Reviving Haven (12 page)

When I get to my bedroom, I quickly change into some shorts and a tank top, brush my teeth and pull my hair into a low ponytail. It’s only nine o’clock, but all the conversation mixed with the wine and my meds has made me tired and slightly loopy. Just as I reach to turn off my light, my bedroom door flies open with Weezie barreling in balancing her open laptop. She looks excited and slightly crazed.

“Holy crap sista, guess who Latch’s BFF is?” I shrug, sitting on my bed.

I already know it
’s Keenan Stone. Weezie follows and sits beside me. She turns the laptop towards me so I can see the display. There is a full screen shot of Latch McKay and Keenan Stone laughing and partying. The article below it mentions they are family friends. As in the article I had read before, it says when Latch’s father died, he and his mother moved to America. Keenan followed at fourteen in hopes of a modeling career. Keenan lived with Latch and his mother for a few years. Then both boys moved back to Keenan’s hometown in England when Latch was sixteen and Keenan was twenty. Latch went to a school for graphic arts while Keenan pursued his modeling. They lived there for a while and then finally moved back to the U.S. four years later.

“Kind of already figured they knew each other, that’s how he was able to get Keenan to do that book shoot,” I say
, grinning.

“Oh my God, this is so a game changer.” Weezie looks directly at me. It becomes painfully obvious what the expression on her face means.

“Weezie . . . oh hell, no way!” I shake my head furiously. I jump off my bed and onto my feet, suddenly feeling a lot less intoxicated. “Close the laptop and step away.” I’m frantic.

Weezie starts to pout. I hate that she’s trying to manipulate me, and it makes me want to smack those pouty lips right off her face.

“Puh-
LEASE
. . . you don’t even know what I’m going to ask,” Weezie says, rolling her eyes as she closes her laptop.

“You want me to get Latch to introduce you to Keenan Stone?” I have my arms crossed, staring directly at her while tapping my foot.

“You would do that for little ol’ me?” She looks at me innocently, pretending to bat eyelashes.

“No way, Latch—and I—
already have . . . um . . . questionable history. I’m not even sure if I’m going to see him again. And after the office fiasco, there is no way I’m going to ask him to set you up with Keenan. Just so you can do—what you know you do!” I cringe. I am so annoyed. I know that Weezie just wants an introduction so she can sleep with him.

“Christ, Haven, you let Latch McKay come in your mouth and you’re questioning my intentions?” Weezie spits out as I cringe.

“Whatever Weeze, I’m still not setting you up, forget it. Besides, Keenan doesn’t seem like that type,” I say snorting. I use my hands to signal her to get off my bed and go away.

“What type,
the type that bangs hot chicks?” she asks defensively.

“I just don’t want you to do
that
with him. It puts me kind of in an awkward position and there’s been too much of that lately.”

“Do you plan to do
that
with Latch?” she asks, watching my face carefully.

“That would be different. With Latch and I, it would be natural progression,” I reply seriously. Weezie stands by my door holding her laptop.

“Okay, just so I am clear on everything, I let Keenan go down on me, and have him say the word
fuck
a few times into the phone. Then give him a blo—whatever . . . a
puff chore
. Then I can
fuck
him, due to natural progression, of course?” Weezie snorts, sounding exasperated with my logic.

“Oh hell, you know what I mean,
and like I said, I don’t even know for sure I’m seeing him again, so there’s no use even discussing it. For all we know, the shoes and the note were a goodbye, a consolation gift.”

“Trust me when I tell you you’
ll be seeing Latch McKay again—there isn’t any doubt. You think that man sent you shoes to say goodbye? Oh hell no. Just be careful.” She snickers as she flips the bedroom light off and closes my door.

I’m not sure if I should be happy or terrified about seeing Latch. Latch and I have crammed many intimate moments into the last two weeks. The more I think about him, the more I feel. The more I remember all of the details of us being together, the more I want him. My dec
ision is made: I’ll see Latch and, most likely, sleep with him. This is what I want, what I need. I just have to keep my feelings in check. I cannot get wrapped up emotionally with this man; there is no future with him. If I can rein in my emotions, I can handle the affair. Tomorrow will be the start of a new beginning for me.

As I crawl into my bed, I
quickly make another decision—no more meds. I’m done with the little white helpers. They had been my lifeline when things got out of hand, but somehow I need to be able to stand on my own feet without them. I get out of my bed and take the prescription bottle into my bathroom. I pour the remainder of the pills into the toilet, flushing them down into oblivion.

Waking up the next morning, I have a more self-assured outlook. I
t’s been a long time since I felt this happy. I’m feeling comfortable with the idea of pursuing an intimate affair with Latch, even though I still have some reservations. It’s a plus that we already have some sexual history, but I have to caution myself mentally, because if I’m being honest, I wish it could be more than just a fling.

I don’t really know him as a person. All I know about him is that he has devilish good looks, a cocky attitude and a wicked tongue. Maybe that’s all I really need to know. If I truly want to keep this affair casual, then knowing him deeply isn’t essential. The one thing we do ha
ve in common is a very sexually intense desire for each other, which I still don’t get considering I gave him the worse oral of his life, causing him to fall speechless and then act like a complete ass. At some point, even though I don’t want to, I’m sure the “office visit” will come up in a discussion eventually, no matter how much I want to pretend it never happened.

I feel exhilarated with my revised outlook on my situation, and after I finish dressing for work, I head straight for the kitchen to grab a much needed cup of coffee.
Weezie has left a note propped up on the counter.

Good l
uck today, although you won’t need it. The man wants you BAD! XOXO

I laugh and walk back to my bedroom to
complete my look by twisting my hair up into a fashionably conservative bun and applying some light make-up. I smile into the mirror with satisfaction and then leave for yet another day in my wonderful store.

