neck as we continue to kiss.

A few minutes later, Andy’s lips leave mine
to trail farther south. He kisses along my neck and down my chest
as I lean my head back, delighting in the feel of his warm tongue
on my skin.
I wonder what else he can do with that tongue
. I
shove the thought from my mind, unprepared to think that far
ahead.

We make out for a solid fifteen minutes,
grabbing at one another, fisting each other’s clothing but unable
(or at least unwilling) to remove anything. Physical evidence of
Andy’s arousal presses against me as I shift in his lap, and he
lets out a low moan. Finally he pulls back with clear hunger in his
eyes, silently pleading with me to take him upstairs. I continue to
plant kisses along his jaw, and he responds by clutching more
tightly at my waist, but I can feel the restraint that’s there as
well. He’s waiting to see what I decide before he stumbles past the
point of no return.

Slowly I pull away, an apology in my eyes. He
breathes out heavily, already aware of my answer to his unspoken
question. “Guess I’d better get going,” he says dolefully, offering
me the out I need but still, I can tell, hoping I won’t take it. I
nod, granting him one last consolation peck on the cheek before I
slide off his lap.

Silently we climb out of the car, and Andy
walks me up the stairs to my door. He waits while I dig my keys out
of my purse and unlock my door, but he stands back as it swings
open. “Goodnight, Rhiannon,” he says quietly before leaning in to
give me a chaste kiss on the lips.

“Goodnight.”

Blake – 5:30 PM

I
’m walking out of
Graves Hall after a meeting with my thesis advisor when I bump into
Alexandra, one of the girls in my work group for motivational
interviewing. “Hi, Blake!” she says cheerfully. I’m tempted to just
say hi and keep moving, but she’s always been really nice and
doesn’t deserve a brush-off, so I stop walking and turn to face
her. “Hey, Alex. How are you?”

“I’m doing really well, just trying to keep
warm,” she says with a friendly smile. “How have you been?”

I shrug. “I’m okay.” Her smile turns to a
sort of worried frown.
Shit
. I should have just told her I
was doing great. That’s what people expect to hear when they ask
you that question.

“If you don’t mind me saying so, you’ve
seemed a little down lately… Anything wrong?”