On my drive to work, I wonder what my next move should be. All of a sudden, I begin doubting myself. I finally decide to say yes to him, but now I realize that every single time we’ve tried to have any kind of a conversation, it’s either involved or lead to some kind of sex act. Can I truly have just a normal conversation with Latch McKay?

Here comes my lack of self-esteem as all my doubts start to bombard my thoughts. How much older do I look, will people know, will they care? Do I care? I’ve always been able to pass as younger than my true biological age, so maybe no one will be the wiser. Latch only knew because he looked at my driver’s license and it doesn’t appear to bother him. He really is a confusing man. I will never be able to understand why he’s so actively pursuing me. I just can’t wrap my head around his reasoning. I'm older, not exactly slim and definitely not skilled in the sexual department. So what exactly is it about me that intrigues him so?

Maybe I should stop dwelling on the
why?
and go with the
why not?
as Weezie would say. The sad part would be if once I slept with him, he just ends it. I’m not so sure I could just walk away. I wish I could be more like Weezie. She has rules. No second dates, ever. After all the years that we’ve been friends, I had hoped some of her ways would rub off on me. Weezie just loves sex, but she knows how to keep feelings out of the mix. I want to be like her and just walk away fulfilled and unscathed.

Latch has tied me into knots. No matter how resistant I tried to be, I just can’t walk away without
, at least,
testing the waters
. If I think about his smile, his eyes, the amazingly disheveled head of hair of his, I get aroused. Just thinking about him at this moment makes my core pulse. I never knew I could be this sexually attracted to anyone. The erotica books I read and my vibrator have always been two constants, but since meeting Latch, I haven’t needed either. I chuckle softly. I am about to enter my own personal erotica world, and Latch will be leading the way.

I get to my store and start stocking. I’ll do new window displays later. I find concentrating to be quite a challenge. All I can think about is seeing Latch. I almost feel ridiculous, like a teen girl daydreaming about her new crush. I cringe. I’ve regressed to the mentality of a teenager. Ugh! I try to busy myself, but regardless, my mind keeps drifting to him.

It’s now after three o’clock and I haven’t had any phone calls or texts from him. I make a decision that if I don’t hear from him by four thirty, I will call and at least thank him for the shoes. When I glance at the clock and see that it’s 4:28, I’m ready to jump out of my skin and my hands are actually shaking. My heart is hammering as I grab my phone, flipping it open to call him.

“McKay Enterprises, Amber speaking.”

I stifle a groan.
Crap, it’s Amber
. My eyes automatically roll.

“Umm . . . can you connect me with Mr. McKay,” I say, trying to sound professional
and business-like.

“I’m sorry; he’s out of the office all week. Can I take a messa
ge or give you his voicemail?” she asks. I can hear the snapping of her gum as she chews.

“No, that’s alright. I’ll just touch base with him next week.” I try to sound casual, unconcerned, but
knowing he is gone all week is definitely taking the wind out of my sails.

I snap my phone closed and begin to pace my office. Well crap, I didn’t see that coming. After all the debating I’ve done in my mind, it never occurred to me that he would just leave, without a word, for an entire week. Not that he owes me an itinerary of his coming and goings, but he just leaves for a week without even a text? Seriously, how am I supposed to forgive him if I can’t even talk to him? I can’t text him. I only have the stupid office number. Every time he’s called or texted
, it’s been from a private number. The note clearly asked for my forgiveness. He must have known that he would be gone, so why not put that in the note?

O
kay, what is wrong with me? If this were meant to be, it would have happened. Obviously, I dodged a bullet, which is most likely a good thing, even if my heart and brain disagree on that fact.

Since I have had a somewhat unproductive day, I decide to stay an extra hour or two so I can finish the entire window display tonight instead of waiting until tomorrow. Around
six thirty, my cell phone rings. I flip it open and there it is—a private number.

“Hello,” I say
warmly, slipping off my shoes and settling in my desk chair for my phone call flirtation.

“Sweetheart.” H
earing his slightly accented, sultry voice, is delighting my senses.

A smile
spreads across my face but I suddenly feel timid.

“Latch,”
I say breathlessly, “I called your office. You’re gone all week?” I hope I can mask the disappointment in my voice.

“You called my office?” I can almost feel his smug smile through the phone and the cockiness in his voice.

“So, I gather I’m forgiven? It was the shoes, right?” he jokes, making me laugh.

“Yes, it must have been. What girl can say no to a man who buys her Dolce and Gabbana shoes?” I pause. “I want to see you. We should talk.”

“Miss me already, sweetheart? This trip to the east coast was last minute. I’d rather be seeing you right now, if you want to know the truth.” He sounds exhausted.

“Yes, the truth is good,” I reply. My hands are shaky as I hold the phone. He doesn’t even have to be here physically to make me quiver.

“Well, if we’re talking and you say you’ll see me, you know I’m asking you out on a date, right?” I can hear the anticipation in his voice.

“I think it’s safe to assume I’ll talk to you, maybe even see you . . . I’m
not sure, still deciding,” I respond, teasing him.

I clearly hear him breathe a sigh of relief through the phone. It makes me elated.

“I need to apologize for acting like such an ass when you came to my office. Haven, I’m so sorry about everything, all of it.” I can hear the regret in his voice mixed with sadness.

“We can talk about that another time, Latch.”
I had to stop him before he said any more about the issue. I don’t think I’m ready to discuss my behavior, and I’m not ready to hear about why he acted like he did. This is something we need to discuss, but not now.

“I’ll see you when you get back?” I ask, hoping the change in conversation will get him away from the office incident and his apology.